He was talking about Wen. My mate. The mother of my son. The woman who was probably pacing the throne room right now, worrying herself sick over me.
Over my dead fucking body would he ever touch her.
I launched myself at him, crossing the distance in three explosive bounds. My paws ate up the ground, muscles bunching and releasing with brutal force. King Igrid barely had time to raise his arms before I tackled him to the ground with all my weight behind the impact.
We went down hard, hitting the forest floor with bone-jarring force. He was older but experienced, a trained fighter despite his years. He used my momentum against me, twisting as we fell, and we separated before I could get my jaws around his throat. Irritating.
“Protect the king!” someone shouted. “Kill the wolf!”
Around us, combat erupted in earnest. My guards were already fully engaged, outnumbered but holding their ground with the ferocity I’d trained into them over years. Metal clashed against claws. Bodies collided. The sounds of battle filled the clearing, a symphony of violence I knew all too well. Torin was fighting three wolves at once, his blade a blur, and somehow winning. The others were holding their positions around the portal.
And I could hear my guards falling. Injured, overwhelmed by sheer numbers despite their skill. We wouldn’t last long at this rate. I needed to end this quickly, one way or another.
King Igrid and I circled each other, two predators looking for weakness. He’d drawn a blade, the metal gleaming silver in the moonlight, his hands gloved not to touch the metal. It was probably silver, designed specifically to hurt wolves. Because of course it was. Why wouldn’t he have silver weapons ready for exactly this scenario when he was literally trying to hunt down a hybrid wolf? The man had been hunting witches for decades. He knew how to hurt people with abilities.
“You think you can win this?” he asked, amused despite the chaos around us. “You’re outnumbered three to one. Your guards are falling as we speak. This was over before it started, wolf. You walked into my trap like a lamb to slaughter.”
I’d heard better threats from Killian when I wouldn’t give him extra cookies. At least my son was creative about it.
He lunged, faster than his age suggested. I dodged but not quite fast enough, my back leg slowing me fractionally from the old injury that was now healed but still kept some phantom pain from time to time. The blade caught my side, slicing through fur and flesh in a line of fire. Something cracked deep in my ribs. The pain was immediate and vicious, but I pushed through it, driving forward instead of retreating. I’d fought through worse. Pain was just information. Information I could ignore. My teeth snapped at his throat, close enough that he had to throw himself backward to avoid them, close enough that I could smell his fear underneath the royal cologne.
He rolled away, breathing hard, face flushed with exertion. He was tiring. Good. “Impressive,” he admitted, trying to regain his composure. “But futile. Surrender now and perhaps I’ll let your mate live. Perhaps I’ll even let her keep the child. I can be merciful when properly motivated.”
The words were meant to make me hesitate, to plant seeds of doubt. They had the opposite effect entirely. Threatening Wen was a mistake. Threatening Killian was a death sentence.
I feinted left. He blocked exactly as I’d anticipated, his weight shifting to compensate. Predictable. Old men always relied too much on experience, not enough on instinct. Then I lunged right with everything I had and my jaws closed around his sword arm, teeth sinking deep into flesh and grinding against bone. He screamed, a sound of pure agony that was deeply satisfying, trying desperately to shake me off.
I held on like death itself. My jaws were locked, pressure building, crushing. His blood filled my mouth, hot and copper-bright. The blood of a king who’d threatened my family.
“GET HIM OFF ME!” Igrid shrieked, all composure gone now, all pretense of royal dignity shattered. “SOMEONE GET THIS BEAST OFF ME!”
Before his guards could close in, before anyone could reach us, I started dragging him, using every ounce of strength to haul him backward toward the portal that still shimmered behind my defensive line. If I couldn’t kill him here, I’d take him somewhere I could.
He realized what I was doing and fought with renewed desperation, understanding hitting him all at once. This wasn’t just an attack. This was an abduction. “What are you doing? NO! STOP HIM! STOP HIM NOW!”
His guards rushed toward us, but my guards moved to intercept, buying me precious seconds. Just a few more feet. Almost there.My broken ribs screamed with every step, every drag, but I refused to let go. I’d come too far, lost too much.
With the last of my strength, I threw us both through the portal.
The dimensional travel was nauseating under the best circumstances. Something about the way space folded and unfolded, colors bleeding into each other, sounds stretching and compressing into meaninglessness. Mid-shift, badly injured, dragging a fighting king who was still trying to stab me with his free hand? I’d experienced more pleasant sensations being trampled by horses. For a moment that felt like an eternity, we were nowhere and everywhere at once.
We tumbled into the Lytopia throne room in a tangle of fur, hitting the stone floor with bruising impact. The cold hardness of home was a shock after the soft forest floor. I released his mangled arm and shifted back to human form. The transformation on broken ribs was its own special kind of torture, bones restructuring themselves in ways that made me seriously reconsider every life choice that had led to this moment.
Someone threw me pants. Bless them. I caught them one-handed and pulled them on without taking my eyes off King Igrid, who was climbing to his feet and clutching his ruined arm, looking around the room in shocked. Blood poured from the deep puncture wounds, dripping onto our throne room floor. Our throne room. My territory.
Behind me, guards were coming through the portal in rapid succession. I counted without looking, my attention fixed on the immediate threat. Six. Seven. Eight.
Only eight.
I’d taken ten of my best fighters into that forest. Ten men I’d trained personally, men who’d served me loyally for years. Two were dead now, left behind in that clearing. Men who’d followed me into danger, trusted my leadership and my plan. That was a grief I’d carry later. Right now, I had a king to deal with.
Wen was by the portal, her face pale as snow, her eyes wide with panic. I could feel her terror through our bond, sharp and overwhelming. She was looking at me, at the blood pouring from my side, at the way I was struggling to stay upright. I tried to send reassurance through the bond, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy left for anything except remaining on my feet.
The last guard through, bleeding heavily from a slash across his shoulder that had nearly taken his arm off, shouted at her with panicked urgency. “Close it! Close the portal now before more come through!”
She raised her hands, focusing. But I could feel her fear scattering her concentration like leaves in a storm. The portal wavered, flickering like a candle in wind, refusing to close completely.
Five enemy wolves slipped through before she finally managed to slam it shut with visible effort that left her swaying on her feet.
