Page 33 of Curses and Casualties
The enforcers hesitate just long enough for the first Úlfhéðnar to arrive—a she-wolf even larger than Ragnar, with fur like midnight storms. At her back, a wave of warriors floods in, some on two legs, some on four, all radiating fury.
I scramble for cover behind the overturned bed as two packs collide in an explosion of violence. Ryan has the lead enforcer pinned, jaws locked around his throat. Scarlett dances through the chaos like a whirlwind of destruction, laughing even as she bleeds from a dozen wounds. Ethan fights with terrifying precision, every movement calculated for maximum damage.
The Úlfhéðnar fight like forces of nature, coordinated, brutal and decisive. Where the enforcers fight to capture, the Úlfhéðnar fight to kill.
“What is the meaning of this?” The roar comes from Gunnar, who holds a bloodied enforcer against the wall by his throat.
The lead enforcer, struggling in Ryan’s jaws, gasps out, “We claim the right of retrieval. The female is?—”
“Under our protection!” Ragnar’s voice booms as his massive form fills what’s left of the doorway. The ancient alpha’s presence makes everyone freeze, even mid-combat. “You have violated guest-right, spilled blood in my hall, attacked those who ate at my table. Your pack has declared war on the Úlfhéðnar!”
The temperature in the room seems to drop. Even through the chaos, I can feel the weight of what just happened. Guest-right isn’t just tradition—it’s sacred law, the foundation of supernatural diplomacy. To violate it is unforgivable.
“Bjorn,” Gunnar barks at the young blonde warrior. “Get them out. Use the old paths.”
“But the fight—” Bjorn protests, blood dripping from a gash on his cheek.
“Is not theirs anymore. This is Úlfhéðnar business now. GO!”
Bjorn nods sharply, then grabs my arm. “This way. Quickly!”
Ryan releases the enforcer’s throat and shifts back to human form, naked and bloodied but unharmed. He grabs our scattered belongings as Bjorn leads us to what looks like a solid wall—but it swings inward at his touch, revealing a narrow passage.
“Move!” Bjorn urges as the sounds of escalating violence explode behind us. Snarls, howls, the crash of bodies and furniture, and underneath it all, Ragnar’s voice condemning the enforcers to death.
We run through the dark passage, Bjorn leading with the confidence of someone who knows these paths by heart. The tunnel winds down, sometimes opening into natural caves glistening with moisture, sometimes showing tool marks from hands long dead.
After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, we emerge into the cold night air at the edge of a cliff.The Úlfhéðnar settlement glows in the distance. But now I can see fires starting, hear the echoes of battle carrying on the wind.
“Holy shit,” Scarlett pants, hands on her knees, blood still dripping from various wounds. “What the fuck just happened?”
“War,” Ethan says simply, shifting fully human and accepting clothes from Ryan’s hastily grabbed pack. “The Elders just started a war with the oldest, most powerful wolves in existence.”
“They did. We do not take kindly to unwelcome guests,” Bjorn says, matter-of-factly.
“Does this mean the Úlfhéðnar will help us during the supermoon?” Ryan asks.
“It does.” Bjorn brushes his too-long hair from his face. “And we are disheartened that we were unable to help with your curse.” His eyes land on me. “There is one who might offer direction where we could not. A vampire in Sugar City. Nicolai. He owns the Sangre Noir club.”
He pulls out a small wooden token, carved with runes that seem to shift in the moonlight. “Tell him Bjorn sent you. Tell him...” He pauses, something dark and haunted flickering in his eyes. “Tell him the blood debt from Prague is called due.” The words hang heavy in the air, darker than any curse I’ve heard. Whatever happened in Prague, it wasn’t clean.
“A vampire?” I squeak. Because of course. Why not add asking vampires for favors into this insane mix?
“Nicolai trades in information. He’s old—older than most. If anyone can help you find what you need to loosen this curse and complete your bond, it’s him.” Bjorn presses the token into Ryan’s hand. “He owes me. He’ll help.”
“Thank you,” Ryan says formally, understanding the weight of what Bjorn is giving us. “We won’t forget this.”
Bjorn grins, young and fierce despite the blood and exhaustion. “The Úlfhéðnar won’t forget either. The Elders just made the last mistake they’ll ever make.”
Another howl echoes from the settlement, followed by screams.
“Go,” Bjorn says. “May the old gods watch over you.”
Then he’s gone, loping back toward the battle with the easy grace of someone running toward home, leaving us alone on the cliff’s edge with nothing but a token and a vampire’s name.
“Well,” I say, trying for humor despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “Anyone know how to find a vampire club?”
“I do,” Amara says, appearing with Darius from the shadows of the trees. Both look disheveled but uninjured, and relief floods through me at seeing them safe.
