Page 95 of Wolf’s Fated Bride

He opens the cage door.

“The wolf should remain caged during transport,” a Shackler with short blond hair and a mustache says. He aims a rifle at me.

“She’ll behave,” the Peacebroker says. “Won’t you, pup?”

I don’t dignify that with an answer, but come out of the cage, and shift. I finger comb my hair, aware that the men in the room are staring at my nudity. I don’t cover up or shy away. Right now, they’re wary of me, scared of the wolf that I am. Shyness invites attention I don’t want.

In my female bipedal form, I appear less frightening to them.

The Peacebroker motions with his hand, and a man at the door returns with a plain white linen dress. I put it on and sit opposite the Peacebroker.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

Starving. But I’d rather starve than accept food from this man.

“Why did you shoot my mother? She’s harmless.” A neglected, harmless woman who likes to drink too much and loves her kids. That is all that will be said about her. Nothing wrong with that. I continue because I’m so angry with this man. “Sören will come for you. You can say goodbye to your alliance with the Stormcrest pack.”

The Peacebroker wipes his mouth and drops the napkin on the plate. He drinks out of a plastic cup and eats without utensils. Someone served him steak that’s already been cut into bite-sized pieces. I wonder if this is how he normally eats, or if it’s some fear-driven theory they’ve developed regarding werewolves. I don’t need metal objects to kill him. I have my teeth.

“Maybe your father asked me to shoot her,” the man says.

“That’s a lie.”

“He’s had countless affairs. Maybe one of the women finally convinced him to get rid of your mother.”

“He would never hurt her.”

“Yet that’s what he did.”

“Your men shot her.”

“That’s not what happened.” He smirks. “In my report”—he lifts a piece of paper—“it says she shifted and attacked one of my men. Self-defense.”

“Liar!” I shout. “You can’t make things up. She walked into the room and your men shot her. Look at them.” I point at the three men with their rifles trained on me. “They’re terrified.” I tap my nose. “I can smell their fear. The rifles are pointed at me because you’re afraid.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Werewolves don’t go around biting people. You came into our home with armed men.”

“You’re a wolf. Your humanoid form is an illusion created to lure us into your trap.”

“I’m not a spider, idiot. There are no traps. Wolves hunt. They don’t wait in hiding until you cross their path. We go after our prey. We go after what we want. This is how I know Sören will come for you.”

“Are you saying I should kill him?”

“I’m saying you should watch your back.”

“What about Ash Fireborn?”

“I don’t know him well enough to know that.” I only know how I feel about him, and this horrible man will never hear that from me.

I look out the window. The Midlands used to be one of the most picturesque landscapes in the world, peppered with small villages nestled between rolling hills and mountains. When the humans designed the train routes, they built them through this region on purpose because the scenery’s beauty would attract tourists.

But after the volcano wiped out all the vegetation and the wars removed the sense of security, the train lost its appeal. It’s now used mainly by the military for transporting supplies. It’s the fastest way to get to Stormcrest from the human territories.

After what happened today, the train might be retired for good.

“You’re lying,” he says.

“I’m not.”

He strikes my cheek. The slap sends me flying across the room. I bang my head against the window on the other side of the cabin and slide down like an ice-cream cone. Darkness swims before my eyes. Warm blood trails down my cheek. I wipe it away and blink to clear my head.