Blood for Wolves - By Nicole Taft Page 0,96

to his knees and then slump over into a puddle of his own blood. She slowly turned to face the rest of us, a sharp smile on her face.

“Now, we can continue this. Properly.”

Alex snorted like a bull, pawing at the ground despite the fact that he was still trussed up. Martock still held my arms, but his grip had loosened considerably.

“I admit,” she continued, “this isn’t what I had planned, but no matter. We can easily shift it to our advantage.” She licked Dunstan’s blood from her fingertips. “I’d intended to take care of the little whelp first, but one should always be prepared to change plans when necessary.”

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. If the House of Hood figured the wolves could take care of Marianne, then they couldn’t be implicated in it, and people would hate wolves even more. The werewolves would use the ruse as a cover, hiding out in the castle while the people and Sentries destroyed all the wolves that might oppose them. Then the werewolves would kill the Steward and his men from the inside and use all the newfound hatred to encourage wolves into joining them, even if they were werewolves. Then another thought hit me.

“The people,” I gasped. “The people in this castle. What did you do with them?”

She laughed. “Such a silly creature you are. We didn’t do anything to them. Yet. He on the other hand,” she gestured at the dead Steward, “decided it would be best to imprison all of them for the duration of our stay. Which is ridiculous since our stay was to be for quite some time. They simply would never be allowed out again.”

So that was the other reason for the magic. They were being held down there, somewhere beneath the castle, and if there were any sorcerers among them, magic would be needed to subdue them.

“Now then. I won’t ask you where the girl is. You simply won’t tell me, I know that. But seeing as she is no longer with you and your brother is no longer human, my guess is that she drank out of the same cursed stream as him, hmm?”

I stared at the ground, silent.

“Be as quiet as you like. It matters not in any case. Seeing as your brother is not a ferocious beast, nor is he a tree, I assume they drank from the third stream, in which case she’s a symbol of herself. That alone accomplishes that I’ve set out to do. Of course, if she’s become a bluebell, then that’s different, and I need to know.”

Wolf lurked behind her, his eyes fixed on me and his tongue out. She gave him an idle pat on the head.

“I’m not telling you anything,” I ground out.

She mock-pouted. “I could find out. Perhaps I’ll give you over to my little half-wolf here. I’m sure he would love extracting the information from you, especially since your blood doesn’t hurt him.”

“Be careful you don’t get too close to me,” I said, giving her a sadistic grin, “you remember what happened last time.”

Her cutesy face disappeared, instead transforming to an ugly twisted expression of pure anger. “If I didn’t fear your reemergence as Guardian, I would destroy you here and now.”

Martock’s grip was virtually nonexistent now. If I wanted to escape I could, but my instincts told me to wait. Wait just a little longer.

“Do whatever you want, you ugly bitch. I’m never telling you where Marianne is. You screwed up when you cursed her and my brother, so now you get to pay for it just like me.”

She bared her fangs and growled.

“I am the Guardian of the House of Red!” I yelled to the Sentries. “If you serve the rightful House, then you will destroy these cursed creatures!”

The Mistress threw her head back and laughed. “They are under my influence. They will do nothing until I tell them to.”

Alex suddenly bellowed and charged forward, knocking his antlers into her and tossing her back a half dozen feet. The ropes around his neck were severed. Nearby werewolves roared and sprang at him, but a group of Sentries immediately surrounded Alex, shooting them down.

The chamber exploded into action as Sentries and werewolves attacked one another. Martock released me, snatching his crossbow from his back and firing bolt after bolt with deadly accuracy. Werewolves dashed over the stone floor, their claws etching marks into the rock. Others sprang off pillars like acrobats. The Sentries worked in teams, back to

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