Page 76 of The Wolf Queen

“What—?” I started to ask.

“You were raised to believe in the imperial pantheon of gods,” he told me. “Then you learned about the goddess and her three faces, but… The church may say that the triumph over the Strelans was ordained by the gods, but it was actually one god in particular.”

I stared back into the blackness now, seeing it as if for the first time. No, the second. The depths seemed to swirl, having a life of its own and then there was the sound. A regular hush that seemed to draw out, then rush back in again. My focus shifted to the king, searching his face for some sort of hint of what lay beneath. Instead of explaining, he pulled a flint out and an unlit torch that had been set in the doorway for just this purpose. He lit the torch and then stepped in.

We walkeddown a steep flight of steps, the cool of night getting colder, developing a nipping bite with each step. My breath came out in great clouds of vapour until Bryson stopped and detached the heavy fur cloak from around his shoulders. He set the torch in a holder inset into the roughhewn stone wall and then held the cloak out for me.

“Then you will be cold,” I said.

“I’ve suffered worse than that,” he said, before moving behind me and wrapping the cloak around me. Once it was set on my shoulders he gave me a squeeze before pulling away. I was about to ask what, wondering at the pampered life of a prince, but the look he shot me kept me quiet. “This way.”

But when we got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw it. The floor spread out, covered with a finely made mosaic that I only caught glimpses of. Of wolves and women, of battles and a black sun burning in the sky. He walked over all of it, as if none of it mattered, bringing me to a stop here.

I’d wondered at the massive black wolf statue in the cave of the Morrigan, but I think I began to understand it here. This cave was made of crystal, just like those that belonged to the goddess, but the power here, it didn’t light up at my approach. Because it wasn’t mine, it was his.

His, Bryson’s, the king of all of Grania, but more than that. His, the massive black wolf with eyes made of actual gold, the eyeballs having been carefully carved and inset into the statue’s face. A statue that loomed up, up, above both of us, because as I came to stand before it, I barely reached its knee.

“The wolf that ate the world,” I breathed out.

“That’s what we call him,” Bryson said. “He’s a leftover figure from one of the empire’s more… reluctant member states. The wolf cultists were monotheistic, not polytheistic, so they resisted the imposition of the imperial pantheon, even as they tried to include the wolf in their number. The resistance of the original worshippers is what led to the church transforming the more nebulous notion of the Devil from a dark spirit, to this.”

We both looked up, the statue staring at the steps, gaze unending, paying us no mind.

“It preyed on believers’ primitive fears, of the wolves that sneak up to a fire at night and drag away the unwary, of being prey, not predator. That fear became personified in the form of the wolf. A symbol of evil, of a ravening hunger that knows no boundaries. A man experiencing the very human lust one might feel for another man’s wife…” He looked down at me. “That’s explained away as the Devil’s work. A man who murders to take another’s riches? Also the Devil. The wolf that ate the world became the reason for all of the world’s ills and the church stole the original religion’s rituals for warding him away, but not the means to summon him…”

“Summon him?” My hand went to my sword as I took a step back, my focus shifting from him to the wolf statue and back again. “Why would anyone…?

But then it occurred to me why I was brought down here in the first place. To learn how the Granians had won that last battle with Prince Callum’s forces, the one where they managed to kill the prince of the blood and the hopes of defending their own land in one fell swoop. So I changed my line of questioning.

“What did they do?” I reached out and grabbed his arm and he stared at where our bodies met. “What did they do, Bryson?”

“No one calls me by my name.” His voice sounded huskier then, hoarser. “Only you. Like my breeding, my lineage means nothing.” His eyes became molten gold and when he twisted his arm to grip my hand with his, I saw it. Black claws where there were perfectly manicured nails. Dark fur prickling across his skin. He shifted to face me and I saw the change in his demeanour instantly. How had anyone ever mistaken him for anything other than this?

“You’re a wolf shifter?” I barely squeaked that out, but when he smiled I saw the cruel points of his fangs, making me question the wisdom of coming down here with him.

“You can shift from one half of yourself to the other at will,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But me? I have no such control. When the full moon rises, I rise with it.”

He grabbed me then, wrapping his hands around both wrists and tugging me closer. Bryson was strong, so bloody strong. I fought against his grip, but that just seemed to egg him on, a low growl forming in his throat. And where was my beast in this? I reached for her but didn’t feel her, as if Bryson was somehow negating all magic in his sphere but his own, and so I was dragged closer.

“Do they tell you how sweet you smell, those lovers of yours?” I let out a sobbing breath as he grazed his nose down my throat. “The scent of it drives me to distraction. I’m trying to keep a million balls in the air, manage a brother who will do anything to take the throne for himself, to make my father’s wish come true, to stamp out this dark legacy of our line.”

“What dark legacy?” I asked through little pants. “What dark legacy, Bryson? You haven’t told me.”

“And what will you give me if I do?”

Linnea had read to me what were supposed to be pious tales for young women, of girls being met on the road to their grandmother’s house by the Devil himself, of him offering her all manner of worldly goods and power, in return for her soul. I’d nodded along to her sermons about resisting temptation, but… Part of me, perhaps a part of all young women, was seduced by the story. Of a dark creature that knew all of my secret wants and desires and was willing to give me each one. What need had I for a soul in return for that? I sucked in a breath, that amber and sandalwood cologne of his transmuting, becoming something deeper, darker. Like the scent of night blooming jasmine or ozone on the wind as a storm built. Something wild. But I was wild too, I couldn’t forget that, so I broke his hold with a twist of my wrists and then faced him down.

“What do you want?”

“Everything.” He didn’t bother to bargain or barter. “I want everything.”

“I can’t give you everything,” I reasoned, then touched the marks on my neck. “I am mated. I belong to—”

“Me.”

He herded me back with all the expertise of a hunting wolf and I didn’t even realise until the backs of my legs hit the cold stone plinth of the statue. I put a hand up to stop him, but he grabbed it and slid it under his shirt, letting it stay over his heart.

“Each one of them gives all of themselves to you, don’t they?” he asked, his mouth hovering over mine, not looking like a prince but a dark beast now. “And you just take it. Then take me, Darcy.” His hand tightened over mine, forcing both our nails to dig into his chest. “Take all of me.”

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