Page 65 of Cursed Wolf

My ass is sore as fuck, and I’m starving. We’ve been riding for most of the day with short stops for the horses. I need a break as night nears.

We’ve only encountered one group of undead and a scattering of rogue wolves. I expected more, considering what we faced on our way to the Shadowlands Sector.

“We’ll stop but leave before dawn,” Ragnar answers.

There’s tension in his voice, but I can’t tell if it’s a result of his argument with Narah or being away from the Savage Sector for the past two months. A lot can change in that length of time, and for all we know, we could have completely missed our opportunity to take it over and would have to start from scratch.

We fall silent as the horses’ hooves pound the earth with our speed.

When Ragnar comes to an abrupt halt, we all stop. My pulse kick starts into high gear, and I glance around.

“Someone’s following us,” he mutters quietly, pointing to the woods on his right.

Off my horse in a split second, I dart into the woods on whisper-quiet feet. Nikos slips into the forest farther ahead. The wind’s not in our favor, so whoever’s here will sniff us out before we smell them.

That just means we need to be faster and not fuck this up.

Darting forward, keeping to the shadows, I’m alert for any sound, any movement. Nikos is silent as fuck—the guy might as well be a ghost as he stealthily moves through the woods.

Surprisingly, I came upon a dirty track. It’s narrow and most likely used by animals, but I spot indentations in the ground—horse hooves. The tracks are sharp and well-defined at the edges, and when I touch them, the soil is soft and crumbles away. If they’d been here a few hours or more, they’d likely be hard. These are fresh, and whoever is near is also riding a horse. That eliminates the undead and most likely, the rogues, though I have seen the wild bastards steal horses to ride them across long stretches of land.

Up on my feet, I rush back the way I came to relay my find to Ragnar and Crius. Nikos returns seconds later with similar information.

“Could be a traveler passing by,” I suggest.

“I’m not willing to take the chance. We don’t know what Martell has changed, what guards he’s set up as perimeter around the Savage Sector.”

“Fine, then we take the same path,” Crius states the obvious. He’s off his horse.

Quickly, we walk our horses through the shrub onto the second path. Taking the lead, I hop onto my stead, and we’re off, bolting down the track. Cold air rushes through my hair and over my face. I don’t know how long we’ve been traveling, but night has claimed the land, and still no sign of how we pursued it.

When the track opens up to a field that presents the tavern, I slow to a trot before finally climbing off the horse. The place is an oversized, three-story building made of stone with a wooden veranda out front. Windows pepper all the levels, most of them lit up. The two chimneys on the pointed roof pump out smoke, working overtime, and with it, the delicious aroma of roast comes at me like a sledgehammer, making me salivate.

“Whoever they are, I’d say they’re staying here for the night.”

“Go with Nikos and get the horses in the stables for rest and feed,” Ragnar growls as he dismounts and hands the reins to Crius. “Then do a check around the place for anything out of the ordinary, anyone who might be working for Martell, guards.”

“Got it,” Crius grumbles as Nikos takes my horse. The two vanish around the back of the tavern, where travelers leave their horses to rest overnight.

Alongside Ragnar, we march toward the front door. “Are you alright, considering everything with Narah?”

“I feel like shit,” Ragnar groans. “I wanted her support, not to make me feel like a shithead. I would love to have her with us, but I don’t know what we’re facing, and I fucking hate going into anything blind.” With a growl, he climbs the front three steps to the wooden veranda of the establishment.

I shouldn’t be surprised how much Narah has gotten under his skin, but it’s unlike him to let his emotions get to him. He’s the cold, calculating one of our team who never lets things get to him. He’s the king of suppressing that shit so deep, one day, he’ll go crazy from holding it all in. So, it’s a refreshing change.

Not that I can talk. I’ve become a fucking emotional wreck since Harmony entered our lives, constantly concerned when she cries. I swear she sounds like she’s in pain, but Narah insists it’s normal and that her cries mean she wants different things.

It didn’t stop me from waking up to her cries in the middle of the night and holding her in my arms until the early hours of the morning. I never thought being a dad would suit me. I didn’t have the best father figure growing up, but that’s something I won’t let Harmony ever experience.

Inside the tavern are jovial voices, music from a man with a flute, and beer floating. My stomach rumbles when we walk past a table where a heavy man is tearing into a whole roasted chicken.

I’m drooling at this stage, but with every table taken, we’ll be lucky to have an available room for the night. At this stage, I’ll be grateful for food and gladly sleep in the stable if it comes down to it.

We cross the large room, pausing at the bar. The white-peppered hair man behind the counter lifts his chin in our direction.

“What will you have?”

“A room for the night,” Ragnar answers.

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