Page 46 of The Wolf

ARWEN

She had always been attracted to flowers.

Arwen ran her fingers along the tops of the purple blossoms of the mimkia plants. Not because they looked beautiful and delicate, but because they held power and death. Everyone underestimated a flower just like they underestimated her.

A sigh escaped her as a moment of peace settled over her shoulders like a childhood blanket—warm and comforting. There were no schemes or betrayals here in her underground fields. Only a gardener and her garden.

She inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers. If she closed her eyes and pretended, it almost felt like home. A pang of homesickness struck her chest and she gasped at the unexpected pain. Arwen growled, claws elongating from her fingertips as the pain turned to rage. She tore at the flowers at her side and threw them through the air, dirt spraying around her. She tipped her head back and howled, the pained sound echoing around the cavern.

Even here in her place of solace, the past haunted her. She gritted her teeth and stomped over to the uprooted flowers. Gently, she plucked them from the path, got to her hands and knees, then used her claws to dig a small hole in the earth.

It enraged Arwen that the elves could still affect her after so many years. Carefully, she set the mimkia roots and plant into the hole, filling it with dirt. Patting the ground around the plant, she leaned back on her knees and stared blankly at the wilting flower. Maybe the elvish elders had been right about her—her emotions ran too deep.

Don’t let them get into your head. You’re not that young half-breed anymore. You’re a queen. Act like it.

Bowing her head, Arwen slowly calmed, watching as her claws retracted until only the black tips were visible. How many times had she tried to rip them from her body as a young girl? Trying to eradicate any evidence that she was both elf and shifter? They had been her greatest shame.

A sharp smile curled her lips.

Now, they were one of her greatest weapons.

The elders had been right about her. Not because she’d been born of two peoples but because of their own cruelty. They’d created their own monster and then condemned her for it.

The elves should have killed her instead of sending her into exile.

That was their mistake.

Arwen had a very long lifespan thanks to her elvish mother—stars rest her soul—and Arwen had been planning for years to make the elders suffer for their crimes.

Her head snapped up as she heard someone enter the cavern. There was only one person brave enough to invade her haven without express permission.

Bright—her second—her youngest son.

She slowly rose to her feet and brushed off her black dress, dirt still staining her fingers. She watched him stride down the winding path through the mimkia. The alpha never went running to anyone. They came to her.

Bright bowed low and waited.

A smile lifted her lips. He was such an obedient male—always had been. Too bad he hadn’t been the eldest. He would have made a perfect alpha. Thoughts for another time.

“What is it?” she asked, still not giving him permission to rise. “I assume you have dire news if you seek to ruin my time of reflection?”

“I am sorry, my lady. It was not my intention to ruin your solitude, but I must speak with you.”

“Rise,” she said, irritated at his sincerity. “What is it?”

Bright rose slowly, his silver gaze hovering near her cheek, not looking Arwen directly in the eyes out of respect. “There has been an attack.”

She pursed her lips and arched a brow. “There are attacks all the time. You must be more specific, darling.”

He nodded once. “One of the cargo ships carrying goods bound for the hinterlands was hit.”

Now that was a piece of interesting news. No one had been bold enough to touch any of her cargo in alongtime. No one stupid enough, anyway.

“And the cargo?” she drawled.

“At the bottom of the sea.”

The empress would not be pleased at the delay, but Arwen could handle the viper-like woman. She was only human after all. Practically an insect. “Who?”

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