*
The road curved in front of me, following a shore of a sea-foam-green lake to our left. It lay placid, licking gently at the bottom of the mountain protruding into it. Tall Mediterranean cypresses lined the road, each perfectly straight, like a conical candle, and between them laurel trees spread their branches. On the right, grapevines lined the slope of the mountain in long, gently curving rows.
My horse was a bay, sturdy and wide-bodied, with short shoulders and a clean head. She stepped with calm surety, picking her way up the old paved road, untroubled by smells of shapeshifters on all sides. I had a feeling I could ride her straight into the lake and she wouldn’t twitch an ear.
Shapeshifters walked and rode all around me. Desandra had her own horse. At first she wanted to walk, so I argued against her walking, and then I argued against the horse, but she dug her heels in at any suggestion of a cart. She would not be riding in a cart, and she was the daughter of an alpha, and if she didn’t get her way, she would rip out some throats. I ended up going through all of the horses available to us and picking the oldest, most docile creature I could find. Now I had a heavily pregnant woman on a horse that kept flaring her nostrils. Clearly the mare had a serious suspicion that the human riding her was really a wolf and was considering bolting for her life. Werewolf wombs had to be made of steel, because not only did Desandra not show any signs of distress, but she looked fresh as a daisy.
Andrea had chosen to ride a horse as well. Being in a saddle gave us a good field of vision, and in a pinch we could use the horses to block an incoming threat. Derek had decided to walk and some others did as well, including Curran, who was convinced that all horses secretly plotted against him. Since Andrea and I kept Desandra between us, he ended up walking on my left and slightly in front, and Lorelei chose to walk next to him.
I still couldn’t figure out how she was involved in this entire affair. As far as I could tell, she didn’t appear to have any ties to the three packs involved.
Lorelei wore a light blue blouse and jeans that hugged her butt. Her hair was down, blowing in the wind. If we were back home, someone would be nudging me by this point, because by Pack standards they were walking too close and I would be required to snarl, but we weren’t at home, and Barabas, riding on a white horse directly behind me, was quiet.
Lorelei chatted on, something about squishing grapes and making candy out of wine. Curran nodded. I caught a glimpse of his face. He was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself. They were walking together and I was stuck here. On my horse.
It should’ve taken more than a pretty twenty-one-year-old to unsettle me. This was a new and unwelcome development. It had to be this place. Everyone was waiting to stab us in the back, so I was probably making too much out of this. Lorelei was a kid. Legally she might have been twenty-one, but when he’d met her, he was twenty-two and she was twelve. That alone should’ve guaranteed that nothing was happening.
She was the daughter of a man Curran knew, stuck out here likely against her will, and he was being nice to her, because few people were. He and I had been through so much shit together. He loved me, I loved him, and I needed to stop measuring the distance between them and pay attention to my environment. I had a job to do.
Nobody demanded that I wear a dress for the hunt, so I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a green men’s shirt, which I left unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. I wore my belt with an array of herbs in small pouches, my leather wrist guards were full of silver needles, and I had taken both Slayer, which was on my back, and my second saber, which I wore on my hip. Anybody who had a problem with my extra hardware was welcome to make my day.
Hugh dropped back through the procession. He was riding a monster of a horse, a massive stallion, a darker bay than mine, with a white blaze on his forehead and white feathered stockings. There were shades of Shire horse there, and Clydesdale, but the lines were cleaner and the chest was more developed. It was the kind of stallion a knight would ride into war.
Hugh drew even with us. He wore a long black coat, the same as Hibla’s werejackals. Belted and tapered at the sides, with bandoliers filled with bullets across the chest, the coat made his shoulders wider, his waist slimmer, and his body taller. He seemed to loom rather than ride. Since he pretended to be the lord of the castle, he’d probably decided to dress the part. No dagger, though. Instead he had a full-length sword in a scabbard. I could only see the hilt, simple functional leather with a cross-guard.
Andrea moved aside to let him ride next to Desandra.
Hugh bent forward, concern on his face. “How are you feeling today?”
Desandra sat straighter. It was like she couldn’t help herself. Anything male instantly made her come to attention. And Hugh was handsome, in an aggressive masculine way: blue eyes, dark hair, and a clean-shaven square jaw so solid that thinking about punching it made me wince. He was surrounded by people who turned into nature’s best equivalent of intelligent spree killers, but he was completely undisturbed by it, as if he knew with one hundred percent certainty that if all of us ganged up on him, he could handle it.
Curran had a feral edge. You sensed instinctively that he was never too far from violence. It simmered under his skin, and when he wanted to intimidate you, he looked at you like you were prey. But Hugh was steady as a rock. He would laugh, in a good-natured easy way, and lop your head off.
“I’m fine,” Desandra said. “Thank you for asking.”
“Let me know if the ride gets too rough. One word and I’ll turn this parade around.” He winked at her.
Desandra giggled.
What are you planning, Hugh? What’s the deal?
“I’m very sorry about yesterday,” Hugh said. “My people are investigating the matter. We will find whoever sent that sonovabitch.”
“I’m sure you will.” Desandra smiled.
I’m sure he won’t.
“We’ll do our best to guarantee your safety.”
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. “According to the pack contract, we are the ones guaranteeing her safety. You are”—dragging—“encouraging her to exert herself on this hunt.”
“I love hunts,” Desandra squeezed through her teeth, and gave me a pointed look.
“There is very little risk,” Hugh said. “Nobody would try anything with all of us out here.”
“She’s eight months pregnant.” What the hell was the rationale behind pulling her out of the castle anyway?
Hugh grinned at me, displaying even, white teeth. “You have to stop measuring a shapeshifter by human standards.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Desandra said.
Oh, you idiot. “If the mare throws you . . .”
“That’s why you’ve brought a medmage,” Hugh said, nodding toward the back, where Doolittle rode on a chestnut. “He seems very capable.”
Curran turned and was looking at us with that stonewall Beast Lord expression of his.
“Well, I shall leave you to the skilled hands of your guards,” Hugh said. “Someone has to lead this expedition, or we may end up in some wilderness and have to steal sheep for dinner.”
Desandra giggled again.
Hugh clicked his tongue, and the stallion smoothly carried him to the front of our parade.
“What’s your problem?” Desandra stared at me.
I leaned to her and kept my voice quiet. “That man is dangerous.” And if someone had asked me six months ago what would happen if the two of us met, I would’ve said that Hugh would attack me on sight. Instead we were now riding on a hunt, exchanging barbed pleasantries.
“He’s a human,” Desandra sneered. “I can rip out his throat with one bite.”
And we were back to ripping throats. I thought of telling her that I was a human and in a throat-ripping contest between us, she’d come in dead last, but people were listening to us. Besides, threatening the body you were guarding was never a good idea. She would resent me, and without her cooperation keeping her breathing would be much harder.
“Not all humans are the same,” Andrea said.
If Desandra thought she could fight off the preceptor of the Iron Dogs, she would be in for a rude awakening. Hugh would end her with one cut, carve his way through all of her relatives and husbands, and then celebrate with a nice bottle of local wine.