Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 5

5

MERYN

he Sovereign Alpha’s chambers are practical, with minimalT ornamentation and wide doors that take up one of the walls and lead directly out to the grounds. The less ornamentation, the less likely a vase or a chandelier will be shattered by a wolf’s tail. And the wide doors give

Anassa easy access.

There are a few luxuries, though.

The first is a bedroom off the living area with a massive bed nearly big enough for Anassa to stretch out in. The second, a beautiful hearth with the four pack symbols carved above it, surrounded by well-cushioned armchairs. The third, a gigantic bathing room with a sunken bath that I spent an eternity in before changing into clean clothes. Finally, a huge wooden desk with a pack of running wolves carved along its edge in exquisite detail.

I run my fingertip over the divots in the wood as I sit down to study the books Matron Alienor gave me.

Before I can make too much sense of what I’m looking at, a tapping sound from outside makes me lift my head and rub my eyes. It’s Anassa; I can tell without looking.

Sliding the heavy bolt to the left, I shove the doors open with a grunt.

They swing wide out toward the grassy space beyond and reveal my direwolf.

Anassa wastes no time entering. Her tail swishes, brushing up against me as she pads inside with a few clicks of her nails on the stone.

My chest tightens with anxiety even as my shoulders drop in relief at the

sight of her. So much has happened in so little time, and we haven’t really had a chance to admit that to each other.

Yet, seeing her, I can breathe deeply. That’s how it’s been ever since the truth came out.

A cool breeze coasts through the open doors, stirring her fur and my hair, both silver-white but reflecting tones of copper from the firelight.

It’s time. We need to get this all out. “I realize that a lot of what happened over the past four months was my fault,” I tell her, taking the first step.

I speak the words out loud, not just over our mental bond. It makes them more permanent; they can’t be brushed away like a thought. I have to taste the weight of every single one on my tongue.

Anassa’s golden eyes widen. Her head lowers so she can look more directly at me.

It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking to her like this. Her expressions are so subtle, lost behind fur and canine features. If she isn’t willing to let me in on her emotions through the bond, the subtle indications in her eyes or her ears could mean anything from surprise to anger.

I swallow down my nerves and keep going. “It took me too long to accept our bond and even longer to figure out how to communicate with you properly. And maybe I still don’t…” I shake my head and pivot. “I’ve made mistakes, not being honest with myself and others. So I’m going to stop that. From now on, complete honesty between you and me, Anassa.”

Her eyes narrow. Fuck. Just keep going.

“And with that, I have to tell you…” I swallow. This is hard. But honesty, honesty. “I am really fucking hurt that you treated me the way you did. I know you couldn’t tell me anything because of the blood curse, but I often felt like you were working against me. And I don’t understand why you acted like that.”

There’s a long moment of silence. The hearth pops, sending a tiny coal scattering across the stones. I watch it slowly fade to soot until I sense Anassa’s movement.

She steps closer and then settles onto the floor at my feet. She lowers herself right to my level, and I swear there’s something solemn in her eyes.

Maybe she’s not as difficult to read as I thought.

“I have been alone for a very long time, Meryn,” Anassa tells me.

The words sink into my soul.

Alone.

I remember what the other recruits said when we reached the peak of the Ascent. Anassa had been atop that mountain for years upon years. And when I first saw her, she was separate from the rest of the direwolves.

She had a mate, but that mate was away from her, gone at the front with his rider.

“My mother was the direwolf bonded to Queen Chiara Sturmfrost,”

Anassa tells me.

My lips part. Anassa’s mother, bonded to the last true queen of Nocturna. Something tugs in my chest. Something familiar and heavy and cold.

Grief—that deep cut that fades but never truly heals.

My heart opens up to Anassa like a neglected flower getting its first glimpse of sunlight.

“Direwolves have remarkably long lives, as you have learned. We can live up to a thousand years while searching for the right rider. We only choose once, and we tie our lives to our chosen, so we must pick correctly.

And I…” She blinks slowly. “I waited centuries for you.”

For me.

Centuries on her own, waiting for someone she wasn’t even sure would ever come. I used to think Anassa was impatient, but she endured years and years of longing just so we could find each other.

“Were any other direwolves waiting?” I ask. “Any wolves your age or

older?”

“No.”

My throat tightens. How lonely that must have been.

A cold wave of shame washes over me. I could have known any of this about her if I’d just asked sooner. If I’d been more interested in the history of the direwolves, if I had made a better effort to get to know the being I’d tied my life to.

It’s hard to leave room for curiosity or questioning when every moment is a battle for survival, but that’s not an excuse.

From now on, I need to do better—not just with Anassa, with everything.

“Stark and Cratos had informed me that you were coming, so I was

prepared to bond with you. But after waiting all this time, I found myself attached to a resentful rider.”

Another failure. Stark said something similar. He spent his entire life waiting for the Sturmfrost royal to bond, and he got me, mess that I am.

“The hurt that caused me, Meryn…” Anassa lays her muzzle on the ground and closes her eyes, exhaling a hot breath in a huff. “My instincts took over. I would have done anything to stop the agony of your resentment and rejection. I needed to keep my distance or I would have ripped out your throat.”

My eyes start to burn, and I reach out, scratching the fur behind her ears.

“Thanks for not killing me,” I say softly. “Even though I probably deserved it.”

“We are alike,” Anassa tells me. And I want to argue with her. I don’t know how she could compare her centuries of wisdom to my pathetic flailing. But then she says, “We are both hotheaded and strong-willed, qualities that each of us needs to work on.”

I let my grin take over. “Not always a great combination.”

“It is a powerful combination. But for it to work, yes, we both need to communicate better,” she replies. She brings her head closer to me, leaning into my ear scratches. “I am sorry if my actions caused you pain.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m lucky to have you. I always have been.”

Anassa nudges closer still, and I bend forward to rest my face against her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of her fur.

My direwolf.

I pull away gently and then say, somewhat reluctantly, “About Stark and Cratos.” I don’t want to have this part of the conversation, but I need to know. “What I felt in the dungeons, when you took down all your shields —”

“My love for Cratos,” she says. “The mate bond is strong. I will continue to shield you from that. We direwolves know that the mate bond can cause confusion for our riders, especially if the riders themselves are not romantically involved.”

I swallow. “And… Stark? Does Cratos shield his love toward you as well so that Stark is not affected?”

My assumption, when I was first hit with Anassa’s mate bond, was that Stark was grappling with that sensation the entire time I was bonded to her.

It would be a relief to know that he’s not.

I’m still not sure what to think about him. He’s obviously not an enemy as I so mistakenly believed, but I barely know him—aside from the deep intimacy I have with his scowls and his bossy commands.

I don’t want Stark to be secretly pining after me. I don’t even like him.

He’s kind of a fucking asshole.

On the other hand, it would help certain moments between us make sense if he were.

Like the naked hunger I’ve seen in his eyes when he’s licked my tattoos, or the searing heat I felt between us this afternoon in his office when he held my hand to his chest.

Heat that now pools liquid in my belly at the mere thought of his touch.

Anassa huffs, her pungent wolf breath hitting my face. “I would not dare to pry about Stark and Cratos’s relationship. The bond between a direwolf and their rider is private, even for mated pairs. If you want to know the answer to that, you may ask Stark yourself.”

Yeah, that would go over well, I’m sure.

Hey Stark, just out of curiosity, do you have a deep, unending, overwhelming attraction toward me at all times? Are you so hot for me that you can barely function?

Might explain why he primarily speaks in grunts, though.

“How does it work on a technical level?” I ask, ignoring the heat in my own face. “Are Stark and I able to communicate mentally?”

Anassa gives a lupine nod. “Yes, you can reach Stark, and he can reach you. You may connect mentally to each other however you wish.”

That might be handy, I suppose. If I need immediate advice on the best way to disembowel someone.

“And what about talking to each other’s wolves, since you’re mated?

Can you reach Stark? Can I reach Cratos?”

Anassa’s lips pull back from her fangs—she’s displeased. “Technically, yes, but I would not! As I said, the rider-and-wolf bond is sacred. To speak directly to another wolf’s Bonded rider… that’s a violation. Alpha wolves may reach out to their pack’s riders but only if absolutely necessary.”

My brows furrow. “You reached out to Helene and Grigore, though, when we needed to show them I was the rightful ruler.”

“That was a grave situation. You had not yet attempted to share

memories across pack lines and were unsure of how to do it yourself, and they needed to be informed immediately. I will not reach out to other riders like that again, and I’ve already apologized to their direwolves. However, yes, you and I can both theoretically reach any rider or wolf since we are the royal pair.”

I’m almost scared to ask but… “And Stark’s feelings? His thoughts and emotions? Will those reach me the way that yours can?”

Anassa shakes her head. “Not in the same way. It is not an easy flow, like our connection, and you cannot hear his thoughts outside of intentional communication, nor can he hear yours. More intense emotions may reach you on occasion. The nature of the bond makes all our connections porous.”

I settle back in against her fur as I ponder that. At least that answers my question about whether he could read my thoughts during several recent moments. He must be able to guess what I’m thinking.

Frankly, that’s almost as disturbing. Am I that easy of a read? Or… does he know me better than I realized?

My eyes start to droop closed. What a long day it’s been. The first full day as queen, and an utter disaster from beginning to end.

“Anassa,” I say quietly. “Since your mother was the direwolf of the last queen, do you have any inherited wisdom for me? What do I need to know about being queen?”

Anassa snorts air through her nose. “I was just a pup when Queen Chiara died. I know nothing about ruling. We shall have to figure it out together.”

I sigh and scratch my fingers through her thick fur. “You and me, huh?”

Anassa’s ears twitch around, and she perks up. Her eyes land on the door. “Your friends are approaching.”

“Oh, finally,” I say lightly, and head to the door. I called for them hours ago. I hear Anassa stand and shake herself and then pad back outside.

I open the door just as someone knocks and am nearly knocked off my feet by the sheer force of Izabel throwing herself at me.

“I’ve been hit enough times today, Iz,” I say with a laugh, gently disentangling myself from her.

Pulling back, I survey my best friend, making sure she’s safe after the shit show earlier. Her long, black hair is in a tight ponytail, exposing the

elegant line of her neck—not a scratch on it. She narrows her deep brown eyes, clearly doing the same thing I am.

“Are you okay?” we ask at the same time.

“Wow, you’re like twins,” Tomison says with a playful smirk as he enters the room. He throws an arm around Izabel’s shoulders that she quickly shrugs off, tossing him an irritated look.

Venna steps up, rolling her eyes. “Ha, ha.” She’s Izabel’s actual twin— an identical mirror image, except Venna’s sleek hair is cut in a short bob and streaked through with dark blue, marking her as a member of Kryptos, unlike the rest of us Strategos pack members.

“Here,” Nevah says, stepping through the threshold and thrusting a bottle of emberwine in my direction. “Figured we could all use this after today.” She glances around my room and lets out a low whistle. “They just keep upgrading you, huh, Cooper?”

I grab the bottle from her and lead my friends into the main sitting area of the room. While they loudly admire my new chambers, I uncork the bottle and pour us all glasses. Then we sit down on the rug by the fire.

The moment I’m settled, Izabel grips my shoulders, looks me in the eye, and says, “I’m going to execute Killian for what he did.” My eyes widen.

“I’m serious. Blood everywhere. They won’t find his body.”

“You don’t want to send a message with it?” Tomison jokes.

“Okay, they’ll only find his head,” Izabel says, a disturbing expression on her face.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so warmed by an offer of brutal murder, but I am.

“You’ll have to get in line,” I tell her with half a smile.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, but at least leave me something to stab.”

“Noted, keep pieces of his body for target practice.”

Nevah crosses her arms, her face troubled. “How did he even get out of here, anyway?”

I fill them all in on what happened between us in his chambers, making sure to face Venna—who’s hard of hearing—so that she doesn’t miss a word. Then I remind them of the memory I shared to all the Bonded of him disappearing in a swirl of shadow.

Venna tilts her head, her hair just brushing her shoulder. “It sounds almost like rifting. You know, how we Kryptos manipulate light and shadow to mask our locations and hide ourselves.”

She’s right—just like in the arena, when the older Kryptos woman was disappearing and reappearing. “That’s what it’s called, rifting? But that’s just a cover, right? You can’t disappear and reappear in a different location?”

“No,” Venna says, her tone contemplative.

“Killian said…” His name tastes foul on my tongue. Shaking it off, I continue, “He said that the pack’s powers were ‘rent from my own.’ I wonder if this ability is like some heightened, extreme version of what

Kryptos can do.”

Venna nods. “That would make sense.”

“Only one way to find out,” Tomison says. “Give it a go!”

Izabel smacks him in the chest. “You idiot. How can she use a power she doesn’t even understand?”

“I agree with Iz,” Nevah says. She bites her lip in concern and then continues, “After what happened in the arena, Mer—”

I raise a hand, cutting her off as I grow faint from the reminder. All that power, wielded so casually. All those deaths on my hands. I’ve barely let myself think about it since Stark found me in his office this morning.

Images of their bodies rise before my eyes, and I scrub my hands over my face, willing away the panic that quickly follows.

“I know,” I say, my pulse pounding. “My power—my strength—is dangerous. Fatal, even. And I don’t have control of it yet. I shouldn’t attempt anything too far outside of what we know the packs can do. I’d possibly risk my own life and others’.”

Nevah shoots me a tight, conciliatory smile. “You’ll get there.”

“Speaking of,” Tomison jumps in. “Did anyone else notice the pack powers acting a little… funny today?”

Izabel and Nevah look reflective. Venna nods. “It was easier to rift than usual. I wasn’t sure if it was just adrenaline or something, or all the time I’ve spent practicing?”

“One of the Daemos riders sent a blast of power toward me and Iz, and it almost looked like it rebounded on him somehow,” I add. “He was knocked off his wolf. I don’t know, maybe it’s the power of the crown, amplifying and changing Bonded magic or something?”

There’s an awkward pause, and I don’t think I’m the only one remembering just how many people were killed at once by my own

increased powers. I clear my throat. “Look, I need to talk to you all about something.”

Tomison gives me a playful salute. “Yes, oh, queen?”

“Goddess, shut up,” I grumble, but it makes me smile.

They’re still treating me like me, and it only reaffirms my decision to raise this with them. Does that erase my nervousness? Not entirely.

“Listen, most of the former Rawbonds will ship out to the front tomorrow.” Out with it. “But I’d like the four of you to stay with me. At the

castle. If you’re willing.”

They’re all silent, eyes wide.

The word vomit lurches up my throat. “You don’t have to. This isn’t an order. But I really need friends I can trust around me right now. Desperately, actually. And I trust you four with everything I—”

“Yes,” Izabel says. “We wouldn’t leave you to deal with all this royal bullshit alone.” What an Izabel way to put it.

“Obviously, yes,” Tomison adds.

Nevah nods. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Venna doesn’t have an immediate answer, but even still, my shoulders relax. “Oh good. I apparently have a group of advisors called the Council Palast that I’m supposed to fill. King Cyril staffed it with his relatives, so I thought perhaps you all could help me—at least as interim support, for now, until we find proper advisors.”

“Sounds highly important,” Izabel says. “Do tell, what kind of advising will you require?” She lifts her glass of emberwine, taking a large sip.

“Well, apparently one of the Council’s duties is arranging castle events and ceremonies.”

Izabel chokes on her drink. “Excuse me, party planning? You’re keeping us back from the front to plan parties? Having a queen for a friend really fucking rocks.”

Tomison and Nevah laugh, and my gaze drifts to Venna, who has been glaringly silent this entire time. She’s watching each of our faces as we talk, her expression unreadable.

“Ven?” I ask, knocking my shoulder into hers. “What are you thinking?”

She turns toward me and smiles faintly. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’ll be great, Meryn. I’ve been meaning to ask you, though, how’s Saela?”

Her concern slams into me. My jaw tightens. I don’t know how to

answer her, but of course she’d ask. She helped Stark rescue Saela from the dungeons.

The truth is overwhelming. And worse, it’s dangerous.

I trust my friends, but Saela’s current state is sensitive information.

If the knowledge that my sister is a Siphon got out, even accidentally, it could put her life in danger. People would call for her head, not to mention the damage it would do to my reputation as a queen standing in opposition to the Siphons, to Killian.

I hesitate, feeling shaky. “Saela is resting, and it will probably be a while until she’s ready to be around people. The… trauma of her captivity affected her, and she needs time to recover.” I hope that didn’t sound too calculated.

Venna winces. “I’m sorry. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“Whatever you need,” Nevah chimes in. And all I can do is nod.

The mood is dampened after that, and I’m not even surprised when Tomison—usually the one to keep a party going—says, “It’s getting late.

We should probably let our regent here get her beauty sleep.”

We all hug goodbye, but as everyone is making their way out the door, I grab Venna’s elbow and hold her back. When she’s turned to fully face me, I ask, “Can we talk alone for a minute?”

She nods, shutting the door after Izabel.

This is a little awkward.

Izabel and I are closer friends, in part because we’re in the same pack.

Venna’s always spent time with us Strategos, but she has her Kryptos packmates. Her own friends and mentors—not to mention lovers. I know she gained quite the reputation there during the Trials. It’s possible she’s attached to someone, someone heading to the front.

Venna and Izabel get lumped together so often by virtue of being twins, and that’s not fair to either of them.

Izabel is an open book, but Venna’s not. She’s never been.

And the truth is, I don’t know what she wants.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Venna, if you want to go with everyone else to the front, I’ll understand. I’m aware that it’s kind of hard to say no to me now. So are you sure you want to stay?”

Venna fiddles with the hem of her shirt, not looking me in the eye. “I do.

Honestly, the idea of being away from Izabel is awful, even though I’m sure it’s inevitable. But the four of you are all in Strategos, all natural leaders.

Am I actually going to be helpful for you as a Kryptos, or are you just keeping me back because I’m Izabel’s twin?”

Relief courses through my body. “I asked you to stay because I want you. Of course you’ll be helpful. You’re the cleverest of all of us, by far. I’ll make sure you have things to do that are not just event planning.”

She laughs. “Thank you. Staring down a battalion of Siphons sounds preferable to being dragged along by Izabel as she figures out seating arrangements or whatever.”

“Actually,” I say, thinking out loud, “you can help me right away.” I hold up my wrist and the deadly bracelet glinting on it. “I need to figure out how to get this off. There’s some sort of magic to it, and I can’t remove it.”

Venna nods. “I’m on it. Also… I’m happy to spend some time with Saela once she’s better. Can I help you keep her busy? Maybe, I don’t know, teach her sign language or something?”

My throat tightens. I don’t know how soon I can take her up on that offer. “That sounds nice. I’ll—I’ll let you know when she’s ready.”

We hug and say good night, and I vow to use this extra time with my friends to get to know them better, now that we’re not all facing near certain death daily as we were in the Trials.

Left with my own thoughts, it’s impossible to avoid the heavy weight of grief that crowds back in. My chambers are thick with it, as if I’m breathing it in like air.

My mind is with Saela all the way until I’m climbing into bed and beginning to submit to the heavy drag of sleep.

The moment I close my eyes, unconsciousness takes me like a rolling blackout. It isn’t natural. Ice streaks over my brain.

I open my eyes, panic skittering through me.

My breath catches as I realize I’m not in the Sovereign Alpha’s rooms anymore. I’m in the same shadowy dreamscape that keeps taking me. The world is indistinct but immediate, indefinable but pressing in on me with a grip I recognize.

I look around, wary. Any moment, the deep, disembodied voice I’ve heard before will say something. I’ll hear his terrifying voice echo through the dark.

But another voice comes in its stead, one all too familiar.

“Hello, kitten.”

My blood goes cold. Nausea slinks up my throat.

Killian emerges from the shadows, his face as coldly beautiful as ever.

His golden hair is pushed back from his face, showing off his high cheekbones and his now unnaturally bright blue eyes—a color they took on when his ancestor, Alistair Brightbane, passed into Killian’s body through some Siphon body-transference magic.

His full lips tilt up into a loving smile, revealing the tips of his new fangs. He spreads his arms for an embrace.

Once, I’d have gone to him, fallen into his arms, begged him to hold me.

I’ve finally learned my fucking lesson.

“I’ve missed you,” he purrs.