People clustered in small groups outside of bakeries and restaurants. Wagons overflowing with fresh produce ambled carefully through the foot traffic. Dough, fresh fruit, and notes of cinnamon and flora traveled upon the gathering breeze. And when we turned down an alleyway near the end of the street to enter another, I was met with a wave of fresh seafood, cheese, and wine.

“Fish?” the wolf asked, noting my curiosity as I looked at the markets across the street before the river. “Jayron makes an incomparable fish pie. Some say it’s because his grandfather was half fish himself.”

“A merman?” I hadn’t seen any, but my father had often humored me when I was young with stories of the few who’d dwelled in our rivers decades before I was born.

Scythe lifted a shoulder. “He never comments when asked, but I think he likes to let people talk to keep business flowing.”

“Clever.” I pursed my lips, tempted by the scent. “But I find myself in the mood for something sweet.”

“Maybe after you eat something proper,” he said, so utterly serious that I swallowed a laugh. He noticed and frowned. “What amuses you?”

Forgetting myself, I leaned into him as we came to a stop in the small line at the stall. “You’re very assertive, and although I shouldn’t, I do find it endearing.”

“Endearing?” he asked as if I’d called him a wet sock.

I did laugh then, clasping his thick arm and earning a look from two females standing before us. I straightened, making to pull away, but Scythe slid his hand around mine.

My stomach rioted for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger as his roughened skin tickled, fingers sliding over my own with slow intent before he linked them. I couldn’t keep from gazing up at him. But he tipped his chin in greeting to the vendor and squeezed my hand.

Indeed, he wasn’t concerned about being seen with me at all. He was just trying to follow my lead—to keep me comfortable.

To keep me with him.

Tension drifted from my shoulders, from nearly all of me as Scythe purchased our food, and we ate while walking along the riverfront. “I didn’t think wolves enjoyed fish.”

He licked his finger, and the sight of it returned a different tension to my limbs. “Some are stuck with archaic taste, while others use their brains.”

“Like you,” I said, smirking.

He stared at my mouth, his lips parting. “Like me,” he finally said. “If something tastes good, you eat it.” He grinned when my own lips parted.

I peeled my eyes from him and looked at the water, needing to. My mind felt layered in cotton the longer I indulged my senses, that wild heat unfurling from my stomach and spreading. Even my fingertips warmed and grew numb, almost itched.