Page 89 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

Bishop reaches for the door handle. Both Julius and I move to stop him, but he lifts a hand, and Julius only growls under his breath. I say nothing … and slide out behind Bishop, who doesn’t notice me until I’m standing beside him.

“Cordelia…” he says under his breath.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” I say, curtsying. It’s two wolves, one with a rifle that looks like something out of a Wild West show. I remember that Doyle and his second are American—and the speaker’s accent was also American. I really hope this isn’t them.

I’d also hoped that seeing me might set them back. But the one with the gun only fixes me with a hard look. The second has the grace to seem discomfited, but he’s clearly not the one in charge.

Bishop takes over. “My name is Bishop Da—”

“I don’t care who the fuck you are,” the first one says. “I don’t care who the fuck she is. I don’t care who the fuck any of you are. How is that not clear? You’re trespassing on the territory of the Cambrian Pack.”

Bishop seems to bite his cheek against pointing out that they aren’t an official Pack, which means they have no territory. Instead, he says softly, “I wish to speak to your Alpha, Franklin Doyle. I have sent an envoy in the past, William Mills, and Mr. Doyle knows—”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Are you all deaf or just dumb? I don’t care who you are.”

“All right,” Bishop says. “But I care who you are. If you’d introduce yourselves—”

“Fuck off.”

Rufus growls. “You are addressing the Alpha of—”

A raised hand from Bishop cuts him off.

“You will not allow us to leave,” Bishop says. “And you don’t seem to want an explanation for our presence. So I presume you’re going to take us to see Mr. Doyle? Or someone in his inner circle?”

Silence, as if the fellow hadn’t thought this through.

“May I make a suggestion?” Bishop says. “One of you could return to the house and deliver a message. Then Mr. Doyle could decide whether he wants to allow us in or would rather meet us elsewhere.”

“Everyone out of the coach,” the man says, as if this is an answer to the suggestion. “I want to see you all.”

Julius is out in a blink. Ann follows with a regality that shows me the Alpha’s granddaughter she’d once been.

“We’ll take the women,” the wolf says. “If Doyle likes the gift, he might meet with you.”

“Gift?” Bishop steps forward.

I consider using this as a way to get inside the house, but I quickly decide against it. Even if Bishop would allow it—which he absolutely will not—I have no idea what Ann and I would face. Which means, as much as I hate to admit it, Bishop is right to categorically refuse.

Bishop continues, his voice a low growl. “You are speaking of my wife. My mate. Daughter of the—”

“Blah-blah-blah,” the wolf says, and his companion snickers. “Don’t worry, old chap. You can have her back when we’re done—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because he’s flying off his horse, hit by a very large object. Apparently, Rufus moves remarkably fast for a man of his size. He launched himself off the coach while the armed wolf was busy mocking Bishop. Before I can blink, Bishop is on the fallen wolf, pinning him to the ground, the gun pushed aside.

The second wolf is off his horse and leaping in, which I must consider a poor strategic choice. I’d have used the horse to sow confusion, but I suspect this is why the second fellow didn’t have a gun. He believes in the werewolf code of using nothing except your own body as a weapon. I respect it, but I still think it’s misguided.

I don’t interfere. It’s three wolves against two, and Bishop may be battered from our alley fight, but he has his quarry well pinned and the other wolf doesn’t get near Bishop before Rufus takes him down.

And then I hear the pound of hooves. We all do, and we look up to see two riders coming fast. Rufus curses. Ann grabs the discarded rifle, and I’m ready with a binding spell. But the two riders are unarmed, and they both pull up short, staying on their horses.

“What’s all this?” the lead one says. He’s tall and rangy, also with an American accent. His companion looks significantly shorter, maybe just below my height, but well muscled.

Julius takes over holding Bishop’s prey, and Bishop rises, tugging his jacket back in place. Before he can speak, the lead wolf says, “I know you, don’t I?”

“I do not believe so,” Bishop says, his voice chill but polite. “My name is Bishop—”

“Daniels!” the man says, grinning as if he’s guessing at charades. He swings off his horse. “Bishop Daniels, right?” He starts to extend a hand and then looks at the two pinned men.