Page 28 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

“Of course, I’m untouched,” I snapped. “Do you think Father or Linnea would allow anything else? I've never even kissed anyone before this.”

And apparently that was the perfect thing to say. The ice in his eyes melted and I found myself basking in the warmth of his smile, the way his embrace tightened around me, all previous coldness washed away so thoroughly, it was as if it was never there. Then kisses, slow, drugging kisses that repaired every breach, drove away every worry until there was only this.

“Kris…” I panted, sucking in a breath before going back for more, his thrusts getting harder, faster and now I understood that maid I’d seen getting rutted. It didn’t make sense, but something inside me craved everything he gave me, a need burning deeper and deeper, one I wanted him to chase.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Call my name over and over. I never tire of hearing it on your lips. I go to bed each night imagining you screaming it out to the skies when I finally claim you as mine. Because that’s what you are, aren’t you, Darcy? You’re mine and not those blasted wargs.”

“Yes…”

“Say it, my love. Say you’re mine and only mine. Say it!”

“I don’t believe she will, sir knight.”

As surely as if someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over us, that sardonic voice had us jumping apart and the ensuing follow-through did not end well for Kris. I let out a little cry as Weyland stormed into the stables, hands balled, not even giving Kris the opportunity to defend himself as he drove a fist into my love’s jaw.

“No!”

I threw myself in between the two of them when Weyland went to hit Kris again.

“No?” Weyland tilted his head on a strange angle, his eyes blazing phosphorescent blue. His beast was riled, a dog ready to engage in a territorial fight over a bone, and I was the meaty femur. “You defended Axe against the knights this morning and then I come down here to find you engaging in some very friendly behaviour with the bastard who thought to kill my brother!”

“Maybe I’m just sick of men seeking to kill or maim someone over every bloody slight!” I snapped back.

The glow in Weyland’s eyes faded somewhat at that, but not the intensity. He stared at me for several seconds and that’s all the time Kris needed to rally. He jerked me back behind him, forming a wall between me and the warg, and that was his next mistake.

“Lady Darcy will never be taken by a filthy animal like you,” Kris sneered, but Weyland didn’t bother to play with words. He strode up and backhanded Kris across the face so hard I could almost hear his spine crack in response.

“I challenge you to a duel,” Weyland said with deadly intensity. “We’ll fight this out on the training grounds, you weaselly little snot.” Then, as if to emphasise the very real danger Kris was in, he plucked my love up and out of my arms and set him aside on a hay bale, like one might do a small child. “That’s how you tin men do these things, isn’t it? How to settle a disagreement like a true knight?”

“You’re no knight,” Kris spat, throwing himself at the warg, but Weyland held him off without effort.

“No, lad, I’m not and I’m not gonna fight like one either. I’m going to pound you into the ground, little toy soldier, and use that fancy armour of yours to form your coffin, for the gross offence of touching my mate. She’s mine!”

I’d heard of the warg’s alpha bark, a kind of shout delivered at a certain register that only the highborn wargs could deploy. It ensured instant compliance and right now the two of us went perfectly still in response to it, something that lasted until Weyland pulled Poll from his stall, the horse pawing at the air in his readiness and threw himself on the horse’s bare back, dragging me up and in front of him.

“Choose your second or whatever it is you do, boy, because we’re having this out when I come back. And if you think you can pull the same tricks as you tried on my brother, think again. The duke supports this marriage and is willing to use lethal force to ensure it happens, if that’s what it takes. We’re that lethal force, in case you’re wondering.”

“You’re nothing but a beast, using his fangs and his claws to get his way with a good woman who should never have to bear your touch!” Kris shouted.

“Oh, she’ll do more than bear it, lad,” Weyland shot back, right as he kicked Poll into a canter.

I moved to lay low against Poll’s neck, to grip the big muscle there rather than his mane, but Weyland’s arms went around me, caging me in.

“Don’t worry, lass,” he said with a growl. “You’re not going anywhere.”

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