back as they fired at the enemy. Some of them ran out of bolts and pulled out huge machete-like knives. They weren’t wolf hunters for nothing. Their speed and skill rivaled that of the werewolves’. They were trained to handle snapping jaws and wild movements. Alex kicked and reared, slashing at them with his sharp hooves and stabbing with his antlers.
The Mistress got to her feet, a stunned look on her face, which was quickly replaced with rage.
I pulled out my knife and after a quick decision, untied the key from my ankle and flung it onto the steps near the throne. Then I made for the Mistress.
I drew up short when a werewolf jumped in front of me, roaring. Saliva dripped from his jaws. I brandished my knife. It felt small and feeble compared to the werewolf’s power. Two bolts protruded from his back. His muscles bunched and his clawed fingers curled as he prepared to spring.
Wolf crashed into him, knocking him to the side. The two tumbled together, snarling and fighting. Through it all Wolf screamed to me, “Kill her! Kill her, Caroline!”
I faced the Mistress. She gazed back, her face wreathed in fury. I pressed the knife blade against my opposite hand and sliced into the flesh before doing it to my other hand as well. Now both of them dripped blood on the ground. Blood that would poison her. I wiped my hands on my face. My neck. All over Wolf’s coat.
“You wretch!” she snarled. “Humans deserve to die. We are persecuted because of a curse they put on us. They are the bane of this land and they deserve to be ruled over by us!”
“So you eat them in retaliation?” I yelled. “You want to perpetuate the very curse they murder you for? What you want to do will kill even more wolves!”
She bared her fangs, parts of her body twisting as they changed. Yet she seemed to have trouble, as though those same parts didn’t want to change. Wolves react very badly to magic…
I charged at her, not knowing what magic she might throw at me, but knowing that if she did and I were too close, she’d suffer the same effects. Before she had time to ready a spell, I tackled her around the waist and wrestled her to the ground. She screamed whenever my blood touched her and fought back tooth and claw, trying to kick me off her and cause damage without drawing more blood. The magic in her practically boiled over. She wanted to use it, but feared what it might do to her.
I aimed the knife down, trying to sink it into her flesh, but she hit me in the same spot the Steward had, momentarily throwing me off balance. She tried to push me off, but I dragged her back to me, slicing into her arm with the knife. She shrieked and howled, the sounds ringing in my ears as I sought to finish her off.
“Fine,” she suddenly yelled. “If you want to die for your little princess, then so be it!”
Burning white fire erupted all around us. The same white fire from before. My flesh charred, my blood sizzled, I tasted ash in my mouth. I was dying, dying, dying. I tilted my head back and screamed along with her as we both burned in her magic fire. Burn, burn, burn. I managed to open my eyes amidst the heat and the pain. She lay below me, turning the knife toward my chest through the flames. No! The fire was an illusion. Every part of my body screamed it was real, but I zeroed in on my still-whole hand around the knife handle and forced it to turn around. It pointed down now, and with all the strength I could muster, I drove it into her chest. Wet with my blood, the poison of my love for wolves in her corrupt body did its work. She gasped, screamed, clawed at me, and then fell back choking.
“Fond of knives?” she panted. “Then I hope you enjoy this!”
A string of strange words cascaded out of her bloody mouth. Before I could stop her, her curse catapulted me back several yards. I struck the ground hard, screaming as dozens, hundreds, thousands of blades sliced at my body. I writhed on the ground, crying out, tears of pain escaping my eyes. What had she done? Was she dead? Was Marianne safe? What the hell did she do to me?
I tried to