Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 4

4

STARK

ell, that was a fucking disaster.W The arena is quiet after Meryn departs, people staring after her in shocked silence. I let them gape for a moment, two.

Then I get tired of looking at their ignorant, confused faces. Did they not understand their instructions?

“You heard your queen,” I snap loudly, my voice carrying across the crowd from where I still sit astride Cratos. “Phlyax, grab the perished wolves. Daemos, help the servants with the bodies. Any recent graduates of the Trials are still shipping out tomorrow, so Strategos and Kryptos, go prepare. If you’re not a recent graduate—”

Skimming the crowd, I pick out several older Bonded who were here for the ceremonies, making eye contact with them.

“Get the fuck out of here. Bonded instructors, to me.”

People startle on their wolves and break into motion. Through it all come the three instructors who oversaw the Trials with me and Aldrich: Elinor Gardiner, Phylax Gamma; Samson Whyte, Kryptos Gamma; and Daegan Prak, Strategos Gamma.

Samson reaches me and Cratos first, astride his sleek, dappled gray wolf. Daegan and Elinor are close behind him.

“Quite a way to wrap up the Trials this year.” He raises a pale eyebrow at me, nonplussed. How Kryptos of him. I’ve never liked this sly asshole much.

“You need to keep your packs in line,” I tell the three of them, my voice a low growl. “Everything she showed you was real.”

“I believe it,” Daegan responds immediately. “Alpha Meryn is many things, but a liar is not one of them.”

“Queen Meryn,” I correct him tersely.

Elinor’s lips are a tight line as the older woman surveys the arena.

“Alpha Stark, I believe you—and Queen Meryn—but…” She cuts herself off, sighing, and then looks at me with trepidation. “I mean no disrespect, but how do you expect us to keep our packs in line?”

“She’s worried. She’s only a Gamma, and even you and I could not control Daemos,” Cratos chimes in. He bares his teeth, and Elinor recoils a bit, but I know he’s not directing it toward her.

He’s livid at the pack members who dared to disobey us. In the past, even if a human and I have not seen eye to eye, Cratos has always been able to bring their wolf to heel. That’s part of the power we have as an Alpha

pair.

It’s supposed to be, at least.

“What was that, Cratos?” I ask him, vengeful rage burning in my veins.

“When we hunt those fuckers down—and we will—I’m going to let you eat the riders slowly.”

Cratos shakes his large, lupine head. “I do not know. No one should be able to resist their Alpha. Perhaps it’s because of the corruption in the communication bonds from the Siphon, or perhaps it had something to do with the Dire Blade…”

That was certainly troubling, watching that powerful weapon shatter like glass.

But even before I was made Alpha, Cratos never had wolves disobey him; they knew to follow his orders. He was too powerful—always the largest, the most vicious. That some wolves would want to defy him is disturbing.

“Do your best,” I tell Elinor. “Make it known that if they do not follow your orders, they will have to answer to me.”

Cratos howls out a growling bark, and the wolves of the other three instructors skitter backward. From all around the arena, the fearful gazes of the recent graduates dart toward us.

Good. They clearly did not have enough terror beat into them over the past four months.

As the three instructors turn to go oversee their packs, Cratos stills underneath me, his ears pulling back.

“Meryn is not okay,” he says. “Anassa took her to your office.”

Shit.

“Show me.”

I’ve asked Cratos to keep a wall present ever since Anassa bonded to her. It never bothered me before, Cratos having a mate. His longing and lust for her would come through, but it felt entirely his own.

But then Anassa took Meryn.

Before, I could appreciate the ferocious glint in her hazel eyes from a distance. I could admire the swell of her hips while also keeping in mind that I fucking loathed her. It helped dull the aching attraction, reminding myself that my life was tied to hers and she was acting like an idiot.

That first day was torturous.

Cratos had no shield up. We crested the top of the summit, and the moment I saw Meryn standing next to Anassa, her hair turned that shining silver-white, something animalistic unleashed inside me.

I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back down the mountain myself.

No—I wanted to find a nearby cave and rip her clothes off with my teeth, teaching her how warm skin can keep you in the cold.

Cratos had to turn back around so I could throw myself into the snow, freezing out the pulsing, unreasonable desire that had taken over my every thought. It was painful, and it was a pain that could have no end.

She had a lover. She hated me. And I hated her, too—her undisciplined, chaotic lack of control drove me insane, even still. Cratos took sympathy on me and tossed up a wall on his mate connection to Anassa.

It’s stayed up. Her strongest emotions still burst through on occasion, but I’ve mostly kept my mind entirely my own.

Still, I carry the knowledge that this… feeling… is just a slim barrier away.

It’s helped that I’ve wanted to kill her half the time.

Now, heartache floods me, so intense that I almost double over on Cratos—a deep twisting in my stomach and chest.

Followed by physical pain. Jolts of anguish interspersed with short

bursts of relief.

And I realize what she’s doing.

Not on my fucking watch.

“Go,” I command. Cratos doesn’t need to be told twice; he sprints out of

the arena with little concern for the people still milling about, nearly trampling several Bonded.

Within moments, I’m at my office, and in the blink of an eye, I slide off Cratos’s wide back and slam the door open. The crack of the wood against the wall doesn’t mask the sound of Meryn crashing her fist onto the stone floor.

Her golden crown—the crown we fought so hard to find again—is discarded on the floor, forgotten. Meryn’s a puddle of fabric from that stupid gown she’s still wearing.

Her knuckles are split, and blood drips down her wrist as she raises her hand once again.

Frustrated helplessness bursts forth from my chest, just like at that inn back in Linsfall when I saw the crisscrossing silver scars on her thighs.

The scars she had given herself.

“Stop that. Now,” I snap. The compulsion to protect her is so ingrained —either from years of training to do it or from that fucking mate bond.

She glares up at me from the floor through tear-filled eyes and snarls, “Or what? You’re going to make me?”

It takes all of me not to snarl right back at her. She’s infuriating.

I’m used to being in command. I tell someone what to do, and they listen to me. And this headstrong, vicious woman might outrank me, but I’ve never let rank get in the way of doing what’s right.

“Yes,” I say, moving into the room.

As I near Meryn, the sweet scent of her washes over me so strongly that I almost stumble. My head spins, and I realize the walls between us are still down.

It takes every ounce of my control not to throw myself down next to her, pin her underneath me, and lick the blood from her wounds.

“Cratos,” I hiss, closing my eyes at another hot rush of desire and protectiveness. “You are killing me here.”

“Sorry, sorry.” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, and I wonder how sorry he really is. But the wall goes back up, and I can breathe again.

Opening my eyes, I level Meryn with another glare. “It is my responsibility to protect you from harm, even if you are its cause.”

“Fuck off!” she screams at me, punching her fist down onto the stone floor again. Something in her hand cracks loudly.

For fuck’s sake.

Two steps forward and I’ve reached her. She dares to raise her hand again, but I catch her wrist. It’s so small in my grip, but there’s strength behind it as she tries to pull herself away.

“Stop!” I order again, jerking her to her feet. She fights back against me, her mouth set into a focused, petulant line. Meryn’s so fixated on causing herself pain that I don’t think I’m even getting through to her.

My grip only tightens further. If she’s so determined to hurt something, then fine.

“You want to hit something? Hurt someone?” I seethe. I yank her closer, and she stumbles into me. Then I take her hand—the one that’s not bloodied —and slap it onto my chest. “Hit me. Hurt me. I can take it.”

Her mouth falls open, and the fight goes out of her muscles. It’s like she’s finally been knocked right out of her own brain and back into her body. She relaxes against me, her surprisingly soft hand still trapped underneath my much larger one.

Heat burns right over my heart. Can she feel how hard it’s pounding?

My grip loosens, but I don’t let her go, concerned she’s going to collapse again. Meryn breathes shakily, the storm of emotion in her gradually subsiding.

I glance down to her bloodied, raw hand and watch as it heals. Anassa has used her magic on Meryn.

My eyes snap toward the direwolf’s knowing yellow-golden ones.

“Don’t do that again,” I say over the angry lump in my throat. “If she tries to hurt herself. She shouldn’t get the idea that your healing magic makes it okay.”

Meryn scoffs and finally pulls her arm out of my grip, a splotchy blush high on her cheekbones.

“I’m right here if there’s something you want to say to me,” she says, narrowing her hazel eyes. “You don’t need to give Anassa instructions like I’m some toddler who needs looking after.”

“Then don’t act like one. Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” I growl, and her glower deepens. Good. She’s doing exactly what she needs to do—she’s getting mad again. Her fire is back. “You have a country to lead.”

“I’m done,” she says, wiping her bloody hand on her dress.

I watch her carefully for a moment, making sure she means it.

Then Meryn straightens her posture and presses her lips together in a way that looks slightly self-conscious.

“What do we do now?” She’s softened a bit. The fight is still in her, but she knows she doesn’t need to direct it at me.

I loosen a breath and scrub a hand through my hair. What a loaded question. Where do we even start? “We’ll need to figure out your

coronation.”

She blinks, confused.

“You can’t just claim you’re queen,” I tell her, slightly exasperated.

“You need to be crowned.”

A borderline bitter laugh rips out of Meryn. “And who will coronate me?

I tore that crown out of a bloody gutter.” She points to where it rests on the stone, upside down. “The king I wrenched power from is no longer alive.”

I bend to pick up the crown, then set it carefully on the table beside us, atop a stack of books.

This, at least, I have an answer to. Siegrid reached out to me last night when she sensed tumult in the bonds.

“The Mother Priestess of the Faceless Goddess’s order will preside over the ceremony.”

Meryn huffs. “I thought you considered the Faceless Goddess to be ‘commoner nonsense,’” she says, reminding me of my words in Linsfall when we visited the famous statue of the goddess.

She’s right, I do. If there was truly some beneficent goddess, why would our world be so shit? No, the only gods up there are the kind that take joy from watching their human playthings kill one another.

Can’t fault anyone for hoping for something better, though.

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s about making your coronation legitimate for the common people, and the head of the order has overseen every ceremony for every new royal throughout history. The Sovereign Alpha is traveling up from the front for the coronation, and she’ll escort the Mother Priestess here.”

Meryn’s brow furrows. “Sorry, the Sovereign Alpha? You mean, your mother?”

A tiny muscle twitches in my jaw. “Sure.”

Cratos snickers in my mind, but I ignore him.

“We’ll need to get nobles in attendance to make the coronation legitimate,” I continue. “It will be difficult to persuade them to come. We may not get all the fiefdoms on board, and you will need to prepare yourself for that possibility.”

Thankfully, Siegrid is bringing Noemi with her from the war front, who should be helpful. My chest warms at the thought. It’s been months since I’ve seen Noemi, held her in my arms.

Meryn nods stiffly. “And should I be worried about the other Bonded after what happened in the arena? With… Jonah?”

That festering piece of shit.

I should have culled him during the Trials when I had the chance. It’s frowned upon, instructors killing the Rawbonds, but if a rider isn’t suited to be in a pack, then someone needs to act. I’ll never forgive myself for that.

When I finally end him, I’ll take my time. Cratos can eat his entrails while graydoves peck out his eyes. We’ll leave his dick for the rats.

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “What happened in the arena…”

“The Dire Blade.” Meryn sits back down on the ground and cradles her head in her hands. “I had that in my possession for all of a day before breaking it. No one is going to believe I’m legitimate now.”

She lifts her dirty, bloodied face toward me, and the devastation on it hits me in the gut. She quickly explains what happened when it shattered, the way she could feel her power corrupted and throttled.

“It’s the bracelet,” she says quietly. “Whatever kind of Siphon blood magic is in it… it’s fucking everything up. Will anyone listen to my commands without the Dire Blade?”

I shrug. “We know the Dire Blade existed during the reign of the Sturmfrost Queens, but we don’t know how it was used. Regardless, the people will follow your lead because they’ll come to accept that you’re the rightful regent.”

Her mouth twists in skepticism, and I don’t blame her.

“Things will be under control when the Sovereign Alpha arrives,” I continue. “No one can deny the power you hold, and no one would dare move against Siegrid. She’s too respected and feared by the Bonded.”

“Okay.” Meryn glances down at the ruined gown she’s still wearing.

“Ugh, I need to clean up and find something else to wear.”

I sigh and reach down a hand to guide her up. “I know someone who can

help us with that.”

Cratos and Anassa leave to deal with the rest of the wolves, and I lead Meryn through the twisting bowels of the castle. Eventually, we reach a

huge wooden door, and I knock.

“Come in,” says an aged, elegant voice.

We enter an office that overlooks the snow-covered front gardens through a wall of ornate windows. It’s richly decorated but not ostentatious, and at the center of the room is a beautifully carved wooden desk. An older woman with a tight gray bun and a shrewd gaze stands behind it.

“Your Highness,” the woman says to Meryn, bowing deeply.

“This is the Castle Matron, Alienor Bernard,” I tell Meryn, gesturing for her to take one of the plush cobalt-blue chairs in front of the desk.

No one’s sure exactly how old Matron Alienor is; she’s been in charge for long enough that she must be in her eighties, but she looks like she might be in her early sixties. I’ve known her peripherally since I was a child.

She’s never been warm, but she’s always kind.

Meryn looks up, a little perplexed. “Castle… Matron?”

Matron Alienor tilts her head. “Yes. I am the head of staff and facilities here.”

I scoff, taking the chair next to Meryn’s and gesturing for Alienor to sit down, too. “That’s a very basic description of what you do. She’s in charge of everything that happens inside this place, from overseeing the castle servants to repairs to keeping the royals and nobles in line.”

“And now I serve at your pleasure,” she smoothly tells Meryn. She may have been the right hand of the Valtieres for decades, but Alienor is sharp enough to know how to keep her job and her head.

I quickly fill Alienor in on Meryn’s needs: rooms, clothes, attendants.

“Have you considered your Council?” Matron Alienor asks Meryn.

Meryn shakes her head. “I’m sorry; I’m not sure what that means.”

Alienor’s glance to me is so quick that I hope Meryn missed it. In that

silent millisecond, she said everything that I know is true: This woman is to be queen, and she knows nothing about the role. Not even the very basics.

It’s one thing to have the crown call to you. Or to ride the most powerful direwolf in centuries. Or to have royal lineage coursing through your veins.

It’s another thing entirely to rule.

We all have our work cut out for us, most especially Meryn. I really fucking hope she’s ready to learn this time.

“The Council Palast are your royal advisors,” Matron Alienor says smoothly, no trace of judgment in her tone. “Former King Cyril’s Council comprised myself, the Councilor of Sturmfrost, Sovereign Alpha Siegrid Therion, and then several of his relatives.”

Meryn’s brow furrows. “What purpose did the relatives serve?”

“They advised on relations with commoners, relations with the Bonded, and oversaw the planning of any major events or ceremonies at the castle.”

“Okay,” Meryn says. She quiets, and it’s clear—to me, at least—that she’s getting advice from Anassa. “I’ll keep you and the Sovereign Alpha on the Council. The Councilor of Sturmfrost… well, I suppose I should keep him, too. Get rid of the Valtiere relatives; I’ll replace them with interim advisors.”

Matron Alienor folds her hands in front of herself on the desk. “Which method would you prefer? Beheading? Imprisonment? Dismemberment by wolves?”

Meryn blanches. “Goddess, no. I just meant—get them out of here. Send them back to whatever fiefdom they came from. I know how Cyril handled things, Matron Alienor, but I am different.”

A small smile graces the Matron’s face. “Understood.”

“Speaking of which,” Meryn continues, this conversation bringing her back to life finally, “the servants. Let them know that anybody who wants to leave is welcome to go. They’re not required to work for someone they don’t support or might be afraid of. Anyone who chooses to quit can have one month’s pay and a strong reference. There are too many people in Sturmfrost who would be willing to take their jobs; it doesn’t make sense to force those who are unwilling.”

The declaration loosens something in my chest. After that display in the arena, a part of me worried we unleashed another tyrant in the making.

But it seems Meryn truly does want to be a different type of regent.

If I’m going to stand by someone’s side and offer to be their weapon, I need to know I won’t be aimed in the wrong direction.

My thoughts trail to the way that Meryn let Jonah and the others leave when another ruler—Cyril, surely, or even the Sovereign Alpha—would have demanded their immediate executions. At her own horror over the deaths she’d caused; horror so vast that it manifested in injuring herself.

A regent who truly grieves when her people are harmed… My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I look at her now, hazel eyes lit up with a righteous fervor, pink high on her cheekbones.

If she has people by her side who can encourage that empathy, if she’s not corrupted by the power she’s wielding… what could that mean for Nocturna?

“I’ll let them know immediately,” Matron Alienor responds, jotting down a note to herself. “From the willing servants, we’ll select one to be your primary attendant. She and the others will prepare the regent’s rooms for you.”

Meryn’s face pales. “King Cyril’s rooms?”

Matron Alienor raises a single gray brow. “Of course. They’re traditional royal chambers.”

“No,” Meryn says firmly. “I’ll stay on the royal side of the castle if that sends a necessary message, but not there. Not now. It’s too soon.”

“How about the Sovereign Alpha’s rooms?” I interject, and Alienor nods. Turning to Meryn, I explain, “The Sovereign Alpha has designated chambers on that side of the castle to keep her close to the royal family.”

“Why don’t you take her there now?” Matron Alienor suggests. “I’ll send someone to prepare a bath and clothes immediately.”

We all stand, and Matron Alienor’s lips purse in thought. She opens her mouth as if to say something and then stops herself, shaking her head.

“What?” I ask. “This is no time to stand on ceremony, Matron.”

She gives me a tight nod and turns to Meryn. “Your Highness, I hope this is taken as a kindness, as it’s meant as one. It seems there may be some… gaps in your knowledge about royal responsibilities and procedure.”

Meryn starts to laugh and can’t stop. She doubles over, tears streaming down her face as giggles continue to pour out of her.

Matron Alienor shoots me an alarmed look, and I grab Meryn’s arm, my

fingertips tingling where our bodies make contact.

“Pull it together,” I mutter. “Your Highness.”

Meryn stands, wiping the tears from her face. “Forgive me, Matron Alienor. That was the politest way anyone’s ever told me I’m a know- nothing moron, and I’ve been told that a lot over the past few months.”

Alienor’s face reddens. “I meant no offense, truly—”

This poor woman. I didn’t know she could get flustered like this. But Meryn Sturmfrost brings out the unexpected in everyone, it seems.

Meryn waves a hand, cutting her off. “No offense taken. It’s true, the gaps in my knowledge are so large they could be called canyons. I’ll gratefully accept any instruction you might offer me, and if you have any books I should read in the meantime, please hand them over.”

A small smile now on her face, Matron Alienor walks quickly to the bookshelf that covers one entire wall and pulls a few leather-bound volumes from it. Then she hands the pile of books over to Meryn and sees us out the door, shutting it firmly behind us.

No doubt very happy to have survived that meeting with her head intact.

Back in the hall, I lead Meryn silently to the Sovereign Alpha’s rooms,

then bow and turn to depart.

She blurts out a strangled “Stop.”

I freeze but don’t turn around.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”

My hands flex at the words. I draw my shoulders back slightly, lift my head, and look at her.

The tears from her laughter have left new streaks in the dirt on her cheeks, but her shoulders are held high. She’s clutching the books tightly to her chest, pushing the swells of her breasts out of the top of her dress. She’s ruined and regal in the same breath.

Heat lashes through me, urgent and unyielding.

I can picture it, again, the type of ruler she could be. Unafraid to do the necessary for people at any level. Confident and fair. Demanding justice when required, but never cruelly. She could be all that, and more.

The thought comes quickly, entirely unwelcome: She belongs on a throne. She deserves to be worshipped.

And just as swiftly comes the knowledge that I need to keep my distance, even while watching her closely, protecting her. Because I know

what happened in that arena today. She saw her own power, was rightfully afraid of it, and was going to set it aside.

Until I encouraged her to seize the darkness.

The blood is just as much on my hands as hers.

“I was serious about what I said,” I tell her, my voice a growl that I hope masks my aching need. “Next time it’s too much, you find me. We’ll find another outlet for your pain.”

Then I turn back on my heel and walk swiftly down the hall, trying very hard not to imagine just what kind of outlets we might find.