“Shifters!”
Isolde gasps and then grabs her daughter, pulling her close.
Murmurs of worry spread around the women as they gather their children and hide in the wagons. The men grab anything they can use as weapons—knives, shovels, hammers, and hurry to the front. Only a few have swords, and they look old and rusted.
Wolf shifters… Here?
They haven’t been seen in the human kingdom in decades. Maybe centuries. Some people don’t even believe they exist.
Not since the old wars pushed the wild beasts into our land, fighting against us for every inch, has a wolf stepped a paw in the human kingdom.
I can huddle up with the women, but that’s not me. I’d rather die the way I’ve always lived. Fighting.
I pull out the dagger that’s sheathed at my leg, and head to the front with the men.
And I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Four of the largest males I’ve ever seen are approaching on foot, carrying royal flags that I don’t recognize. Behind them are eight monstrous wolves prowling around with their heads held low and their deadly teeth bared. They’reenormous. Larger than the beasts in the scariest of fairy tales told to frighten children before bed.
Each one is higher than the tallest of human men. A giant paw could crush a man’s ribcage. Their terrifying jaws could snap a man’s head clean off with one bite.
There’s nothing my blade can do against a beast like that. It would be like giving a human warrior a splinter. It would be nothing more than an annoyance. A minor inconvenience before the inevitable slaughter.
The wolves move with incredible speed, crossing the plains in a blur.
Our horses shriek in panic, snorting and stamping as they pull on their reins, desperate to escape the approaching danger.
“This is human land,” Othric, an elder farmer, shouts as they encircle us. Women scream. Kids cry. The men shake in their boots as they hold up weapons that will be useless against these powerful creatures. “The King’s land! What purpose do you have here?”
“Vocatio Regia,” the leader of the wolves says.
“What the hell is that?” Othric shouts.
“The Royal Calling,” the shifter answers. “King Alaric has declared Vocatio Regia, an ancient law amongst wolves and men. He has called for your women.”
His voice is deep. Emotionless.
Like this is nothing.
Likeweare nothing.
“We will take your unwedded human females to be brought before the king, and if one is so fortunate, she will be chosen as the king’s one true mate.”
“Sounds like a load of one true bullshit,” Othric says, drawing his sword. “I’ve never heard of such a law. It sounds like wolf trickery to me.”
“Unwedded women come forth,” the shifter shouts, ignoring Othric.
“The hell they will,” Othric shouts, stepping forward with his sword raised.
The head wolf shifter snaps his fingers and an enormous wolf lunges on Othric. I scream as his sword is knocked to the ground and he tumbles down, landing on his back with a giant snarling wolf standing over him.
“Do not be foolish,” the shifter says, looking more annoyed than anything. “We are not here to restart the centuries-old war between our species. We simply would like to present yourhuman females to the king, and if he deems them unworthy, they will be returned, unharmed.”
“And if he decides to keep them?” Othric says, the tough old farmer still not giving up, even though he’s disarmed and helpless.
“Then they will live in luxury as queen of the wolves,” the man says in a flat tone. “We do not have all day. Females, line up.”
The horses become frantic as the wolves approach. The wolf shifters in their human forms head to the wagons and start pulling the women out.
