All of it.
There wasn’t any point in leaving things out. Everyone needed to know about the danger that threatened to engulf them all. He’d responded flippantly to Lara when they’d been alone, goading her into anger.
He hadn’t given her a firm answer either, yet he knew how serious it was.
If wraiths continued to pour into Albia, everything he’d worked so hard for would be lost.
His brothers and sisters would be forced to flee Doure and Duncrag, to return to the dark forests and cower in the shadows. But, even there, they wouldn’t be safe.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Aye, victory had left a bitter taste in his mouth, but the reason he’d done all this remained. It didn’t matter if the wulvers didn’t look at him as they once had.Their leader. Their savior. He still owed them more than he could ever repay.
If traveling to The Shattered Crown and taking part in this binding ritual would save them, he’d do it. And if he didn’t return from the North, so be it. Fatalism had descended upon him during his walk back to the fort, and he hadn’t fought it.
And so, he told his companions that he’d leave with the party waiting in the pines that following dawn.
Lyall and Dolph had gone still, their amber eyes narrowing, as the tale had progressed. Beathan had stopped groping Duana, while across the chamber, Duana’s sister, Eithne, who’d poured everyone fresh cups of ale, had gone still.
Beathan hadn’t reacted though, until Alar announced that he intended to travel to Darkmere with Mor and Lara, and see this through. “This must be done,” he concluded, swirling the ale in his cup before draining it in a long draft. “The binding needs the three of us.”
“It sounds like horse shit to me.”
“I agree,” Lyall growled.
“You aren’t usually so easily convinced, brother,” Dolph added.
“No, but I can tell you why,” Beathan shot back. “The stupid prick is in love with his wife.”
“Watch yourself, Beathan,” Alar said softly.
The chieftain sneered, dragging his gaze over Alar. “That cut on your neck … did she do it?”
Alar’s pulse quickened. Beathan was far too sharp. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t take us for fools.” Beathan’s dark-blue eyes bore into him. “You’ve been pining for the bitch ever since we took Dulross. You’re a fucking fool. Women need to know theirplace. Youneverlet one weaken you.” To make his point, Beathan grabbed a handful of Duana’s hair and yanked hard, pulling her back against him. “They’re for humping, bearing bairns, and serving their men.” He then twisted her breast with his free hand, and she cried out. “Nothing else.”
Angry now, he shoved the lass roughly off his lap. “Get out … the pair of you!”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Picking up her skirts with one hand, Duana swept from the alcove, pulling her younger sister after her.
Silence settled after their departure. Eventually, Beathan broke it. “That’s how you treat women. Instead, you walk out there, and hand your balls over to that Shee bitch and your wife, like some fuckingeunuch.”
“So, you don’t believe the threat is real?” Alar asked, not rising to the bait. The chieftain’s insults washed over him.
Beathan made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “This is just a power play.”
“And what if it’s not?”
Beathan snorted. “Then we just drink, fight, and fuck until the end.”
“Let them leave tomorrow, Alar,” Lyall said roughly. “Let the two queens play their game … without you being part of it.”
Beathan screwed his face up. “No … let’sdealto them instead.” His blue eyes speared Alar then. “They’re a small band. We wait until just before dawn, and then we kill them.”
Silence followed these words.
The two wulvers exchanged veiled looks, while Alar’s heartbeat started to pulse in his throat.
