Game of Thrones (Amica and Deckard) novel Chapter 9

Elizabeth nods, opening an ancient looking box.

“Emberhowl and Wildthorn—a rare mix…” she pulls out a few vials. I don’t care if she has birthed a hundred children in this pack, this woman is too old to act fast. But wait, how can she look at Amica once and know that she is a Wildthorn.

“How can you be so certain she’s Wildthorn?” I ask.

“I am not blind.” she replies bluntly as if speaking to anyone but an Alpha. She doesn’t wait for permission, taking a twisted green herb from her box, bringing it to Amica’s nose. With a knowing look, she wrings it near Amica’s face. The scent pulls Amica back and she sneezes, eyes wide open.

She breathes heavily, taking her surrounding and when she sees my face, she pales. Water cowers in her eyes as if she is seeing someone from the unliving. Her hand goes to her neck, fingers pressing over the mark I left there. I can see it—the desperate hope that the mark isn’t real, that none of this is real.

“Don’t move; you’re weak.” Elizabeth says. But Amica can’t seem to calm herself, her chest heaving with effort.