Page 11 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

No one points out that Trevelyan is a burnt husk. It’s the symbolism. Trevelyan is the ancestral home of the Albion Pack.

“Why not just go back and take it?” Harry interjects. “Are you afraid to?”

“Yes.”

Silence falls, so deafening I inwardly squirm.

Then Bishop continues, “I am afraid of the Levine Cabal because I am not a stupid man.”

“A cabal? Led by witches?” Harry scoffs. “Silas didn’t fear them, obviously.”

“And look where that got us. While Cordelia and I were out earlier getting food, I scented a werewolf and determined he likely worked for Beryl. I trapped and overpowered him. From him, I received information on the cabal.”

Harry sneers. “And you trust it?”

Julius shifts, clearly wanting to tell Harry to shut his mouth, but Bishop only continues in that same calm voice.

“I believe he was telling the truth because he was attempting to negotiate with me and prove his usefulness. I will still confirm everything he said.”

“Which was?” someone asks.

“What we saw last night was the contingent Beryl Levine brought to England—exactly enough of her forces to overpower us. A first wave that they were willing to sacrifice to tire us out, and then more to finish us off when we fled the burning house. Beryl brought seventy-five supernaturals to Trevelyan. That represents one-fifth of her forces.”

That silence again, but uncomfortable now, wolves shifting as this sinks in. Last night they’d wiped out that first wave, and I think they expected they could return after some rest, kill the remainder, and thereby destroy the Levine Cabal.

Bishop continues, “When I say I fear them, it’s the healthy fear any predator has for a much larger one. We can’t annihilate the Levine Cabal. So what we need to do is show them that we’re more trouble than we’re worth.”

“Which starts by returning her,” Harry says, pointing at me. “That’s what this witch wants.”

Bishop’s eyes flash, and I know he’s about to lose the calm he needs right now.

“If that worked, I’d go,” I cut in, and both Oliver and Julius send me grateful looks, even as Bishop’s jaw clenches.

“But as we just said, it didn’t work before,” I say, “and there’s no reason it would work now, when she routed us from Trevelyan with relatively minimal damage to her forces. She let us go and didn’t track us, and there’s a reason for that.”

Harry snorts. “A kindness to her granddaughter?”

“My grandmother will never show me kindness,” I say as I meet his eyes. “I’m a pawn to her, as I was to my father. She has stopped her assault because it endangers her sole viable heir. I proved last night that I will fight alongside Bishop, and that means I might die alongside him, being a silly girl who’s had her head turned by romantic notions.”

“She’s giving you time to reconsider,” Oliver murmurs.

“To decide that no man is worth sleeping on the hard ground and wearing”—I pluck at my men’s shirt—“ill-fitting peasant clothes and eating plain bread and plainer cooked meat. Give me time, and I’ll run to her and then she can track down the Pack and complete her revenge.”

“Cordelia is our shield,” Julius says.

“It won’t last,” I say. “But it will give Bishop time to plan his next move.”

“Which is?” someone asks.

Bishop steps forward. “Renewing our alliances with the Caledonian Pack, for starters.”

There’s some grumbling there.

“We need help,” Bishop says. “Unless you’d rather I sought other supernaturals?”

That answer is clear. While the Albions won’t be thrilled going to another Pack for help, they’d never lower themselves to begging for aid from non-werewolves.

“Ultimately,” Bishop warns, “I may need to seek out supernaturals, for information, but we must fortify our position first or others will try to take advantage of us.”