43
The wolves’ Den in Moonwood occupied ten entire city blocks, a sprawling villa built around a wild tangle of forest and grass that legend claimed had grown there since before anyone had touched these lands. Through the iron gates built into the towering limestone arches, Bryce could see through to the private park, where morning sunlight coaxed drowsy flowers into opening up for the day. Wolf pups bounded, pouncing on each other, chasing their tails, watched over by gray-muzzled elders whose brutal days in the Aux were long behind them.
Her gut twisted, enough to make her grateful she’d forgone breakfast. She’d barely slept last night, as she considered and reconsidered this plan. Hunt had offered to do it himself, but she’d refused. She had to come here—had to step up. For Danika.
In his usual battle-suit, Hunt stood a step away, silent as he’d been on the walk over here. As if he knew she could barely keep her legs from shaking. She wished she’d worn sneakers. The steep angle of her heels had irritated the wound in her thigh. Bryce clenched her jaw against the pain as they stood before the Den.
Hunt kept his dark eyes fixed upon the four sentries stationed at the gates.
Three females, one male. All in humanoid form, all in black, all armed with guns and sheathed swords down their backs. A tattoo of an onyx rose with three claw marks slashed through its petals adorned the sides of their necks, marking them as members of the Black Rose Wolf Pack.
Her stomach roiled at the hilts peeking over their armored shoulders. But she pushed away the memory of a braid of silvery-blond hair streaked with purple and pink, constantly snagging in the hilt of an ancient, priceless blade.
Though young, the Pack of Devils had been revered, the most talented wolves in generations. Led by the most powerful Alpha to grace Midgard’s soil.
The Black Rose Pack was a far cry from that. A far fucking cry.
Their eyes lit with predatory delight as they spotted Bryce.
Her mouth went dry. And turned positively arid as a fifth wolf appeared from the glass security vestibule to the left of the gate.
The Alpha’s dark hair had been pulled into a tight braid, accentuating the sharp angles of her face as she sneered toward Bryce and Hunt. Athalar’s hand casually drifted to the knife at his thigh.
Bryce said as casually as she could, “Hi, Amelie.”
Amelie Ravenscroft bared her teeth. “What the fuck do you want?”
Hunt bared his teeth right back. “We’re here to see the Prime.” He flashed his legion badge, the gold twinkling in the sun. “On behalf of the Governor.”
Amelie flicked her gold eyes to Hunt, over his tattooed halo. Over his hand on the knife and the SPQM she surely knew was tattooed on the other side of his wrist. Her lip curled. “Well, at least you picked interesting company, Quinlan. Danika would have approved. Hel, you might have even done him together.” Amelie leaned a shoulder against the vestibule’s side. “You used to do that, right? I heard about you guys and those two daemonaki. Classic.”
Bryce smiled blandly. “It was three daemonaki, actually.”
“Stupid slut,” Amelie snarled.
“Watch it,” Hunt growled back.
Amelie’s pack members lingered behind her, eyeing Hunt and keeping back. The benefit of hanging with the Umbra Mortis, apparently.
Amelie laughed, a sound filled with loathing. Not merely hatred for her, Bryce realized. But for the angels. The Houses of Earth and Blood and Sky and Breath were rivals on a good day, enemies on a bad one. “Or what? You’ll use your lightning on me?” she said to Hunt. “If you do, you’ll be in such deep shit that your master will bury you alive in it.” A little smile at the tattoo across his brow.
Hunt went still. And as interesting as it would have been to finally see how Hunt Athalar killed, they had a reason for being here. So Bryce said to the pack leader, “You’re a delight, Amelie Ravenscroft. Radio your boss that we’re here to see the Prime.” She flicked her brows in emphasis of the dismissal she knew would make the Alpha see red.
“Shut that mouth of yours,” Amelie said, “before I rip out your tongue.”
A brown-haired male wolf standing behind Amelie taunted, “Why don’t you go fuck someone in a bathroom again, Quinlan?”
She blocked out every word. But Hunt huffed a laugh that promised broken bones. “I told you to watch it.”
“Go ahead, angel,” Amelie sneered. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Bryce could barely move around the panic and dread pushing in, could barely breathe, but Hunt said quietly, “There are six pups playing in sight of this gate. You really want to expose them to the kind of fight we’d have, Amelie?”
Bryce blinked. Hunt didn’t so much as glance her way as he continued addressing a seething Amelie. “I’m not going to beat the shit out of you in front of children. So either you let us in, or we’ll come back with a warrant.” His gaze didn’t falter. “I don’t think Sabine Fendyr would be particularly happy with Option B.”
Amelie held his stare, even as the others tensed. That haughty arrogance had made Sabine tap her as Alpha of the Black Rose Pack, even over Ithan Holstrom, now Amelie’s Second. But Sabine had wanted someone just like herself, regardless of Ithan’s higher power ranking. And perhaps someone a little less Alpha, too—so she’d have them firmly under her claws.
Bryce waited for Amelie to call Hunt’s bluff about the warrant. Waited for a snide remark or the appearance of fangs.
Yet Amelie plucked the radio from her belt and said into it, “Guests are here for the Prime. Come get them.”
She had once breezed through the doors beyond Amelie’s dark head, had spent hours playing with the pups in the grass and trees beyond it whenever Danika had been given babysitting duty.
She shut out the memory of what it had been like—to watch Danika playing with the fuzzy pups or shrieking children, who had all worshipped the ground she walked upon. Their future leader, their protector, who would take the wolves to new heights.
Bryce’s chest constricted to the point of pain. Hunt glanced her way then, his brows rising.
She couldn’t do this. Be here. Enter this place.
Amelie smiled, as if realizing that. Scenting her dread and pain.
And the sight of the fucking bitch standing there, where Danika had once been … Red washed over Bryce’s vision as she drawled, “It’s good to see that crime has gone down so much, if all you have to do with your day, Amelie, is play guard at the front door.”
Amelie smiled slowly. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the gate, just before they swung open, but Bryce didn’t dare look. Not as Amelie said, “You know, sometimes I think I should thank you—they say if Danika hadn’t been so distracted by messaging you about your drunk bullshit, she might have anticipated the attack. And then I wouldn’t be where I am, would I.”
Bryce’s nails cut into her palms. But her voice, thank the gods, was steady as she said, “Danika was a thousand times the wolf you are. No matter where you are, you’ll never be where she was.”
Amelie went white with rage, her nose crinkling, lips pulling back to expose her now-lengthening teeth—
“Amelie,” a male voice growled from the shadows of the gate archway.
Oh gods. Bryce curled her fingers into fists to keep from shaking as she looked toward the young male wolf.
But Ithan Holstrom’s eyes darted between her and Amelie as he approached his Alpha. “It’s not worth it.” The unspoken words simmered in his eyes. Bryce isn’t worth it.
Amelie snorted, turning back to the vestibule, a shorter, brown-haired female following her. The pack’s Omega, if memory served. Amelie sneered over a shoulder to Bryce, “Go back to the dumpster you crawled out of.”
Then she shut the door. Leaving Bryce standing before Connor’s younger brother.
There was nothing kind on Ithan’s tan face. His golden-brown hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him, but he’d been a sophomore playing sunball for CCU then.
This towering, muscled male before them had made the Drop. Had stepped into his brother’s shoes and joined the pack that had replaced Connor’s.
A brush of Hunt’s velvet-soft wings against her arm had her walking. Every step toward the wolf ratcheted up her heartbeat.
“Ithan,” Bryce managed to say.
Connor’s younger brother said nothing as he turned toward the pillars flanking the walkway.
She was going to puke. All over everything: the limestone tiles, the pale pillars, the glass doors that opened into the park in the center of the villa.
She shouldn’t have let Athalar come. Should have made him stay on the roof somewhere so he couldn’t witness the spectacular meltdown that she was three seconds away from having.