Her crew follows.
I know they’re not fighting for me or for the future of the Stormfur kingdom. They’re fighting for her. They’re fighting for their Captain. For Calista.
She will make a formidable queen.
It’s hard to take my eyes off her, but I do. Lucan is still on the dais and dangerous as ever.
He’s watching his guards fall one by one, watching the pack murmuring and turning their anger his way, and watching the crown lying on the stone where the arrow sent it flying.
He sees all his plans unraveling and then turns to me with a feral viciousness. He lets out a low growl and then phases into his wolf. The purple royal cloak falls off his shoulders as his dark grey wolf bursts out, snarling at me.
He doesn’t hesitate. That wolf comes charging.
I don’t have time to phase.
“Kieran!”
It’s Calista’s voice. When I turn, the emerald sword is already in the air, reflecting the torchlight. I reach up and catch it by the hilt.
Lucan’s wolf is already in the air, lunging toward me, trying to finish what it started on the night of my father’s funeral.
With one fluid motion, I turn and raise the sword.
Lucan lands on it.
The sound his wolf makes will surely haunt me for the rest of my life.
His momentum carries him forward and the blade slides in to the hilt. The impact brings us both down. I climb to my knees and wince when I see the tip of the emerald blade sticking out ofhis panting wolf’s back. Blood pools out under him, turning the old stone dais red.
“Forgive me, cousin,” I whisper as I take the sword by the hilt and yank it out.
His wolf whimpers. More blood pours out.
He phases back into his human form, screaming out in pain as he shifts.
The fighting around us stops as his guards and Calista’s crew watch.Everyoneis watching.
But I don’t pay any attention to that.
My cousin is dying. Evil or not, he was still my cousin, still my blood, and at one time, my friend.
Lucan stares up at the stars, the torchlight catching his face. For a moment, I see a flash of the carefree boy he used to be. I wish we could go back to those lazy summer afternoons fishing on the coast. We would always compete to see who could catch the bigger fish, but it was all in good fun. I wonder where we went wrong.
I kneel down beside him and take his cold hand.
“Cousin,” he whispers, smiling sadly at me. “You always did best me in everything.”
“Not in everything,” I say quietly. “You always caught the bigger fish.”
He winces as he laughs. His grip tightens on my hand.
“I should have just accepted it,” he says, his eyes closing. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t see past it.”
“I know.”
“Your father was a good king,” he says, his voice weakening. “Better than mine was. Better than I would have been.”
His eyes find mine and for the first time in years, there’s no bitterness left in them. “He was right to choose you.”
