White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)

Good girl! I cheer her on.

But my moment of excitement vanishes as the Patron sidles up beside me in the chaos, locking his hand around my arm.

“Lady Sabine Darrow. You’re wanted by the Grand Cleric of the Red Church.”

I’m so distracted by the fight that his words barely register. The Grand Cleric? The head of all ten orders? What does he care about some indecency in a tiny village?

Wolf spies the Patron dragging me away from Myst, and hurls himself against the militant priests. Explosive crashes between cutlass and bow erupt from the melee. I’ve never witnessed anything as viciously beautiful as Wolf fighting. He’s got a stark grace to him, a masculine intensity. It doesn’t take him long to unarm one of the men and kick his cutlass into the crowd. He slams the end of his bow over the man’s head to knock him on his ass. The other priest stumbles back, doubled over from a blow to his ribcage.

Wolf takes advantage of the break in the fight to wrap one hand in Myst’s mane and grab his rucksack with the other. He swings up on her back with astonishing grace. He extends his other hand down to me.

“Sabine, take my hand!”

I strain away from the Patron until I manage to clasp hands with Wolf. He digs his heels into Myst’s sides, and the momentum as she bolts forward is strong enough to wrench me out of the Patron’s hold. Wolf settles me onto Myst in front of him. He wraps a strong arm around my waist.

Now, Myst, I say. As fast as you can!

She doesn’t need any more encouragement. The crowd finally parts, giving us an exit. As she charges down the village’s main thoroughfare, Wolf clasps me tightly, my back flush against his heaving chest.

We leave the acolytes of Immortal Woudix in the dust—but I fear it won’t be the last we see of them.





Myst doesn’t transition out of a gallop until we’re miles from Charmont, back in the thick of Mag Na Tir Forest. As she slows to a walk, my thighs burn, my ribcage aches, and my anger crackles over my skin, but I’m able to stash the worst of it away as I focus on calming my racing heartbeat to match her unhurried pace.

Behind me, Wolf presses his open hand against my stomach, holding me steady as Myst stumbles. His voice ghosts in my ear, “There’s a crossroads ahead. We’ll make camp in the woods a ways before it.”

I nod, all too aware of how firm his hold is—and how I don’t have on a stitch of clothes. I should feel ashamed, and I am embarrassed—but not as deeply as I once would have been. I lost track of time since we left the village. His steady arms around me were my only focus, trusting that this man would protect me. Not only because it’s his job, but because Myst was right about Wolf: He’s loyal. I know I’ll never be able to compete with his devotion to Lord Rian, but I believe Wolf cares about me to some degree.

Enough to keep me safe.

And it’s a strange thing—trusting someone. Especially someone sent to jail you. But I do trust Wolf, which is a foreign concept. A daughter should always love her father, but I hate mine. There was no sense of safety under his roof, even before my mother died. And the convent? That was even worse.

Other than Suri, who I only had the joy of knowing for a few days, Wolf is the sole person in my life who’s stood by their word. Even Adan, though he holds my heart, is an uncertainty. As much as I want to trust him, I only spent one day with him—I barely know him.

I feel as though our intense days and nights have shown me who Wolf is. I could go years knowing a person and still never understand them half as well as I do Wolf. He’s every bit the hardened hunter he presents outwardly, but he’s also a damaged boy who was handed a heartbreakingly bleak childhood, made to survive by his fists and his godkiss, who convinced himself in some twisted way that he’s grateful to be a servant. He’s a man who sees me shivering and fetches a blanket. Who tries to comfort me, though no one has ever comforted him.

He’s more than Wolf—he’s also Basten.

And we only have eleven more days together.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fearful of what lies ahead in Duren. Until now, I haven’t allowed myself to ruminate on a future married to Lord Rian. I convinced myself the marriage would never happen, because I’d run away with Adan long before we arrived at Sorsha Hall. But my escape attempt was an unequivocal failure. As frustrated as I am that Wolf caught me, I accept the stark truth behind his warning: The Valveres would hunt me down by whatever means necessary.

Maybe, in a twisted way, Wolf did me a favor.

But I’m not ready to face marriage to a ruthless man. Or a castle notorious for debauchery. Or marrying into a family with the reputation of cutthroats dressed in silk and gold.

Plus, I won’t have Wolf to protect me anymore.

We make camp in a clearing covered with springy green ground cover that smells like thyme. Wolf winces as he pulls his shirt over the bloody wound on his arm, then tosses it to me, before he starts to build a fire.

I drag his shirt over my head, flinching at the cold wetness of his blood staining the fabric. Rubbing my tired eyes, I say, “Aren’t you afraid the priests will see our fire from the road?”

He rakes his curtain of dark hair back as he studies the coals. “They won’t be looking for us. The Order of Immortal Woudix isn’t based in Charmont. They were only there to cause a scene. Sent by the Grand Cleric to stoke the ire of the Valvere family. They’ve long been rivals.”

As I smooth his shirt down my arms, my fingers come away sticky with blood. From a distance, I can’t tell if his wound has stopped bleeding. Hefting my tired body to my feet, I shuffle over to the fire and plop down next to him.

With a poke, I gently inspect the blood-smeared skin around his cut.

“What are you doing?” he snaps, jerking his arm away.

I ignore his tone, knowing that with me, he’s all bark and no bite. “It looks like the bleeding has stopped. The cut is deep but sliced cleanly. That’s good. I’ll need water to wash it . . . ” I look around for any indication of a stream nearby.

Wary, he jerks his head toward his rucksack. “The water flask is there.”

I root around until I find it, and grab a handkerchief as well. Taking my place by Wolf in front of the fire, I gently wash away the blood from his arm.

“The Sisters taught you how to heal?” he asks.

“No.” I wring out the handkerchief and then pat the area dry. “I learned by tending to my own wounds.”

His bicep flexes on instinct. I can see a vein throbbing in his neck. From somewhere high above us, an owl hoots. He growls, “I could kill every last one of them for what they did to you.”

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