Page 33 of A Game of Queens
"I'm moving the car," I retorted again, letting a snarl twist my lips. "Nottakingthe car. Then I'm going to check the area. Make sure it's safe. Look for these burning things you're so worried about."
"Sunfires."
"Whatever." I slammed the door and strode down the hallway like the bowels of hell had emptied all its demons to chase me. I wished to fuck they had. I wanted to kill. I needed the hot splash of blood, the grip of prey in my throat.
Bad choice, I snarled at myself. It was fucking idiotic to even think about blood when a hungry queen waited.
"Back already?" The nosy manager gave me a greasy smile. "That was fast."
I fisted my hands and kept on walking, fighting down the urge to rip his stupid face off. The last thing I needed was human police asking questions. Checking the security monitor. Speaking of which, I made a mental note to grab my kit out of the trunk. I needed to make sure the creep hadn't installed some kind of monitoring device into the room, hoping to make himself a little porno-tape for his private viewing.
Open spaces and fresh air cooled some of the wolf's rage. My nose worked, taking in all the scents of the area. The man at the desk. A pair of humans at the far end of the building. From the overpowering reek of chemicals, they were brewing meth right here in the shitty hotel. Hopefully, they didn't blow us to kingdom come.
I drove the car around to the back entrance that was a little closer to our door. Backed in, so we could make a quick getaway if needed. The rear lot was surrounded by trees. I breathed deeply, letting the scents of pine soothe me. A pair of rabbits hopped and fed in the bit of grass lining the lot. They'd be easy to catch. Easy to kill.
My wolf watched them silently but didn't want to hunt.
A sound escaped my throat. Shock. Fear. Yeah. Since when had my wolf not wanted to hunt? Even a pair of rabbits? I was seriously off my game.
Meeting a queen as an unattached Aima warrior did that to a person. Especially a king.
I could shift at will—for the most part—into my wolf, which was both a blessing and a curse. My father had the same ability. Evidently, we descended from the famous Fenrir line. If you believed the Norse legends, we might even be key to Ragnarök. I carried the blood of the biggest, baddest wolf in my veins.
Yet I sat in my car like a fucking pussy. Afraid of one lone woman who'd been left for dead in an alley.
Closing my eyes, I let the memories wash over me. Images of my father, chained as a giant wolf. A collar with long, cruel spikes. Sometimes a spiked muzzle. Chains wrapped around his body, so heavy that he could barely walk. Bare patches on his hide. Bleeding sores. Skin and bones from starvation. All things he'd allowed. No, requested. Because he'd feared the wolf inside him.
My queen mother had been all too willing to accommodate his request to keep the wolf caged. I was over two hundred years old and I still didn't understand why he'd allowed it—or why she'd not simply killed him and put him out of his misery if they both feared the wolf he carried that much.
I'd hated them. I'd lived in fear as a fledgling, waiting to feel the spikes around my neck. The chains around my limbs. To this day, I still didn't understand why she hadn't locked me up too. Especially when I couldn't continue to hide exactly how strong my wolf had become.
Helayna had helped me control and suppress my beast as long as possible, and then I'd fled our nest. I'd roamed the forests of Minnesota to Maine, up through Canada and even Alaska, before slowly making my way back to where it'd all begun. Even then, I'd only come home to find out what had happened to my sister. I honestly hadn't even known our queen mother had been killed when Helayna was taken.
I'd come home to our family nest and found my father. Free at last. And just as weak and trapped as ever.
Helayna believed that it'd been Loki who kidnapped her toHvergelmir, so at first, I'd thought that was why our father had been spared. Loki might have been reluctant to kill anyone of his blood, no matter how weak the Ironheart claim had become over thousands of years. I couldn't have been more wrong.
Loki didn't give a shit about him. Why would the trickster god give a fuck about a whimpering shell of a wolf who'd been caged for so long that he was scared of living? For all I knew, my pitiful sire was still huddled over our queen's ashes waiting to die so he could be caged by his abuser once more.
Rationally, I knew that wasn't fair to either of them. There had been extenuating circumstances and reasons, I was sure, that I had never been told. Giving them both the benefit of the doubt was beyond me, though. I'd grown up watching a wolfking be mistreated by his queen. Dreading her hand on the leash. Not because she was cruel or unjust. No.
Because my father had gone so eagerly to that surrender.
Hewantedto be caged. He wanted to be controlled. I couldn't justify a wolf king with such a submissive urge. He'd been weak. He'd been afraid. He'd rather live on the other side of prison bars than risk making a mistake or losing control in a moment of fierce joy or rage.
I'd take the rage, thank you very much.
Even if it meant I would never know the power a queen's blood could give.
7
KARMEN
Istared at the door a moment, wondering at his abrupt exit. Nothing I'd known in my life had prepared me for such an enigma. He was rude and harsh and barely spoke more than grunts and snarls, especially when he was angry. Which seemed to be most of the time. But he'd taken me away from the immediate danger. I could only trust that this place was as safe as it could possibly be.
Even though my skin burned as the sun crept higher in the sky.
My mouth still ached, but I ignored it. Evidently, I was as talented at ignoring pain and discomfort as the wolfman was at embracing his rage.
