Page 13 of Wolf Tamer

And these women, who always seem to spout all holier than thou about the bonds of sisterhood, are practically shaking in excitement to watch her burn. I’m sure I see one of them lick her lips.

If I didn’t need them, they’d be gone.

It’s not up to me to judge anyone, but I swear to whoever will listen that they’ll pay for what they’ve done to my mate.

The first stone thrown hits her directly on the shoulder, and although the ropes have her in place, her magic castrated, she jerks at the impact.

Her face gives nothing away, but I know it hurts her. On more than one level, it hurts. She’s kept her lips zipped without argument for all the accusations they’ve tossed her way. Even now, she refuses to cry out.

I’m not too late, at least, and the itching sensation between my shoulder blades urges me forward while they’re all distracted.

I managed to get here in time despite my own injuries. But how in the good hell am I going to extract Tasha out of this mess? Against an entire coven, with me not at optimal fighting levels? I’m going to have to shift and hope my wolf can do a better job of it than me.

He presses against my skin in a clear insistence: release. Together we can do it, and it seems that the beast inside me is much more confident than I am.

More stones fly, some missing, but most landing with a thud against her flesh.

With each hit, my rage grows, and I creep closer while they keep their attention on Tasha. Her eyes close, her chin dipping down to her chest. She sinks against her bonds with bruises growing darker on her skin.

They’re all going to pay.

And I mean that in the worst possible way.

I didn’t escape my father’s wrath and the betrayal of my subordinates just to watch Tasha suffer this kind of humiliation and pain. These women will suffer the consequences for every stone that marks her flesh, for every bruise and cut and goddamn negative thought in her head. I’ll make them pay if it’s the last thing I do.

“Demens!”

At the first hint of Latin, my gaze whips across the contingent of witches to find the woman who aired the insult. I don’t know a lot of Latin, but that one, I do. It means silly ass. Orcrazy, depending on who you ask.

The insults have my vision going red the longer they continue, with more and more women choosing to blast Tasha with their words.

“FOETOREM EXTREMAE LATRINAE!” one woman yells so loudly that the words echo in my ears. “Abi in malam crucem.”

Anger surges.No one tells my girl to go to hell.

The coven leader continues to watch. She stands with the sheet of paper bunched in her hands and a vicious smile lighting her face. One that does not meet her cold, dead eyes. She’ll be the first to go once I get this whole thing figured out. That much I know.

“Burn the witch,” she finishes, in such a low undertone compared to her sister’s yelling that it’s impossible to look away from her.

At once, all noise ceases and the silence is heavy enough to break my neck.

The head witch is the first one to make a move toward the pyre, with Tasha tied there, glaring up at the sky now. She pointedly refuses to look at any of these people, although tears have her eyes looking glassy.

She’s expecting to meet her maker today and is more than likely making peace with it.

Won’t she be surprised when I pull out a surprise rescue?

What would have happened if I had ignored the asinine feeling in my gut? At least, I thought it asinine at the time. Just a strange gut sensation that I needed to find Tasha immediately.

Limping and panting, I bolted.

Now I see why.

The silver-haired coven leader snaps her fingers, and a flame grows above them.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asks.

Tasha’s final words.

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