Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 12

12

STARK

iding hard on my direwolf is the only place I find peace. Cratos sprintsR almost as fast as a blizzard, and I’m able to clear my mind. All that exist are the giant black wolf underneath me and the movement of our bodies together, the wind rushing against our skin and fur.

It’s a reprieve from everything. The responsibility of my station. The spike of worry I felt earlier this afternoon when Killian reached out to the

packs.

And thoughts of… her.

Like how she tasted when I licked her tattoo last night, as sweet as spun sugar. It took all of my decades of well-honed self-control to not hold her down and keep going until we were both sated.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image so I don’t grow half hard again.

Clearly, it’s been too fucking long since I was with a woman.

Remember where you were, I tell myself. Kneeling down on a pile of her

dirty, discarded laundry.

There, that helps.

Meryn Sturmfrost is a bad idea, regardless of how she tastes. Especially now that Siegrid is aware of our wolves’ mate bond and wants to use it against Meryn.

The beautiful woman at my side stares at me from atop her lithe brown direwolf, Ephyse. Noemi’s pale skin is as white as the snowy landscape around us, but her hair is a fiery slash against the quickly passing scenery.

Thankfully, we’re riding too hard and fast to talk out loud. Since Noemi is a Phylax, our wolves can’t speak to each other mind to mind.

I’m glad for the silence. Noemi has always been fucking nosy.

By the time we stop for the night to make camp, Noemi is clearly bursting with held-in conversation. I make her wait, scouting with Cratos up the road just to be certain we won’t have any unwelcome company. Noemi pitches our simple tents and gets the fire going.

Back at the site, she hands me a stick of cured meat and sets a rabbit Ephyse killed over the fire. My ass barely hits the ground before Noemi turns around, emerald eyes blazing with mischief, and sets right in.

“So Cratos has a mate,” she says delicately, but her glance at me is sharp and amused.

“He does,” I say shortly, ending the conversation.

“How’s that all been for you?” Noemi is intent on pushing this, it seems.

Typical. “With, you know, the rider.”

“Complicated.”

Noemi’s full lips tilt upward in a playful smile, and she nudges my boot with hers. “Complicated, huh? You and I certainly know something about that.”

I knock my foot back against hers hard, and she almost topples over, laughing.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll stop asking about it. For now.”

Ominous.

I sigh, guilt setting in. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and I’m conscious that I’m being a sullen asshole. She doesn’t deserve that.

“Look, there’s not much to tell,” I say, relenting. “There’s nothing going on between me and the queen, if that’s what you’re dancing around.”

My tongue on her soft skin. Her hazel eyes meeting mine, wide and glazed over with an expression I wanted to read into too much. Her hands, weaving into my hair, tugging me toward her… Her messy. Fucking. Rooms.

There’s nothing going on, and there never will be.

My mind darts back to the power she showcased, the shadows whipping around her like a violent, glorious whirlwind. The terror she inflicted in others and the fascination it unfurled in me. Even now the memory makes my blood run hot.

My vicious instincts meeting her total lack of control… it’s a spark meeting the match that could burn down the kingdom.

“Mm-hmm.” Noemi’s brows are raised, her expression disbelieving. She

turns and pokes at the fire again.

She knows me too well.

We grew up together in my great-aunt’s household. Siegrid dumped me with her Aunt Gertrude the moment her body was healed enough from birth to head back to the front. The Phylax soldier who sired me was dead before I was born.

Gertie collected wards, and Noemi was one of several who came in and out of the house over the years—but she was the only one who stayed for good. Her father didn’t want her, and her mother was a wartime casualty by the time she was six.

She was lost and fragile, and so beautiful, even then. The kind of child that can attract the wrong sort of attention. From the first moment I saw her, I assigned myself as her protector.

Although, of course, I failed her in the end.

Noemi sits down next to me, the firelight flickering against her pale skin and creating deep shadows. Worry lines crease her face.

“When’s the last time you saw them?” I ask, and I see a reflected flash of annoyance—I can read her just as easily as she can read me; she’s always hated that.

Her gaze goes pensive as she plucks the rabbit from the fire, slicing off some meat for each of us and then sitting back down.

“Probably…” She worries at her bottom lip, a bad habit she’s mostly broken over the years. “Bonded graduation ceremony, it must be. I mean, I’ve basically been at the front ever since.”

Her expression shutters then, and I wish I could execute every last member of the House of Eisenfall, Meryn’s campaign of noble support be damned.

“I’ll be right there the whole time,” I say, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you.”

Noemi looks up and meets my eyes, a rare moment of vulnerability for her. Then a log in the fire pops, and we both turn to look into the flames.

The shutter comes back down over her gaze. “I’m not that little girl anymore, Valstark. I can protect myself.”

“I know you can. But you’re not facing it alone. Just remember that.”

“Give me five minutes with any of them if they try something,” Cratos growls in my mind. “I beg you.”

I laugh darkly and relay his message to Noemi, who gives a weak chuckle.

“They’d probably taste rotten, Cratos,” she says to him.

I finish my meal, then lie back, propping myself up on my elbow, looking at the sky. It’s a cloudy night, and I can’t see a single star.

“Go get your aggression out on a deer or something,” I say to Cratos, speaking aloud for Noemi’s benefit. “Bring back a snack for Ephyse while you’re at it.”

“I’ll make it extra bloody,” comes his sardonic reply.

I hear Noemi shift and then feel her warmth as she settles down next to me. She takes my hand and squeezes it, but there’s no heat there, only friendship.

“Thank you,” she says, sounding more like herself. We sit in comfortable silence for another few minutes, until she sighs and stands, stretching, hands on her lower back.

“I’m going to sleep,” she says. “Cleanup’s on you; I cooked.”

“Please, Ephyse did all the work,” I say, poking fun more out of habit than anything else. I stand to gather up our things, and the familiar, welcome movements of cleaning calm me down until I almost—almost— no longer want to murder every member of Noemi’s family.

When I finally set out my bedroll, my mind continues to drift to a certain hazel-eyed queen and what might have happened last night if both of us had decided to think a little bit less.

It’s deeply fucking annoying that my mind keeps returning to her, over and over, like a hawk returning to its master’s hand.

There’s only one clear explanation.

“Stop that,” I snap at Cratos, who is still out in the forest.

“Stop what?” he replies. “Hunting? I thought the point was to get some aggression out.”

I let out a hiss of irritation. “You know what I’m talking about. Put your fucking shields back up on your mate bond. I know you hate being away from Anassa, but we’ve been over this a thousand damned times—I don’t want to feel it.”

“Shields are as strong as ever, mighty Alpha.” I can imagine his lupine grin. “Thinking about her, huh?”

Shutting out his amusement, I try to refocus on falling asleep. Clearing

my mind. Breathing in the cold air.

Anything other than this frustrating tightness in my chest and the frustrating woman who is apparently the cause.

The town of Eisenfall looks like one from a storybook—houses in brightly painted colors, manicured rows of pine trees, broad paved avenues. It’s handsome and idyllic. Hardly the place of nightmares I imagined when Noemi would talk about it.

But I know as well as anyone that beauty can help evil hide in plain sight.

Noemi catches me looking around and smiles wanly. “Father likes things to look nice,” she says by way of explanation.

She is saved from hearing my rude retort by our arrival at the castle gates, where we’re greeted by two harried-looking servants. We sent word ahead by graydove for them to expect us, and the servants have the wolves’ lodging prepared.

“Raw steaks are being sent down straight away, Alpha Stark,” says one of the servants, bowing. Neither of them looks at Noemi for direction or approval. My mood darkens.

Eisenfall Castle is grossly ostentatious: Tapestries line every inch of the walls in garish colors; thick carpets overlap beneath our feet, leaving no cold stone gaps; even the wall sconces are ornate.

Our guest rooms, however, are bare bones. I raise my eyebrows at Noemi after we’re deposited at them. “Do they not keep a dedicated room for you as a daughter of the lord?”

She scoffs. “Please. We’re lucky they didn’t place us in the servants’ quarters. You know the Eisenfall clan doesn’t think of me as family.” She turns sharply and heads to her own room to wash up.

Finally, after a long, dull wait, a servant informs us we are summoned to attend a minstrels’ performance in the great hall.

Noemi explains that these musical performances are common at her father’s court. “He doesn’t have much to take up his time, since he

delegates all the duties of overseeing the fief to various cousins who want to curry favor,” she explains. “So entertainment like this and elaborate hunting parties are his two favorite pursuits. But his taste in music… let’s just say, it isn’t what I would choose.”

It doesn’t surprise me that her sniveling wretch of a father has shit taste.

The decor in his home could tell you that.

The hall is packed when we arrive, the air hazy with smoke and the moisture of too many people’s bodies in too small a space. The minstrels are set up on a small stage in the far corner of the room, plucking at stringed instruments of various sizes.

“Who are all these people?” I ask Noemi, looking around at the motley collection of courtiers, most in some stage of drunkenness already.

“Cousins, second cousins, third cousins, cousins’ cousins…” Noemi catalogs, looking around. “Cousins’ wives, cousins’ ex-wives, sons and

daughters of cousins…”

“I get it,” I cut her off.

“Anyone who’s vaguely related at all shows up for these things,” Noemi says. “They know that Father values his music, and they want to at least seem to like the things he likes…”

“Aha.” I weave around clusters of cousins, trying not to wince at the slightly off-tune harmonies drifting across the room.

Sweetness of life personified

My lady love so wondrous fair

The marriage knot we two did tie My wife, who had the roving eye

Noemi squeezes her eyes shut as if that will somehow drown out the warbling voice. “Not this one again. He loves this misogynistic bullshit.”

I struggle to make out the words, and my mouth twists in distaste as the song continues.

… my brother’s mouth upon her thigh

Her fingers tangled in his hair My untrue wife just moaned and sighed

My wife, who had the roving eye

Brother, this marks our last goodbye

My wife with you I will not share

Lock her away in tower high My wife, who had the roving eye

Seven tears that woman cried

I laughed to see her deep despair

But ne’er did she apologize My wife, who had the roving eye

I manage to shut out the words, focusing instead on studying the people in the crowd, committing their faces to memory so that I can later gauge how many of them come to the coronation.

Blessed relief finally comes when the lurid song ends and the gathered audience bursts into applause.

I stand up, ignoring the confused looks that morph into fearful glances as people recognize me and whispers start in my path.

“Whether or not they’re done playing, I’m done listening,” I growl, not bothering to keep my voice down. “We need to deliver our message and get back on the road.”

Noemi rolls her eyes but stands to follow me. We pick our way through the crowd toward where her father sits. He’s a reedy, thin man in his midfifties, with peppered gray hair. His face is blotchy and red from years of overindulging.

Seated next to him is his current lady—wife number eight, if I remember correctly. The first seven didn’t give him any sons, so he had them killed.

The lady is about Noemi’s age, plump and blond. She somehow looks simultaneously bored and on edge.

I let Noemi push in front of me and take the lead.

“Ah, Noemi, we heard you were paying a visit,” Lord Eisenfall says distractedly when he finally acknowledges us. He doesn’t offer us a seat or any food. “Did you travel far?”

“No, my lord.” Noemi’s voice is impressively calm. “It was barely more

than a day’s ride on wolfback.”

“I trust your wolves have been well cared for?” His concern for the direwolves seems to eclipse that for his own daughter. “How’s your mother,

by the way?”

“Still dead,” says Noemi.

My fists get so tight that knuckles crack, and I swallow back words I might regret later. Disrespectful fuck.

Lord Eisenfall is steadfastly ignoring me, looking at his daughter and swishing his emberwine around in his glass.

“Yes, yes, of course. Well, to what do we owe this visit?”

“We need your confirmation that you’ll attend Queen Meryn Sturmfrost’s coronation,” Noemi says, voice still level.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Lord Eisenfall says slowly, then purses his lips. “After all, the Eisenfalls have been loyal to the Valtieres for as long as anyone remembers.”

I stride forward. “Cyril Valtiere was beheaded for his crimes, and Killian Valtiere has fled. Queen Meryn Sturmfrost is the heir of the true, original royal line of Nocturna. Our country needs a leader, and we have one. She wears the true, ancient crown and wields awe-inspiring power.”

The young Lady Eisenfall stares at me, mouth open. Lord Eisenfall just shakes his head, taking his time cutting a bite of food and chewing before responding.

“I’ve received word from Rabenfrost that they’re sheltering King Killian from the usurper and they’re looking for others to join their cause. It’s a compelling argument.”

His words echo Killian’s proclamation made yesterday over the bonds. I hope more Bonded aren’t defecting to that spineless fuck… With the Dire Blade still broken, though, the wolves seem to be in disarray, rudderless. My teeth grind together.

“You’d run to a Siphon pretender instead of supporting the true queen of Nocturna?”

Lord Eisenfall takes another bite of food, then pulls a piece of gristle from his mouth. Disgusting.

“Yes, I’ve heard the girl’s accusation about the rulers being secretly Siphons all this time,” he says, pulling apart a piece of bread and dunking it into gravy until it’s sopping wet. “A bit dramatic. But then women are so

often prone to flights of fancy. What can your upstart queen offer me that Valtiere cannot?”

My hand flies to the hilt of my sword, but movement behind the lord makes me pause. A drunken, red-cheeked, weasel-faced young man comes stumbling over from his seat a dozen chairs down, his glassy stare directed at Noemi.

“Cousin,” he slurs, “what are you going to do now that the king is

dead?”

Noemi just looks at him, face stony.

“Will you spread your legs for this new queen, too? I hear you like that, but does she? Have you already tasted her?”

The man’s mouth opens to say more, but whatever vile words he intended next are silenced forever with an angry swipe of my hand.

Sometimes it takes effort to impel, but the power comes to me now without a thought, slamming into him like a brick wall.

He’s pushed up and back, and the luxe tapestry behind him isn’t enough to cushion the blow as his head thwacks into the wall and splits open like overripe fruit.

Lord Eisenfall and his court look on, stunned, as my power releases him.

His body crumples onto the serving table below, displacing several full goblets of wine that spill and tumble onto the floor. A wide slash of red and an accompanying splatter mark the spot where his head met tapestry.

I gesture at the stain. “Hope that’s not a family heirloom.”

Lord Eisenfall swallows audibly. I look over to Noemi, and she gives me the smallest hint of a nod.

I keep my voice flat and level, knowing I have every ear in this hall.

“What I’ll offer you is your life and your freedom, and if you don’t fall in line, you will have the full force of the Bonded bearing down on your fiefdom. Are we clear?”

The silence is profound, until finally the lord merely nods. “We’re clear.

I’ll be there, Alpha Stark.”

Turning, I lead Noemi away through the shocked, silent crowd. And then a buzzing, electric connection unfurls in my head, a dam that’s been opened wide.

It’s never happened before, and still, I know what it is instantly.

Fuck.

“Stark?” Meryn’s voice calls in my mind. “What’s happening? Are you okay? I… felt something.”

Noemi and I push out of the doors of the great hall. “Go pack up,” I tell her. “I’ll be down there in just a moment.”

She gives me a bewildered look, but she shrugs and heads toward our guest rooms. In the now-empty passageway, I focus my mind back on the surging connection that Meryn has torn open between the two of us.

Our connection has lived inside me from the moment she and Anassa bonded, but with Cratos’s barriers up, it’s been easy enough to ignore. I’ve never sought it out or attempted to use it.

It’s been like the sun: a fact of my life that I don’t have to pay attention to because it simply is.

Now my vision has been directed into it, and I can no longer avoid it because I’m being blinded by its warmth.

With Meryn’s voice comes a slow leak of her feelings, too—something she should be able to safeguard me from if only she was better at this.

Meryn and Anassa are still working on the finer skills of mental communication after blocking each other out for so much of the Trials.

She’s on edge, concerned.

Concerned about me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Her frustration pours through the connection. “That was a blatantly suspicious response. You were angry about something, angry enough that it reached me. Tell me.”

That’s not good. I’ll need to do a better job of keeping her out, or at least of leashing my temper.

“Is Eisenfall refusing to come to the coronation?” she asks, uneasy.

“They’ll be coming,” I say. “I was pissed because Noemi’s family are behaving predictably toward her.”

Meryn might be all strong bluster on the outside, but I’ve seen the woman beneath it now. The unending concern for others—now extended to an entire kingdom. The way she bottles up every bad thing that happens to her, locks it away, until it begins to eat her alive. And the way she would let it, time and time again, if it meant sparing the people she cares about.

It would be admirable if it wasn’t deeply unhealthy.

Even the hardest things can break with enough pressure. I’m in no hurry

to push her toward that edge.

“Okay,” she says slowly, and I can tell she’s trying to parse what that means. “I was just worried for a second that you were doing something reckless like killing people out there.”

Well, shit. So much for sparing her.

I’m not sure what to say, so I just shake my head and go in the same direction as Noemi. As I get into my room, Meryn pipes in again, accurately reading into my silence.

“Stark, you’re not killing people, right? Like, the people we’re trying very desperately to convince that my claim to the throne is legitimate?”

“I told you not to worry,” I say, throwing my few unpacked things into

my bag.

“Stark!”

“Meryn.”

I pause, annoyed. She might not want any blood on her hands, but intimidating the nobles to attend by any means necessary is why I’m here.

You can’t agree to use a weapon and then get mad when it cuts. She’s being fucking obtuse.

“Do you want the nobles to attend or not? I didn’t kill anyone important.

Just an insignificant cousin. The Eisenfall nobles will be at the coronation, and we’re leaving for Nachtfall now.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” She’s growing agitated. “A whirlwind murder tour? Dead nobles in every fiefdom, but at least we’ll scare them all into showing face?”

For someone with a vicious streak, she’s really naive sometimes. “Yeah, possibly. Is that a problem?”

“That’s not what I want, Stark. They should come because they believe my claim, not because my brutal enforcer has them worried for their lives.”

I’ve heard people call me worse things. I’ve believed worse, in fact. The words shouldn’t smart.

But they do, worming their way under my skin, peeling away at the tenuous alliance the two of us have started to build.

“All these nobles have heard about you is a horror story,” I seethe. “No one is coming unless it’s for self-preservation. You don’t want to rule through fear? Great. Prove that to them when they get there for your coronation. In the meantime, leave me alone to do my fucking job of getting

them there in the first place.”

There’s a knock on my doorframe. Noemi’s in the hallway, her bag over her shoulder. “Ready?”

“Let’s get out of this shithole,” I respond.

I slam my mental connection with Meryn shut—rebuilding the dam, looking away from the light, and hoping that it keeps her out for good.