Chapter 4
Chapter Four
RANULF
Our pack leader, Torric, has been a moody bastard since he took a mate. Calmer in some ways, worse in every other.
His audience chamber lies deep in the heart of the den, carved straight from the mountain. Veins of fool’s gold glint faintly in the stone, catching the flicker of torchlight and the dull red glow of the braziers.
Torric sits upon a throne carved into the rock, its high back draped in thick furs that have grown more luxurious since he acquired his little mate. The coal-fed braziers throughout the chamber are new and for her comfort.
The shadows play over his bare torso—broad-shouldered, muscles shifting beneath tanned skin, his dark hair shaggy, and his close-cropped beard streaked with silver. He doesn’t look so different from me, save that he is five years my senior.
“Brother,” I say in greeting, bowing deeply. At my flanks, Alden and Beric follow my lead.
When I glance up, Torric arches a thick, dark brow, managing to look regal and savage all at once. His mate, Elenor, sits curled upon his lap, tiny compared to him, wrapped in one of his furs. He strokes her hair absently.
She darts a glance at us; he growls, low, and she buries her face against his chest.
His two lieutenants—and Elenor’s other two mates—lounge in wolf form to either side of the throne. I have known them all my life, but both curl their lips and growl as if I’m to blame for their mate’s wandering gaze.
“So,” Torric says, voice carrying through the chamber. “You finally built up the courage to come before me and ask.”
A growl rumbles in my chest before I can think better of it.
He smirks. His younger self, before he mated, would have taken me by the throat for such insolence and reminded me of my place. But now, with his tiny mate on his lap, he is far more restrained.
Still, the bastard insulted me first, implying I needed courage to approach him. I did not. It was simply a matter of preparing our chamber for our mate, for whom, I admit, I need his permission to claim.
He trails his clawed finger down his mate’s bare shoulder. She shivers and presses closer. It is a becoming sight, and I struggle not to stare. There are some advantages to the human form, I’ll admit—hands make it far easier to touch and explore a mate.
“An orc patrol has been sighted near the northern border,” he says. “You will remove them.”
“All of them?” There are typically six orcs to a patrol, sometimes with human soldiers under their command.
Amusement curls his lips. “Yes. All of them.”
The imaginary fur along my neck rises in agitation. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“It is the price of privilege,” he says, stroking his mate’s hair again. “Only the worthiest may take a human as a cherished mate.” His gaze softens as he looks down at Elenor, then sharpens again when it returns to me. “Do this, and you will have my leave to claim your desire.”
The nearest brazier crackles, sending up a thin column of smoke.
“We are not like the other packs,” Torric says. “Our bloodline is the oldest, our pack the most feared. There’s a reason that orcs skirt past our borders, and other shifters don’t cross us. That reason is the power of our wolves.”
He leans forward slightly, eyes glowing with a faint luminescence. He is a powerful male and worthy of his place as our alpha. “As is our way, you will complete this challenge. Then, and only then, may you claim your mate before the Goddess, blooded from your kill and in your werebeast forms.”
My wolf’s ears prick, saliva pooling as he imagines tasting her, fucking her, filling her with our seed.
“How you claim her afterward is between you and your mate,” Torric continues. “But the first time, as written in the old laws, belongs to your beast. Will you do this? Will you honor our pack and your wolves?”
“I will,” I say.
Alden and Beric echo, “We will.”
“Good.” Torric’s smiles, pleased. “Then I give you permission, brother, for your triad to claim your wolf tithe.”
My chest heaves. Another of the brazier flares, and sparks spiral upward toward the ceiling.
I bow low, the weight of his command and approval stirring my hunger—for blood, for the hunt, and for the claiming that will follow.
EVANTHE
We do not venture out all day. Instead, at Mistress Nina’s insistence, we head to the sewing room and work. Beyond the window, light snow begins to fall, covering up the terrible things that came to pass… maybe even the marks upon my door.
“A lot of foolishness goes on the day after such a raid,” she tells me. “Better we keep our noses out of it and stay here. I’ll open again tomorrow when everyone has settled down. I’ve got plenty of food in the larder and bread that will last us today.”
I don’t go out the next day either, nor the one that follows. A few customers begin to call; an order is collected, and a new order is placed.
My sleep is fitful. The dreams are strange, the kind that fade too soon after waking yet leave a sense of unease.
I fear the sound of the bell.
I imagine I hear the mournful cry of a wolf.
One week after the raid, the weather turns milder, and the light snow melts.
“Time you ventured out, my dear,” Mistress Nina says. “We have both been cooped up too long. A little fresh air will do us both good. I have a few errands to run. Why don’t you join me?”
I know what she is doing. We have not spoken about what happened during the raid: how I have been marked for claiming, or how I am to be a wolf tithe. She is right—I am nervous about going out again. Gripped by a fear that they might be waiting to spirit me away.
Her shop is always closed on Wednesday afternoons.
I get the time off, too. Usually, I wander the streets and peer into the shops before I write a letter to my parents.
Only, I have been putting off writing it because I do not want to worry them by telling them about the raid.
Maybe they already know or will soon. Such news travels surprisingly fast. I need to tell them I am safe, lest they fret.
With my five younger brothers and sisters, they have worries enough without me adding to their load.
Going out is the right thing to do, for I cannot hide in here forever.
“I will,” I say.
She smiles brightly.
I go to collect my coat, hat, and gloves from my room.
Since the night of the raid, my mind has swung like a pendulum.
One moment, I convince myself it is all a lot of nonsense, and the next, I’m sure that three giant wolf shifters are about to break down the door and ravish me on the kitchen floor…
in my bed… bent over the little dresser…
There is a great deal of ravishment going on in my overactive imagination.
This creates a source of acute shame, for I have never met them in their human forms, and so my soul-deep yearnings are filled with images of their giant, beastly wolves.
My throat still pulses on occasion, from the memory of his touch. Worse, I think about his tongue in other, more intimate places. I fear the events of that night have broken me, for no good girl should ever think thus about a male they are not even properly acquainted with.
Shaking my head to dispel such thoughts, I quickly grab my things and head back down the stairs, meeting Mistress Nina in the kitchen, and we head out the door together.
But it is not long before the somber mood of the town grips me. A damaged shop front has been torn down at the corner of the street, and another is undergoing repairs.
“I’m just going to pop into the wool shop,” Mistress Nina announces.
She is firm friends with Mistress June, who owns the shop, and the two of them can chatter once they get started.
“Then I shall go to the bookshop,” I say.
Thus far, I have only purchased one, much-prized, novel.
On my last visit, I did not find any books to tempt me.
Although one did catch my eye just as I was leaving last time.
I caught sight of a richly embossed cover shelved between more drab companions.
“I dare say a new book might provide the distraction I sorely need.”
“A wonderful idea, Evanthe. I shall join you shortly.”
The door chime rings as I enter. Master Peter calls from the storeroom, his voice muffled. “My apologies. I have had a delivery of new stock and will be a few moments yet.”
I smile. He is always sorting something. Not that it troubles me, for I enjoy browsing the shelves.
The book I glimpsed last time is still there, waiting. I reach up and trace my finger over the gilt symbols along the spine. Careful not to damage the binding, I draw it down from the shelf and eagerly read the title.
Claimed by Wolves
My brows pull together. My heart does a strange little dance inside my chest. I want to put it back, but find that I cannot.
I huff a breath.
“Ah! Evanthe. Have you found anything you like?”
I turn to find Master Peter at the end of the aisle, and return his smile.
His expression changes and he blinks at me a time or two. Dropping his gaze, he murmurs, “I shall leave you to take your time, my dear. No hurry at all!”
He usually stays and talks, pointing out books he thinks I might like, even showing me his personal favorites. It is fair to say Master Peter can talk as well as Mistress June can.
But today, he is already gone, busily tidying a display on the front counter beside the till.
An unsettled feeling manifests, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Deep unease follows. The place the wolf marked me begins to tingle, and the tingle soon shifts to a burn.
I very much wish to shove the book back in its place, but it is as though it has been glued to my hand.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I shall buy the damn book.”
Master Peter keeps his back to me, like he is pretending I am not there.
I clear my throat.
He stills and slowly turns, but his eyes remain down. “Take it, Evanthe. Please.” He raises both hands.
“Oh, but I have coin,” I say, fumbling in my coat pocket for my purse.