Blinking away the haze, Enzo swallowed a few times. It didn’t help. He still sounded raw. “Call off your wolf.”

“He’s not my wolf” popped out of my mouth on reflex, but the truth was I had won Graeson. He really was mine. A wriggling tendril of panic wormed through my chest when it hit me. By that logic, I was his too. Having never belonged to another person, I battled my instinctive response to shove the thought—and the person attached to it—away. But my resistance didn’t make it far. A tilt of the silvery wolf’s head, as if he read my distress or understood my words and rebuked them, had me ready to call him to my side and stroke his silky ears while I whispered nonsense into them.

The sad fact was that Graeson-as-wolf was more of a danger to my heart than the man had been. Holding the man at arm’s length was easy when I recalled his betrayal. The wolf, though, was honest. I couldn’t hold my grudge when I peered into that wild face and glimpsed the simple animal happiness he experienced when I was near. A contentedness, if I were being honest, that mirrored in me.

If—when—I got the man back, I was in real danger of transferring that easy affection onto him.

“I see,” Enzo said at last. “Well, call the wolf off then.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Graeson, man, I thought we were tight.”

The wolf chuffed.

Dell laughed, a pealing-bell sound that captivated the witch.

“When are you going to let me take you out?” His eyes softened when they lit on her and, through no small miracle, he didn’t glance lower than her chin. “I’m not all bad.”

I whipped my head toward Dell, who flushed ten shades of red. “It’s nothing personal.”

He rubbed the spot over his chest. “Tell that to my achy-breaky heart.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

“Never be sorry that you’re being true to yourself.” Enzo placed his palm over his heart, a pledge. “I’ll be sorry enough for the both of us. Trust me.”

The slight curl of Dell’s lips in my periphery told me she wasn’t immune to the witch’s charms. Enzo wasn’t the only one holding a torch for unrequited like, and I had to wonder if her answer might have been different had she not met Isaac.

To clear the air, I stood and brought his attention with me. “Are you willing to help?”

A negligent roll of his shoulder. “For a price.”

“Name it.”

“It’s up to Miguel. I’m still an apprentice.” He gestured toward the dirt road. “If you’re willing to gamble, follow me.”

The deck was stacked in his favor, but a chance to know where Harlow was urged my feet forward.

Finally I was making progress.

* * *