Page 45 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

The courtyard is so eerily quiet that I might indeed think we’d been misled about the Pack’s size. But clotheslines strung between the cottages have plenty of clothing on them.

The coach stops at the castle doors, and we are led in. When Kenric and Rufus go to take our bags, Edwin waves again. “The men will do that.”

As we enter the castle, I brace, remembering when I’d first arrived at Trevelyan, the welcome I’d received, more than a dozen wolves crowding the door to see me. But the cavernous hall is empty until two boys come running from a side room. They’re about twelve and fourteen, and their scent tells me they’re werewolves, though the faintness of it must suggest they haven’t had their first transformation.

“We didn’t hear the coach,” the older one says, bowing. His brogue is stronger than Edwin’s, the “didn’t” more clearly “dinnae.”

Edwin’s dour expression lightens as he squeezes the boy’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Is my father about?”

“No, sir. He was needed at the carding factory.”

The older one elbows the younger, who is openly gaping at me.

“This is Bishop Danvers,” Edwin says. “New Alpha of the Albion Pack. And his mate, Cordelia Danvers.”

Bishop’s hand moves to my back at the name “Danvers,” but he did say Edwin could use either, and since it is a very old werewolf name, Edwin could simply be paying Bishop respect, ensuring no one mistakes him for an upstart from the hinterlands.

The older boy laughs and says, “You jest, sir. He’s barely older than Dennis. He can’t be an Alpha.”

Angus appears from behind us, striding to slap the boy on the back. “Clever lad, but yes, he is young and also an Alpha. In some Packs, power is passed on before the Alpha is old and feeble.”

Ouch.

A voice I haven’t heard wafts from behind us. “And in some Packs, if that does not happen, power is taken.”

I lean to see Dennis wearing that bored expression, as if the walls spoke instead.

Edwin clears his throat. “Mr. Danvers is the Albion Alpha. That is all that needs be said.”

“But who is she?” the younger one says, still gaping at me.

“His mate.” Edwin’s voice stays gentle, though he does add, “As I said.”

“What’s a mate? And why is she here? She can’t come in. She’s a girl.”

“A lady,” Edwin corrects. “A mate is a wife. It isn’t a custom we practice, but we respect the choice of the Albions.”

“Why does she smell like a wolf?”

“I’m a lycan,” I say. “My father was the former Albion Alpha. Some daughters of werewolves inherit secondary traits. I cannot change forms, but I have a few extras, along with my scent.”

The boys have not yet been introduced, and I’m trying to determine their relationship to the main family. There isn’t a strong resemblance, but they are of an age to be Edwin’s sons, maybe even Angus’s. While both men seem fond of them, that’s also the werewolf way. The Albion Pack had no boys under the age of transformation—a result of having all their young wolves leave—but from the stories I’ve heard, boys raised in the Pack were treated like children in a large and close-knit family, growing up with endless “uncles” and “cousins.”

“The bags are coming,” Edwin says. “You can help the men with them while we show the Albions to their rooms.”

“Oh!” Julius says. “Forgive my rudeness. Introductions are usually my job. I’m Julius … Danvers, Bishop’s cousin.”

“And advisor,” Bishop adds.

Julius grins. “Still getting used to that title. This big fellow here is Rufus Cain, Bishop’s enforcer, and behind him is Kenric MacDonald, who came along because he has kin in your Pack.” Julius looks at Kenric. “Bruce, yes? Bruce MacDonald.”

Kenric nods, but the boys’ looks are blank.

“He works in the fields,” Edwin murmurs.

A nod, as if this explains everything, and Edwin seems ready to carry on, completely missing the fact that Julius’s introductions were a nudge.

Julius tries again. “And these young fellows might be…?”