Page 41 of The Wolf

“Julia is related to Mary, Queen of Scots,” Alex says, his voice steady. “Perhaps you remember her?”

I glance up at him, confused by what’s the significance, but the gargoyle’s interest visibly spikes.

“Of course.” He exhales, the sound like wind rushing through a canyon. “I was at Notre Dame on the day of her wedding.”

Alex nods, and there’s a long silence again after that. “We are at active war with hunters,” he finally begins, his voice firm but tinged with pressing urgency. “I have to leave. We are all leaving tomorrow. I’m asking you for help to monitor her while we deal with the matters.”

The gargoyle’s gaze shifts between us, unreadable. His wings twitch some more and open a bit, the sharp points at their peaks casting jagged shadows against the walls. But he remains quiet.

Alex then sighs, a hint of weariness slipping through his regal demeanor. “I’ll free you after you do me this service. You have my word.” The promise hangs in the air, heavy with tension.

Free him?

I steal a glance at Alex’s profile, and I can’t help but swallow the lump forming in my throat. He’s making arrangements for my safety—because he won’t be here to protect me himself. That thought has been circling my mind all day, sharp-edged and unwelcome, too raw. I tighten my arms around myself, forcing my expression to stay neutral, but inside, my heart feels like a clenched fist. How many dangers will he face while I sit here, waiting?

The gargoyle stirs, coming fully to life, wings unfurl, creating a thundering sound of dry leather cracking.His movements are fluid as he rises from the pedestal, unfolding to his full height. His form is as graceful as it is spooky.He stands just a smidge shorter than Alex, though his massive wings and horns give him an aura of size that seems almost impossible to contain in this room.

His body is lean and muscular, shimmering faintly in the dim light, with hints of lilac in the undertones of his greyish skin. His bipedal legs are powerful, ending in wide feet with hooked claws that resemble some ancient reptilian predator. A long, pointed tail trails behind him, balancing his weight withevery precise step. His wide arms, equally strong, end in large, clawed hands, much like Alex’s. He has elfish-like ears and dark, short, curly hair, while his face is angular with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and sharp, defined features.

When he stops in front of me, his eyes measure me carefully, and I feel my heart hammering in my chest. Up close, he’s far more monstrous and intimidating. Where Alex’s canine traits are familiar enough to soften his appearance into something scary but fluffy, the gargoyle is so outlandish, almost grotesque. If he chased me through the woods, I would honestly have a heart attack. He’s the embodiment of a nightmare, and I can’t shake off that panicky feeling just looking at him.

At last, he pans his eyes over to Alex. “For the Queen,” he says, ever so slightly bowing his head. “I’ll do it for the Queen.”

Alex places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to exit the chamber. He stops in the doorframe, giving the gargoyle a glance through his shoulder. “We celebrate Samhain tonight if you’d like to join us.”

He huffs in response, then, without any more words spoken, returns to his pedestal, freezing back into a statue.

“Charming, isn’t he?” Alex comments wryly, looking amused, his arm tightening around my waist reassuringly. “But he’ll keep you safe. That’s all that matters.”

I can’t hold back my question any longer, and I lean in closer, whispering, “What’s so important about my background?”

“The gargoyle understands monarchy. He responds well to the strong leadership of those with a lineage he respects. In his past, he was used to protect royals from creatures of the night—werewolves included.” Alex glances down, locking eyes with me, his golden stare steady. “He despises me but his loyalty to my mother runs deeper.”

I peek over at the now-lifeless marble carving, his monstrous form shrouded in shadow, a chill prickling my skin. “Um, I hope you’re correct about this,” I murmur, more to myself than Alex.

“He’ll do right by you. It’s in his nature.” His mouth twitches faintly as he adds, “And he has a weakness for beautiful women.”

15.

Queen

Outside at the edge of the pine forest, the air is crisp and filled with the scent of burning wood, fragrant herbs, and damp earth. As the bonfire crackles merrily, its flames contrast against the backdrop of the emerald and purple sky, creating an enchanting atmosphere. Lanterns dangle from nearby trees, casting a flickering light over the gathering, while the fire’s warmth wraps around us like a comforting embrace. A long table draped in luxurious cloth overflows with an abundance—roasted meats, hearty stews, spiced bread, and trays of vibrant fruits and veggies. Laughter and music surround the space as the entire village celebrates the cycle of life and death.

The Samhain festivities come alive when the witches, dressed in flowing robes of midnight black, circle the fire, their faces painted with symbols of protection and remembrance. Their movements are hypnotic, an enchanting dance that resonates with the very heartbeat of the earth. They sway and spin, invoking the spirits of their ancestors, their voices rising ina haunting chant that echoes through the trees, summoning the energies of the soil and the ancient magic that courses beneath our feet. The flames blaze higher, illuminating their figures and creating long ghostly shadows that dance alongside them across the ivy-covered castle wallsas though the spirits themselves have joined the celebration.

Meg drags me away from Alex and takes me to the table to refill our wine glasses. We stand off to the side, near the edge of the gathering. From here, we have a perfect view of Clara, who’s sitting on a log near the fire, tucked snugly under Edwin’s arm. Her two boys are wrestling jokingly with each other next to them. Clara scolds them half-heartedly, her voice a mixture of sternness and affection, and when Edwin leans down to murmur something in her ear, she giggles bashfully.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” I say, watching the scene unfold. It’s a slice of normalcy that feels so rare in recent chaos.

Meg tilts her head, considering. “It’s very sweet,” she admits in a cautious voice. “But aren’t you a little concerned she might have developed, I don’t know… Stockholm syndrome?”

The question takes me by surprise. “No,” I respond without hesitation. “I get how difficult it can be to understand, but it’s real. This whole fated mate thing. I didn’t buy it at first, either… Then I felt it. And it’s not just some bullshit that was written in the stars long before we ever met… it’s this soul-deep connectionbecausewe chose each other.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive,” she says, her tone softer now. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. I mean… he’s a wolf-type-of-creature.” Meg glances toward the fire where Alex is standing, tall and imposing, with that effortless confidence, the flames illuminating his beastly features with a warm glow. She shakes her head, then takes a huge gulp of wine, and turns back to me, furrowing. “Oh, come on. You must realize it’s a bit jarring.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly, and it feels good to release some of the tension. “The sex is amazing.” I grin, leaning in conspiratorially, and Meg’s eyes widen.

Across from us, Alex’s ears perk up and he lifts his head slightly, his golden gaze catching mine. A slow, knowing smirk curves his lips, and I realize with a flush of heat that he’s heard every word. Typical.

---