Excerpt The Wolf Queen’s Curse
KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT CORDELIA AND BISHOP’S NEXT ADVENTURE
T HE W OL F Q UEEN’S C URSE
Soon we’re riding on a road across open land, windswept and empty, with a delicious desolation that reminds me of the moors.
We aren’t that far north, but still, I expect to inhale the scent of lavender and see roving sheep.
Instead, there’s a noticeable lack of farm animals, even on land that would be perfect for them.
In the distance, a forest rises from the nothingness and stretches in either direction. We seem to be heading toward that forest, but I don’t ask Bishop. At the end of this journey is the money he and Julius have stashed away, money the Pack desperately needs right now. That’s the important part.
As for what else lies ahead, the farther we go, the tighter Bishop holds himself and the more Julius glances from side to side, as if something could spring from this empty land. Even the horses sense their disquiet, wickering and shifting.
Eventually we turn off the main road and onto a small one that’s nearly overgrown. When it veers into the forest, both men go quiet.
The path isn’t big enough for three of us to ride abreast. Bishop takes the lead and Julius brings up the rear.
I peer around what looks like an ordinary forest and I find myself relaxing in spite of their tension.
Now I understand why I’ve always been drawn to wild places with my werewolf blood.
While the Pack is fond of forests—and has woods surrounding Trevelyan—neither Bishop nor Julius is relaxing in this one, and both of their gazes now dart left and right.
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, the last rays of afternoon sunshine catch a woman working a kitchen garden. Seeing us, she straightens as 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.
She’s lovely, even in a dirt-streaked working dress.
Her dark hair is graying, and her face shows the ravages of a hard life, but her green eyes glitter.
She has a strong and supple 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 girl,” Nancy says with a soft Scottish brogue. “Despite that truly 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. “Unless you’ve lost all sense of taste in the last year, 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 aren’t human, I take it.”
“She isn’t,” Bishop says. “Which means I can properly introduce you. Nancy, gelu half-demon.”
“Power of ice,” I say.
She grins. “The most underrated of the powers, I say. Everyone thinks fire is the best element, but it’s easy to start a blaze and cook your dinner. Now, try cooling your ale in summer.”
I laugh softly. “That would be a trick.”
Bishop opens his mouth. Then he stops and the good humor vanishes from his face.
“He knows we’re here,” Bishop murmurs.
“I’m sure he does. And, no, you’re not grabbing the money and leaving.” Her hand grips Bishop’s wrist. “You need to see him.”
“I know.” Bishop pulls his gaze from the forest and puts a hand on my back. “Let’s get you inside. Nancy? If you have anything to eat, we could all use it. It’s been a very long day.”
“I always have plenty to eat. Come in, and I’ll fix a snack while I heat up some stew.”
Inside, the cottage is tiny but as clean as any manor with a staff of twenty. Nancy bustles about, gathering breads, pickles, cheeses, and cold meat from storage under the floorboards, where she jokes about how easy it is to keep a cold cellar when you can freeze water at a touch.
When steps sound on the porch, Bishop and Julius both go still, as if frozen themselves. Nancy murmurs under her breath, sounding for all the world like a mother calming frightened children.
“Fee fi fo fum,” a voice booms from outside. “I smell the blood of my favorite son.”
I glance quickly at Bishop and Julius. I know both their fathers are dead, and I see no reason why they’d lie about that. At my look, Julius shakes his head, saying no, this isn’t their father. Bishop doesn’t notice my confusion. His gaze is fixed on that door.
The door flies open. The man standing there wears only breeches, his chest and feet bare, that chest streaked with blood, more at his lips.
He looks to be in his fifties, which means, with werewolf aging, he’s probably in his seventies.
He’s in enviable shape even for a man of fifty—tall and muscled, with Bishop’s dark eyes and Julius’s chestnut hair.
“There he is,” the man booms, loud enough to hurt my ears. His gaze is fixed on Bishop, as if no one else is in the tiny cottage.
Nancy’s fingers land on Bishop’s shoulder, seeming to urge him to his feet, and again, I’m reminded of a mother with reluctant children, coaxing them to greet a terrifying older relative.
Bishop stiffly rises and steps forward, his face expressionless. The man grabs him into a fierce hug, and I want to ready a spell, not because Bishop is in danger but because he so obviously does not want that embrace.
As Bishop disentangles himself, the man’s nostrils flare, catching a scent, and his gaze flies to me. He stares and then throws back his head and laughs before thumping Bishop on the back.
“Yours, yes? Tell me that is yours.”
“ She is my wife.” Bishop’s voice is cold. “Her name is Cordelia.”
“Stockwell, yes?” The man rubs his hands together. “She has Silas’s hair and eyes, and she’s a lycan—a lycan .”
For Nancy’s benefit, Julius murmurs, “Cordelia’s father is a werewolf, and she inherited secondary characteristics.”
“She’s his, yes?” the man repeats. “Silas’s spawn?”
“His daughter ,” Bishop says.
The man chortles. “I heard he sired one.” His eyes widen. “Is her mother the witch? That was the rumor. A dark witch.”
“Cordelia Levine,” Bishop says, each word brittle. “Her family are powerful witches.”
“A lycan and a witch, and Silas’s brat.”
“ Daughter .”
The man waves off the correction. “You know I mean no disrespect. Look at her.” His gaze travels over me. “Magnificent. And she’s yours. Yours . Tell me you stole her from that bastard.”
“Silas betrothed us when he made me his heir.”
“Heir?” The man shouts at the ceiling. “Finally!” He grins at Bishop. “Now all you need to do is kill him and spike his head on the gate.”
“Montague!” Nancy says. “This is Silas’s daughter .”
“And my boy’s mate, which means Bishop is her priority now. Kill that Alpha bastard. Kill his useless brother and all his inner circle and spike their heads on the gate. Tell the world who you are and that the Danvers are back at Trevelyan.”
I look at Julius. “Your grandfather, I presume?”