Page 12 of Ravenous

“A raid? We need a war!” As immortality danced out of reach for manylike Arctos, dissension in the queendom mounted. Would the great Berserkers return solely to mortality for the vampires to pick off once more?

She arched a brow at his tone, and her lips curled without humor, reminding him of the bear he’d attacked as a young boy. When it had opened its jaws, Arctos had sworn he’d witnessed Valhalla inside its bloody gullet.Or fate.

Moderating his voice, he said, “My queen, you know I remain just eight kills away from ohalla.”

Her pelt-brown eyes narrowed. “Then go alone with your incubus,” she said softly. “And pray the princess has eight guards between you and immortality.”

Chapter 6Ditch

Mount Nothrior

The wolf king is…strange.

He stood rigid before Ditch and Meera, heart hammering like he’d sprinted the whole climb.

His gaze flicked from her horns to her barely noticeable fangs to her swaying tail (her appendage had a mind of its own). He catalogued everything—leather pressing against her breasts, the way this catsuit hugged her crotch.

The male was handsome enough with his seven-foot-tall frame packed with muscles and his thick head of chestnut hair. He had even, masculine features and a strong jaw that hinted at legendary stubbornness. Against his tanned skin, his eyes were the color of Akelarre’s gray mists.

They called to mind the haunted hills and lakes of her perilous home world.

Still he said nothing. What she wouldn’t give right now for her witchly power to read others’ deepest desires. In this place, Ditch couldn’t divine his, could only read the edges of it.Hunger.“Are we just going to stare at each other, wolf king?”

He shook his head, jaw flexing as if he gnashed his fangs. He’d shoved up the sleeves of his dark blue tunic, and his clenched fists made his forearms bulge attractively.

Muscles. Pumping veins. Virility.Purrrrrr.

His gaze kept roaming over Ditch’s figure. Lust lived there. It usually did. Most males wanted her, even knowing she would eat their entrails dipped in milk.The importance of a balanced breakfast can’t be overstated.She grinned ather own joke; his eyes darkened as he clocked her curved lips.

The wolf beside him finally spoke, “I am Lowell Nightclaw, my lady.” Too jovial by half.

Meera’s interest sparked anyway; Lowell’s did in kind.No accounting for taste.

“May I present King Thane?”

“You may. And you just have.”

Meera marshaled her nerves. “I’m Meera Newteye. We’ve met before. May I present the High Priestess Di—”

“Just Ditch,” she cut in.

Lowell’s smile tilted. “A play ondemon-witch?”

“No. My dam birthed me in a ditch. Seeing how happy I was among the low creatures there, she left me to flourish amid the forked tongues and scales.” In truth, dear Dam had abandoned her to die in bog water. And years later, she would do even worse.

Lowell’s lips parted. The king seemed to stifle a flinch.

Magic wouldn’t help her here, but years of reading desires would. The king craved her even as she repulsed him. The more disgust he felt, the more he wanted her, like threads braided to make a rope. She could hang him with it.

He was an obstacle when she had a world to conquer. Maiming, killing, and maddening—tools of craft.

Akelarre had given her a mission. Was Ditch driven to complete it to prove that she was a witch of worth and not a bog-crawling demon? Maybe. She was vain, and having her name feted at Beltane tempted her.

But Ditch had deeper desires herself.

Two words whispered:Hell spreads.

Thane finally spoke with a rumbling voice: “Did you kill Lazara?”