Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Together,” the pack shouts as one.
I spot my cousin Lucan amongst his friends—the slimiest and most unscrupulous collection of wolf shifters in the kingdom. He does not repeat the word. He keeps his mouth shut.
“So, let’s remember Wolf King Axton,” I continue. “The greatest Wolf King this realm has ever seen.”
The hall erupts into cheers and shouts. I catch Lucan’s eye. He does not seem to be in agreement, although I can’t blame him for that. His father was king before mine. You can’t blame a son for thinking his father was the best.
I nod to the musicians, and the music starts back up, lively and loud. Cups crash together. Talking and laughing and dancing resumes. There is sadness, but there is also hope. And knowledge, that the pack will go on, strong as ever.
“Well done, my prince,” Morrick says as I drain my tankard and push away from the table. “Where are you going?”
My wolf stirs inside me, restless in his grief.
“There’s one more goodbye I have to make.”
I head outside with my head lowered, so I don’t have to stop and talk with anyone. I push through the crowd and sneak out the side door into the cool night air. The rain has settled into a cold mist.
The stars are out and I look them over, trying to spot a new one, trying to see one shining brighter than the others.
“Can you see me, father?” I whisper as I stumble across the grounds toward the forest, a little tipsy.
My wolf paces inside as I head through the trees, leaving the giant castle behind me.
“What do you think, boy?” I mumble, speaking to my wolf as I duck under a tree branch. “Do you think we’ll make a good Wolf King?”
He just continues pacing uneasily. Saying goodbye is always hard.
I follow the noise of the roaring river, and pretty soon, I’m stepping out of the forest and walking across the valley to the shore. The current is rough, the water level higher from the rain.
My wolf whimpers as I stand in the same place I was standing this afternoon, watching as I got the last glimpse of my father in this physical world.
I’m about to pull him out to let him say goodbye when a low, warning awareness moves up my spine like a ghost. A branch snaps behind me. I turn.
A shadow steps out of the tree line.
Then another.
And another.
Five of them in total. All threatening. All familiar. All carrying weapons—knives, spears, swords.
Lucan steps out last, unhurried, a cup still in his hand like he's just come from a celebration rather than his uncle’s funeral. He smiles when he sees my face.
“Cousin,” he says pleasantly.
My wolf growls low, urging me to let him out.
I will. But not yet.
I keep him close to the surface.
“Walk away, Lucan,” I warn.
He gives me a menacing smile. “Not this time, Kieran,” he says, taking a slow sip. “There’s no king to save you. No king to put me in my place. To choose you over me. To steal my birthright.”
“You go against our king?”
“My father was the real king.”
I step forward, squeezing my hand into a fist. “You wonder why you weren’t chosen?” I hiss. “You are not befitting of a crown. You surround yourself with hooligans and brutes. You have hate in your heart. You are a joke, cousin. Your father would be ashamed of you.”
The pretend pleasantness drains out of his face.
A malicious evil takes its place.
“That throne is rightly mine,” he says. “Just because your fool of a father overlooked me, does not mean I’ll walk away.”
“A fool?” I say, growling uncontrollably. “Is that what you call my father?”
“That’s what I call your entire bloodline,” he says, tossing his cup on the ground. “A bloodline that ends now.”
He draws his sword and thrusts it at my chest. I turn to the side, missing the blade by a hair. It slices the clasp of the traditional Wolf Prince cloak and it tumbles to the ground.
That’s a good thing. It’s wet and heavy and slows me down. And with five other homicidal wolf shifters attacking, I need every bit of strength and speed I have.
They all come at me at once. I dodge an incoming knife, grab the man’s arm, and crack it over my knee. Hands and arms grab me from all angles as he hollers in pain.
I spin, and punch, and push the men away. One falls onto his behind, another punches me in the stomach. I punch him back, staggering him.
I’ve trained in hand-to-hand combat with the best fighters in the realm since I was a young pup barely able to stand, but six on one is a tall order to fill. Especially when they fight dirty.
The big one thrusts his spear at my neck. I swat it to the side, the sharp blade barely missing my jugular.