Page 8 of Wolf Trial

I’d done all this before—the school, the studies, the classmates. Even the banners and the different colour decor, which pointed to getting sorted into a house. I was in Fox House back in primary school, and had all the badges, iron-on patches, and matching school bags that came with it. And we never once won a school trip at the end of the year. Hedgehog House won that every year, the dicks.

There were no hedgehogs on the banners hung around the dining hall, though. I caught sight of a knife dripping blood on one of them, and decided I wouldn’t look too closely at the rest. Knowing my luck, I’d be sorted into Dismembered Head House.

“Lunova is an ancient world,” Mortem said with an air of importance she clearly expected us to be wowed by,1 “and it abides by ancient rules. All you must do to join our ranks of slayers is pick up a bowl of spice pudding and eat from it, before taking a drink of wine.”

“What a lovely way to be poisoned,” I remarked.

“If you eat and drink of this world, you’ll be bound to its edges,” Fioranna said in a quiet voice, throwing me a wide-eyed stare. She was a head taller than me, but her fear made her seem much smaller, and roused my protectiveness again.

“Meaning… we’ll be trapped here?”

She nodded.

“Fuck this,” spat the male kidnappee—he hadn’t offered his name to anyone, and I hadn’t bothered to ask. His upper lip curled in a sneer. “I’m not staying in this fucked up world forever. I’m going home.”

He turned, and Ezren stepped up to his side, still hooded, still looming. “I’ll escort you to the boundary,” he offered, though it was far from an act of kindness. “The wolves will meet you on the other side.”

“Total fucking bullshit,” the nameless prick snapped.2

He stomped over to the cherry-wood table, grabbed a spoonful of creamy pudding and swallowed it, guzzling the entire glass of wine. “Happy? Now you’ve threatened and blackmailed me into joining your sick little school?”

“Ecstatic,” Morven said flatly, sweeping her arm at the rest of us.

Think of the money, think of the cottage in the middle of nowhere.

I downed the wine first—I needed the liquid courage—and wasn’t entirely prepared for the instant buzz. “Holy shit,” I said with a laugh. “This shit’s rocket fuel.”

I received blank looks from my blonde almost-friend, Fioranna, and Mortem. Nose Ring Girl understood me, though, and reached for a glass of deep red wine, chugging it like I had. We reached for bowls of pudding at the same time, and shared a universal look of not bad.

No one else followed us, and Mortem didn’t push the issue.

“We’re the humans,” I whispered to Nose Ring Girl. “Us and the prick.”

She nodded, glancing at the blonde and Fioranna. If my kinda-friend was a twin, what did that make the brunette woman? I was about to ask if Nose Ring Girl thought they were vampires when heat spread out from my stomach up my chest and I flung a hand against my heart in panic as it quickened.

Nose Ring Girl stumbled against the table, gasping.

The kidnapped prick made a throaty sound. “You’re overreacting. It’s not that bad.”

I glared from him to Mortem. “Can I kill him?”

“Unfortunately not,” she replied.

“If I work my ass off and become the best wolf killer you’ve ever known in this school,” I countered, “could I kill him then?”

“As a boon?” A calculating look crossed her stark face. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

I gave the prick my slimiest smile. “Better be nice to me, then.”

“Bitch,” he spat, his nose turned up. I rolled my eyes at his super imaginative name calling. I knew I was right about what kind of person he was. And honestly, if I was his family, I’d have gotten rid of him, too.

But all that thought did was remind me that Gran, the only person I had left in the world—in any world—had abandoned me. Sold me. Wanted nothing to do with me.

And thanks to the stunning lack of options in this place, I was now trapped in a realm of vampires, wolves, and fuck knows what else. The weight of it crouched on my shoulders, threatening to crush me.

“Ladies, follow me,” Mortem said, interrupting my spiral. “I’ll deliver you to your rooms. Evren, show Mr…”

“Lawrence Montgomery-Sutherland,” he supplied, and seemed to pause for a moment, as if waiting for recognition. “As in the Montgomery-Sutherlands. My father is Giles Montgomery-Sutherland, the Speaker of the House…”