Page 9 of Fated (The Queen's Mates 3)

Chapter Eight

I didn’t have time to wonder how they recognized me. For all I knew, they each had a picture in their shirt pocket. It wasn’t as if I hid from cameras in the palace. Every event was captured and often in the newspaper. Now, we had a website for local happenings, too. But how they knew me mattered not at all.

What did was how I was going to survive this encounter. My uncle had made it clear he wanted me dead. Maybe kidnapped first for whatever sick torment he might enjoy, but eventually dead.

I had no weapons on me. No way to defend myself except to run. So, that was what I did. I turned and ran through the brush behind me. Eschewing even the barely visible trail, because I was pretty sure they’d catch up to me in seconds.

As I trampled the woods, getting scratched and scraped and once nearly tumbling over a rock, I remembered something. I was a wolf. Were they? I didn’t think so. They were something, not human but not wolves. Still, they were right behind me, nearly breathing down my neck, and in this form, I couldn’t get away.

I shifted in mid stride, leaving clothing behind me in shreds, hopefully something they’d trip over. My wolf bounded over the ground, never stumbling, never tumbling, and always graceful, even when being pursued by a pack of…something. I sensed that they were not longer people, but was afraid to look over my shoulder and find out.

I couldn’t let anything slow me down. Had to find my mate, find my troops. Because I did not have the tools to fend off a dozen…Roar!A dozen lions. All I could do was run, breath harsh in my chest, quite an unusual state for my fit wolf. But our runs were for pleasure. I never had to go all-out in a flight for my life.

The queen running away. Even as I leapt over a stream and continued up a hillside, I hated myself a little bit. And questioned how easily I’d heard all the sounds of pursuit and of the mercenaries sneaking up on me. My hearing had probably saved me…but what about when it didn’t?

I wasn’t sure how long I could keep ahead of them, but my communication skills in wolf form might help.

Gunnar. It’s a trap!

Janis, where are you?

I don’t know. I just crossed a stream and I see a low hill up ahead. Lots of pine trees, looks kind of like a pin cushion?

Okay, can you stay there?

No. I’m being chased by lions just now.

His silence was telling, but it wasn’t helping.

Gunnar? They aren’t very far behind.

Go left around the hill, and just keep running and don’t stop no matter what you see.

Usually, I asked questions, complained, wondered if it should be my decision, but as I pounded along the ground, heart and lungs straining, at least one thorn in a paw, for once, I did the smart thing and obeyed. Veered left and raced for all I was worth, trusting my mate had a plan. Please let him have a plan.

The ground rumbled behind me with the big lion paws slapping it, and in a moment, they’d catch up to me, tear me apart or worse.Gunnar?

Keep going, faster if you can.

I stretched out as far as I could and threw myself forward, leaving the hill behind before I heard them engage. Roars and growls and snarls and high-pitched yipping. What was going on back there?

Do. Not. Stop.

I didn’t, not until the hill was far behind me and, with it, any sound.

At all.

And then I did stop and faced back the way I came. The back of the hill had fewer pines, and with echoing silence in my head, I decided to climb up and try to use one of my other senses. Gunnar told me not to stop, but surely he didn’t mean never. I scrambled up the side of the hill, loose gravel slipping under my paws and probably making a lot of noise. Might be a problem. I tried to be very aware of what lay around me, using sight and scent, but I still felt incredibly vulnerable.

As I approached the top, I got down on my belly and crept forward until I could see what lay below. Only a few trees were here, so I used them to conceal my location as best I could. At first, I saw nothing below, so I moved a bit to the left and then…it was like a silent movie.

I’d missed the start of the battle and the middle, because, apparently, it was the fastest battle on record. Mostly because the mercenaries had not been able to carry all their weapons with them while shifted and they were outnumbered about five-to-one.

They were running away, wolves nipping at their heels, and the day was won.

But not by me.

When Gunnar and the others returned, I descended to join them, and gave them a great pep talk, mind-to-mind, before starting back for the palace. We would serve their refreshments and congratulate them on their success, “our” success, but I knew the truth. I’d let my kingdom down. I’d been of no use in that battle, forced to run away and leave my subjects to fight.

That would not fly in future.

Not. At. All.

Somehow, I would learn to do better. Next time, I would lead them. They should not face a danger I did not.

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