Page 88 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

We still linger the next morning, in case Franklin Doyle has heard we’re coming and sends a wolf to stop us before we reach them. Ann and I use that time to replenish her wardrobe. She balks at that, but we want her to meet the Cambrian Pack looking like an Alpha’s granddaughter. Like the cousin and companion of the new Alpha’s mate. If she shows up in her drab dress, her status will seem clear … and it might tell the Cambrian wolves they can freely harass her, as a woman of no standing.

We aren’t sure what sort of men the Cambrian wolves are. From the intelligence Bishop gathered and the extra Ann can add, they’re mostly young—few over thirty-five. They sound like Bishop’s boys, the wolves he brought to the Albion Pack. Young wolves looking for something better. The impression Bishop and Ann have is that they’re a wilder bunch than Bishop’s boys, with Doyle being a wilder sort himself.

That could reflect poorly on Franklin Doyle as an Alpha, but Bishop really is an anomaly. Doyle would be closer to what one might expect of a young Alpha. He’s in his early thirties, and he seems to have cobbled together a Pack mostly by happenstance. He came from the American Pack with his current second-in-command, a wolf named Jesse, and more young wolves joined them until Doyle realized he was forming a Pack, whether he intended it or not. Bishop, on the other hand, had “intended” to be an Alpha from the time he was a teenager.

When Ann says the Cambrian Pack is wilder, she means less settled. And maybe a little more given to carousing, in all its forms, from their women to their drinking to their general state of mind. Like a group of young human men, living together and enjoying themselves before settling down.

The settling-down part has begun, though, and if Hamish is correct, it started with luring away his wolves. My opinion—which the others share—is that this reflects more poorly on Hamish than Doyle. Technically, a werewolf Pack isn’t supposed to poach members from others, but Rufus says movement happens all the time. In an oversized Pack like the Caledonians, young wolves could be wooed away easily.

If we aren’t sure what to expect, that’s mostly just that we don’t know how Doyle will react to our envoy. He’s been friendly to William, though William was supposedly sent by Silas. Might it be different when the envoy is the Alpha—even younger and newer than himself? And when that Alpha brings along two other wolves? That could be perceived as a warning to a new and unstable Pack.

This is where having both myself and Ann should work to our advantage. It’s hard to interpret guests as a war party when two are women, especially in werewolf culture, where women don’t typically play roles of any significance.

Rufus does agree to let Ann and me visit the dressmaker alone, though that means they drop us off at the door and tell us not to leave without them. While we’re getting nice secondhand dresses altered for Ann, the men prowl the city center, checking for any sign of werewolves. Two hours later, we’re done, and there’s no trace of anyone.

Time for the next step: Approach the wolves in their den.

Bishop hadn’t been able to send William to the Cambrian Pack in months. Too much had been happening with their own Pack. But the last he heard, the Cambrians had set up base in an old farmhouse ten miles from Cardiff.

We rent a coach and horses. Renting horses is tricky for werewolves, but being in a city, we find ones so accustomed to endless stimuli that they don’t balk at werewolf passengers.

After lunch, we set out for the journey. Rufus drives the coach. When we’re within a mile of our destination, he lets us know, and we look out to see green hills and grazing cattle.

“Can you see any buildings?” Bishop asks.

“I think I spy the farmhouse,” I say. “There’s nothing else around.”

“All right then. They’ll see us coming if they have a watch.”

After about ten minutes, the pounding of hooves suggests the Cambrians have a watch … and we’ve been spotted. Rufus stops our coach and waits.

“You there!” a voice calls in an American accent. “Turn around. You have no business here.”

“I do have business,” Rufus says. “I—”

“Drop the reins and put your hands up.”

“That’s no way to treat visitors, boy.”

“I said drop—”

“Is that a gun? What kind of wolf are you, using a gun?”

Silence. Then cursing, as they must catch a whiff of Rufus.

Then the other wolf snaps, “Get your hands up and get off that fucking coach, and tell whoever’s in there to get the fuck out now.”

“Watch your language, boy. We have ladies with us.”

“If you think that’ll get you in, bringing whores—”

“I bring ladies. The granddaughters of Arthur Stockwell.”

“Who the fuck is—? Never mind. Everyone, get out of the coach now.”

“Do you want us to leave?” Rufus says. “We can do that, though I don’t think your Alpha will be pleased when he hears who you turned away. At gunpoint no less.”

“I don’t care who the fuck it is. Get down from there, and if you turn that coach around, I’ll put a bullet through your thick skull.”