Everything in the bar fades away like a brush painting across the world—my world. The deep laughs, the thick smell of whiskey and wine that lingers on the sticky surfaces of the bar and the equally sticky floor underneath my boots. I don’t feel my corset digging into my ribs or the fact that my leggings are thin, way too thin for a cold winter’s night or the fact there is a hole in the toe of my boot that is damp. No, everything fades away—it’s just me and words. I like it like that. I like living in someone else’s world, just for a while.
I read for a good ten minutes before a clock chimes, marking the time for me to get back to work. I glance at the door behind the bar, waiting to see if our boss is going to check, and I smile when he doesn’t. Two men sit down close to me, both of them lifting a hand to order from Tannith, and they are thick in a discussion that I can’t help but overhear.
“I can’t believe the Folkland begins in two days. My boss has me working extra time to farm enough for their celebrations,” the one murmurs. “The extra pay is nice though.”
“I wonder what unlucky shit is gonna be chosen by the goddesses to represent the Crone Pack.” The other one snickers. “The fire wolves are crazy fuckers.”
His friend nods in agreement. “I don’t see the point. I’ve heard rumours that most of them die, and the ones who survive come back as shells of themselves.”
We all can agree on that comment.Ridiculous.That’s my only thought about the Folkland. It’s a tradition drenched in bloodshed and somehow is meant to choose a ruler at the end who can protect the pack. I don’t know much about it other than the basics. It’s a wolf thing, a deciding set of trials over six months that the three packs use to choose their next bride or groom for the alpha heirs. The goddesses apparently choose five wolves from each pack by marking them at midnight on Manchala Day, and those wolves go to a mythical island to the very north of the Crone Pack. Further north than any sane person would want to go according to legends.
The chosen fifteen fight it out in a series of tests and trials—but mostly they hunt and kill each other. One of them from each pack always survives, and they go on to marry one of the ruling heirs, the one that will be next in line to the throne. It doesn’t happen often, every six hundred years.
A perfect leader, drenched in blood and nasty decisions to survive, will soon be leading the most powerful packs who rule everything. I can’t see how that would go wrong—oh wait, our world is fucked up. The poor die, the rich wolves survive, and we are on the brink of war near constantly between the three packs. It’s only been a hundred and fifty years since the last war. They all hate each other, and they never see eye to eye about anything.
Being human is seen as being nothing to the shifters, but I’ve never been as happy about my human blood than I am right now. The Folkland will ignore me because there has never beena human involved in it, and it’s been going on for three thousand years.
The only good thing is it might bring more patrons into the bar and therefore more money and tips. More money to give to the orphanage. Last time I was there… I shiver thinking about it. Things are rapidly getting worse, and the freezing temperatures of the unusually cold winter are not helping. The orphanages are getting overrun. Heating the building is draining the money they are given by the district, and the worst part is more orphans are turning up because people keep dying.
People in human districts don’t live long; we aren’t blessed by the goddesses with extra-long lifespans or immunity to illness and other pain-in-the-ass problems like feeling the cold in our bones when shifters do not. If it’s not an illness of some kind wiping us out for the lack of any good healers, it’s working in the mines below the cities. Most people die down there, leaving orphans to run amok. Those orphans turn into adults, and the cycle endlessly repeats.
I didn’t take any jobs in the mines, even if they paid better. No amount of gold is worth a death in those mines, unable to see the stars at night or the sun rising in the morning. I need to see these moments to live.Or attempt to. The jury is still out on my life decisions like getting up every cold morning.
A slam makes me flinch, and I turn, looking over at the wolf shifter, whose name I’ve never learned, being pinned to the wall. His eyes are glowing red, suggesting he is finding it hard not to shift. Red, for the Crone Pack and fire—their specialty. Maiden Pack to the southwest control water, Mother Pack to the east control earth, and Crone Pack to the north control fire. Three packs, all in the image of the triple goddesses who created the wolves as their children. I’m sure the goddesses are super happy with their wolves right at this moment.
Illyia’s wolf is pinned against the wall by another much bigger man, who is snarling in his face. If they fight in here, someone is going to get hurt, and over my dead body will it be my friends. My feet move before I’ve even taken in what I’m doing, and I slide up to Illyia.
“What’s going on here?” I purr, hoping to play nice with the angry wolf. I’m likely to get bitten because I don’t have big enough boobs to pull off flirting, but fuck it. Illyia is too nice and gentle even with her big boobs, and I’m scrappy when it comes to a fight. Besides, Illyia has a family who will look for her if she dies tonight. I don’t. I learnt it the hard way in the orphanage—no one cares if you disappear when you have nothing.
The wolf turns his eyes to me, glowing with the same red as the man he has pinned. Both the males are huge, muscles packed into their arms and every inch of their body, but the new one isn’t half as handsome as Illyia’s admirer. No wonder he is a bully. All unattractive men are either abusive assholes or the nicest men ever. There is no middle ground.
“I came to see why my pack mate here is always coming down to the human district, to this pub, in one of the shittiest areas of the human district. Then I found out why…a pretty redhead.” He sniffs the air. “I did think I could smell someone on you, Bane, but I couldn’t quite work it out.” He shakes Bane like a rag. “Human,” he hisses. “What would your parents say?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bane snarls. “Get off me before I make you!”
“Maybe I should try her. See what all the fuss is about.” He drags his eyes over Illyia and then me. “The women do seem to be attractive here; the blonde with gold eyes is unusual enough too, even if she is skinny and small.” Urgh, he had to list my faults. “Why didn’t you invite me to come with you?” He pushes off Bane and turns our way. “After I’m done with the redhead and seen what you like about her, I’ll have the blonde?—”
“No, you won’t touch her!” I snap, my eyes widening when I realize what I’ve just done. I’ve just threatened a wolf, which is all kinds of illegal. Humans are not allowed to say no to wolves, threaten them, or hurt them. The punishment is death. Which is wildly unfair, but at this moment, starting a revolution has to be pushed to the back of my mind.
The wolf reaches for me, grabbing my arm tightly, and his nails dig in as he pulls me to his chest and then dangles me off the ground. If I close my eyes, maybe I can pretend I’m flying as he kills me. I close my eyes. Nope, doesn’t work. His breath smells too bad. He touches my hair, wrapping my blonde locks in his grubby fingers. Illyia cries out my name, and I see Bane grab her in the corner of my eye to stop her getting to me. “Where did you learn to speak to your masters like that,human?” he shouts into my face, and his breath stinks even worse.
Ignoring him is a mistake, but I look at Illyia and behind her, Tannith. Both of them are crying and frozen to the spot. I hiss at them. “Run!”
“Go on, run along, Bane. I’ve found better things to play with, anyway.” He leans into me, breathing in my scent, something I’ve heard wolves can do, and it’s weird as fuck. I hear Tannith and Illyia being dragged out by Bane. At least I’ve kept them alive. “You smell incredible for a human.” His brows bunch as my heart races in my chest. “Maybe I should keep you?—”
Fuck that. I kick him between the legs, and he grunts, letting me go. I get one step before he grabs me again, and he throws me straight into the bar with his inhuman strength. A cry slips from my lips as I slam into the wooden bar, my head hitting a bar stool with a smack. Gasping, I lift my hand to my head and feel my blood trickling between my fingers.
I crawl backwards as he storms towards me, fury etched on his face. Just as he reaches for me, I pull an illegal dagger outfrom the hiding place at the side of my hip, and I don’t think as I slam it straight through the asshole’s foot before he can grab me.
He howls.Howls louder than I imagined a wolf could howl, as the metallic, fire-tinged smell of blood fills the pub. The sound ricochets off the walls, and the smugness of hurting him soon turns into dread in my stomach. Fire burns in his eyes before real red-hot flames trickle down his arms to his hands, and pure fear lances my chest.
Not fire.Anythingbut fire.
He can burn me to a crisp, and every memory of how I got burn marks all over my legs, arms and back flashes into my mind. Panic takes over and I can’t breathe. I suck in deep breaths, trying to focus as my head is flooded with memories.
Suddenly, Bane steps in front of me, facing this fiery asshole, his hands held up in the air and his head bent down—submissive. “The others are on their way, sensing something was wrong. Our beta told us to keep our heads down with the Folkland coming up, and he will punish us both if you kill her here. She broke the law and will be punished in the Crone pack lands, as is the law, and our beta won’t know.”
Bane doesn’t move, and with a growl, the asshole finally relents. I suck in a breath of relief, which lasts only for a second.Wait, punished in the Crone pack lands?No, no, no. Bane grabs me as wolves flood into the pub and shouting begins. I think I start screaming. The last thing I remember is a sharp pain in the back of my head, and the world tipped into darkness.
