Thudding boots against wooden steps punctuated the quiet night. The squeaking of boards where the nails were loose. The great hall for the Refuge was one long room with a planked floor, open rafters, and a stone fireplace large enough to shelter a standing man. A roaring fire blasted heat that was too humid after the damp night air. Lights blazed overhead—magic fueling the chandeliers instead of camp lanterns. The King of the Forest had upgraded the amenities, so while the interior spaces were similar to those from a previous century, the conveniences were modern enough to be comfortable. I’d backed up Fee’s wards with wards of my own. Even Anson had come to add a few tricks his Carmag rangers appreciated. We were allies who still did not fully trust each other.
I pulled a chair back and ordered Elana to sit. The old man hovered behind her, his knobby fingers twisting together. I gestured toward a second chair. “Sit.”
His head bobbed, and it might have been fatigue and not a courtesy to the alpha. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a threat. The others I left standing. To Levi, I said, “Take the children to the kitchen. Make sure they’re dry and fed, then put them in the empty barracks room, north end, and stay until you’re relieved.”
Pond—bright boy—left with Levi, and I waited for Elana to make her objection. Thankfully, she remained quiet.
Mace clomped across the floor, dragging a chair away from the table and throwing himself onto the seat. He did it with a casual disdain, adding a layer of threat when eight silent men filed into the room. They stood with their backs to the walls, witnesses ready to carry out the verdict—if I didn’t do it myself.
Angel shifted her weight, an unconscious movement as she scanned the room. She studied the obstacles, the faces, reading the mood with that one eye. Behind the black patch, a wicked scar ran jaggedly from her hairline to the curve of her cheek. Years old, and faint. She’d had the benefit of a talented healer, able to repair a wound severe enough to take her eye. Perhaps she’d gone to a human plastic surgeon for the repair, but that signified wealth, as did the quality of her leathers. Either the protection racket paid better than reported, or she had the funds. Or a secret benefactor.
“Start with the names,” Mace said.
“I’d be Donnelly,” the old man volunteered. “Elana’s my kin, wife and widow to my son who passed three months ago. These two—” He gestured over his shoulder with his chin. “Jade Pike and William Cashel.”
Jade Pike had been the man on his knees. William Cashel’s quick instinct had him shifting into his wolf, then exposing his belly—both of them pretending to be cowards?
“We’re all from the same settlement,” continued Donnelly while I studied his men. “What’s left of it, that is. Thought it’d be safer if we came south. Paid our way. Took most of what we had, but if we owe more—”
“We don’t charge for sanctuary.” The idea pressed hard against my shoulder blades. What some folks believed so readily.
“Donnelly’s their elder,” Angel said, her gaze skimming the group. “Can’t tell by appearances, but Pike and Cashel are capable fighters under normal circumstances. Worse for wear right now. Before we met up, they spent weeks in the mountains. Limited food and shelter. After what they endured, it crushes everyone. Cariboo,” she added tightly, “crushes everyone.”
Donnelly’s face remained impassive. Elana stared at the table. Mace turned to hold my gaze. Through the pack bond, he said, Those mountains are nearly impassable.
Two kids, an old man, a pregnant female. Two worn-out men. Desperation had a new face. Several faces. My lips thinned. “Sit.”
The scuff of boots and scraping wood against wood blended in an odd rhythm. The weariness was hard to ignore. “Why’d you run?”
“No reason to stay,” said Donnelly. “Three good ones to leave.”
Elana. Raven. Ash. And a fourth reason who hadn’t been born yet.
I thought of a ball team with a bird as the logo, and a little girl, saying, Sometimes Papa liked to watch them.
Normal things. Safe things. Not what you ran away from unless…
“Tell me how your son died.”
Donnelly’s lower lip twitched, but his glance flicked to Elana. Color had drained from her face. I wasn’t sure I’d get an answer. But it was Elana who said, “She killed him.”
“Who?”
“A wolf queen,” Donnelly said. “Claims to have a hidden kingdom beneath the glaciers. Fairytales, the kind no one believed until people started disappearing.”
Amal? Mace shot through the bond.
My guess, I answered. Collecting wolves for hybrids.
“At first, it was hardly noticeable. A man would go out and not come back,” Donnelly said, oblivious to my mental conversation with Mace. “Not so strange. Men get tired, worn down. They want a fresh start. Then the rumors started about a woman who walked through the settlements with those hell-creatures of hers, pointing out who she wanted. Said she needed fighters. Was building an army.”
Elana shifted in her chair.
Donnelly’s voice roughened. “Dragged people away, screaming. Kids, even, took them off to some fortress beneath a glacier. That last time, when they came, it was to our settlement. My son fought back. He had others fighting with him—all dead now.”
I picked up the water jug waiting on the table, filled a glass and pushed it toward him.
“That’d be four months ago.” The old man swallowed audibly. “We used our grief to get through the worst of it.”
