Page 2 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

I tightened my grip on the knife, strengthened my stance, just as Nordred had taught me, but it all came to naught. The man’s hand bit down. It felt like he ground my bones together, a stifled cry escaping my lips.

“Gods above, Gael,” the dark-haired man said with a growl. “There’s no need to manhandle the lass.”

But Gael’s words were a self-fulfilling prophecy. As the knife fell, I grabbed for it with my free hand, yet as I did so, I felt the sharp, cold bite of the blade through my skin. I jerked my hand up, weapon ignored now, my blood and the stag’s melding, and that was when the demeanour of the men changed.

“What?!”

Gael’s voice had my eyes jerking up and around to see that what had been reassuringly dark blue eyes now shone a pale, phosphorescent turquoise and they studied me like prey, as a wolf does. Because that’s what these men were.

Wargen had two souls where we had only one, as the gods intended, and within each of them lived a beast. I saw the evidence of it in Gael’s face, as he scented the air with long sniffs, as his lips curled back to reveal his fangs. I was the stag now, my heart racing, my muscles tensing, ready to run, but his grip tightened.

“Gael! What in all the gods’ names…”

The dark-haired man strode over, irritation plain on his face and for a moment I fancied him as my saviour, but Nordred had always impressed upon me that I needed to rely on myself, not others. As soon as the other man got close, the others followed and then I saw I had more than one wolf to deal with.

They didn’t move as men, but as a pack, clustering closer. My eyes darted, my body moved in frantic little jerks as they closed off all exit points. Growls rumbled in their throats, their faces masks of animalistic hunger as they blocked me in.

“What do we have here?” the blond man said, cocking his head to one side.

“Something tasty,” the tall man replied for me. “Not something I expected to find.”

“Not something you’d ever stumble upon,” the dark-haired man said and by the look of his face, he was fighting hard with his beast to maintain control. “Something very special indeed.”

When the other man reached out for me, Gael relinquished his hold, but when I went to jerk free, the dark-haired man was there. My wrist was captured and when I went to slap him, so was the other, both my hands being pulled up, up, until my body was pressed against an armour-clad chest.

“What is she, Dane?” the blond-haired man said, prowling closer. “Her blood…”

“Some doxy off hunting—” Gael tried to say.

“No,” the big man said, and the rest fell silent.

The dark-haired man pulled my bleeding fingers to his mouth and then did something even my fevered imagination hadn’t anticipated. I knew they were animals, but this? He brushed his lips across my knuckles as a lord was supposed to do when greeting a noble lady, but what he did after went far beyond the realm of good manners. He sniffed at the blood dripping there and then, to my horror, his tongue flicked out.

He was fast, holding me in a grip that felt like iron as he went back for more, even as I let out a sound of disgust. Full lips parted, fangs flashed, as he shoved one of my fingers into his mouth. My distress became clearer as his tongue slid over my cut, but not due to pain. Strangely, all discomfort vanished the moment he did this and was replaced by something altogether different.

No man had touched me, not like this, not in such a shockingly intimate way. His eyes bore into mine, casting some sort of spell, as I felt his mobile tongue slide around my finger. It was curiously gentle. I’d half expected him to bite my finger off at the root, so I was momentarily captured by the velvety soft sensation of him licking me clean. And with that came a strange warmth, one that dispelled any pain and replaced it with something else. I just stared, caught on his gaze, listening to the grunts coming from low in his chest, evidently ones of pleasure by his expression. A pleasure I was beginning to share.

Like all noble ladies, I knew little of the ways of the flesh, but I’d… heard things, seen things. The chambermaids discussing the relative merits of the different knights, sometimes even talking quite frankly when they didn’t realise I was in the room. No, when I stood there, hidden by a door or wall, I heard them speak at length of what some men did with their tongues. And what this Dane did right now? It had me remembering every word. Would those strong hands ruck up my dress? Would he drop down to his knees, burying his face in what he found, pulling my thighs wide and…

But the others broke my concentration, making the same sounds, sniffing and groaning like the bloody animals they were and that’s when it hit me. I might look like a slattern right now, but I was a lady, so I yanked my hand from the warg’s grip, then used it to slap his impudent face.

It was then I questioned the received wisdom of such a response. We’d all been taught how to rebuke a man who sought to take liberties but… nowhere in Lady Linnea’s teachings had she discussed censuring a warg with bloody sharp teeth. He froze then, his eyes blazing bright, his brothers doing the same, but they didn’t respond, so that’s when I moved into action.

I turned on my heel, sprinting for all I was worth back towards my beloved Arden, whistling for him sharply as I did. I heard muffled shouts, growls, and was sure the beasts had taken fur and were on my heels, but I ran anyway. Arden jerked his head free of where I’d loosely slung the reins over a branch, and came trotting, then cantering towards me. I had my bow in my hand as I reached for his mane, swinging myself up in my saddle with one hand and drawing an arrow from my quiver with the other. My knees dug into Arden’s sides as I nocked my arrow, sighting the men who sought to stop me, tracing their progress with my bow.

“Whoa, milady,” the blond-haired one said, moving slowly, carefully, to grab for Arden’s reins, but my horse was not having that. He might have been small for a war horse, but he was still trained the same, shying away from an attacker, then snapping out with punishing teeth when the man persisted.

“You’ll let me go or I’ll fill your worthless hides with arrows,” I snapped and apparently that was the perfect thing to say. The men fell back then, but not in fear. No, rather they looked me over with a strange air of satisfaction.

“You wish to lead us on a merry chase?” the big man said, chuckling when I shifted my aim to him.

“She’s—” Gael growled.

“Hush, brother,” the dark-haired man said, then, of all things, bowed before me, the polite gesture ruined by the terrible smirk on his face. “I am Dane, and these are my brothers, Axe.” He gestured at the huge man. “Gael and Weyland.” He pointed to the shaggy-haired man and the blond one in turns. “And who might I have the honour of addressing?”

I snorted at his polite phrasing, given that the point when someone chose to lick the blood from my fingers was well past the moment for courtesy, but as I lifted my head high, I wondered if this might work in my favour.

“I am Darcy, daughter of the Duke of Elverston and any hope of detaining me…”

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