Duprey grinned at her like the Cheshire cat, holding the coil of silver cord up between his gloved hands so she could see it.Honor gave him a small, syrupy-sweet smile and held her wrists out in front of her, side by side, like a child offering her hands to be washed.He grabbed them roughly and wound the cord around them, tight and tighter, cinching each loop until it bit. Then he stepped back and waited, watching her face with avid interest for the moment the silver started to burn.And waited.Nothing happened.His mouth slowly fell open beneath his mustache. The cord lay against her skin without so much as reddening it. No blistering, no smoke, no smell of scorched flesh. Not even a pink mark on her honey-gold wrists. He leaned in, frowning, and put his nose to the side of her neck and sniffed hard. Her scent was faint — fainter than any wolf's he'd ever smelled — but it was there. She was a were. She had to be a were. So why wasn't the silver touching her?Honor lifted her bound
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