Page 74 of Throne of the Wolf Queen

Her face paled as the ground shook. Pablo grabbed her hem, pulled her back, and I turned around.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But that one?’

The blood seeped from my face as the path trembled. A paw, dark, horribly tattered, landed on the ground, a plume of dust rising as a pair of huge bronze eyes loomed through the mustard cloud.

‘Fuck.’

Grasping Sorrow, we raced down the path, slipping in the slick puddles as the rain pounded. Were we ever going to get a break? My lungs burned and I gripped her tighter, wondering why Evella hated us so much.

The path sloped upwards and we dug in. The wolf remained behind her. Always ready to defend her as the diafol snarled.

‘Come on.’ Her hand almost slipped. I swore, reaching with my other hand as her jaw tightened, hauling her up, towards a ledge. It’d give us an advantage to fight once we got there.

Drawing my stolen sword, I turned, narrowing my gaze as the diafols snarled from below.

My chest heaving, I knelt down.

‘They’re not chasing us,’ I said.

‘They don’t have to.’ I turned back. Sorrow looked down the sloping side of the ledge, down to a crater, her eyes wide and lips paling further. My guts churned.

‘Should I ask why?’

She swallowed, pointed ahead. Standing next to my wife, the rain tearing across my vision, I followed the line of her hand.

I sheathed the sword, unsure how we’d survive.

‘You were right about one thing,’ I said, as I stared wide-eyed at the nest of writhing, slavering, shrieking diafols. There must have been two, three hundred, different shapes, sizes, levels of decay.

All apparently starved.

‘Evella seriously hates us.’

CHAPTER 28

SORROW

‘You’re not Grandpa!’ the little girl cried as the diafol leapt from the wood pile. He chased her round and round till he gobbled her up in one big bite.

​— ​CAUTIONARY TALES FOR TROUBLESOME CHILDREN

I had far too much time to do as I wished in Romero’s library. After studying the texts, I noticed there was a lack of real information on diafols. There were children’s rhymes, fables and guides for hunters, but nothing tangible.

A little spark ignited. I’d create my own.

So, the spark drew on all my curiosity, my long hours of research, the thrills when I discovered something new, and it burned brightly as I created my manuscript. Initially, I drew meticulous illustrations, but soon I found those ever-present swirls that had marred my sight since the accident made that an impossible task and for once, I gave up.

There was one thing that all the texts agreed upon. Diafols were reclusive loners, fated to live their final short weeks as a mass of toxic, bloodthirsty sinew, killing indiscriminately. Their minds were lost as the Vyrium spread. A beast living purely on its intrinsic instincts, unable to make the simplest decision for itself.

As I blinked at the writhing mass of skin, matted fur and claws below, I realised that perhaps the diafols were capable of some thought. Somehow, they’d come to the realisation that if they put their twisted little minds together, worked as one, then the spoils were greater. From the stench of rotting flesh rising upwards, they’d discovered they could hunt as a group. And as my purple threads awoke, they’d hunted recently too. There was no shortage of dead beasts for my ribbons to claim.

Matthias unsheathed his sword and glanced back over his shoulder at the diafols blocking our path, eyes widening as the third joined them, before meeting my gaze. Fuck, he mouthed.

I nodded, blowing out a shaky breath.

‘Fuck, indeed, Your Highness.’

His hand trembled as he turned round and pointed his sword at the three preventing our retreat. ‘I think I could kill them.’