Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

W hen Leto was displeased, she made it painfully obvious.

Alaric rubbed his jaw as he watched the guard attempt a horseshoe repair; it was either that or he would commence destroying an entire woodland with his sword.

He’d been defeated by a damned flag, his horse had thrown a shoe and pulled up lame barely a mile from Huntington, and worst of all, his mate was vexed with him and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Evaine’s curt replies had stung a little, but when she’d grimaced and declined to kiss him after he’d won his sword fight, he’d known true hurt. The bone-deep hurt of rejection from the only wolf he couldn’t bear rejection from. He’d grown used to Theda closing her door; everyone knew she avoided his touch. But Evaine had always loved it, any time, anywhere. Not just in bed, but casual touch like embraces or holding hands, or when he cupped her cheek.

His mate was now the center of his existence and it went far beyond friendship, affection, lust or even the soul-joining of bonded fated mates. No, this was entirely in his chest. In his heart, where all those damned emotions that he’d suppressed as a diplomat resided. The seal had been broken and they’d surged free. He could feel. He could love. And he loved Evaine.

Alaric blinked, the thought so startling he almost tripped over his own feet as the faint sound of windchimes tinkled in his ears.

Wait. Windchimes?

“ Evie ?” he said slowly, actually tapping his temple as the windchimes grew louder and louder. “ Evie ?”

“ Alaric !”

Alarm surged through him at the urgency in her voice. “ What happened? Is the tower under attack? ”

“ I’m not in the tower. Blanche and I are in Huntington. We’ve been taken prisoner by Larkin and Silas. They locked us in a stable and have a crossbow with silver bolts. But Larkin is throwing pitch around. They are going to set the stable alight. Goddess, they’ve both lost their minds. But they said they want to break you .”

Once again, that startling, ice-cold calmness draped around Alaric like another cloak. He turned to two of the guards. “Ride for the tower like your lives depend upon it. Bring all the weapons you can. I’ll summon the warriors and Chester’s Guard. We are returning to Huntington and going to war. Queen Evaine and Mistress Blanche have been taken and imprisoned in a stable there. GO.”

The two males bolted away.

“They have Mother?” said Wesley, his face ashen.

“Yes,” said Alaric, briefly gripping his squire’s shoulder. “You must be braver than you’ve ever been. As must I.”

Wesley closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was a certain hardness, a certain determination that said the wolfling was no more. Here was a young warrior, ready to fight. “Just tell me what to do.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Alaric threw back his head and roared a call to battle. Even to his own ears the sound soared and shook the heavens, and shortly afterward came the sweet echo of wolves answering his war cry. They had heard and were on their way.

Concentrating fiercely, Alaric searched for the link to Evaine once more. “ Sweetheart, we’re coming .”

A reply came, but it was faint. “ Hurry, Alaric .”

“Take this horse, my king,” said one of the remaining guards. “I’ll change and run beside you.”

Never had Alaric been so nimble as he switched mounts. Then they galloped toward Huntington, uncaring of the wind and icy cold, both he and Wesley crouched low as they urged their horses on. Twice more, Alaric roared, a sound for his warriors to follow with their keen hearing. Soon they reached a small rise, one that offered a clear view of the surrounding area. Already there were wolves gathering behind him, some wearing black-and-gold livery and armed on horseback, others in wolf form prowling the grounds. The Chester Guard came from all over Cheshire and could form at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately, in the distance, he could see several lines of mercenaries. But between him and them: the stables where Evaine and Blanche were being held. Goddess. They would be at the center of the battle.

Abruptly a wolf bounded up and crouched low in deference. “My king, I bring news. There appears to be at least two hundred well-armed mercenaries, but…”

“But what?” said Alaric impatiently.

“Advancing from the rear, warriors wearing the green and white of the Eastern Lands and flying Saville’s crest. They probably marched from Sheffield.”

Fury burned in his gut. Did Guy Saville lead them? Did the murdering usurper dare encroach on the Western Lands wearing the sacred ancient colors of the de Wynters? Of course he would dare. Especially with such regular, valuable notes arriving from Silas and Larkin, telling him exactly where the royal progression was, and the closest location to send Eastern warriors from.

“Share this message from me,” said Alaric. “Queen Evaine and Mistress Blanche are being held captive in those stables over there. They face the threats of silver crossbow and burning; I understand pitch has already been thrown. Collect buckets and fill them from the River Dee. I want a chain stretching to swiftly extinguish flames if needed. I know this place is fairly isolated, but there may be humans around and they do not deserve to lose everything they have to fire.”

“Aye, my king. One question. Are we taking prisoners for an exchange?”

“No. We will rescue the queen and Mistress Blanche, then execute every single traitor and every single enemy who dared encroach on my lands. For the West!”

“For the West!” the wolf snarled, before bounding away.

“My king,” said Wesley urgently. “Can we advance on the stable yet?”

“Hold,” said Alaric. “Let me see if I can link with the queen again to get further information.”

Then he closed his eyes. “ Evie. Can you hear me? We are nearby, just atop a rise. I have called every guard and warrior available. They are amassing as we speak. But I need to know where you are in the stable. How many there are to kill. ”

For an endless moment he heard nothing whatsoever and sheer terror clawed his soul. Then her voice came through. “ There is a small window to my left, none other on that wall. Blanche and I are chained back to back, but our hands are in front of us, so we cannot assist each other. There only seems to be four here: Larkin, Silas, and two guards. The guards are dressed in Beaumont livery, so be wary. I understand that Larkin wishes us to burn and Silas wishes to shoot us with the crossbow if we attempt to flee. I am itching to fashion a girdle of their entrails . Larkin is having trouble with the flint. His flame keeps extinguishing, even though there is no wind or rain . Perhaps Leto watches over us .”

Alaric almost smiled. Evaine could be sweet and submissive, bold and mischievous, but he did rather enjoy her bloodthirsty streak. When this was over, she could fashion all the entrail girdles she wished. Leto willing, Guy Saville’s would be one of them. “ I am sure the Blessed Goddess is watching. Tell Blanche that Wesley and I are approaching. ”

“ He’s not hurt? The note we received said otherwise. Or was that just Larkin ?”

“ Just Larkin. Wesley is ready to spill blood. We are riding now. ”

Alaric then turned to his squire. “There are but four: Larkin, Silas, and two guards in Beaumont livery. I don’t want any others to accompany us; it may cause confusion with the clothing. Is your bow and arrow ready?”

Wesley inclined his head, tapping the bow and gesturing to the nearly full quiver of arrows on his back. “Ever ready, my king.”

“Our attack must be swift and deadly. The queen and your mother are chained together near the wall with one window and have had pitch poured around them.”

Wesley growled. “No prisoners.”

“None,” replied Alaric, unsheathing his sword. “Let us ride.”

They cantered toward the stable. As soon as they were close, one of the guards ran at them, brandishing his sword. Wesley felled him with an arrow to the chest. The other guard attempted to flee on foot, but Alaric rode him down, slashing his sword in an upward cut that severed the guard’s spine.

Four had become two.

As they continued on around the side of the stable, flames were already flickering and smoke was starting to rise—Larkin was running with a lit torch, touching it to the wood to help the blaze along. Just as Alaric was about to dismember his former chamberlain, Wesley yelled “Look out!”

Alaric veered away, but the bolt aimed at his heart from Silas’s crossbow still gouged his left arm and the burning kiss of the deadly silver made him hiss in pain. Yet now, for a short while at least, the soothsayer was unarmed. “Wesley! Free the queen and your mother. I’ll tend to these two.”

His squire leaped from his horse and dashed into the stable. After rendering Larkin unconscious, Alaric circled Silas. The soothsayer swiftly withdrew a small bag of blue powder, tossing the contents about and chanting.

“Too late for that,” snarled Alaric, one downward cut leaving the other wolf without his left hand.

“L-Leto will save me,” said Silas, his face paling as his blood spurted. Then he sank to his knees. “If I’d helped Theda when she fell, you would never have met Evaine. I did you a great service!”

“ Monster ,” said Alaric, resting his blade against the soothsayer’s neck.

“You cannot stop this. King Cyrus was weak and you are weaker, always choosing treaties over battles. Accepting a human dukedom instead of waging war! That is why your line must end. Why King Guy will take the Western throne—”

The sound seemed to hang in the air as Silas’ head fell to the ground with a thud, his lips forever frozen.

Sheathing his sword, Alaric then slid from his horse and sprinted toward the burning stable. “Evaine. Evaine !”

The spit and crackle of flame devouring wood assaulted her ears, smoke was stinging her eyes, but by far the worst part of being trapped in a burning stable was the rising heat.

Evaine gritted her teeth, wanting to scream in pure rage. Her first task would be killing Larkin. After that, anyone who got in her way. Poor Wesley was trying his very best to break the lock linking the chains, but he wasn’t quite strong enough.

Then she heard her mate’s voice, not in her head, but at the stable entrance.

“Evaine? Evaine!”

“Here!” she yelled. “Alaric!”

Her mate burst in, his clothing splattered with blood and ash. First, he took the lock from Wesley, crushing it in his fist. Then, after he freed both her and Blanche, all four ran back outside. Moments later, the roof began to collapse with a low roar, as though the fire was furious it hadn’t devoured them also. The flames soared toward the sky, threatening to set the trees nearby alight, until a group of Western wolves passing buckets from the river doused it completely.

The fire had been defeated, but the war had just begun.

Unable to bear the restriction of her singed, smoke-ruined gown and cloak on her too-hot, too-sensitive skin any longer, Evaine turned to Alaric. “Can you cut off my clothing? They took my girdle dagger, but there is another in my bodice. I’ll fight in wolf form. I’m much stronger this way, I don't know how to use a sword or bow.”

Surprisingly, her mate didn’t argue. He merely removed the hidden dagger, carefully sliced open her bodice and the ties fastening her sleeves, then held up his cloak so she could change in privacy.

Evaine kicked the fabric away, sighing in pure relief as her skin cooled in the chilly late afternoon air. Then she closed her eyes and willed herself into wolf form, whimpering a little at the change. Why was it so painful again today?

With a quick shake to clear her head, Evaine extended her claws and scratched at the fragrant earth, stretching her wolf limbs. A low groan to her right made her smile, and Evaine padded over to where Larkin lay prone on the ground, attempting to crawl further from the scene of his murderous intent.

“Chamberlain,” she purred, her fangs tingling. “Leaving so soon? How unfortunate, when I have a craving for roasted rabbit.”

Larkin turned onto his back—a position of submission—his arms bloodied and eyes wide. “You don’t understand. Lady Theda was mine . The king stole her from me! I had to avenge her death. Show mercy.”

Mercy?

This traitor truly thought his queen would offer leniency after all his vile acts? When he’d helped Guy Saville, tried to kill her and Blanche, and put Alaric and Wesley and all the other brave Western wolves here at risk with this impending battle?

“No mercy for traitors,” Evaine snarled, sinking her claws into his throat and ripping it out. When she looked up, the group of wolves that had extinguished the fire all bowed.

“Evaine is queen, long may she reign!” called one, and the rest cheered.

She inclined her head, then loped back to where her mate and the others waited.

Alaric was wiping blood from his sword with the edge of his cloak. “The matter is done?”

“Yes,” she replied, bunting his thigh with her head. “After that taste, I’ll show even less mercy to those wearing de Wynter colors against me.”

Without warning, a female guard bounded around the corner in wolf form, dropping her front legs in deference. “They’re charging! The mercenaries are charging with the Eastern warriors behind!”

Alaric leaped back onto his horse. “Give Mistress Blanche a sword. Wesley, onto the rise and wound as many as you can with arrows. My queen…”

“I shall be by your side, my king,” she snapped, before he could be foolish and ask her to leave the battleground for her own safety. “Nowhere else.”

Somehow, that made her mate grin, like she’d whispered an endearment rather than irritably scolded him. “Very well. Let us meet this foe and vanquish them utterly!”

The group scattered. Wesley rode back to the rise, collecting even more arrows from the wagons that had arrived, then set his place. Fortunately, Alaric’s commanders had already organized the warriors into lines based on the weapons they held: spears at the front, swords in the middle, and archers at the rear. All those in wolf form, including Evaine, received a smear of enchanted golden clay across their fur for recognition. Apparently no one was exactly sure where the clay came from, but the pot never emptied, and it couldn’t be removed until the anointed King of the Western Lands declared victory or defeat.

Alaric raised his sword and turned to his subjects. “The traitors have been executed. But our enemies still come! They dare encroach on peaceful Western Lands and think to conquer my realm. But they will die in vain. For the West! And the de Wynters!”

Then her mate threw back his head and howled, a truly blood-chilling sound. Evaine added her own howl, the two twining together so perfectly that the air crackled and blue sparks streaked across the gray sky.

“For the West and the de Wynters!” called Evaine, rising up on her hind legs and slashing her claws. “Onward!”

“Archers!” bellowed Alaric. “Fire!”

A flurry of arrows soared over their heads like a swarm of deadly brown insects, seeking out their prey with great precision and embedding in the chests and faces of the charging mercenaries. Yet even as riders fell and horses bolted from the field, still more came. Alaric called for arrows twice more, but as the mercenaries had no archers, it was clear this battle would be won by blade. Wolf against wolf.

“Spears!” barked Alaric. “Swords and claws at the ready!”

Evaine sucked in several deep breaths. Really, she should be terrified at the scent and sounds of death and violence in the air, but she was just too furious. And overwarm. Never in her life had the craving to tear another wolf limb from limb been so strong.

But before she could charge into the fray, a faint green glow from behind the Eastern line caught her eye, and Evaine froze. She would recognize that hue anywhere.

The Book of Lore .

Not wanting to alarm their side, Evaine reached out to her mate with their mind link. “ Alaric. Look north then slightly west. The green glow. It’s the Book of Lore! ”

“ Are you sure ?” he replied urgently. “ I’ve never seen it up close .”

“ I’m certain. If we capture that, Guy Saville has nothing. He’ll be finished .”

Alaric chuckled, a truly malevolent sound. “ Then let us capture it, my queen. I’ll protect the tome, you can exact justice on the usurper .”

“ We have ourselves a bargain ,” said Evaine, anticipation coiling in her belly as ahead of her, the Western riders with long spears charged and hurled the deadly javelins at the approaching enemy. Damn the mercenaries! How could there still be so many?

On her mate’s call, all the warriors and guards with swords, including Blanche, and those in wolf form surged forward. Soon after came the first soul-shaking shriek of steel on steel. The relentless barrage of noise was disorientating at first; the thumping of hooves on dirt, the clashing of swords and shields, the growling grunts of wolves fighting, the cries of pain. How did warriors do this every day? But soon Evaine’s mind cleared and she attacked her first victim, taking a chunk out of the mercenary’s right shoulder and causing him to drop his sword.

Again and again she leaped and bit, ducking and weaving to avoid the swinging blades, before Alaric killed the temporarily defenseless warrior with a slash to the belly or throat. Sometimes she moved too slowly or went the wrong way; already her fur was sticky with the blood of seeping cuts. But this only fueled her rage, especially when she saw Alaric’s shield occasionally drop.

“ What is wrong with your left arm? ” she demanded through their link. “ Are you hurt? ”

“ Crossbow bolt gouged it ,” her mate replied. “ Damned silver infection .”

Gah! The longer this battle continued, the weaker his arm would become without treatment. She had to be fiercer. Not just Evaine the Bold, but Evaine the Bloodthirsty. Yet already she could feel the cruel tendrils of fatigue curling their way around her. Her cuts stung. Her limbs hurt. Her jaw ached.

Fight on, my precious cub. Fight like the de Wynter you are . We are so proud of you .

As her mother’s voice danced on the air, vigor burst through Evaine. With a vengeful snarl she tore through the mercenary lines to those daring to wear the green-and-white de Wynter livery, attacking them with fang and claw in a storm of mindless savagery. Some of the warriors surrendered, throwing down their weapons and begging forgiveness from a true de Wynter. But far too many wanted her dead.

“That female’s green eyes! It’s Evaine de Wynter!”

“Get her! She’s worth a fortune!”

“Tell King Guy to open the Book of Lore. The power will destroy her!”

Her enemies’ words swirled around her like a suffocating fog and Evaine briefly lifted her head to study the battlefield. Most of the fighting raged behind her, but ahead, surely not more than a quarter mile, astride a horse and watching proceedings like the festering turd coward he was: Guy Saville.

She growled, the sound emanating from the depths of her soul. Somehow she just knew the usurper had seen her, for he lifted the Book of Lore above his head and pointed it. A bolt of green lightning shot from the tome and Evaine knew a moment of true despair at her failure, bracing herself for paralyzing agony.

Except the bolt passed through her with no more than a brief sting. Guy bellowed in rage and shot a second bolt. Again, it did nothing.

Shock almost sent Evaine to her knees. As the Book always remained at Ashcross Castle, she had never considered that it might lose its tremendous force outside the Eastern Lands. Did anyone know that? Guy Saville certainly didn’t!

“ Alaric !” she cried, through their mind link. “ Take him now! Guy Saville is vulnerable in the Western Lands ! Alaric, can you hear me? Where are you? ”

Alaric’s entire world had reduced solely to instinct; anything else just reminded him how badly his arm hurt. Silver infections were another Hera-inflicted torment, burning into flesh like a brand and poisoning the blood. To treat it, every Western healer carried wild garlic and white willow bark for pain relief and to soothe inflammation, also vials of enchanted water from the spring at Taff’s Well. But it really was a matter of time. If silver got into vital organs like the heart or lungs, unlike any other ailment, the damage was irreversible. He would be bedridden the rest of his life.

Right now he couldn’t even examine his flesh. Apart from the constant danger, he was covered in so much blood he wasn’t entirely sure which was his and which had spurted from his enemies as he severed limbs or removed innards. The grass had become red and slippery, and on several occasions he’d almost lost his footing. Chester’s body wagons would be busy this night; thankfully the village’s isolation meant few humans would witness the bloodbath.

A low battle cry came from his right, and Alaric turned wearily, raising his shield just in time to block a strong blow from a mercenary. He immediately countered with an upward cut, dislodging the other wolf’s sword, then gutting him with a straight thrust.

How many more? Surely he’d already killed hundreds.

“Evaine,” he muttered aloud. “My arm hurts .”

Where was his mate? The last he knew, Evaine had been merrily slashing and biting her way through their enemy. But although he could see Blanche, her gown cut to above her knees, and fighting as skillfully as anyone, his mate was nowhere to be found. “Evie?”

Goddess. Was she hurt? Had she retreated for safety? Had she grown weary of his failure to defeat the Eastern warriors and left him?

Another wave of agony surged down Alaric’s arm, his shield feeling heavier than an anvil. Without the leather straps tying it to him, it would be impossible to hold up. Yet a heartbeat later, he almost forgot that wound as fire slashed across his lower thigh.

A silver blade!

Alaric coughed, his whole body crushed in a vise of pain as the grinning Eastern captain circled him. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he was destined to perish on the battlefield rather than grow old with Evaine. But damn it, he would go down fighting. “Is that your best? I’ve seen cubs with more skill.”

His enemy hissed at the insult. “I’ll enjoy presenting a royal head to King Guyyyy…wretched little turd!”

Blinking in confusion, Alaric tried to clear his blurry vision. Had Wesley truly appeared, a too-heavy longsword swaying awkwardly in his grip, and sliced the captain’s arse?

“Get away from my king,” said Wesley fiercely.

Their enemy laughed then swung his sword horizontally, easily dislodging Wesley’s weapon and cutting the squire’s shoulder. However, the diversion gave Alaric the opportunity to strike, and he lunged with his blade. The captain howled at the deep cut to his side, yet managed to raise his shield and block Alaric’s next blow. At the sickening impact of metal on metal, another jolt of agony passed through Alaric and he staggered back before sinking to one knee.

“Give my regards to Leto,” bellowed the captain. But just as he lifted his sword high to deliver the death blow, a snarling gray beast came hurtling through the air toward him like a battering ram, knocking him to the ground and slashing his throat.

Alaric beamed even as he slumped to the grass. “Evie,” he said. “You came back.”

She licked his face. “I never left. And the battle is won; Guy Saville’s forces are trying to flee!”

“I love you so much,” he slurred. Then everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, Alaric frowned at the murky darkness. Where was he? There was no pain in his arm and thigh, or anywhere for that matter. In fact, he felt rested and refreshed which was entirely suspicious. Had he succumbed to silver poisoning and been beheaded? Had he risen to the stars?

“Am I dead?” he mumbled.

“No, you’re not dead. But what kind of right royal arse fights on with silver poisoning? I should have dragged you to a healer myself. You don’t have the sense of a turnip, Alaric,” said the sweetest scold in the Western Lands, now in human form and wearing a borrowed robe.

“My mate,” he said lovingly.

Evaine huffed out a breath but she was stroking his hair and holding his hand like she’d been fretting. “I’ll send in the Chester healer to examine you again—she’s very experienced. Wesley is pacing the hallway. Oh, and we’re in a cottage because no one wanted to risk transporting you. There are hundreds of guards outside, I believe Blanche is in command. Do not dare move.”

“Yes, my queen,” Alaric replied, as meekly as he could.

As soon as she departed the small, simply furnished room, Wesley dashed in, his expression one of pure relief. “Everyone was terrified. They thought you might die. Mother hauled you to safety, it was the strangest thing, like for a short time she had the strength of a goddess. Then she demanded a flagon of wine, drank the entire thing, and more warriors fell in love with her. UGH.”

Alaric suppressed a smile at the details, far too glad to witness the return of playful Wesley. “Let us speak of events on the battlefield.”

His squire flushed. “I know I was only supposed to fire arrows. But I had none left and that Eastern captain had a silver sword! Then he wounded your thigh, so I picked up a sword from the ground and sliced him. I wanted to help…”

“You saved your king’s life, Wesley. You are as brave as any warrior and a skilled archer.”

“Awww, well, you know,” said the squire as he squirmed, his ears bright pink. “Couldn’t let anything happen when you have, ah, special duties tomorrow.”

Alaric frowned. “What? There aren’t any meetings or ceremonies.”

Wesley actually laughed. “Ohhhhhhh, my king, for the first time I know something you don’t! The queen has been out of sorts all day, yes? Irritable, too hot?”

“Being confined to a tower, tricked by a note, taken prisoner, then having to escape a burning stable and fight a vicious battle would make anyone irritable,” he replied, narrowing his gaze at the young wolf’s glee.

His squire kneeled beside the bed. “My king, everyone noticed. And we are so joyful for you both.”

“What in Leto’s name are you prattling about?” Alaric said, genuinely baffled.

“Mother said this always happens to a mated she-wolf the day before she goes into her breeding heat,” Wesley whispered. “Because it’s the queen’s first time, she might not realize either!”

Alaric bolted upright in bed as a storm of emotions battered him. Like so many males in his pack, soon he would know the sweet exhaustion of easing his mate’s need. Evie could conceive. They might have cubs by May.

Tears burned his eyes and he coughed to clear the boulder in his throat. Fated mate didn’t begin to describe the way she had turned his existence of cold, bleak duty into one of fierce lust and tenderness. Companionship and warmth and loyalty. With Evie at his side, together they could achieve anything. His queen. His mate. His love.

“Indeed,” Alaric said softly, trying not to grin like a nodcock and failing utterly. “Send in the healer, would you?”

Wesley bowed, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, my king.”

When the she-wolf bustled in, Alaric inclined his head. “I thank you for your care.”

The brown-haired healer glared at him. “Please do not risk your life and health with silver poisoning again, my king.”

“I swear,” he replied solemnly. “I’m feeling surprisingly well, considering.”

Her lips twitched. “As well as a generous dosing of enchanted water, I blended a marshmallow ointment for the wound sites, put apple cider vinegar compresses on your feet, and dripped dandelion tea down your throat. You’re going to need all your strength for the coming week.”

Alaric blushed. “Goddess, everyone really does know.”

“Aye. The news spread faster than wildfire. How could it not? Your true fated mate going into her breeding heat offers the chance of heirs to the Western throne!”

“And, ah, what is best for the queen?” he asked hesitantly.

The healer nodded approvingly. “A cool bath tonight. Plenty of food and drink. And I mean plenty . Like you’re feeding an entire castle. You’ll both be ravenous. Oh, and my king, you might be unaware, but if the queen conceives, she will change to wolf form shortly afterward and remain that way until after she delivers. That is how you know.”

Grateful beyond measure for the plain-spoken information, Alaric nodded. “Thank you again. See Mistress Blanche, she’ll pay in gold for your services.”

“Much obliged, my king,” said the healer, bobbing a curtsy then departing.

Soon after, Evaine appeared in the doorway, tearing into a juicy slab of rare beef. “So, I’m a little confused why every wolf in the area is offering me food, but I like it. What did the healer say?”

Goddess. Whether in human or wolf form, his mate truly was the most beautiful creature on this earth.

Alaric smiled as he stood. “She didn’t exactly say ‘you haven’t the sense of a turnip, Alaric’ but the sentiment was there.”

Evaine hesitated. “About that…”

“No, my queen. You were entirely correct. I put myself and others in danger, and if it weren’t for you and Wesley, I would have perished. I am indeed fortunate that my mate would rip out a throat for me. Perhaps you love me a little?” he finished hopefully, because he loved her so completely.

“A little ?” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “I love you more than the moon and the stars and the sun. You fill my thoughts during the day and my dreams at night. I cannot imagine a world without my king. And you are my king. Mine. I will sleep and rut with you, dine and hunt with you, embrace your friends and shred your enemies. But most of all, I’ll love and cherish you. Forever.”

“Then Leto has blessed us both,” he replied, marching over to take her into his arms. “You are everything to me, Evie.”

She sighed happily and cuddled against him, then took another bite of meat. “I am rather relieved you wanted an embrace and not my beef. That would have ended badly for you.”

Alaric laughed. “Now, my beloved. About tomorrow…”