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 therealking.”
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 endsnow.”
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.
My wolf wants to get out, but there’s no time to shift. Every split second is a matter of life or death.
I try to yank the spear out of his hands, but that’s when Lucan unleashes years of hostility and revenge. He steps up behind me and thrusts his knife into my back.
A blood-curdling scream rips out of my lungs as he twists it hard. I throw my elbow back, hoping to land it on his head, but he ducks out of the way and stabs me again. And again. And again.
The pain is white-hot and all-consuming. My back is soaked with blood. My head goes light. My legs buckle.
I drop to one knee on the wet soil as Lucan steps in front of me, the blade dripping with my blood. Lucan crouches so our eyes are level. He almost looks sad.
“Why couldn’t he have just picked me?” he says softly. “It didn’t have to be this way.”
My wolf growls savagely inside. I feel him tearing loose before I make the conscious decision to let him. The shift rips through me fast and violent—bones cracking, skin splitting, the wounds on my back tearing open even worse as my body remakes itself.
My wolf is weak from my injuries, but he’s madder than ever, snarling and growling at my cousin as Lucan backs away. Blood pours down our back from the open wounds, dripping and streaming into the mud.
“I never wanted this cousin,” Lucan says sadly. “I hope you know that.”
My wolf rears back to pounce, but from the blood loss, torn muscles, and open wounds, he’s a fraction too slow.
A spear drives into our left side, painful and deep, crushing through our ribcage and not stopping until the pointed tip slices through vital organs.
My wolf tosses his head back and lets a gurgling, broken howl loose. The pain is crippling. Our hind legs give out.
