He drew a quick breath. “She told you about the bet.”

“She said nothing came of it.”

“The bet was first, but only by a few hours,” he said. “What came of it was that Adne and I couldn’t dance around each other anymore. The moment I kissed her, I couldn’t . . .”

“You couldn’t pretend you weren’t in love with her.”

He tossed an unfriendly glance my way.

“It’s pretty obvious,” I said.

“I couldn’t pretend to myself,” he said. “But I thought it was best to keep pretending to her.”

“I think you’re wrong.” My own mind had wandered back to Ren’s confession. If I’d known how he’d really felt about me, would our lives have been different? Thoughts of Shay chased after that question. Did I want the past to be different? I couldn’t imagine Shay’s absence. My heart ached at the thought of never having fallen in love with him.

“Maybe.” Connor stood up and stretched. “It certainly hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped.”

“What did you hope for?” I asked. “Do you want to see Adne with someone else?”

The sudden stab of his glare told me that was the last thing he wanted.

I held my ground. “Then you’d better do something about it.”

“I’ll make you a deal.” He smiled slowly. “I’ll sort out me and Adne when you pick your boy.”

“That’s not fair.” I was on my feet, matching his steady gaze.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Connor replied, turning to walk up the path. I guess that meant our conversation was over.

“So what?” I called after him. “You’re doing nothing?”

“I’m following your lead, alpha.” He turned, walking backward and grinning at me.

“What does that mean?” My hands were on my hips.

“It means I’m going to win this war.” He saluted. “Romance will have to wait.”

I stared after him, frustrated by the conversation. But at least I had a little more insight into Connor and Adne’s history.

“Calla!” I turned to see Bryn waving to me with Ansel hovering at her heels, his basket of oranges full to brimming. Mason was with them.

“What is it?” I asked when I reached them.

“We’ve got to head down to the stockade,” she said.

“The stockade?” I asked. “Why?”

Mason looked at me and sighed. “Logan wants a meeting.”

ELEVEN

LOGAN’S QUARTERS bore a much closer resemblance to an actual cell than Ansel’s room had. I took more than a little pleasure at that observation, though I still bristled as we entered the small space. We’d all been quiet on the walk from the garden to the stockade. These rooms, used for prisoners, were located on the ground level of the Academy—set apart from the livelier sections of the Searchers’ institution. While Mason had assured me that Anika would be present, this meeting didn’t sit well with me. It was too familiar. Logan had something to tell his pack. We’d been summoned, just as if he were still our master. From the stiff way Mason moved down the halls, I could tell he wasn’t happy about this development either. I couldn’t blame him.

What had surprised me a little was that Ansel had insisted on coming with us.

“For moral support,” he’d said, with a glance at Mason, when I asked him why. If there was anyone who would have more reason to hate Logan—or any of the Keepers—than Mason, it was my brother.

Shay was waiting for us outside the doorway. When the four of us entered, Logan looked far too comfortable even as he lounged on a twin mattress that featured a single pillow and undyed wool blanket, propping himself up on one elbow while smoking a clove cigarette.

Ren, Sabine, and Nev were already in the room. Anika and Ethan stood just behind the three wolves, Ethan watching Logan suspiciously while Anika’s expression was more curious.

“Wonderful.” Logan smiled at us, tapping ash into an empty glass on the floor.

“Bite me,” I snarled. Logan might expect business as usual, but I wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t our master any longer and I was going to make sure he knew that.

Bryn drew a quick breath, but Mason smiled. Logan’s eyes widened momentarily, but then he recomposed his face into a placid mask.

“Calla, I don’t expect your affection, but we certainly can still be civil.”

“You’re a prisoner,” I said. “Civility is off the table. What’s this meeting for?”

He cleared his throat. “Two reasons. And thank you for coming.”

“Calla’s right,” Ren said. “Drop the show, Logan. Just talk.”

“Isn’t everyone in a temper.” Logan put out the cigarette and sighed. “My last one.”

“Good,” Mason said.

Logan glanced at him and my heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t look at him.” Nev crossed the room, shielding Mason from Logan’s view. “Don’t ever look at him again or I’ll claw your eyes out.”

“I’m fine,” Mason whispered, but he’d gone pale. Ansel shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.

For the first time, Logan’s voice lost its clear, imperious tone. “Well, that gets us to the first thing.... I want to offer an apology.”

No one spoke, but everyone stared at the Keeper.

It was Shay who finally broke the silence. “An apology?”

“Despite my imprisonment, I’ve come to respect the strength, loyalty, and most of all resilience of your pack bonds. I tried to take advantage of your loyalty to the Keepers, and I’m sorry I let my inheritance go to my head.”

“Go to your head?” Nev growled, the air around him swirling, growing hot. “You think that’s all it takes to make up for what you were going to do?”

I took a step toward him. As much as we hated Logan, attacking him when he was the Searchers’ prisoner wasn’t an option.

“Of course not,” Logan continued. He threw a pleading look at Anika, who moved between the Keeper and Nev.

“Please remain calm.” She rested her hand on the sword hilt at her waist.

“You have no idea . . .” Nev glared at her.

“Leave it.” Mason grabbed Nev’s shoulder, drawing him back. “He’s not worth it.”