~~~
Thrown to the Wolves:
The Legend of Hannah & Eli
By Veronica Blade
~~~
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2014 by Veronica Blade. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Crush Publishing, Inc
Sunland, CA 91040
Crush Publishing, Inc name and logo are trademarks of Crush Publishing, Inc and are used only with its permission.
The places, characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by author.
ISBN 978-0-9910756-2-1
~~~
For Megan & Shelby
I really LOVE you guys.
~~~
Thrown to the Wolves: The Legend of Hannah & Eli
(Shapes of Autumn, prequel)
Summary
A young werewolf must fight for her life to gain freedom, but her triumph could mean losing her only chance at happiness.
Hannah, a seventeen-year-old werewolf, would rather be a peasant and free than dripping in jewels and wife to the tyrant werewolf king. Running from him will get her hunted, and most likely killed, yet she formulates a plan.
Sneaking around the castle, she encounters Eli, a handsome blond shape-shifter and slave to the king. Drawn to Eli as a fellow captive, she admires his courage and honor — qualities rarely seen amongst her own kind. With him, Hannah finds rare moments of joy in the place she's desperate to escape. Though she dreams of being with Eli forever, she knows he will never abandon his sister, another prisoner of the evil king.
Meeting in secret, Eli and Hannah's bond deepens as he trains her to protect herself. When she discovers the king’s scheme to murder her after their wedding, Hannah must choose between a short life and brief happiness with Eli ...or freedom and a future without him.
~~~
Immediately following the end of this story, please scroll to the next page for peeks of other books by Veronica Blade.
~~~
Table of Contents
~~~
Chapter One
Dover, England, 1358
I endured a tedious supper with the man whom I was to marry, yet whose company I barely tolerated — and only because I had to. When expected, I smiled and when appropriate, I laughed. But I wanted to be anywhere else.
After everyone finally finished eating and a respectable amount of time passed, I begged my future husband — and sovereign — to be excused. After all, I had only just arrived after a two-day fifty-mile trip and needed to settle in. More urgently, over twenty-four hours had passed since I had last morphed into a wolf, and the need to shift pulsed through my veins like molten metal.
I hurried outside and practically stumbled in my haste. A few others had already arrived at the bailey — though I would have preferred the woods — and shifted into wolves, while a couple guards stayed in their human form to keep watch. Not that our kind were in danger of losing all good sense in our animal form, but emotions might be dulled or amplified, depending on the situation. In our wolf form, we were not as picky about food and may not mind eating it raw. Or our emotions could be amplified, making us prone to fighting. Fortunately, werewolves healed quickly.
Averting my eyes, I hoped no one would attempt to engage me in conversation. Since I did not intend to stay at the castle, I did not want anyone to form an attachment to me. And that included the blond shape-shifter I had glimpsed when I first arrived — no matter how drawn I was to him.
Always on alert, now that I was in unfamiliar surroundings, I glanced around the bailey. I had passed it that morning on the way to my chambers when I had first seen the blond shifter. At the time, handmaidens had surrounded me and the guards had swept me down the cobblestone path past the gate before I could take it all in.
Just like earlier, the stables sat to my right, and beyond that was the blacksmith’s workshop where the blond man had been standing out front, his arms flexing as he wielded hammer against metal. He was tall and his muscles bunched beneath the plain white, billowy shirt.
All supernaturals emitted an energy, to a greater or lesser degree, which others could sense. As soon as I had gotten close enough, I knew he was not a werewolf.
Even if I had not sensed him, I would have known he was not human either, since the king had rules which forbade werewolves to involve mortals in anything more than trade or the occasional, obligatory hosting of royalty. The only way a shape-shifter could get into the castle was as a prisoner or slave.
He and I had common ground — we were both there against our will.
I had never met a shape-shifter, but had heard stories of the centuries-long war between our two species. I wondered what the blacksmith had done to seal his fate. Not that I would ever find out since it would not do for the king’s betrothed to inquire about a slave, much less associate with one.
Yet when I had seen him, I could not help but watch him, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his arms as he let the hammer fall. He used a tong to flip over the red-hot slash of metal, then the hammer had crashed down again and I continued forward, though my eyes had remained on him. To avoid drawing attention to myself, I needed to avert my eyes. But I could not.
Glancing over his shoulder, he had caught my gaze and held it with his own deep blue eyes. For an instant, only he and I existed as I took in every inch of his beautiful face. Straight, blond hair fell over his forehead and brushed his prominent cheekbones. His jaw was strong, but not so angled that it showed evidence of age. He could not have been more than three or four years older than I.
He returned his attention to the block in front of him, and the spell was broken. I forced myself to look straight ahead, as metal against metal sounded once again.
Moments later, I had been guided into the castle. Since I belonged to the king, I had no business looking at other men anyway.
Not that I truly belonged to the king either. Both the blacksmith slave and my betrothed would soon be a distant memory once I fled. Hopefully, I would not see the shape-shifter again since I could not afford the distraction. I would learn where the guards were posted, their routines and the layout of the castle. Somehow, I would store dried food in my chambers for my journey and find weapons for protection. Then, before the wedding in one month’s time, I would flee.
But for now, I would act as if I were one of them. Every evening, I would morph in the bailey with the rest of the werewolves, then return to my chamber and dream of being free.
At a safe distance from the others, I sucked in a deep breath and relaxed my muscles. A small tremor began in my middle and traveled to my limbs. For just a moment, I felt weightless and an instant later, I stood on all fours.
I took off running as fast as I could, doing laps along the surrounding walls. After a few rounds, I cut my run short. I generally preferred solitude over the company of werewolves, who could be a fierce and foul-tempered lot. The objects of my disdain did not
need to know my feelings, though. So when I shifted back to human again, I smiled at a couple who cast me a curious glance. I smoothed over my gown that had shifted with me, then left.
Up in my room, the finest tapestries lined the walls, with more space than I could possibly want. Yet as I lay in the enormous, four-poster bed over silk linens, one thought rang through my head: how would I escape?
I moved to my writing desk and wrote a letter to my mother, telling her about the handsome king who dazzled me with his charm. I prattled on about the castle’s exquisite tapestries and the honor I felt each time a servant bowed before me. A few lines of gratitude to her for promising me to the werewolf king made my letter more convincing.
All lies, of course. I had to maintain an air of loyalty. I had been raised on stories of the werewolf king and his penchant for killing anyone who dared defy him. I knew that in order to revolt against him and succeed, I had to make certain no one knew what I was preparing to do. Everyone had to be convinced that their future queen was the most faithful of them all.
I doubted my tutor, Mrs. Benton, could be fooled. She had been my companion since my parents promised me to the king four years ago at age thirteen. Because my parents had never paid proper attention to me — my father always too busy leading the pack and my mother enjoying her new werewolf life — Mrs. Benton had been my lifeline. She knew me better than anyone and, in turn, I had learned to trust her more than my own family.
Where was she? I craved the comfort only she could provide. Lord knew I needed a distraction or my thoughts might go in unwanted directions — specifically to a blond shape-shifter.
A tap sounded at the door. “It is Mrs. Benton, milady.”
Grinning, I sprung from the bed and flung open the door. “I am so pleased you came. I missed you in the great hall.”
“And I, you. But I had business to attend to.” Mrs. Benton returned my smile as she crossed the threshold, then held out a deck. “I brought cards to pass the evening. Would you like to play?”
“Very much. I shall ring for tea.” I closed the door after her and motioned her to the settee. After shaking the bell, I pulled an end table toward Mrs. Benton and sat next to her.
She shuffled the cards and occasionally glanced around. “This is a fine room.”
I nodded toward the door that led to the king’s room. “Adjoining chambers.” With guards always posted outside.
She merely shrugged and dealt the cards while I silently wished to be situated farther from the king, where the distance would afford me more freedom.
Unable to concentrate, I stared at my hand. “The king may have any girl he pleases, yet he chose me. Why do you suppose?”
Mrs. Benton tilted her head. “Do you mean other than the obvious — your raven hair and alabaster skin?”
I exhaled and flopped back against the back of the settee in a very unladylike manner. “Surely, a man picks a wife with more than just beauty in mind.”
“He may be only a baron to the humans of England, but to us he is still a king. If you had ruled our kind for hundreds of years, how would you choose? A man needs something pretty to look at if he plans to keep the wife for eternity.”
“I cannot help envying the plain girls for their liberties.” I sighed, giving a wistful wave of my hand.
She raised one brow. “Because the plain ones are immune to arranged marriages?”
No, but they would not be given away to the werewolf king. Maybe if it were any other man who claimed me, I would not be so opposed.
From the first moment he glimpsed me in my village years ago, he had taken every opportunity to touch me — a pat on the knee, his hand too low on my back, a kiss on the cheek dangerously close to my mouth.
I had known him but a few hours when he requested that my parents release me into his care, so he could take me back to the castle. My father declined, insisting I reach werewolf maturity first. For that, I would be eternally grateful.
Since then, I had made it my business to pay attention to what kind of a man my future husband was. During his yearly visits to the village, I witnessed him speaking harshly to his servants and how quick he was to punish. Once, he had left with a hunting party and come back one man short with no apology or explanation to the dead man’s grieving wife and three children.
Perhaps if I had entered into our marriage without knowledge of his abuse of those around him, I would have been content to create a life with him.
Or perhaps not. Even if the king possessed some manner of honor and compassion, I would still have difficulty seeing past his violent opposition to trimming and cleaning his beard. I could only imagine the vile things the hair concealed. Perhaps his rancid smell emanated from there.
“If only he desired an heir like human kings. In that case, he would look to a human who could give him one.”
Mrs. Benton gave me a sad smile. “King Mortimer has no use for an heir since he believes he will live and rule forever.”
Forever was a very long time to have a man such as he ruling our kind. I shuddered as a light tap sounded at the door. “Come in.”
A servant entered, carrying a tray. She set it nearby and prepared two cups of tea, then handed one to me.
“Thank you.” I offered the girl a smile. She only lowered her eyes farther and dipped gracefully at the knees before shuffling out of the room.
“As for His Majesty’s reason for choosing you…” Mrs. Benton laid her cards facedown. “King Mortimer loathes fragility. A born werewolf, like yourself, will start out stronger. And he prefers a mate who has been raised a werewolf and is accustomed to our ways over marrying a human who is turned, but clings to her humanity.”
“If he sees humanity as a weakness, I must wonder why he ever looked my way.” I reached out for the cards, then switched to silent communication. Once he is my husband and realizes I am overflowing with compassion, he will see his mistake. How long will I keep my head then? I met her gaze. I have come here to die, have I not?
Do not be silly, dear. She nudged aside the cards and leaned toward me. He chose you because you are worthy of his affections and will make a fine queen.
You and I both know the king is wrong and I will fail. Not only would I fail him and my new subjects, but also Mrs. Benton. I dropped my gaze to my lap to hide my burning eyes. I shall displease him and be dead within a week of our nuptials.
You will live up to his expectations, Mrs. Benton insisted, if you put some effort into it.
I picked up my cards, but could not see them through my blurred vision. I cannot be happy with a man I am unable to love and I am most certain that I will never love King Mortimer.
Unfortunately, my dear Hannah, you have no choice. She sighed, shaking her head as she picked up her own hand. I must say, I am not surprised to learn of your feelings on this matter. I have suspected as much since the first day the king sent me to you years ago, but I beg you to try to curb your feelings. To defy the king will mean your death and I doubt my heart would survive that. I implore you to find a way to reconcile yourself to a life here as queen.
If only I could. I raised my chin and met her gaze, my stomach sinking at the thought of disappointing my only true friend.
~~~
Chapter TWO
I had to make Mrs. Benton understand. If she were to mention my feelings to the king, he may watch me more closely and I might never escape.
I am nothing but a possession to him and you cannot believe otherwise. And what if I fall in love one day? Since I will already be married, it will be impossible to be with the one I love. Eternity is an awful long time to be unhappy, do you not think?
You will take brief moments of happiness and cling to them. She gave me a sympathetic smile. And you will live.
That is not living. I slapped my cards against the table and pressed my lips together. I will escape before the wedding and if I die in the attempt, then so be it. At least in death, I will be free.
Mrs. Benton lowered her head so I co
uld no longer read her expression. I waited, my muscles bunching with tension. I prayed she would not abandon me for my willful behavior.
I see your mind is set. Her chin trembled. She pushed her cards aside and rounded the table to embrace me. We stood there, holding each other for a long moment, then she released me and raised a vertical index finger to her lips. Though I may be sending you to an early grave, you might stay alive longer with assistance. What I am about to show you will not be enough, mind you, since escaping will not only require knowledge of the castle, but weapons and a store of food. None of which will be available to you tonight. Promise me you will be patient and wait for the right time.
I nodded.
I pray that I will have a few weeks with you before you set on your journey. She squeezed my shoulders and nodded toward the wardrobe. For what I am about to show you, you will need to wear something warm.
Of course, I returned. If she planned to lead me past the guards and outside, why did we need to be quiet when the guards were sure to see us? I grabbed two cloaks, slipped into one, and handed her the other.
Thank you, child. Mrs. Benton shrugged on the borrowed cloak, then made certain both doors were locked and swept across the room to the far corner. Unsure why she had abandoned our only exit if we were soon to be outside, I hung back.
It is imperative that we not make a sound. She ran her hand along the wall, stopping at a spot shoulder level. She strained against the wall that finally gave way when she flattened her palms against it and shoved hard. Jerking her head, she motioned for me to follow.
I squeezed through the opening and she pulled the panel behind me. The dank corridor smelled of rotting vermin and droppings.
Through the pitch-black, with my werewolf vision, I could make out Mrs. Benton’s shape. As if sensing I had questions, she shook her head. Silent communication was convenient, but it created an energy that could be sensed by other werewolves. Most likely, it would not be detected past the stone walls, but Mrs. Benton obviously wanted to err on the side of caution.
Thrown to the Wolves: The Legend of Hannah & Eli (Shapes of Autumn) Page 1
