Page 121 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

His face purples with humiliation, and I do feel a spark of pity. But he did this to himself. Held those reins of power. Didn’t plan to relinquish them even after he divided the three Packs among his sons. It’s a testament to his sons’ love for him that they never challenged him themselves.

Bishop made a promise last night in Edinburgh, as he discussed the plan with Edwin. When Bishop left Kenric behind, he left him not only as a spy but as a mediator, who had continued a dialogue Bishop apparently opened with Edwin before we left.

If Edwin had believed his father would honor his word—that he would accept Doyle’s head and give Bishop his alliance and lend him fighters, while treating Bishop as an equal, not an errand boy—then this would all have gone differently. Discussions of succession would have waited, and Bishop would have swallowed his pride at seeming to have done what Hamish demanded.

It’d have been a bitter pill to swallow. Yet Bishop would have done it to prevent more bloodshed.

That isn’t happening, so this is the bloodshed I must prevent. The death of Hamish Campbell, however much the old wolf might prefer such a noble end.

He tries to march proudly past us. I cut him off. He goes the other way. Ann steps into his path.

Then Hamish snarls at me, “Does your mate care so little for you that he’d let you die to keep a promise to my sons?”

“No, he trusts me enough to know I will keep that promise for him.”

Hamish charges, straight at me.

FORTY-TWO

I hit Hamish. It’s a punch hard enough for Ann to wince. It’s not what Hamish expects, and he totters back, breathing hard, staring in shock.

“Please don’t do this,” I say.

“You bitch.”

He charges again. I cast a binding spell, and it holds him, and the fury frozen on his face is terrible to see.

“No one is watching you,” Ann says to Hamish, trapped in my spell. “No one will know if you stop this now.”

I break the spell and he stands there, heaving breath, eyes rolling in rage. Then he scans the battleground and sees that Ann is right. Everyone is caught up in their own battles.

His lips curl in a smile that sends a chill through me. “Then I guess no one will see you die.”

He starts to charge, but at the last second, he veers, and I don’t see it coming. He swings around, grabs me, and throws me. As I go down, Ann makes a move to leap in, but I lift a hand, asking her to wait. She doesn’t like that, especially when Hamish punches me in the stomach hard enough for me to retch. But she stays out of it. Stays out and stays ready.

With the wind knocked out of me, I’m slow recovering. Hamish grabs my hair, and if men have their weak spots in a fight, this is a woman’s. It hurts like I would never imagine it could, and he easily gets his hand in it, wrapping the long strands around his fist and yanking me off my feet. As he goes to throw me again, I cast a quick fireball. I throw it into his face, and his hand releases its grip in my hair. I still go flying, hitting the ground hard, my scalp on fire.

I roll and yank at my skirts. They’re separate from my bodice, the alteration a gift from Ann. The skirts come free, along with the petticoat, leaving me in my drawers. That makes it easier to fight but it also costs me a few seconds, enough for Hamish to slam his fist into my stomach again.

“Can I help now?” Ann says.

“I have this,” I wheeze.

“Stubborn witch.”

I grin at her, and that gives Hamish time to swing at me, which I expect, and I grab his arm and yank him off-balance. As he stumbles, I hit him with a knockback. That sends him to the ground, and I leap on him, hoping to keep him there, but while he may be old, he’s still a werewolf, still stronger than me.

He pushes easily to his feet, throwing me off. Now I stumble, and he falls on me, but I roll aside before he can pin me.

I scramble to my feet, but he grabs my foot. I kick hard, and my boot toe connects with his eye. He falls back, yowling. I kick him again, square in the face, and something cracks, and I inwardly wince.

We go a few more rounds. At one point, Ann snaps at me to “use a goddamned spell.” I ignore her.

“You’re a witch,” she shouts. “Stop fighting like a werewolf.”

I’m reserving my power and I continue that, even as skirmishes in the field break up, even as Bishop gallops over, blood dripping from his jaws. He doesn’t try to interfere. Oh, he doesn’t like staying out, and as he circles us, I know not all his growls are directed at Hamish.

A moment later, Rufus is there, too, a huge reddish-brown wolf. Instead of leaping in to help me—or guarding Bishop—he runs between Ann and two Caledonians … who have made absolutely no move to touch her and are focused on my fight instead. Ann gives him a “What the hell?” look and I shake my head and keep fighting.