Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(60)

“That I gave you.”

My eyes finally pick up the dark outline of El Lobo.

“I was right,” he murmurs. “I did hear you correctly the other night. You’re a girl.” He saunters to the wall and leans against it casually, his ankles crossed and his arms folded. “If you insist on pretending to be me, you need to disguise your voice better than that.”

My ears pick up a new note in his tone—wariness, as if he’s stumbled upon something he doesn’t like. “Black blends in with the night,” I point out. “So unless you own the color, I wouldn’t flatter yourself.”

“Disguise your voice,” he says in a steely tone.

“Careful,” I say. “You’re starting to sound like you care about me.”

His crack of laughter startles me. “Now, that’s funny.”

“Well, what are you doing here, then? Don’t tell me it’s coincidence.”

“It’s not,” he says conversationally. “I followed you.”

“You followed—What? For how long?”

“I saw you in the corridor and became quite curious.” He pushes away from the wall and lazily strolls over to where I stand, leaving four feet between us. His casual grace doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen the boy with a sword. He might look bored, but from experience, I know he’s alert. And dangerous. “I think it’s time we have a chat, little wolf.”

“Really.”

He holds up a gloved hand and begins ticking off each question with his fingers. “Why are you running around the castillo dressed as me? Why did you come back to the king’s study? Why did you help me free the prisoners?”

With each question his voice rises, battering my carefully constructed walls. I think of the priest’s threat and my resolve hardens. This is the moment. The start of earning his trust. “I want to help you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yes, I do. You steal from the king’s coffers and his food supply, but you don’t keep any of it for yourself. You have access to the castillo. Maybe someone lets you inside. It’s clear you have allies everywhere. But it’s not enough. You need help.”

“Is that where you come in?” he asks. “You want to join in the fight against the king? You’re willing to risk your life to end his rule? To put others before you? To bring about change even though you may never live to see the fruit of your labors?”

Each of his questions is supposed to rattle my determination. But he speaks of my life without knowing it. I try to settle my rapidly beating heart. If I’m going to get information from the masked man, he needs to trust me. And that can only happen one way. I have to be honest with him first.

To a certain degree.

“We’re a lot more alike than you think, Lobo.”

The vigilante considers me, his head tilted to the side. Then he walks forward until he’s inches in front of me. He meets my gaze. Dark eyes. The color of coffee beans. His hands are steady as he reaches for the bottom of my mask. The movement is soft, like a butterfly’s wing. His thumb grazes underneath my left ear and sends a shiver down my spine. His fingers curl underneath the fabric. My breath catches, and I flinch when he grips the fabric tighter, but I don’t resist as he tugs the mask upward.

It glides over my lips, my cheeks, my eyes. It falls quietly between us and lands on my boots. I don’t bother retrieving it. I can’t tear my gaze away from El Lobo.

His shoulders tense as his hands drop. Only his eyes are visible behind his black mask. And they see everything.

My cheeks burn. “I take it you’re not going to do the same?”

“Well, no,” he says. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You took mine off!”

“I didn’t actually think you’d let me.”

This is going to be harder than I thought. Talking to a spitting llama would be easier. “I told you I want to help you move against Atoc.”

“Why?”

I glance away. It’s hard lying to him. This man saved all of the prisoners locked in the dungeon when he didn’t have to. “We want the same thing. You don’t want him sitting on the throne any more than I do.”

“And who do I want sitting there? You?”

I detect nothing from his reply. Not a single note that leans toward support or contempt. I grind my teeth in frustration. I never did find out if he’s a Llacsan or Illustrian—he’s saved both. Maybe he’s mixed, like Juan Carlos. There are many working in the castillo and living in La Ciudad.

“We don’t have to answer that question tonight,” I say. “What we both want is Atoc’s removal. Can we agree on that?”

He nods.

Finally. Progress.

“If you tell me your plans,” I say, “I might be able to help you.”

I’m waiting for him to bring up the princesa and her role in all of this. I want to know about the Estrella; I want to know why she’d steal it. There’s so much uncertainty, and I’m sick of fumbling in the dark.

He laughs softly. “Do you think I’d reveal my secrets to any pretty maid who asks?”

“And do you think it was easy for me to let you take off my mask?”

His laughter vanishes. “I don’t know. Was it?”