The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

Want is a strange thing.

If you feed it, it gets hungrier and it grows. You find yourself wanting more and more and more—your appetite never quite sated. If you starve it, it fades away. It shrivels, and dies, until it’s nothing at all.

When I was a young, I wanted things. I wanted to be lady of a grand house, or even a queen. I wanted a husband who loved me. I wanted to help my people.

After my mother died, I just wanted to endure.

Then, one day, I wanted nothing at all.

I lived like that for a long time. My life was passive, meandering, meaningless.

But I am not an empty husk anymore.

I want to get through this. I want to escape. I want the life in Highfell that Callum promised. I want freedom. I want vengeance.

I want.

“You will pay for this,” I whisper.

“I doubt that very much, Princess,” growls James in response.

Princess. The title sounds foul on his tongue.

I look into the endless sky as we ride into the valley. If the stories are true, the Moon herself is a prisoner—sentenced by the Sun, and shackled by Night.

We are not so different, you and I. I send the thought to her on the winds that whip my hair and stir the trees. Give me strength. Give me courage. Let me prevail.

And then, there is no more time for prayers.

Sebastian is waiting. He’s like a dark specter in the swaying grass and he’s flanked by ten of his men. The moonlight paints his skin a sickly white, and reflects off the threads of grey in his dark hair, which is tied at the nape of his neck.

A man on one side of him is holding a box. On his other side is a large man with scars all over his face and neck.

Behind him, there is an army that vastly outnumbers the Northlands Wolves, their silver star sigils glinting in the ghostly light.

James pulls on the reins and we halt. Silence sweeps over the valley. Even the wind stops whispering.

He dismounts from the horse and I take a shuddery breath. Before James can grab me, I jump down myself. I land hard on the grass, the force of the impact juddering up my ankle, but I do not show it on my face.

Whatever my fate, I will face it on my own terms.

I turn away from the Wolf King, and straighten.

Sebastian’s lips twist into a thin smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“My sweet betrothed.” His voice is as cold as the Northlands air. “Are you well?”

Nausea rolls through me. The knife James gave me burns into my outer thigh. I make a silent vow that I will use it when I get the chance. I raise my chin. “Yes.”

“Thank goodness. I was so worried. Have they defiled you?”

For a moment, I wonder what would happen if I said yes.

I wonder what would happen if I told him, in front of all his men, that just twelve hours ago, I took my pleasure from the brother of the Wolf King. That he spilled inside me, and made me cry out with release. That he held me in his arms, and was going to take me to his home. That I love him. I choose him. I want him.

My heartbeat resounds in my ears, daring me to do it.

“No.” James’s voice is low and gruff behind me.

Sebastian doesn’t acknowledge the Wolf King. It is as if he is beneath him. Instead, he looks at the man with scars who stands beside him.

James tenses ever so slightly. I remember what he said about Sebastian having Wolves working for him. With his wild, pale hair, muscles, and scars, I wonder if this male is one of them.

He steps closer, his shadow swallowing me, and sniffs me.

Do it, I will him. Tell them. Tell Sebastian I cannot be his virgin bride.

The corner of the male’s lip twitches—just for a moment. I almost wonder if I imagined it. He nods.

“The lass retains her innocence,” he says.

I frown, wondering why he lied while simultaneously cursing him for it.

“A trade can be made,” says James.

Sebastian flicks his wrist.

The man with the box approaches.

“Duncan,” says James.

The blond male dismounts and grabs the box. My heart stops, and the wind seems to hold her breath as Duncan opens it.

His eyebrows raise, and he shows the contents to James. There’s a white rock within it that seems to absorb the moonlight.

Is it the Heart of the Moon? Or a replica?

I wonder if I will ever know.

James nods, then pushes me forward. I stumble the few paces away from the Northlands Wolves, the long grass snagging on my skirts.

And then I am on the Borderlands side of this war. Sebastian, my betrothed and my new captor, at my side.

Sebastian does not acknowledge me. Nor does he show any indication that he means to leave. James stands just as still.

A strange energy hangs over the valley—taut and dangerous.

“We finally meet,” says Sebastian. “Your Highness.” His smile is mocking.

“Aye, so we do.” James’s voice is quiet, yet filled with menace. “And what an honor it is when usually you have your men do your dirty work for you.”

“Oh, I thought I’d make an exception for this.”

My muscles clench. At the sides of the valley, James’s men are readying to charge. Behind me, the air is thick. Violence whispers through the trees. I can smell the promise of war in the scent of male sweat and silver and steel.

“You’re a fine specimen, you know,” says Sebastian. “You’d do well in our fighting rings.”

The wolf flickers in Duncan’s eyes at the insult to his king. One of the horses drags her hoof across the earth. Sebastian’s men put their hands on their swords.

James merely smiles. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” says Sebastian.

My gaze flits across the landscape, as skittish as a rabbit among Wolves. I cannot find a route to escape. Blake was right. When the battle begins, I will be consumed within its jaws. Did I make the wrong choice?

No. I could not marry James.

I made my decision, and I will live—or die—by it.

I turn my insides to stone, to steel.

“Better than your mother, at least,” says Sebastian.

James’s expression darkens.

“No. She was not made for the fighting ring.” Sebastian lowers his voice. “Although we got our entertainment from her in other ways.”

The valley holds its breath. Hate rises within me, sharp and bitter. I feel sick. How could I ever have agreed to wed this monster?

James lunges at him, only to stagger back with a grunt. His eyes widen. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder. I spin around and an archer on horseback behind me smiles.

The ground shakes as Wolves spill down the hillside to defend their king.

“Put her in the carriage,” says Sebastian, flicking a dismissive wrist at me. “Let me finish off this savage.”

Panic rises and roils over me in waves. I barely register the man who grabs my arm and pulls me back. Nor James, as he breaks the arrow with a grimace that turns into a smile promising violence.

“You’re a dead man, Sebastian.” James throws the arrow aside.

“I don’t think so.”

The valley is loud with the sound of thundering hooves. I’m dragged through the men that are getting ready to fight.

My pulse races.

No.

The wind rages around me, stirring my skirts and stinging my skin. It whispers to me. It stirs the wildness within.

I’m not going to die.

I rip myself out of the man’s grip. Something thrums in the air. An energy. Or a song. It flows through my body and pulses through my soul.

Goddess, help me.

I will not be a prisoner again.

The clouds block the moon, and the valley plunges into darkness. I am blind to the surrounding danger, yet I do not fear it. The shadows seem to curl around me. They protect me.

There’s a murmur of voices, a skidding of hooves.

Confusion rings in the air.

A soft light draws my eye. Within the box Duncan holds, the white stone glows. I hear a voice on the breeze, soft and female. It is a song, ancient and in a language I do not know. Yet in my heart, I know the tune.

Freedom, it sings.

As if in answer to the song, or perhaps it is in answer to my prayer, the Moon pushes from behind the clouds and floods the valley. It brightens, as blinding as the darkness. Ahead of me, Sebastian’s eyebrows knit together, a flash of confusion on his face.

James’s eyes widen in surprise, then triumph. His muscles jerk. The crack of bones resounds in the night. And when he lunges forward again, he is not a man.

He is a wolf with brown fur and rippling muscles and sharp teeth. There are markings on his forelegs where his tattoos are inked when he is a man.

The male beside Sebastian shifts and meets James in mid-air, and the two hurtle to the ground, gnashing their jaws. The Borderlands army charges past me, knocking me between them. The rest of James’s men have shifted, and an army of bloodthirsty Wolves charge at them.

Sebastian rears back, grabs my arm, and drags me away from the screams.

I let him.

Not because I am scared by the violence. But because the violence has fed something wild and hungry inside me. And now it wants more.

I will do this for Callum. For Callum’s mother and all the others Sebastian has harmed.

And I will do it for me.

I will do it for the future I never dared to hope for.

The knife is heavy at my thigh as Sebastian hurls me into a horse-drawn carriage.

“Ride!” he hisses at the driver, before throwing himself in after me.