Chapter 6 Ditch
Ditch
Mount Nothrior
The wolf king is…strange.
He stood rigid before Ditch and Meera, heart hammering like he’d sprinted the whole climb.
His gaze flicked from her horns to her barely noticeable fangs to her swaying tail (her appendage had a mind of its own). He catalogued everything—leather pressing against her breasts, the way this catsuit hugged her crotch.
The male was handsome enough with his seven-foot-tall frame packed with muscles and his thick head of chestnut hair. He had even, masculine features and a strong jaw that hinted at legendary stubbornness. Against his tanned skin, his eyes were the color of Akelarre’s gray mists.
They called to mind the haunted hills and lakes of her perilous home world.
Still he said nothing. What she wouldn’t give right now for her witchly power to read others’ deepest desires. In this place, Ditch couldn’t divine his, could only read the edges of it. Hunger. “Are we just going to stare at each other, wolf king?”
He shook his head, jaw flexing as if he gnashed his fangs. He’d shoved up the sleeves of his dark blue tunic, and his clenched fists made his forearms bulge attractively.
Muscles. Pumping veins. Virility. Purrrrrr.
His gaze kept roaming over Ditch’s figure. Lust lived there. It usually did. Most males wanted her, even knowing she would eat their entrails dipped in milk. The importance of a balanced breakfast can’t be overstated. She grinned at her own joke; his eyes darkened as he clocked her curved lips.
The wolf beside him finally spoke, “I am Lowell Nightclaw, my lady.” Too jovial by half.
Meera’s interest sparked anyway; Lowell’s did in kind. No accounting for taste.
“May I present King Thane?”
“You may. And you just have.”
Meera marshaled her nerves. “I’m Meera Newteye. We’ve met before. May I present the High Priestess Di—”
“Just Ditch,” she cut in.
Lowell’s smile tilted. “A play on demon-witch?”
“No. My dam birthed me in a ditch. Seeing how happy I was among the low creatures there, she left me to flourish amid the forked tongues and scales.” In truth, dear Dam had abandoned her to die in bog water. And years later, she would do even worse.
Lowell’s lips parted. The king seemed to stifle a flinch.
Magic wouldn’t help her here, but years of reading desires would. The king craved her even as she repulsed him. The more disgust he felt, the more he wanted her, like threads braided to make a rope. She could hang him with it.
He was an obstacle when she had a world to conquer. Maiming, killing, and maddening—tools of craft.
Akelarre had given her a mission. Was Ditch driven to complete it to prove that she was a witch of worth and not a bog-crawling demon? Maybe. She was vain, and having her name feted at Beltane tempted her.
But Ditch had deeper desires herself.
Two words whispered: Hell spreads.
Thane finally spoke with a rumbling voice: “Did you kill Lazara?”
“My predecessor didn’t agree with me, so I ate her.” Ditch feigned a frown. “Or maybe I ate her, and then she didn’t agree with me. Order’s fuzzy.” She shrugged, her tail all but levitating from her mirth. “As gristly in death as she was in life.”
Meera swayed beside her.
Don’t faint now, mousy Meera. You suspected me of murder; surely you factored in lunch.
The king’s expression mixed disgust and fascination. “How old are you?”
Not very.
“And what kind of demon was your dam?”
Fiery. “My age and half my species are irrelevant. You’ll learn both, in time.”
“Your coven called for us to meet. Make your ask.”
“I’ve no ask. Only warning.” Ditch stepped closer, voice gone low.
“In the past, the House of Witches tried to match you in strength, ignoring our power. We have other abilities besides fighting. Enchantresses. Seers. Conjurers. This Accession, we use them all. This is my final offer to surrender now.”
Wolves could be heeled—by violence or by mystical leash.
All the coven could contribute. So why had Lazara depended so heavily on the Red Riders?
Ditch had raised the subject to the leaders at Akelarre, and they’d seen the wisdom of putting Ditch in charge.
Lazara, poor thing, hadn’t seen, said the coven wasn’t ready.
“Final offer?” Thane’s body tensed, the lines of his mouth thinning. A predator about to pounce. “Why should I no’ throw you over my shoulder and see how you like my dungeon?”
“I’ve no magic here. Am utterly helpless.” Her tail did its ah-ah-ah dance, as it sometimes did when she lied. “But be cautious, wolf. One of my gifts is divining deepest wishes. Off this mount, I’ll know all your secrets.”
His face stayed stony; his heartbeat did not.
She laughed under her breath. “I see.” Now she had to meet him off this mountain. What was his secret?
The king’s stubborn jaw flexed even more. “I’ll be fucked before I surrender.”
“One fuck and you’ll surrender?” She held out her hand. “Efficient. I’ve a war to win, and I can endure anything for six seconds. Or will I not get off so easily?”
Hatred flashed in his gaze. Not a fan of word play? Though his body canted forward as if he would accept her hand, he remained where he stood.
“Very well,” she said lightly. “Anything else to air? I had hoped you’d wax on about flea dips and digging for bones in all your secret backyard places.” She enunciated each syllable. “Licking your testicles by the hearth on rainy afternoons…”
Meera gasped. Lowell’s lips parted.
“We’re done here,” Thane grated. “War it is.”
“As it always was.” Ditch lifted one shoulder. “Would you like to leave first? Or will we all stroll down together like we’re the best of friends?”
Lowell cleared his throat. “Given the direction of things, better we’re not together beyond the Mount’s protections. The sane fear a Lykae’s beast for a reason.”
Meera piped up in her quivering voice: “Good idea. Gentlemen first.”
The king stalked away with his second. Ditch let him feel the weight of her malevolent gaze until he vanished into fog. You already know I’m going to ruin you. And you’re right.