Page 32 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

“To third blood,” Father confirmed.

“Yours will paint the sands,” Kris declared, and then for the first time, dared to look across the crowd at me. “I do this for you, Lady Darcy. In defiance of an unjust engagement. To dispute a good Granian woman being handed over to the bestial wargen like a cow at market day. But most of all, to prove that our love is seen to be good and righteous by the gods themselves.”

Everything felt white hot and ice cold all at the same time. I knew people were watching, commenting, talking, drinking, doing any number of things, but at that moment, I couldn’t hear or see any of it. There was only him. Kris said he’d dreamed of me? Well, I’d dreamed of a moment just like this. When a man would dare to defy my father’s oppressive rule. Where he would choose me over everything else and in that moment my breath caught in my chest, not due to my illness, but at being struck by that reality finally coming to pass.

“Breathe,” Nordred said. “Just keep breathing, milady.”

So I did. They were long shuddering ones, but they kept on coming. Then it was Weyland’s turn to speak.

“You put a whole lot of caveats on this,” he said. “But for me, everything I do is for my mate, Darcy. I don’t give a damn what the gods or anyone has to say about it. I know to my very core that she is mine and I will serve her to the end of my days.” He raised the flat of his axe to his lips and Kris did the same with his sword. “That starts now with smashing your fucking head in with my axe.”

Kris jerked up his shield, approaching Weyland with exactly the right stance, protecting his flank even as he took a swipe at the warg. But Weyland’s battle strategy was completely different. He threw himself at Kris, granting him first blood as Kris’ sword sliced down his side, but using the now close position to his advantage. My hands went to my mouth as I saw Weyland’s arm pull back, then as if time had become treacle, slowly pouring from the gods’ jar, it came rocketing back.

Weyland did exactly as he said. His axe crashed into Kris’ helmet, and I caught the moment when it crumpled around his skull, sending him flying through the air like a discarded doll, only to thud down to the ground moments later.

“Kris!” I shouted, ready to run to his side, when an arm grabbed me around the waist.

“Don’t do it, lass.” Gael’s voice was low and tense. “Weyland will be half mad after this with a need to rut you, mark you and kill your little knight. I know you don’t understand, but trust me on this. If you care for that boy, you’ll stay right here.”

I didn’t understand. I wanted to fight his grip with everything I had, but when had my instincts ever mattered? I was forced to be compliant again, tears streaming down my face as I watched the men rush to help Kris. A sob fought its way out, then another escaped my lips as I saw him hanging between their arms, Nordred rushing over and telling them to lie him back down again before they hurt him more. He worked to heal Kris, an ability he rarely displayed in a public forum, but before people could pay too much attention to that, Weyland roared at the crowd.

“Is there anyone else here who thinks they can get between me and my mate?”

His challenge rang out through the courtyard and he was met by perfect silence. His eyes raked across every man there and no one did a thing.

“You’ll need to go to him,” Gael said very quietly. “You’ll need to settle him, soothe him or he’s just as likely to destroy the whole keep. It’s been hard on all of us, this entire process, and he needs you to ground him.”

“And what about what I need?” I asked flatly.

“Tell me what it is and I’ll move heaven and earth to get it for you, if you just do this. I’ll be forever in your debt, because I can’t lose my brother, not to your father’s knights, and not to him going berserk.”

It felt like an ice-cold hand gripped my throat at the mention of the legendary battle state that wargen could go into. It turned them into instinct-driven killing machines, ones not always directed at the enemy. Tales abounded of berserk wargen who sliced through friend and foe alike, and that’s what got my feet moving. They felt like lead dragging in the sand as I went to Weyland’s side, the crowd around us taking a collective breath as I stepped closer and then placed a hand on his shuddering shoulder.

“Darcy…”

Weyland said my name like a prayer, tugging me closer, gazing down at me with an intensity that was frankly overwhelming, holding me against his body until finally the tension began to leech out of him. But then, as soon as he got to a calm state, he went and did something else dramatic.

I was tossed over Weyland’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes and then he strode back to the keep.

“Sign whatever the duke wants,” he ordered Dane. “We leave with our mate tomorrow.”

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