Page 20 of The Wolf King

He lifts me onto the beast. A couple of the men stare at me, but when he growls, they make themselves busy by adjusting their packs, or checking their weapons.

When I’m settled, the alpha’s gaze darts around the shadowy group of eight and his brow creases.

“Where’s Ryan?”

I scan the shadowy male faces and see the boy with the dislocated arm isn’t here.

“The wee lad?” A burly man with red hair and a thick beard shakes his head. “Not seen him.”

“Fuck’s sake!” the alpha curses.

For the first time tonight, he looks worried. He darts a look over his shoulder at the Western Gate, then up at me. He flexes his fingers by his sides.

“Fuck,”he mutters.

A moment later, the boy half runs, half stumbles through the gate and some of the tension in the alpha’s expression softens.

Ryan’s coppery hair is plastered to his forehead and he’s clasping the hand of a brunette girl around his age. She’s wearing the uniform of the kitchen maids, and has an angry scar across her cheek.

My eyes narrow in distaste at the brand on her neck—one of Sebastian’s ways of identifying the Wolves he has working for him in the castle.

“Ah, seeing to matters of the heart, I see,” says the red-haired guy.

“Or cock,” says another, with an arched eyebrow.

A few of the men chuckle.

“Shut up, dickhead,” snarls Ryan, glaring up at him. It does not escape my notice that he is no longer wearing the sling. Wolves really do heal quickly, then.

“Oi!” says the alpha, slapping the back of his head. “Get on your horse, and stop pissing about.” His tone is stern, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

In a swift movement, he mounts the horse behind me. The heat of his body seeps through the thick furs I am wearing and makes my skin hum. He reaches for the reins, caging me within his arms.

“Ready, Princess?” His voice is a rough breath on my cheek, and I shiver.

The bare branches of the trees ahead reach for one another over the overgrown road like forlorn lovers. To my right, the mountains are jagged and wild and alive—so unlike the flat terrain of the south that submits to the feet that tread upon it.

The alpha asked me what I wanted and I couldn’t answer.

Now, a word beats fast with my pulse.

Freedom.

I want to be free from my fate.

If I do this—if I can gather intelligence that will help my father win his war—I may be able to free myself from Sebastian.

“Yes,” I say, and some of the tension loosens in my chest.

“Let’s go,” says the alpha.

The thunder of hooves competes with my heartbeat as we ride into the forest.

The man with the red hair appears beside us. His eyes glint with amusement, even in the darkness, as he raises an eyebrow at the alpha.

“Don’t mean to overstep,” he says. “But who’s the lass?”

Chapter Six

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