Page 16 of Broken Kingdom

“I think it’s fairly common these days,” I say.

He snorts again. “Well, it wasn’t thirty years ago, and Griffin was clearly crafted from ancient, sub-par DNA. He’s a fool with a weak chin, but at least he’s too stupid to consider challenging me for the throne.” He emits a soft, considering laugh. “Maybe we should marry him off to your cousin? She’d have a father for her bastard baby and our families would be knitted together so tightly, they’ll never be torn asunder. Huh.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “It’s something to think about.”

He grins, beaming as he claps his hands together. “So much to think about, so much to plan, and so much to look forward to!” He points a finger at Madame Duval. “Get her out of the dress and work your magic with the alternations.” He shifts his finger my way. “And you, prepare for your styling appointment. The guards will come to take you to the salon soon. I’ll see you at the rehearsal at six. Sadly, I have business to attend to elsewhere and won’t be able to ride with you.”

He starts toward the door, spinning around at the last moment to add in a boisterous tone, “Good work, ladies! Keep it up and we’ll have a wedding to remember!”

“We most certainly will,” Madame Duval says, turning back to me and guiding me back up on the fitting block. As she unzips the back, she whispers just inches from my ear, “Any experience picking locks? Just nod or shake your head. The room is bugged.”

I nod, my pulse picking up as she adds in that same almost unintelligible voice, “Good. I’ll sew a small lock-picking kit into the hem of the dress, in the back by the spray of flowers on the train. Wait until you’re in the bathroom at the church and see what you can do about the collar. There shouldn’t be any cameras or bugs there. If you can get that off…”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I know what happens if I get this collar off. I’ll be able to burn that church to the ground.

I’ll just have to be sure Bethany isn’t in there when I do.

But the maid of honor usually walks down the aisle before the bride. Chances are Bethany and I will have a moment, even if we’re guarded, when we’re outside the sanctuary while everyone else is inside.

It’s a chance. A good one, and one I wouldn’t have without this brave woman.

“Thank you,” I say, holding her gaze as I wrap up in the robe she offers. “So very, very much.”

“Of course,” she says with a breezy laugh. “Every bride should have a perfect dress. It’s my pleasure to help provide you with yours.” She moves toward the door, the dress slung lightly over one arm. “And good luck tonight. Captives aren’t allowed out for pack events, but I’m sure my clients will fill me in on all the gossip when I’m fitting them for their coronation gowns. It’s tradition for the new queen to be crowned three months after the wedding, so you’ll already have another fabulous party to look forward to. And a fabulous new dress.”

“Sounds like a good time,” I say, lifting a hand as she slips through the door.

But it doesn’t, of course.

Vengeance, however?

That sounds like a great time.

Ten

Ford

It’s nearly two o’clock by the time we secure the waterproof walkie-talkies, cover the one Catherine will take with her into the sewer with black electrical tape to mask the bright yellow plastic, and hop the subway to the botanical gardens.

Once outside the station, we go our separate ways—Catherine and Layla to a nearby clothing store where Catherine intends to shift in the dressing room and me to a rooftop pool with a sliver view of the sewer grate across the street from the compound. There, I’ll be out of sight of Jean-Paul’s cameras but still able to keep an eye on the others.

I bought a swimsuit and t-shirt at the department store. I blend in with the other people taking advantage of the sunny day and happy hour drink specials at the cabana, but I haven’t felt like this much of an outcast in years. Everyone at this swanky property is human and wealthy and dealing exclusively with first world problems like a margarita with too much salt on the rim or a lack of fresh towels by the hot tub.

The women turning to check me out as I settle under an umbrella at the far corner of the roof would run screaming in horror if they knew what I am and all the things I’ve done. I’ve murdered so many people that I lost track after a few months in the pits. And yes, I was forced to kill them—it was kill or be killed—but that blood is still on my hands, and it changed me.

Maybe killing my enemies would always have been relatively easy, but I doubt it. I was raised to be a warrior, but even the Zion fighters with the highest rate of confirmed kills rarely had a body count of more than ten or fifteen. Pack wars are increasingly rare and when conflicts do arise, they’re usually snuffed out quickly with a minimum of bloodshed. There just aren’t enough shifters in the world to go around killing each other without serious consideration.

But the owners and managers in the blood pits didn’t care about loss of life. We were all pack rejects and expendable in their eyes. Which means I’ve ripped literally hundreds of living, breathing beings apart with my bare hands.

I intend to bring all that experience to bear once I’m in the same room with Jean-Paul. Thanks to Hermione, we’re all well-armed, but I don’t want to shoot Jean-Paul. I want to watch horror and pain fill his eyes as his shoulder dislocates from the socket and he realizes I don’t intend to stop there. I’m going to keep pulling, tearing, until parts of his body litter the floor while he’s still alive to see it.

I have never thirsted for anyone’s blood like this.

With one exception, of course…

Knowing I still have time before the girls emerge from the clothing store by the station below, I pull out my cell and check the secure message app Maxim’s team uses to communicate. There’s still no update on Hammer aside from the fact that he seems to have abandoned the helicopter somewhere near the northern border of Quebec and proceeded on foot.

They’re assuming Juliet’s mom is still with him, but there’s no confirmation of that so far. Hammer hasn’t sent a ransom request or any other messages that we know of.

Back home, the rest of the Zion pack seems oblivious that their Alpha was just delivered a stunning defeat and at least fifty of their best fighters are dead. The intelligence from Natalie’s spy network is that Hammer was keeping the reason for the rapid deployment of his force a secret from the pack at large, though it’s likely his new wife knows the score. She seems way more involved than even my mother was, and she had a better line on what Hammer was up to than most of his generals.

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