CHAPTER THIRTY
An insane idea occurs to me, and there’s no time to figure out if it will work or not.
I unclasp my left hand from his wrist.
Now that it’s his two arms against one of mine, the knife descends faster.
I regrasp, putting my left hand around his right.
His teeth audibly grind together. “No way you’ll snatch my dagger.”
If I had any breath left for trash talk, I’d tell him that I don’t need to. Instead, I reach for his index finger with mine and tap out the Morse-code-like pattern I saw in the werewolf’s dream.
At least, I hope it’s the pattern. Stress could’ve messed with my memory, or for that matter, they could’ve already disabled the “don’t get taken alive” device.
Behind his cracked mask, the elf’s eyes widen—then go blank.
When he slumps, I roll him off me and ex
