Page 14 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“He knows we’re here,” Bishop murmurs.

“I’m sure he does. And you’re not grabbing the money and leaving.” Her hand grips Bishop’s wrist. “You need to see him.”

“I know.” Bishop pulls his gaze from the forest and puts a hand to my back. “Let’s get you inside. Nancy? If you have anything to eat, we could all use it. It’s been a very long day.”

“I always have plenty to eat. Come in, and I’ll fix a bite while I add more to the stew for dinner.”

Inside, the cottage is tiny but as clean and tidy as any manor with a staff of twenty. Nancy bustles about, gathering bread and pickles and cheese and meat from storage under the floorboards, where she jokes about how easy it is to keep a cold cellar when you can freeze water at a touch.

When steps sound on the porch, Bishop and Julius both go still, as if frozen themselves. Nancy murmurs under her breath, sounding for all the world like a mother calming anxious children.

“Fee fi fo fum,” a voice booms from outside. “I smell the blood of my favorite son.”

I glance quickly at Bishop and Julius. Both their fathers are dead. At my look, Julius shakes his head, saying no, this isn’t either father. Bishop doesn’t notice my confusion. His gaze stays fixed on that door.

Then the door flies open to a man wearing only breeches, his chest and feet bare, that chest streaked with blood, more at his lips. He looks in his fifties, which means, with werewolf aging, he’s probably in his seventies. He’s in enviable shape even for a man of fifty—tall and muscled, with Bishop’s dark eyes and Julius’s chestnut hair.

“There he is,” the man booms, loud enough to hurt my ears. His gaze is fixed on Bishop, as if no one else is in the room.

Nancy’s fingers land on Bishop’s shoulder, as if urging him to his feet, and again, I’m reminded of a mother with reluctant children, coaxing them to greet a terrifying older relative.

Bishop stiffly rises and steps forward, his face expressionless. The man grabs him into a fierce hug, and I itch to ready a spell, not because Bishop is in danger but because he so obviously doesn’t want that embrace.

As Bishop disentangles himself, the man’s nostrils flare, catching a scent, and his gaze flies to me. He stares and then throws back his head and laughs before thumping Bishop on the back.

“Yours, yes? Tell me that is yours.”

“She is my wife.” Bishop’s voice is cold. “Her name is Cordelia.”

“Stockwell, yes?” The man rubs his hands together. “She has Silas’s hair and eyes, and she’s a lycan—a lycan. I can smell it.”

For Nancy’s benefit, Julius murmurs, “Cordelia’s father is a werewolf, and she inherited secondary characteristics.”

“She’s his, yes?” the man repeats. “Silas’s spawn?”

“His daughter,” Bishop says.

The man chortles. “I’d heard he had one.” His eyes widen. “Is her mother the witch? That was the rumor. A dark witch?”

“My wife’s name is Cordelia Levine,” Bishop says, each word brittle. “Her family are powerful witches.”

“A lycan and a witch, and Silas’s brat.”

“Daughter.”

The man waves off the correction. “You know I mean no disrespect. Look at her.” His gaze travels over me. “Magnificent. And she’s yours. Yours. Tell me you stole her from that bastard.”

“Silas betrothed us when he made me his heir.”

“Heir?” The man shouts at the ceiling. “Finally!” He grins at Bishop. “Now all you need to do is kill him and spike his head on the gate.”

“Montague!” Nancy says. “This is Silas’s daughter.”

“And my boy’s mate, which means Bishop is her priority now. Kill that Alpha bastard. Kill his brother and all his inner circle and spike their heads on the gate. Tell the world who you are and that the Danvers family is back at Trevelyan.”

I look at Julius. “Your grandfather, I presume?”

Julius chokes on a laugh that bursts free as he doubles over in his chair.