Page 128 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

The spell was claiming the wolves outside, one by one, bound by gold threads and silver chains, led by baneful magic. He felt it. The misery of it mixed with the taste of Sorcha’s blood on his tongue. Amelia perched on her chair like it was a throne, wrapped in the threads of her witchery. The spell might be fed by blood and violence and the moon, but the binding charm was on her person.

The shield that would keep his wolf from jumping over the flickering green fire to go for her throat.

That would make the Cauldron unstoppable.

“Afraid?” Amelia laughed. The crowd laughed with her. “I have these, don’t I?” She gestured to her necklace of three stolen teeth. “No wolf bite can harm me. No wolf can harm me now, not with my spell. And you without your red cloak, with only pigeons for your army.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth like a disappointed governess.

Only it wasn’t the red cloak that had given Sorcha power. She knew that. It had lent her invisibility, but that was not what was needed here. There were too many fears hiding in the dark and growing too many secrets.

And maybe Amelia could not be harmed by a wolf, as she claimed. But as everyone seemed intent on reminding her, Sorcha was not a wolf.

She was a witch with a clever, vengeful heart.

A heart that belonged to Aidan.

“Maybe he can’t stop you,” Sorcha said. “But I can.”

The wolf cut through the binding threads, sliced them with his claws, shredded them with his teeth. It was almost enough.

Almost.

Sorcha flicked her eyes toward Amelia, sitting on her embroidered cushion with her goblet of wine. Aidan’s wolf followed her gaze, snarling softly.

Sorcha bent her knees.

Sorcha was not running from him. Wolves chased, tracked, hunted.

She was running toward him.

The wolf lunged, soaring through the air, teeth gleaming.

Amelia laughed, delighted.

Sorcha ducked low, his claws grazing the top of her head as he passed. He landed easily, and turned to face her. His eyes burned, his lips curled. He was every inch the predator, the hungry wolf parents warned children about.

And he was hers.

He braced himself as Sorcha jumped, using him for leverage. He took her weight and then bucked, adding height to her leap over the green fire. The flames licked at the soles of her shoes.

Sorcha landed in front of Amelia, who scrambled backward, spilling her wine. It bloomed across her white dress, dripped on the painted wood floorboards. Her guards raced toward her, but they were too far away.

Sorcha did not bother with threats or violence, though she was inclined toward both at the moment. She only reached down and yanked Amelia’s necklace of teeth right off her body. The chain snapped. Amelia grabbed for it.

Sorcha punched her in the nose.

Very well. Perhaps she was more than a little inclined toward violence.

Amelia’s head snapped back. She was used to orchestrating violence like a country dance, not receiving it. She gasped, blood dripping from her nose. “Guards!”

Sorcha noticed that Amelia wore another chain, ornamented with pearls, which held a round glass egg the size of a quail’s. It swirled with magic and looked to be filled with white rose petals. Another trap for a Nightmare? Something else? She intended to find out. She yanked it free as well, and this time Amelia scratched at her with curled fingers.

But Sorcha knew better than to mess with spells she did not recognize.

“Aidan!”

The wolves were inside the tower now, gleaming eyes rolling fitfully. The audience was frightened, calling up familiars who streaked through the air, adding an eerie glow. Sorcha was not opposed to a great many of them being bitten. But the wolves were not themselves and ought not have to carry that with them. Especially as it was unlikely to end with one warning bite. Blood would spill over the stones.

“Aidan!”