Page 52 of Wolf Duke

“Here!” she yelled. “Alaric!”

Her mate burst in, his clothing splattered with blood and ash. First, he took the lock from Wesley, crushing it in his fist. Then, after he freed both her and Blanche, all four ran back outside. Moments later, the roof began to collapse with a low roar, as though the fire was furious it hadn’t devoured them also. The flames soared toward the sky, threatening to set the trees nearby alight, until a group of Western wolves passing buckets from the river doused it completely.

The fire had been defeated, but the war had just begun.

Unable to bear the restriction of her singed, smoke-ruined gown and cloak on her too-hot, too-sensitive skin any longer, Evaine turned to Alaric. “Can you cut off my clothing? They took my girdle dagger, but there is another in my bodice. I’ll fight in wolf form. I’m much stronger this way, I don't know how to use a sword or bow.”

Surprisingly, her mate didn’t argue. He merely removed the hidden dagger, carefully sliced open her bodice and the ties fastening her sleeves, then held up his cloak so she could change in privacy.

Evaine kicked the fabric away, sighing in pure relief as her skin cooled in the chilly late afternoon air. Then she closed her eyes and willed herself into wolf form, whimpering a little at the change. Why was it so painful again today?

With a quick shake to clear her head, Evaine extended her claws and scratched at the fragrant earth, stretching her wolf limbs. A low groan to her right made her smile, and Evaine padded over to where Larkin lay prone on the ground, attempting to crawl further from the scene of his murderous intent.

“Chamberlain,” she purred, her fangs tingling. “Leaving so soon? How unfortunate, when I have a craving for roasted rabbit.”

Larkin turned onto his back—a position of submission—his arms bloodied and eyes wide. “You don’t understand. Lady Theda was mine. The king stole her from me! I had to avenge her death. Show mercy.”

Mercy?

This traitor truly thought his queen would offer leniency after all his vile acts? When he’d helped Guy Saville, tried to kill her and Blanche, and put Alaric and Wesley and all the other brave Western wolves here at risk with this impending battle?

“No mercy for traitors,” Evaine snarled, sinking her claws into his throat and ripping it out. When she looked up, the group of wolves that had extinguished the fire all bowed.

“Evaine is queen, long may she reign!” called one, and the rest cheered.

She inclined her head, then loped back to where her mate and the others waited.

Alaric was wiping blood from his sword with the edge of his cloak. “The matter is done?”

“Yes,” she replied, bunting his thigh with her head. “After that taste, I’ll show even less mercy to those wearing de Wynter colors against me.”

Without warning, a female guard bounded around the corner in wolf form, dropping her front legs in deference. “They’re charging! The mercenaries are charging with the Eastern warriors behind!”

Alaric leaped back onto his horse. “Give Mistress Blanche a sword. Wesley, onto the rise and wound as many as you can with arrows. My queen…”

“I shall be by your side, my king,” she snapped, before he could be foolish and ask her to leave the battleground for her own safety. “Nowhere else.”

Somehow, that made her mate grin, like she’d whispered an endearment rather than irritably scolded him. “Very well. Let us meet this foe and vanquish them utterly!”

The group scattered. Wesley rode back to the rise, collecting even more arrows from the wagons that had arrived, then set his place. Fortunately, Alaric’s commanders had already organized the warriors into lines based on the weapons they held: spears at the front, swords in the middle, and archers at the rear. All those in wolf form, including Evaine, received a smear of enchanted golden clay across their fur for recognition. Apparently no one was exactly sure where the clay came from, but the pot never emptied, and it couldn’t be removed until the anointed King of the Western Lands declared victory or defeat.

Alaric raised his sword and turned to his subjects. “The traitors have been executed. But our enemies still come! They dare encroach on peaceful Western Lands and think to conquer my realm. But they will die in vain. For the West! And the de Wynters!”

Then her mate threw back his head and howled, a truly blood-chilling sound. Evaine added her own howl, the two twining together so perfectly that the air crackled and blue sparks streaked across the gray sky.

“For the West and the de Wynters!” called Evaine, rising up on her hind legs and slashing her claws. “Onward!”

“Archers!” bellowed Alaric. “Fire!”

A flurry of arrows soared over their heads like a swarm of deadly brown insects, seeking out their prey with great precision and embedding in the chests and faces of the charging mercenaries. Yet even as riders fell and horses bolted from the field, still more came. Alaric called for arrows twice more, but as the mercenaries had no archers, it was clear this battle would be won by blade. Wolf against wolf.

“Spears!” barked Alaric. “Swords and claws at the ready!”

Evaine sucked in several deep breaths. Really, she should be terrified at the scent and sounds of death and violence in the air, but she was just too furious. And overwarm. Never in her life had the craving to tear another wolf limb from limb been so strong.

But before she could charge into the fray, a faint green glow from behind the Eastern line caught her eye, and Evaine froze. She would recognize that hue anywhere.

The Book of Lore.