“No.” Valen is shaking his head in denial. “No! Stop?—”
“This sword killed her, and it was wielded by no other than this girl’s mother, who also died that night.” He chuckles.“I suppose that makes you relatives of sorts. Related through spilled blood and death.”
I’m gaping at both of them. “You’re not serious.”
“I should have recognized your hair the moment I saw you,” Stepfather goes on. “Valen. Lord Valerian. Rumors circulate about the son of the missing priestess. She had the same white streak in her hair. It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together. What a stroke of luck.”
Valen growls, his face more wolf-like than ever, his broad shoulders hunching over with impossible muscles. “No. I was told she died fighting off a tribe of rogue shifters, mad on bad blood.”
“You were lied to, Wolf. That was a lie. A made-up tale. She came with the rogue wolves to attack this place. Killed people. And she was killed in return.” Stepfather lifts his hands and shrugs, smiling. “Now you know the whole truth. Your mother’s death is on Rosamund’s hands. Her family destroyed yours. Now, get her. Take your revenge.”
Valen turns to me.
My heart thudding, I take another step back, the rapier trembling in my hand. “Valen. No.”
“Yes, Valerian,” Stepfather says. “End her now.”
“No…” I keep backtracking. There’s only so much space, so much distance to retreat to before I hit the tables or the gathered guests. “Stop.”
But he lumbers toward me, his eyes streaked with red now, his hair more of a shaggy fur. He reaches for me with those black claws.
Turning, I race along the wall of people—aren’t they terrified to be standing here? What if Valen takes a bite out of them?—and turn around again with the rapier raised when I run out of space.
“No sword can save you from a werewolf!” Stepfather calls out. “Let him have you. Easier that way. Faster. Trust me.”
“Nobody will ever forget or forgive you,” I whisper as Valen stops, gazing at me with those flat, wolf eyes, his furry chest heaving. “Nobody will ever trust you again.”
“People love violence, and they love serving justice,” Stepfather says. “They already think you were lying all these years about fearing the wolves. Now they are convinced you went with them willingly. That you enjoyed being used by them.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“They hate that they pitied you before. That they were conned. Now they will enjoy seeing you getting pulled apart.”
“Of course,” I mutter. “Figures that your friends are wretches like you.”
But the conversation is cut short when Valen starts after me once more. His feet are now wolf-paws, his legs bent like an animal’s, and he moves frighteningly fast, a growling, misshapen beast, his maw open, ready to tear me to pieces.
He’s way too close. He swipes at me with black claws, and with a gasp, I duck and fall to the floor on my ass.
Shit.
Rolling away, I get up again, my wet skirt hampering me. The blade of my rapier tears through it, but I manage not to injure myself, which is a small miracle all in itself.
I do need a miracle right now.Sleeping Gods, please. Please, help.
“Valen!” I stumble back as he advances on me. “Stop! Don’t shift, please. Valen…Valen, stop!”
But he keeps coming. Keeps shifting more and more. His jaw has elongated, and thick, silvery hair is growing on his temples and cheeks. It’s turning his head into a wolf's head, and I can’t swallow past the lump of fear in my throat.
“Stop,” I beg, “please, stop. Don’t kill me.”
“Then strike me,” he growls, the words barely intelligible. “Strike me now, before I shift fully. Don’t let me hurt you.”
“I… can’t… Oh Gods…”
He’s still prowling toward me, and I lift the rapier—then scream when he jumps on top of me. Distant yells and screeching inform me I’m not the only one shocked, but my thoughts are jumbled because he’s knocked me to the floor and is lying on top of me, crushing me. I can’t draw breath.
Sticky warmth soaks my sleeve. Blood. Did I hit him? Did I hit myself?
