Briggs’s composure cracked, his eyes flashing with an insane fury. Reaching up, he smacked Salvatore across the face with enough force to split his lip.
“Bloody bastard.”
Salvatore calmly turned to spit the blood from his mouth. “What I want to know is, was it worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“Was it worth sacrificing your pack, your loyalty, your sense of honor for a futile attempt to sit on a throne never intended for you?”
There was another blast of icy pain, and Briggs’s face twisted with insane hatred.
“It will be worth every sacrifice once you’re dead.”
Salvatore’s muscles clenched at the arctic assault, but through the pain he sensed Briggs’s magic beginning to falter. The bonds holding him against the wall were deteriorating, and the chill biting into his flesh lessening.
Thankfully, the bastard was too distracted by his own anger to realize the danger.
“It’s a shame really,” Salvatore drawled, quite happy to stir the bastard’s temper. “The Weres’ ancient powers are on the cusp of returning, and you won’t be around to appreciate our glory.”
The stark truth of his words was the last nudge needed to send the maniac over the edge.
“Enough,” Briggs roared, throwing off his cloak to reveal his skeleton body. “Hell’s waiting for you, Giuliani. Give my regards to Mackenzie.”
Salvatore braced himself as Briggs shifted, the sound of his low growls and popping bones unnaturally loud in the isolated cabin. The candlelight flickered as his face elongated, his fangs lengthening to deadly daggers and his eyes flashing with crimson fire.
Crazy or not, he was still a lethal predator.
Which he was swift to prove as he launched his attack, using Salvatore’s immobility to strike straight at his throat.
Dio.
Straining against the invisible bonds, Salvatore barely managed to avoid the death blow, instead taking the violent impact on his shoulder. He felt his collarbone snap and the fangs rip deep into his flesh, but he survived.
This time.
Hot blood gushed from his wounds and the clinging magic made every movement a lesson in torture, but gritting his teeth, he managed to force himself from the wall and confront the Were as he once again pounced.
Plowing directly into Salvatore’s chest, Briggs’s attack sent them both rolling across the uneven wooden floor, his fangs once again biting deep into Salvatore’s shoulder. Agonizing pain jolted through him, but Salvatore barely noticed. He was intent on forcing his awkward body to obey his commands.
With a merciless growl, Briggs scrambled to regain his balance, his fangs dripping blood, and his eyes smoldering with a deadly promise.
Sucking in a deep breath, Salvatore prepared to shift. It was much easier to call on the power of his pack in werewolf form. Not to mention the fact that he was more than ready to rip out Briggs’s throat.
Reaching for his beast, he abruptly growled in disbelief, stunned to discover that his powers lurked just out of reach. His wolf snarled, but remained frustratingly leashed by Briggs’s magic, as if trapped behind an invisible barrier.
Just as his connection to his pack was cut off.
His gut twisted with dread as he shoved against the unseen wall, searching for a means to break through.
Dio.
Briggs’s spell had not only affected his muscles, but it had stolen his wolf.
Ignoring the urge to howl in frustration, Salvatore instead forcibly calmed his racing heart and stopped his futile struggles against the black magic. His wolf was currently impotent, but as his mind cleared, he realized there was something else inside him…
An unwavering power that had nothing to do with his position as king. Or even his strength as an alpha werewolf. This force came directly from his heart, and had everything to do with Harley.
The sound of Briggs’s claws scraping against the wooden planks was the only warning as the Were charged forward, his fangs snapping just over Salvatore’s head as he called on Harley’s powers and managed to throw himself to the side.
He rolled toward the sagging sofa, cursing as he heard Briggs’s howl of rage echoing through the cabin. The bastard wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d ripped out Salvatore’s heart, and Salvatore couldn’t depend on dumb luck to keep him alive.
Time to do something.
A pity he didn’t know what the hell that was.
Harley had been horrified when she’d entered the shed.
Predictably, the four curs were chained to the walls with silver shackles, the stench of burning flesh enough to turn her stomach, but it was the sight of their ragged appearance and the wretched defeat etched on their filthy faces that made her heart twist in fury toward Briggs.
They had quite literally been broken by the evil Were.
Damn the bastard.
She hoped Salvatore ripped out the pureblood’s heart, chopped it into pieces, and fed it to the rats. Then raised him from the dead and did it all over again.
Her grim mood didn’t improve once she had the curs released and was leading them through the tangle of trees in a straight path back to the church.
She’d expected to have a brawl on her hands when she told the curs that they were leaving without Salvatore. Actually, she expected a mutiny, even after telling them that their king had ordered them to go with her.
It was disturbing to have them follow behind her with mute obedience, their heads hanging and their spirit lost.
Once in the empty church, she’d settled them on a rickety pew, her heart twisting as they huddled together, needing the physical contact to ease their fear. A part of her felt a befuddled need to do something to comfort them. She was supposed to be their queen, after all. It seemed like it should be her duty.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue what to do.
She didn’t think a pat on the head and a “there, there” was going to help.
Another part of her, however, was consumed with her relentless awareness of Salvatore.
Since their mating, the sense of him always hummed through her. More like a background noise than an intrusion. Now she found herself restlessly pacing the empty vestibule, the feel of Salvatore so acute it was almost painful.
Unwittingly rubbing the spot just over her heart, Harley walked to stare out a broken stained glass window. Something was wrong.
And it terrified her.
Turning back, she caught sight of the large bald-headed cur regarding her with a melancholy expression.
With a lift of her hand, she gestured for him to join her. “Hess.”
Despite his bulky muscles, the cur moved with a fluid grace as he crossed to kneel at her feet, his head bowed.