Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROSAMUND
My heart is thudding so hard, my throat closes as Stepfather leaves the storeroom and his goons enter to lead us away, presumably to my cold-blooded execution.
“Will you kill me?” I ask Valen as we are prodded and marched through the dank basement, heading for the stairwell.
He lets out a dark chuckle. “Are you seriously asking me this?”
“Run away, then,” I say as we pass outside the kitchens, the smell of burning lard and wood smoke making my eyes water.
“Without you? No.”
“Why not?”
“Bless the Sleeping Gods, woman. That’s not who I am, haven’t you realized yet? I’m not abandoning you to the mercy of these people.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I hiss. “Go. They will kill me either way. No need to make you complicit, and what he said about making you his slave? Leave. Run away, now.”
“That’s touching,” he growls. “You care for me?”
“I never said that.”
He grins. It’s unexpected and so different from the wolfish grins he has worn so far. Softer. Younger. “You’re smitten with me.”
“Not in your wildest dreams.”
We start up the stairs, Stepfather’s goons shoving us once in a while for good measure. I stumble on the slippery steps, and Valen steadies me.
“You want my body, but above all you’re curious about my mind, my ways, my sparkling personality,” he whispers from behind me, the grin lingering in his voice, his warm hand lingering on my waist.
“You’re delusional,” I breathe.
“You think my beastly side is fascinating. Admit it.”
“Please, shut up?”
We clear the stairs, and the men reassemble around us.
“You need someone like me to pull you out of your shell,” Valen says as we resume walking. “Force you to face your fears and get over them. I volunteer. Pick me!”
I shouldn’t be laughing under such terrible circumstances. “You’re truly deranged.”
“Guilty as charged.” Now he bares his teeth, sharp canines flashing. “We wolves are known for our wild side.”
“Gods, what sin am I paying for?”
And why do I feel so light, lost in this banter with Valen, when we’re heading to this duel that might end my life?
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “You know that by now, right?”
I swallow hard. “You say that now, but what if you lose control? That wild side you just mentioned?”
“It takes a lot to cause that. Don’t worry. I have superb discipline over my body.”
“Sadly, your confidence doesn’t convince me. What would it take for you to shift and become a beast?”
“Shock. Rage. A challenge from another male. A rut.”
“Rut?”
“Uh.” He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “This subject isn’t suitable for children’s ears. Change of topic, Princess.”
“I’m not a child. And stop calling me that.”
“Can’t do that. You’re my princess in her ivory tower. Let your hair down to me!”
The banter distracts me as we move through the manor, but now we enter the great hall, and I blink.
I’ve never seen it so empty. The tables have been pushed against the four walls, leaving the center free.
In front of the tables are lined the noble guests, dressed in their finery, aloof and disdainful, only their eyes betraying them, hungry for bloodshed and violence.
The urge to start laughing uncontrollably grips me, but I can’t give in to it, or else I’ll end up on the floor, breaking down and weeping.
So I press my lips together and swallow the inopportune hilarity at the situation I’ve found myself in.
A noble daughter of a noble human house, excited just this morning about the future and meeting her husband-to-be, ready to take on a dangerous journey to reach him and get out of this poor excuse of a life.
Only to find said life cut short.
I had feared that the wolf would kill me, and it looks like my fear will come true. What choice will Valen have in the end? If he doesn’t go for the kill, both of us will die.
I only hope he’s merciful and makes it quick for me.
My cousins aren’t there. I glance around for Della, Bert, and Kier, but I can’t see them, either. I wouldn’t put it past Stepfather to have locked them up, too. Not anymore.
The men haul us to the center of the hall and release us, walking away, even as the gathered nobles start cheering and urging us on to fight.
Hypocrites. Pretending to be cultured. Civilized. They are vultures, waiting for a rotting corpse to feast on. I catch a glimpse of the House of Fireflies members. The fae nobles look pleased and are drinking wine as they wait for the show to start.
Here I am, about to fight a werewolf. A werewolf I have come… to not hate so much. Not anymore. He isn’t that bad for a savage animal.
Perfect timing. The perfect time to grow fond of my executioner.
I turn in a circle, trying to rein in my anxiety. My sodden gown weighs too much, dragging with every movement. The dark green fabric is steaming in the cold air, despite the fire burning in the giant hearth.
Then my stepfather arrives, followed by his wife and daughter, his lackeys and friends. He also looks pleased.
He looks satisfied, like the cat who lapped up all the cream. A monster who doesn’t have the excuse of rogue magic and a beastly alter-ego to excuse his actions. His dark desires of power and expansion. His selfish acts that disregard everyone else.
He gestures to a servant who hurries away and returns with a long, narrow object. Stepfather grabs it and ambles over to me.
“For you,” he says.
With everything going on, I’d forgotten what was promised to me. “Is this my mother’s sword?”
“Indeed.”
I pull it from its scabbard and discover it’s more of a rapier, smaller and more slender than a sword. Although it’s ridiculous to think that such a puny weapon could inflict any damage on a rabid werewolf, I’m relieved, because I can at least lift it. Not sure I could lift a longsword.
“Is it really magical?” I ask, pointing it at the smirking guests.
Stepfather grins way too widely. “Of sorts.”
“So it’s not. That was a lie.”
But Valen lets out a low growl, his nostrils flaring. He lifts his head, eyes half-closing. “Fuck. What new evil is this?”
“Do you smell it, Wolf?” Stepfather sounds proud of himself. “Do you?”
“Smell what?” I take a step back, lifting the rapier, glancing from my stepfather to the werewolf. “Valen?”
His eyes are changing. They’re growing larger, flatter, lighter, turning to pale gold. His shoulders suddenly seem bigger as he hunches over.
I point the rapier at him. “What’s going on? Stay back.”
“Oh, I love it.” Stepfather is actually rubbing his hands together, a keen glint in his eyes. “He has been in human form too long. Werewolves need to shift once in a while, or their control snaps. He will transform and devour you.”
“No, he won’t. Valen! Can you hear me?”
“I know that smell,” Valen growls, and as I stare at him, his ears change into gray wolf ears and his hands… black claws grow from his fingers, just like when I first set eyes on him. “That smell has no fucking business being on that blade!”
“What’s happening, what…?” I back away, tightening my fingers around the handle of the rapier. “What smell? What is he talking about?”
“This is the sword that killed his mother,” Stepfather says. “It still bears her blood. Rage will affect a dark fae in ways it can’t affect us.”
“And why do you have it?” Valen’s lips peel back, stained black, revealing long yellow fangs. “Why do you have the blade that killed—?”
“Your mother was killed here,” Stepfather says.
“No.” Valen is shaking his head in denial. “No! Stop—”
“This sword killed her, and it was wielded by no other than this girl’s mother, who also died that night.” He chuckles. “I suppose that makes you relatives of sorts. Related through spilled blood and death.”
I’m gaping at both of them. “You’re not serious.”
“I should have recognized your hair the moment I saw you,” Stepfather goes on. “Valen. Lord Valerian. Rumors circulate about the son of the missing priestess. She had the same white streak in her hair. It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together. What a stroke of luck.”
Valen growls, his face more wolf-like than ever, his broad shoulders hunching over with impossible muscles. “No. I was told she died fighting off a tribe of rogue shifters, mad on bad blood.”
“You were lied to, Wolf. That was a lie. A made-up tale. She came with the rogue wolves to attack this place. Killed people. And she was killed in return.” Stepfather lifts his hands and shrugs, smiling.
“Now you know the whole truth. Your mother’s death is on Rosamund’s hands.
Her family destroyed yours. Now, get her. Take your revenge.”
Valen turns to me.
My heart thudding, I take another step back, the rapier trembling in my hand. “Valen. No.”
“Yes, Valerian,” Stepfather says. “End her now.”
“No…” I keep backtracking. There’s only so much space, so much distance to retreat to before I hit the tables or the gathered guests. “Stop.”
But he lumbers toward me, his eyes streaked with red now, his hair more of a shaggy fur. He reaches for me with those black claws.
Turning, I race along the wall of people—aren’t they terrified to be standing here? What if Valen takes a bite out of them?—and turn around again with the rapier raised when I run out of space.
“No sword can save you from a werewolf!” Stepfather calls out. “Let him have you. Easier that way. Faster. Trust me.”
“Nobody will ever forget or forgive you,” I whisper as Valen stops, gazing at me with those flat, wolf eyes, his furry chest heaving. “Nobody will ever trust you again.”
“People love violence, and they love serving justice,” Stepfather says. “They already think you were lying all these years about fearing the wolves. Now they are convinced you went with them willingly. That you enjoyed being used by them.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“They hate that they pitied you before. That they were conned. Now they will enjoy seeing you getting pulled apart.”
“Of course,” I mutter. “Figures that your friends are wretches like you.”
But the conversation is cut short when Valen starts after me once more. His feet are now wolf-paws, his legs bent like an animal’s, and he moves frighteningly fast, a growling, misshapen beast, his maw open, ready to tear me to pieces.
He’s way too close. He swipes at me with black claws, and with a gasp, I duck and fall to the floor on my ass.
Shit.
Rolling away, I get up again, my wet skirt hampering me. The blade of my rapier tears through it, but I manage not to injure myself, which is a small miracle all in itself.
I do need a miracle right now. Sleeping Gods, please. Please, help.
“Valen!” I stumble back as he advances on me. “Stop! Don’t shift, please. Valen…Valen, stop!”
But he keeps coming. Keeps shifting more and more. His jaw has elongated, and thick, silvery hair is growing on his temples and cheeks. It’s turning his head into a wolf's head, and I can’t swallow past the lump of fear in my throat.
“Stop,” I beg, “please, stop. Don’t kill me.”
“Then strike me,” he growls, the words barely intelligible. “Strike me now, before I shift fully. Don’t let me hurt you.”
“I… can’t… Oh Gods…”
He’s still prowling toward me, and I lift the rapier—then scream when he jumps on top of me. Distant yells and screeching inform me I’m not the only one shocked, but my thoughts are jumbled because he’s knocked me to the floor and is lying on top of me, crushing me. I can’t draw breath.
Sticky warmth soaks my sleeve. Blood. Did I hit him? Did I hit myself?
He lifts his head, and seeing his distorted features from up close has me recoiling, scrambling to get away, an irrational, instinctive flailing that for sure won’t save me.
He’s on top of me, for all the Gods’ sakes. I’m not going anywhere.
Suddenly, he’s off me, jumping to his feet, and those long, black claws wrap around my arms. The world tilts as he lifts me and throws me over his shoulder.
I gasp, the last of my air knocked out of me as my stomach slams against his hard muscles, the rapier falling from my hands and clattering to the floor.
And before I can gather my thoughts, he turns and runs, shoving servants and guests aside, throwing them to the floor like dry leaves and bursting through the doors.
We’re outside.
He’s already loping away toward the meadows and woods when it hits me that he has stolen me away—and hasn’t killed me.
Yet.