Page 85 of The Wolf

He wanted to rage at this betrayal, though in truth he realized it wasn’t a betrayal. Had Scarlet ever verbally been his? Had she truly ever told him her intentions?

Was this sense of betrayal also his own doing? Had Brine fed himself a lie so tantalizing he eagerly lapped it up even when all the signs around him pointed to the contrary?

A chill ran down Brine’s spine when his grandmother’s hand moved from Scarlet’s arm to settle on her belly. “Have you noticed how sweet her scent is now?” the monstrous woman crooned—to Scarlet’s belly rather than to Brine. “How lovely? How innocent? Howyoung?”

For a moment, Brine didn’t understand the implication. But then he did, and a wave of understanding sent him crashing to his knees. It was all he could do to keep a sword trained on his grandmother.

She cackled, no longer even trying for the semblance of a lovely sound. It was ugly, vicious, and broken. A true villain’s laugh. “Did you really think I’d allow you back into the pack after your betrayal?” she crooned with vemon. “After you fled from me? What I needed from you, cowardly boy, was an heir. An heir with my blood and Scarlet’s running through their veins that would ensure my line would inherit the Duchy of Betraz. Someone I could shape and train in my own image. And you handed me one on a silver platter! It’s all thanks to Red, of course. I trained her well, too. I—”

Brine didn’t hear what Arwen said next. Blood was rushing, pulsing, roaring through his ears, across his vision and through his body. He leaped from the floor, a howl ripped out from his lungs, and he attacked his grandmother.

FORTY-FOUR

BRINE

Brine didn’t think, he simply acted.

With his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other, he launched himself at his grandmother. But Arwen was expecting it, and deftly moved to the side. Scarlet, too, was quick to get out of the way, though Brine would never have hurt her, even now when he felt utterly betrayed by her. By her collusion with his grandmother.

By her acting as the woman’s spy and assassin.

By her pretending to be in love with him.

By carrying his child, not for love but for power and influence.

The news that Scarlet was pregnant should have been happy news, but instead it wrenched Brine’s heart out of his chest. She had truly been working with Old Mother the entire time. Working against him, getting what they wanted only to toss him aside.

Scarlet and his grandmother would be the ones to be tossed aside instead.

“I thought you were faster than this!” Arwen goaded, swiftly procuring two short swords from beneath her vanity. Why had Brine let her dodge to get there? She was a formidable opponent with no weapons at hand—he remembered that vividly from his childhood—but with blades…

This wasn’t good.

“I’m just warming up,” Brine snarled.

His grandmother laughed humorlessly. “You come in here covered in blood, blades in hand, and you’re telling me that you’re only warming up?” Arwen dodged another blow, spinning around with lightning speed and precision to land a blow against Brine’s left forearm. He glanced away from the worst of the attack, though her blade still bit into the flesh of his arm. Brine gritted his teeth against the pain. Arwen carelessly flipped her long hair over her shoulder and asked, “Tell me, grandson, how long have you wanted to kill me?”

“How does my entire life sound?” Brine replied, getting close enough to distract with his sword and get in a jab with his dagger. It was to no avail; his grandmother grabbed his hair, her talon-like nails scratching his scalp, and slashed his chest. Like the first attack, it was barely a flesh wound, but it was still the second blow she’d gotten in on Brine when he’d so far not managed to land a scratch on her. She was toying with him, Brine knew, like his vendetta against her was a trivial matter.

It only fueled his desire to see Old Mother take her final breath.

Brine tried desperately to strike Lady Betraz while she painstakingly got in blow after blow, slice after slice. He landed a couple of cuts, but she didn’t seem fazed by them at all. By the time Brine had a spare second to direct his attention to Scarlet, who was watching, panic-stricken, by the window, he was a bleeding mess and panting heavily.

And then it dawned on Brine.

He was going to lose.

Better to go down in a fight than with your tail between your legs.

Brine sincerely did not wish for this to be the end of things.

If only I weren’t fighting on my own. But alone was what he was; his grandmother and the woman he had sworn was his mate had made sure of that.

And then there was a presence at the door.

A tall, foreboding figure, broadsword in hand and a molten look in his eyes.

Bright.

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