Page 52 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

I pressed my fist to my mouth, stifling a sob.

I hadn’t cried when Joel had left. Not even when I’d found out about Faith. I hadn’t cried when he’d died either.

I’d held it together for so long, but at that moment, my seams unraveled, exposing the mess of fear and sadness that I’d tried so hard to hide.

My heaving sobs echoed against the stone walls.

Kaleb leaned over and licked my hand.

“Kaleb?”

The wolf didn’t reply.

I woke again to the sound of the cell door opening as the Dullahan rushed forward and pried my hand away from Kaleb’s coat. The headless Fae jerked me to my feet.

The Huntsman strode through the door, making the cell seem so much smaller.

I had no idea how long it had been, but the Huntsman had changed clothes, so a day at least.

Though my hands were raw and painful, they no longer wept and bled. The Huntsman studied the skin critically but did not voice his thoughts.

“I will send you on a hunt.” The Huntsman declared.

The Dullahan released me, and I struggled to remain standing. The iron had left me weak, and it took concentrated effort not to vomit on his leather boots.

“If you fail or displease me, Kaleb will pay the price.” The Huntsman looked down his nose at me. “I trust that you will behave.”

Chapter Eleven

I had never seen so many people in my life.

Church potlucks, town meetings, and Black Friday at the Target in Bluff City were the extent of my experience with crowds—but as the Dullahan led Kaleb and me from the dungeon depths, the castle was alive with the dull roar of people.

The hallways were crammed, everyone moving like a river of people toward a set location. Kaleb remained the only wolf on four legs, but no one batted an eyelid. The air swirled with golden wolf magic, coating every single person as they trudged through the castle like an army ready to go to war.

I saw Dean in the crowd, though he didn’t notice as I joined the stream of people ten feet away. He was taller than the rest of the crowd by at least a foot. I searched the crowd as we moved through the castle, briefly catching a glimpse of Mitchell and Wyatt in two separate places, their expressions blank as if every inch of their personality had been erased. Gone was the cocky grin on Mitchell’s face or the malicious delight that Wyatt favored.

They moved like wolves in human form.

I scratched my neck, pulling my shirt collar away from my throat. Though it had been fine a moment ago, suddenly, my clothes seemed too tight.

I felt the vibrations of the palace as its parts shifted, though the movement was silent. The air was heavy. Each wolf put one foot in front of the other in perfect, eerie unison.

My fingers shook, and I curled my hands into fists. My palms had healed, but the phantom ache remained.

I expected opulence, but the castle was falling apart on the inside. The stone walls were coated in filth and a thick spiderweb blanket.

A glass display case sat in front of the main doors with a red cloak inside. It looked stiff, almost like it had been coated in blood and left to dry. Every other person kept moving, ignoring the cloak on display, but something about the fabric snagged my attention.

The embroidery alone was hundreds of hours of work. The thread was a strange kind of translucent. The design was more intricate than anything I could ever sew, even with all my experience.

Nudged forward, I continued through the castle. Finally, we reached an expansive room without a single item of furniture. The flagstones were coated in a thick layer of grime, with several scuff marks forming paths in the room. Packed to the gills with wolves, milling about as they waited for something.

The barest hint of sunlight filtered through the filthy windows lining one wall, and the view changed as the castle moved on its axis—though the ground felt steady where I stood.

The shadows in the corners of the room where the spiders made their homes grew until it was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I could only hear the breathing of the people around me and feel their presence as they fidgeted in the darkness.

The sconces on the wall flared to life, no doubt for dramatic effect.

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