The Wolf Lord

by Ann Aguirre

  “Tirael is mine!” she shouted. “If you find her first, bring her to me.”

  Animari forces nearby responded with growls that she took as affirmative. The remaining Eldritch soldiers fell in behind her, according her the respect of leading the charge across the courtyard. There were bodies everywhere, blood freezing on the paving stones. Her breath smoked as she let out a sigh, adding to the infernal atmosphere.

  This day’s work didn’t feel good, as she’d led outsiders to slaughter her own people. Necessary, she told herself. And we have an alliance. It wasn’t like she could allow the Eldritch to follow Ruark into Tycho’s madness. Certain policies could sound reasonable, even favorable, but on closer examination, it was all bigotry, racial purity, and hatred. The Eldritch would walk that dark road over her dead body.

  Some might say she was no better, choosing to butcher her own people so.

  Thalia ignored the sickness roiling in her stomach. I will not count the cost. This is right. This is—

  A black wolf lunged in front of her, taking the shot that came down from the walls. He stumbled, shook himself, and snarled. Still alive. Her heart nearly stopped, but Thalia couldn’t. She rushed from the courtyard, removing herself as a target. In Daruvar’s halls, the fighting was tight and fierce, impossible to tell friend from foe until they attacked. She responded with lethal force.

  The enemies died swiftly, until she’d nearly drained the batteries on her bracers—she always kept one final shot in reserve for emergencies—then the fighting got bloodier, blades against knives. Their hot blood spattered her skin, her face, and she fought on, grimly relentless. Thalia battled all the way to the cells, hoping that they wouldn’t have executed all resistance yet. Sounds from the struggle elsewhere reached her, through the thick stone walls: shouts and cries of pain, the clang of weapons, distant gunfire. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, peering through the bars on the small access window set in the heavy steel door.

  Ferith, injured but alive. Sky, the little wolf beside her. Both injured, but alive. Her heart sank when she didn’t spot Janek. “Open the door!” she ordered.

  One of the guards found the keys and released the prisoners, not nearly fast enough. Thalia rushed inside, knelt beside the women. In here, the smell increased, a grotesque combination of the waste bucket in the corner and their infected wounds. Ferith tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t hold, and Sky was too weak to lift more than a hand in a greeting. Neither woman could speak.

  “Janek?” she whispered.

  Sky closed her eyes and shook her head. “He wouldn’t yield.”

  Ferith sounded like death, her voice cracked and scraping like dry bones. “Fought to the death, took ten of Tirael’s men with him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Thalia whispered. Then she straightened, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Get them to Dr. Wyeth, if he’s still alive and loyal. It’s time to end this.”

  Finally.

  Raff had no reason to hold back, and he left a wicked trail of bodies behind him. No quarter. No survivors. He’d wanted to wreck this place since the first attempt on Thalia’s life, since her foster mother died. Now he gave everything to vengeance, lost to the primal thrill of executing his enemies.

  The Eldritch were fucking soft, reliant on weapons or gifts. Their soldiers couldn’t stand against Pine Ridge elite wolves, concentrated in assault mode. Korin had his back, and she kept them off him as he pushed to clear the walls. Blood smeared the stones as he snarled and slashed his way up the stairs. Hamstring, hamstring, throat. Crimson soaked his fur in a hot, coppery spray, and he leapt over the falling corpse to press the advance.

  Where are you, Tirael?

  Raff had a lot of hard fucking questions for when he found her. She was one of Thalia’s closest associates, the Noxblade second in command. This had to cut deep. Only way it could be worse is if it was Ferith. He could almost feel sorry for the grunts he chewed through on the way to the top of the stairs.

  It would’ve been faster, but he had a fresh bullet in his back in addition to all his recent wounds. This should go on record as the most dangerous honeymoon of all time, and he gave a canine smile, showing teeth as he topped the stairs. Korin snarled a question from behind, but he shook his head.

  Later, he growled.

  Once the fighting stopped, she’d need a briefing. Right now, though, she just needed to keep killing. Too bad she didn’t have the bear clan war machine she’d piloted during the Battle of Hallowell; she could unleash death from above on their enemies, but to Raff, that seemed like a cheap way to fight, out of your enemy’s reach. It was better to overwhelm them with your strength and taste their death with all senses.

  Raff rushed, bursting from the tower to flatten the closest Eldritch before he raised his gun. Not used to fighting wolves, you son of a bitch? The Eldritch lacked muscular density; they were fast and quiet, but not strong. If this was a cloak and dagger dustup in the woods, they might have a chance, but not here on the open walls. The merciless winter sun wouldn’t let them hide, unless that was their gift, and few of them seemed—

  A high, shrill note pierced the air, like the mourning pipes that marked Lileth’s funeral. Raff’s muscles locked.

  His brain screamed at him to move—to launch himself at the golden-haired woman playing that hideous melody. This effect had to be part of some fucking Eldritch gift but knowing that didn’t help him break free. Fucking Tirael. He recognized her now, as the Eldritch beside her raised a weapon, a gun big enough to explode his skull.

  Sudden death, catastrophic damage.

  That was the quickest way to kill an Animari, but it wasn’t easy to inflict. The caliber of that boomstick would do the job, and he couldn’t fucking move. Not even to glance back to see if the rest of his troops were affected with the same paralysis. The pitch of Titus’s snarl-scream somewhere nearby said that he was locked down and pissed as hell.

  It’s something that impacts Animari.

  Raff glared defiance at the bitch who was about to end him, rage to the end. He couldn’t even close his eyes, but he wouldn’t have, if he could. Good thing, as he would’ve missed the arc of blue lightning that arced through her. As she dropped, the flute fell, and he sprang into motion. The shot blasted the parapet behind him, singeing his fur, but thanks to a certain Eldritch queen, he was still alive and breathing. Thalia locked eyes with him for only a few seconds from the other end of the wall, but it was enough.

  Warmth surged through him as he savaged the shit out of the asshole who’d thought he could end Raff Pineda. Sure, he’d lived through no ability of his own, but picking the right mate, that was a fucking skill, too. Euphoria sang in his veins, so the killing became a kind of glorious symphony, with screams and howls in place of cymbal and drums. Terrified Eldritch hearts racing became his private song and their pleas for mercy as Raff cut them down, well, he savored those too.

  He would’ve stopped if Thalia had asked him to, but she was beside him on the walls, reaping like the angel of death with her shining twin blades. Her braces must be dark now; she’d probably saved one shot, just in case, and she’d saved his life. Again. While she seemed to think she was in his debt, he’d lost count of how many times they’d saved each other. All he knew now was that she’d be there if he needed her.

  Maybe it was too soon for that conviction, but as they bathed Daruvar in blood, the conviction grew. Korin, still alive. Fighting on. He exhaled and finished a wounded Eldritch who was sobbing, pleading for clemency. Not my call. Thalia knew best what needed to happen here. He’d fight until she called him off. Some might say that made him the Eldritch queen’s hound, but they could go fuck themselves.

  At last, the keep was theirs, bodies piled in the courtyard, and Tirael was chained hand and foot. Thalia dragged her personally, kicking her down the stairs when the other woman balked. Hatred sparked from Tirael’s eyes, so shockingly clear that Raff could hardly believe she’d hidden it all this time. Thalia shoved her onto the filt
hy stones, beside the carcass of her failed rebellion.

  The wolves circled behind Raff, still shifted, and ready to face a fresh incursion, if Ruark happened to get word of the massacre. Not bloody likely, they hadn’t left any survivors to spread the news. He couldn’t speak to Tirael, but that wasn’t his place anyway. He settled on his haunches, content to let his mate finish things as she saw fit. Korin sat next to him, Titus on the other side, bloody, but whole. Hard to say if any of that red belonged to the tiger.

  The surviving Eldritch took to their knees, hands sealed over their hearts in a gesture that he presumed represented fealty. Overhead, the sky was palest blue, clear as a winter’s day ever was, but still cold enough that he saw Thalia’s breath when she spoke.

  “Why?” The word was an icy blade, cold as condemnation.

  Tirael glared, eyes sparking with fury. She spat blood before answering. “You dare to ask me that?”

  “This is your only chance to speak some last words, but if you prefer not to offer anything to posterity, that’s fine with me. Your execution will provide me great satisfaction.”

  “I suppose it would,” Tirael said. “But then, you’ll also have to live with knowing that you murdered your closest kin. Sister.”

  Raff sucked in a breath as Thalia staggered. That was the only sign of her shock and she recovered swiftly. “Lies.”

  “But it’s not, dear sister. Run the necessary lineage tests, if you wish. Our father betrayed you, installed me at your side and called me ‘cousin’ when the truth is, my mother poisoned yours and afterward, once she was caught, I had to see her head on a pike for countless weeks, watch as the birds ate her pretty face and pecked out her eyes.”

  “Then—”

  “Everything you believe about yourself is a lie. You’re not better suited to be queen, not more destined. Certainly not more royal or more worthy. You’re just lucky, princess. Even now, you have animals at your back, willing to kill on your command. And this, the Eldritch will remember. I promise, your reign will not be peaceful…or long.”

  21.

  There was no immediate way to know if Tirael’s claim was true, as DNA testing would take a couple of hours. Even if it was, Thalia would execute her half-sister the same as any traitor. Instead of responding to the furious taunt, she ripped the woman’s filthy sleeve and gagged her with it.

  This victory was too hard-won for Thalia to allow it to be tainted. She hoped that most surviving soldiers hadn’t overheard about Tirael and Thalia’s kinship, and now they never would. For a moment, Thalia knelt beside the woman who’d claimed to be her sister, trying not to remember confiding in Tirael and asking for her help, like after they discovered the poisoned wine at the wedding feast.

  Would Lileth have lived if someone else had summoned help? Eliciting that truth from Dr. Wyeth might push Thalia over the edge, so she decided to staunch that awful curiosity. It required complete self-restraint not to choke the life out of this treacherous bitch at once.

  Thalia whispered, “You’re in no position to make threats or promises. The victor decides on their version of the truth, and in my story, you’re nobody, a failure just like your mother. But don’t worry. You’ll see her soon.”

  Tirael’s eyes blazed with liquid loathing, but she was bound too tightly to react otherwise. Straightening, Thalia scowled at Ferith, who had struggled to the top of the walls despite a grievously injured leg. “You’re supposed to be with Dr. Wyeth,” she snapped.

  The Noxblade shook her head. “Later, once this is finished.”

  Thalia knew better than to argue. Even if Ferith was bleeding out, she wouldn’t stand for being locked out of dealing with a traitor. It had to cut deep, as Tirael had been her second-in-command, secretly scheming against them both. Accepting the inevitable, she said, “Send someone for my father’s sword.”

  Largely ceremonial, the blade was too long for Thalia to use in battle. She’d trained on twin knives, perfectly balanced, but for some occasions, there was no substitute for the enormous weapon known as Lawbringer. The longsword had been in her family for almost a thousand years, the metal dull with age, its engravings stained with blood. By the way Tirael trembled, it seemed she understood what was to come.

  When a young Eldritch rushed up with Lawbringer, he also had a wooden block, saving her the trouble of asking for one. Ferith came forward on her own and slammed Tirael’s head onto the square. Thalia raised the sword with both arms, conscious that she would need all her strength to make a clean cut. Though Lawbringer was preternaturally sharp, it still wasn’t easy to sever a neck clean through.

  “For the capital crime of treason, you are sentenced to death. You’ve spoken your final remarks, so we only need to carry out that judgment now.”

  Thalia sucked in a deep brace, raised the sword, and struck with all her might. Tirael’s head bounced away in a spray of red, and she fought against rising queasiness. So much blood. Daruvar might never be clean again. A ragged cheer rose from the Eldritch nearby, a keen, sharp victory call that spread among the survivors until the stones echoed with the chant. Her entire body ached, but Thalia responded, striding to the edge of the wall and raising Lawbringer overhead in a triumphant gesture.

  She let the roaring go on for long, loud moments, then she signaled for silence. “Today, we won an important battle, but we also lost brothers and sisters who lost sight of our goals. Unity. Friendship. Life without prejudice. I’ll renew treaties with the Animari and the Golgoth, after we settle Ruark Gilbraith. Once I take his head, the other houses will follow me, and I hope we can move forward without more senseless bloodshed. There will be peace and prosperity ahead, if we fight for it.”

  “My queen!” someone shouted.

  At first, it was a lone voice in the crowd, but others took up the proclamation. “For our queen!” Until the fortress thundered with Eldritch approbation. Thalia hardly knew how to respond, but she lowered Lawbringer and acknowledged the clamor by posing with both hands on the longsword, bowing her head for a moment.

  She couldn’t rest on her laurels, though. There was too much left to do. “All right, people. If you’re injured, prioritize amongst yourselves and see Dr. Wyeth. Those who are healthy, I need the bodies of our fallen in the courtyard. The traitors will be buried, not burned. Divide into teams and get order restored. Now!”

  That broke the spell, sending the Eldritch scurrying. Thalia stepped back from the edge of the parapet and turned to Ferith. “Will you get treated, or must I threaten you?”

  “No need. I’m not needed on corpse watch.”

  To her surprise, the young wolf, Sky, stepped forward, offering her shoulder, and Ferith accepted the near embrace without hesitation. There was a certain air between them, as if they’d bonded during their captivity. It gave her a sweet feeling to see Ferith’s head nestled next to Sky’s. The two descended the winding tower stairs together, completely in sync.

  One by one, Raff’s wolves shifted back and since it was cold as hell, they went to don their winter gear. Only he lingered in the icy wind, but before he could speak, she dug into her dirty pack and found the clothes she’d been holding for him. “Here, get dressed first.”

  The fact that he did it on the wall, casual as anything, well, it was endearing. Maybe she was reading the situation wrong, but it felt like he didn’t want to leave her side long enough to tend to his own needs. Not because he was obligated, either. Nothing in their marriage contract stipulated that he had to care.

  “You all right?” he asked, tugging the sweater over his head.

  He was a mess of fresh wounds, smeared with blood, and she didn’t mind. When he opened his arms in a silent offer of solace, she curled into him like they were magnets holding an opposite charge. Thalia nestled her head against his bearded chin, relishing the scrape of his hair against hers. Raff stroked her back quietly for a few seconds.

  “I’m not well,” she finally answered. “But I’m still here.”

  “Sometimes that’
s all we can do. Think it’s true? What she said.”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible. My father had so many secrets. Just when I think I can’t hate him more…”

  “I’m sorry, princess.”

  “To him, I was never even a person, just a tool to be used in his grand design. When I began to think for myself, I enraged him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of me. Not when I was an emblem of his virility, sired from his loins.”

  Raff stirred against her, and Thalia thought he was probably disgusted by these revelations, family secrets that she’d hidden until she was sick with their keeping. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

  “No, it’s good,” he cut in. “Well, the shit you’re saying, it’s terrible. No disputing that. But it’s fucking lovely that you trust me with it. I’ll be your vault, I swear. Nobody will pry your confidences from me, even with a hammer and chisel.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Sometimes, before, the pressure built until she had to find a place to hide, where she could scream until the throbbing stopped. Now, hearing his words, it drained away on its own, like he’d physically taken it from her head. Thalia leaned against him harder, marveling at how easily he took her weight. Like it was natural.

  I can’t be without him now.

  And it was such a terrifying revelation, completely unprecedented, and certainly not covered in the contract they’d written up. Raff hadn’t promised her emotional support in those documents, so this could stop at any time. Her heart skittered, racing in anticipation of that loss, and she pulled away.

  “What’s wrong? You’re scared?”

  She hated that he knew, that he could sense things about her so easily, when she was meant to be a glacier of a woman: immense, icy, and immovable. Mechanically Thalia shook her head. “Just…reaction setting in, I suppose. So much has happened.”