Page 7 of The Blood Queen

No one really relaxed. Even the seasoned men were on edge, and when, tonight, the wards spun the alarms, we’d raced from the Refuge and were close enough now to scent the prey.

But the passage from Alpen was well-known and used by innocents, refugees, even smugglers searching for their reward—and I owed these men more than pointless kills.

They’d followed me into battles they weren’t prepared to fight, against a mythic enemy, centuries old, half vampire, half wolf. With more vindictive power than a demigod.

Why the fuck would vampires create such a monster?

For power and domination. Because they were assholes. Because they could.

From the scent, men had come through the passage leading from the Alpen—and women. The softer traces of soap and sweetness meant children were in the mix. Refugees fleeing from the Mule, more likely, valuable in their own right. They’d have information. Details they’d seen. Secrets used as currency because no one but a fool entered the forests without currency.

The bigger fool put comfort ahead of security. They’d camped in an open field, near a stream, and in the silvery light of a full moon they were bright silhouettes. Begging to be seen. And not fucking logical in any scenario, even if they wanted to be found.

A night bird whooshed on nearly silent wings. In the distance, an eerie scream. Creatures were in the area, and yet, these fools noticed nothing. Perhaps they hoped a fire would keep them safe. Or perhaps they were not refugees at all.

Weapons were easy to stash, hidden beneath bushes and within reach. I searched the tree line. Scented the air. Mace was doing the same, and as everyone spread out, moving like dark shadows, I sent an order through the pack bond.

Wolves dropped to a crouch. Men halted.

Levi inhaled sharply. He carried a spear, the spear I’d pulled from his thigh the day Noa risked so much.

And tonight… tonight I would not let that risk be for nothing by underestimating the enemy.

I sank into a crouch. Waiting.

You’re fucking kidding me, Mace growled through the pack bond. A pregnant woman, two kids. An old man. Other than the two military-age men, they’re no threat.

Brin wasn’t either, Levi said. Until she was.

I glanced at his pale face. Sent reassurance through the pack bond when his fingers tightened on the spear.

The woman with the eyepatch, Mace hissed. Not the pregnant one.

She stood in the shadows, concealed yet alert, while the others gathered wood and set up a shelter. Two men worked on bracing poles to hold the blanket folded on the ground. Amateurs, on a friendly camping trip where the worst fear came from the racoons wandering along the river. Or a passing bear, going after the pitiful bag of food they’d tied in a tree.

The pregnant woman straightened from the fire, resting a hand on her protruding belly. Flaxen hair fell lankly around her face and shoulders. She whispered to the two children who huddled together, urged them closer to the warmth.

My shoulders tightened. Nothing worse than fools in the woods, unless they were dangerous fools. Either way, leading a pregnant woman and two kids into this forest was criminal, even if there weren’t creatures worse than bears on the loose. Unless they were the lures. Out in the open, the bait to pull us in.

I shot Levi a glance that said I agreed with his concern. Nothing was innocent these days. Not even children.

They were crouched together, fair-haired, pale, all bony knees and arms in thread-bare clothes. Their shivering was obvious. The pregnant woman wore jeans, some kind of top, and a bulky man’s coat. The old man was too thin and wrung out to do more than pick up small branches. Wolves, all of them, including the two erecting the shelter. From their scents, I guessed their stories—rebels running from the Mule, or from poverty. Pack-less, scraping together the last of their funds to pay some one-eyed rescuer to sneak them into friendlier territory. Give them a shot at a better life.

In the middle of a fucking war. Although maybe word of the war hadn’t spread to the more isolated settlements. Not all packs clustered together like the Carmag, and all communication outside of a pack bond had to come through cell phones and television. The internet. Technology was prevalent in the larger towns, like Sentinel Falls and Westvale, but impossible to find in the middle of no-fucking-where.

It wasn’t likely that the outside world was aware of our little war. One benefit in wilderness living: no one cared. Ignorance was possible, and no fear of vampires, or they wouldn’t be so casual with the dark. But I wouldn’t see them as innocents caught in something they didn’t understand. I’d see them as opportunists and sent a sharp order through the pack bond.

An order for Julien’s sake.

For all hell to break loose.

The attack closed in from every direction. The snarling turned brutal as the pregnant woman screamed. She dropped the bowl she’d been holding and reached for the crying children. The old man staggered forward, his feet tangling in the spindly branches meant for the fire, tripping him. He almost went down.

From the lean-to, the two men shouted. Poles fell apart. The blanket collapsed. The first man to shift ended up on the ground, pinned by a wolf impatient for blood. My sharp mental order kept that blood from spilling—although the whitened eyes of the pinned wolf telegraphed his terror.

The other man wisely dropped to his knees and tipped his head to the side. Kept his hands up in surrender. I had to admire his quick assessment. The odds were not in his favor, with no gain in rash behavior.

But the one-eyed woman had no fear. Even when the wolves circled, she stepped from the shadows, calm enough to keep her hands raised. Her clothes were clean, utilitarian, and leather. Fighting clothes, with the leather reinforced along her forearms, legs, chest. Strapped to her thighs were knives in leather sheaths. I guessed she had other blades hidden but easily accessible.

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