Ryan’s coppery hair is plastered to his forehead and he’s clasping the hand of a brunette girl around his age. She’s wearing the uniform of the kitchen maids, and has an angry scar across her cheek. My eyes narrow in distaste at the brand on her neck—one of Sebastian’s ways of identifying the Wolves he has working for him in the castle. “Ah, seeing to matters of the heart, I see,” says the red-haired guy. “Or cock,” says another, with an arched eyebrow.
