Page 109 of Wolf of Ashes
Because if Halle so instantly recognized my claws, then why didn’t Vanguard?
Well, damn.
Of course he did.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a dangerous moment because I’m not sure exactly what this means. I don’t know what Vanguard’s true motives are. Or Jonah’s, for that matter.
At the very least, they thought to use me to get Elijah to safety. After all, Vanguard insisted I was strong enough to fight his sister, and so I am.
But what other motivations could he have had? Will he have warned my uncle already or kept my secret until he can use it to his best advantage?
How much does Jonah know?
My focus is drawn to the fire jotunn, but I can’t read anything in his expression.
All I’m certain of is that I can’t trust any of them.
I can’t trust anything they say or do.
“I don’t know what you did or didn’t do to my mother,” I snarl at Halle. “But she died in that prison. She fucking died gasping for breath, and still she fought to keep me alive. Nobody came for her, and for that, you’ll pay.”
With a cry of rage, I drive my claws toward Halle’s face, surprised when she doesn’t try to defend herself this time. She lowers her arms with a single, quick movement.
“Don’t kill me!” she cries.
Her features have changed. Now she stares up at me with a wrinkled visage, her body covered in tattered clothing.
I recognize the beanie she’s wearing since it previously rested on my own head.
She’s the homeless woman I saw in the park!
“You.” A deep growl drags out of me. I ram my claws at her shoulder. “You made me believe you were homeless!”
“I watched over that statue every night. It was my only connection with your mo—”
Her speech ends in a scream as I dig my claws deep into her shoulder. “I want my boots back.”
She’s gasping for breath but not so badly as before, and my instincts tell me she’s stalling for time. Hell, I can slash her all I like and she’ll heal right up.
She’s the fucking goddess of death.
She tries again. “Your kindness the other night—”
“Don’t insult me!Kindness?You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I will never walk past a shivering woman. That’s notkindness. It’s simple decency. Butyou.” My lips twist. “Pretending to be in need.”
Her expression turns stone cold. “Pretending? I’ve spent years soaked in my own piss and that weak-as-fuck liquid humans call ‘alcohol.’ Anything to bury the past.”
“Don’t give me your sob story,” I warn. “I don’t have the heart for it.”
As I speak, my instincts shout at me that I’ve paused for too long. I should have slashed her face off by now. Torn out her heart. Anything to get what I need.
Her hands were formed into fists when she held her arms across her face, but now she extends her fingers.
They’re fully healed.
A vine streaks up at my side, shooting between our chests, thumping against my stomach like the side of her arm, strong enough to shove me off her. She pushes me so hard that I gain air, but I easily land at a crouch a few paces away.
She’s already rising upward, the energy around her beating at the air, lifting her without wings.
