Page 13 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“I was surrounded by very hungry wolves.”

“Of which you are one,” he says. “You’ve inherited that part of our physiology, and no one expects you to take less because you are a woman.”

Bishop growls, “And if they say anything, I shall set them straight.”

This is something I do need to overcome. I’ve spent my life being teased for my appetite, and when it comes with a body that is fuller than the norm, that teasing takes on the edge of cruelty. Even at Trevelyan, when I lost favor with my father, one of the maids maliciously joked about how I could stand to miss a few meals. The wolves themselves hadn’t batted an eye at my appetite, but it might be different now that we aren’t sharing unlimited platters of food.

Still, the discomfort is my problem, and I will overcome it. Also, I must remember that, in a werewolf Pack, staking out a proper share of food is a show of power. If I want to assert my position, I need to eat as much as I like.

We’re now on open land, windswept and empty, with a delicious desolation that reminds me of the moors. We aren’t that far north, but I expect to inhale the scent of heather and see roving sheep. Instead, there’s a noticeable lack of farm animals, even on land that seems perfect for them.

In the distance, a forest rises from the nothingness and seems to stretch forever in each direction. We turn off the main road and take a small one that’s nearly overgrown. When it veers into the forest, both men go quiet, even Julius growing tense.

The path isn’t big enough for three to ride abreast. Bishop takes the lead and Julius brings up the rear, and I peer around, but it looks like an ordinary forest, and I feel myself relaxing. I’ve always been drawn to wild places, and I understand why now, with my werewolf blood. The Pack is fond of forests, and Trevelyan is surrounded by woods. But neither Bishop nor Julius is relaxing in this one. Then Bishop slows the gelding, and his nostrils flare.

“He’s out there, isn’t he,” Julius mutters.

“I believe so.”

“Worse than a damned watchdog.”

I clear my throat, but Bishop only murmurs, “You are safe.”

His gaze tracks something I can’t see. Then he shakes his head and continues on, glancing left every now and then. I try to pick up a scent, but I can’t.

We’re being tracked by something in the forest.

A werewolf, I’m sure of that.

The road turns ahead, and when I spot a house, I have to blink. It’s like something from a fairy tale. The woodcutter’s hut, deep in the forest.

Outside, a woman works a kitchen garden that’s catching the last rays of afternoon sunshine. Seeing us, she straightens, and her face breaks into a broad grin.

“Boys,” she says.

Julius swings off his horse and catches her up in a hug, making her squeal like a girl, though she must be in her forties. Even in a dirt-streaked working dress, she’s lovely. Her dark hair is graying, and her face shows the ravages of a hard life, but her green eyes glitter and she has a strong body, despite an obvious limp when Julius sets her down.

“Oh!” she says, as if seeing me for the first time. “Oh my. Who is this?”

Bishop is off his horse and helping me down. “This is my wife, Cordelia. Cordelia, this is Nancy.”

“Such a beautiful lass,” Nancy says with a soft Scottish brogue. “Despite that hideous dress. Please tell me you’ve come for money to outfit her properly.”

“We had a mishap,” Bishop says. “Her trousseau was lost. But yes, that is part of why I’ve come.”

Nancy eyes Bishop. “Your bride isn’t the only one without a proper wardrobe.” She pokes his chest. “I never thought I’d see the day. Bishop Danvers in ill-fitting homespun.”

He doesn’t correct her on his surname, only gives the faintest smile and takes her hand, kissing it, which makes her blush and roll her eyes.

“Such a gentleman this one,” she says to me. “Both of them. No idea where they got it from.” That sharp-eyed gaze turns my way, her head tilting. “You know what your husband is, I take it.”

“She does,” Bishop says. “Which means I can properly introduce you. Nancy, half-demon with the power of ice.”

Nancy’s grin is infectious. “The most underrated of the demonic powers, I say. Everyone thinks fire is the best elemental, but it’s easy to start a blaze and cook your dinner. Try cooling your ale in summer.”

I laugh softly. “That would be useful.”

Bishop opens his mouth. Then he stops, and the good humor vanishes from his face.