Page 42 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

They left the clearing behind, weaving between the oaks and the ash trees. Running with bare feet was not the easiest, but she managed to avoid stubbing her toe on exposed roots or cutting herself open on branches. And then Aidan scooped her up and kept running, barely disturbing the undergrowth. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Where are we going?” Sorcha panted. “Who is Freya?”

“She’s our Luna.”

Sorcha had no idea who that was, but she was keen to find out. Especially if it stopped her from getting eaten. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“A wolf witch, of a sort. Someone even the Alphas mind.”

The trees spread wide branches around them, primroses and ferns thick at their feet. A tiny goldfinch landed on Sorcha’s wrist, chirping. “The wolves aren’t following,” she said, translating the sparrow’s images of wolves tucking their tails to keep them from the birds, of more interesting scents to follow.

“I know,” Aidan replied. “They wouldn’t dare. Not here. Not even Brutus, in his state.”

“How long did the Cauldron have his daughter?”

“Too long.”

Aidan set her down, and she decided it was inappropriate to immediately miss the warmth of his arms around her, the press of his chest. Inappropriate but still fact.

He stopped in front of a shrine with a statue of Luperca, braids of flowers and wheat stalks at her feet. Water sat in glass bottles, waiting to be charged under the full moon. Crescent moonstones were strung between the trees, interspersed with wolf teeth and tiny bells.

Past the shrine, an old woman waited. Freya had long white hair worn in braids wrapped like a crown. There were chains of moonstones wound through them and a pendant dangling between her faded, milky eyes. She wore a simple blue blouse and a long skirt the color of oak bark, such as village women had worn for centuries. Sorcha imagined that gowns requiring a lady’s maid were not much use in the forest. She knew there were Lycan in Haven and London who followed the fashions and would have disdained anything but the very best, just as her grandmother had, but clearly this camp was something different. Did Simon know of this gathering? Shouldn’t he be here? Had his father made him unwelcome?

Freya, though clearly blind, faced them expectantly. “Coventry,” she said in a strong voice. Three wolf pups leapt out of the tall grass, wrestling with excited yips. They spotted Sorcha and raced toward her. She crouched, searching her pockets, but she’d given Nuala the last of her bread.

When the first pup closed his sharp teeth around her knuckle and tripped over his own paws trying to pull her over, she decided to treat them exactly as they seemed: as infants. After all, this was hardly the first time she had felt teeth. She had been gnawed on by any number of creatures. The second pup, the one with a floppy ear, growled.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re very fearsome.”

The third sat and watched her.

And then the first gnawed at her again, and the second leapt on him and accidentally took out the third with his back leg. Joyful mayhem ensued. The goldfinch took to the sky, unimpressed.

Freya snapped her fingers, and the rolling chaos of teeth and tails and paws came to a halt. “Off you go.”

One whine of protest, a lick to Sorcha’s red knuckles, and they raced away toward the camp.

“They like you,” Freya said. “Even with the stink of the curse.”

Sorcha rose to her feet, resigned to everyone suddenly telling her she smelled bad. “I think pups probably like everyone.”

“Well, that’s true enough.” She nodded to Aidan, stoic and patient. “But this one’s no pup.”

“No.”

“And he likes you.”

Sorcha flicked him a glance. “He tolerates me. Mitigating circumstances, you understand.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have flinched.

“He likes you well enough to bring you to me.” Freya sniffed once. “You smell…complicated.”

Sorcha supposed that was better than Hecuba telling her she smelled like fish scales, but truthfully, she was beginning to wonder if she needed better soap. Especially around wolves.

“There’s magic on you.”

“Aye,” Aidan said.