Page 115 of Spar of Hearts

Roderick shook his head. “That can’t be it then. By the time we saw the children, some of them had already been sick for weeks.”

Anya plopped the book beside her. “‘Mage tower quality’ my ass. I got you beaten up for a hokey folk remedy tome.”

“I beg your pardon, but I won, in case you weren’t there. And we still have plenty of coin to spare. I can think of a few things I’d like to buy you tonight.”

With new swords and supplies in hand, their slow walk to the woods east of Traansa took them past a shop boasting “Wares for Weres” as the shopkeeper called the array—including a gold shifter band.

The look on Anya’s face as they stepped back out into the cool night air made it worth every coin.

“All right, she said to just put it on, and shift like normal,” Anya said, slipping the band from the decorative box.

Roderick chuckled. “And where exactly do your clothes go?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she purred, running a claw up his chest. “Let’s find out.” As she slid the band on, he fought the urge to kiss the pulse point of her wrist. The thought of feeling her beat of life beneath his lips made him melt.

“Here we go!” she chimed.

With a golden flash, she was on four furry paws, and for once, not tangled up in the remnants of a dress.

Wow, she barked, circling to look at her whole body. They’re gone! Gone gone!

Roderick jogged to keep up with her as she darted over the eastern bridge, paws thumping on the knotty wood. She paused at the crest, propping herself up on her hind paws to look over the edge at the gentle flow of water beneath them. He leaned beside her, admiring the happy glow in the reflection of her eyes.

She licked his cheek, then took off toward the woods, howling and yipping, shifting back and forth, turning around every few bounds to look at him. She was every bit a shooting star, popping and glowing under the moonlight as she sped through the grassy field among the fireflies—and slowly disappearing from his sight.

“Hoo…” Roderick slowed to a steady trudge, holding his side. His legs were tight, arms heavy, head rushing. “Ah…” He gripped his head and sat on a rock. Head trauma and readjusting to the Rhodias was not a good mix.

During the fight with Henrik, he’d imagined the towering Were being the embodiment of all the voices in his head, strangling them out of his mind once and for all.

But it just wasn’t that easy. It had seemed that way, in the moment. Decisive, final, storybook closed. But now, under the cool sky and with his confession to Anya on the brink, he knew it was a battle he would have to fight and win every day—including right now.

He wasn’t a praying man, or very spiritual for that matter. But sailing under the stars for months, being welcomed into the Lupus Star pack—it made it seem, for the first time, like an all-knowing, loving deity might be real after all. More than just a casual expression or a myth.

So he offered up a silent prayer.

Give me the strength to do what I must…to make her happy.

Anya bounded up to him, dressed and laden with their supply pack. “I found a great”—her brows creased with worry—“are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he mustered. “Don’t stop running on my account.”

“Liar.” She pulled him to his feet. He groaned and stifled a wince as she slid a strong, supportive arm under his. “I don’t expect you to be invincible. Let me take care of you.”

She was referring to his scrapes and bruises, of course. But when he pressed a hand over the jar of Rhodias in his still-buttoned pocket, a little anxiety tightened his chest. Had Anya noticed the jar when she held his shirt? Or when it cracked while they danced?

If she had, she seemed to pay it no mind. If she even knew what it was.

Cicadas buzzed as they ventured a few yards into the forest, coming upon an intimate clearing. The loon’s hauntingly beautiful tremolo echoed in the distance. The surroundings were thick and private, while the bare, branching canopy overhead gave way to the starry sky.

It was perfect.

While Anya pitched the tent, he gathered kindling and started a small fire, listening to her adorably frustrated huffs as the tent collapsed. He instinctively wanted to help, but he’d learned by now that she liked to work things out on her own. If she wanted help, she would ask.

He poked the fire with a stick, settling into the blanket of nature around him. His thoughts went from Henrik’s words to the Lupus Star, wondering about the fate of their crew until Anya dragged a log over for them to sit on.

She sat astride it to face him, in an alluringly brash way most women of court would not be caught dead doing, then sat their supply pack beside her. His eyes wandered to the softness of her belly, then the round curves of her thighs draped with the fabric of her dress.

Add a log to the list of inanimate objects he envied.