I had feared that the wolf would kill me, and it looks like my fear will come true. What choice will Valen have in the end? If he doesn’t go for the kill, both of us will die.
I only hope he’s merciful and makes it quick for me.
My cousins aren’t there. I glance around for Della, Bert, and Kier, but I can’t see them, either. I wouldn’t put it past Stepfather to have locked them up, too. Not anymore.
The men haul us to the center of the hall and release us, walking away, even as the gathered nobles start cheering and urging us on to fight.
Hypocrites. Pretending to be cultured. Civilized. They are vultures, waiting for a rotting corpse to feast on. I catch a glimpse of the House of Fireflies members. The fae nobles look pleased and are drinking wine as they wait for the show to start.
Here I am, about to fight a werewolf. A werewolf I have come… tonothate so much. Not anymore. He isn’t that bad for a savage animal.
Perfect timing. The perfect time to grow fond of my executioner.
I turn in a circle, trying to rein in my anxiety. My sodden gown weighs too much, dragging with every movement. The dark green fabric is steaming in the cold air, despite the fire burning in the giant hearth.
Then my stepfather arrives, followed by his wife and daughter, his lackeys and friends. He also looks pleased.
He looks satisfied, like the cat who lapped up all the cream. A monster who doesn’t have the excuse of rogue magic and a beastly alter-ego to excuse his actions. His dark desires of power and expansion. His selfish acts that disregard everyone else.
He gestures to a servant who hurries away and returns with a long, narrow object. Stepfather grabs it and ambles over to me.
“For you,” he says.
With everything going on, I’d forgotten what was promised to me. “Is this my mother’s sword?”
“Indeed.”
I pull it from its scabbard and discover it’s more of a rapier, smaller and more slender than a sword. Although it’s ridiculous to think that such a puny weapon could inflict any damage on a rabid werewolf, I’m relieved, because I can at least lift it. Not sure I could lift a longsword.
“Is it really magical?” I ask, pointing it at the smirking guests.
Stepfather grins way too widely. “Of sorts.”
“So it’s not. That was a lie.”
But Valen lets out a low growl, his nostrils flaring. He lifts his head, eyes half-closing. “Fuck. What new evil is this?”
“Do you smell it, Wolf?” Stepfather sounds proud of himself. “Do you?”
“Smell what?” I take a step back, lifting the rapier, glancing from my stepfather to the werewolf. “Valen?”
His eyes are changing. They’re growing larger, flatter, lighter, turning to pale gold. His shoulders suddenly seem bigger as he hunches over.
I point the rapier at him. “What’s going on? Stay back.”
“Oh, I love it.” Stepfather is actually rubbing his hands together, a keen glint in his eyes. “He has been in human form too long. Werewolves need to shift once in a while, or their control snaps. He will transform and devour you.”
“No, he won’t. Valen! Can you hear me?”
“I know that smell,” Valen growls, and as I stare at him, his ears change into gray wolf ears and his hands… black claws grow from his fingers, just like when I first set eyes on him. “That smell has no fucking business being on that blade!”
“What’s happening, what…?” I back away, tightening my fingers around the handle of the rapier. “What smell? What is he talking about?”
“This is the sword that killed his mother,” Stepfather says. “It still bears her blood. Rage will affect a dark fae in ways it can’t affect us.”
“And why do you have it?” Valen’s lips peel back, stained black, revealing long yellow fangs. “Why do you have the blade that killed?—?”
“Your mother was killed here,” Stepfather says.
