Page 57 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

He only takes deep breaths, his eyes fever bright now.

“Let me see how bad it gets,” I say. “You’re afraid of being—or becoming—like your grandfather. Go ahead. Show me. What Hamish asked for is demeaning and—”

Bishop spins, slamming his fist into the nearest tree, a sapling that snaps under the force. Then he hits a sturdier one, and I wince, imagining the pain shooting down his arm, but I don’t say a word.

“He insulted me,” he says. “He insulted you, and I had to sit there and take it.”

Another slam, splinters and blood flying, and then he wheels to me. “I hate that I had to take it on your behalf. That isn’t right.”

“It was for the Pack.”

“And it still didn’t matter!” Spittle flies, and his face pulses. He pulls back to rub his hands over it, and I notice his hands are pulsing, too, dark hairs poking through, as if he’s starting to transform.

He pulls his hands down and shakes them, droplets of blood flying from skinned knuckles.

“It didn’t matter,” he says. “That’s the worst of it, Delia. I thought I was being steadfast, when I was being a fucking doormat for him to wipe his fucking feet on. He—”

Deep breaths, as his face keeps pulsing, the bone structure seeming to shift. I should be fascinated. Maybe horrified. But all I can feel is his pain. His outrage and fury and pain.

“I am not his lackey,” he says. “Not his supplicant. Not his bootlicking toady. I am Alpha of the Albion Pack.”

“Yes.”

He steps toward me. “He disrespected us. You and me and the Albion Pack.”

“But mostly you.”

He pulls back, rubbing his face again and leaving bloody smears. “That’s not…” He trails off.

“Not what you want to focus on,” I say softly. “You want to deflect and say it doesn’t matter how he treated you. But it does, and you’re allowed to be furious on your own behalf, Bishop.”

“That’s…” He shakes his head.

I move forward and take his bloodied hands, whispering a quick healing spell to soothe them before I say, “Do you think it’s selfish? It’s not. You are angry—furious—because he disrespected you, and that’s all right.”

“I won’t kill for him. I’m not—” He swallows hard. “I’m not my grandfather, Delia.”

“You’re really not.”

“I will kill for my Pack. But I won’t do it on another man’s orders. I don’t care if Hamish is Alpha of the most powerful Pack in the country. I am not…” Deep breaths, the rage rising again. “I am not his tool to be wielded.”

“You are not.”

“Three sons. Two enforcers. A massive Pack. And yet he orders me to do this?”

“It’s disrespectful.”

“He’s seeing how far he can push me. He’d say he’s testing my strength, but he’s really testing my weakness, my desperation. And the way he did it? Pretending to give me what I wanted and then slapping a price on it?”

The rage pulses through him, his skin pulsing. I’m still holding his forearms, and I can feel the muscles moving under my fingers, but I don’t let go.

“He was mocking me, Delia, and I wanted to … I wanted to…” He clenches his fists, and his whole body pulses with barely contained transformation.

“But you didn’t,” I whisper.

“Maybe I should have.”

“No, but you know that. You did the right thing, the hard thing, and I’m sorry you had to.” I move my fingers down to hold his hands, the skin there rough, hairs poking through, his fingernails thickening. “Before we went into that room, you asked me what I needed. Now I’m asking you. What do you need, Bishop?”