Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

by Susan Dennard

Actually, it was on cue, for when she glanced his way, she found the faintest smile brushing his tired lips.

He had no idea how the Threadwitch did it.

“You might lie to yourself,” she said at last, voice smooth as a scythe and twice as sharp. “But you cannot lie to me.”

Take that, Aeduan.

They were merely wolves in a world of rabbits, who had forgotten that rabbits were important too.

From the day she had stabbed Aeduan in the heart, that heart had become hers—and she would not let this be his end.

Yet in that moment, as Iseult held fast to Aeduan, as she squinted against the brightness and willed his eyes to open, she

saw red. Scarlet and true and spooling around them. Red that was not blood. Red Threads that led from her heart and ended inside of his. Impossible, she thought.

Te varuje. I trust you as if my soul were yours.

Now her smile widens, and for some reason, his heart hitches at the sight of that. And for some reason, he likes that he can see the tips of her white canines. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them before.

Then she offers him one of her sly, subtle smiles—only visible if you know what you are looking for.

He knows what he is looking for. “Also,” she adds softly, “I want you to be able to find me.”