Page 20 of Curses and Casualties (Hunters Hollow #3)

Georgia

“ T hose aren’t úlfhéenar wolves.” Ryan’s already moving, pulling out of me and lifting us both from the water with inhuman speed. The blissful warmth evaporates instantly, replaced by ice-cold dread. “Enforcers.”

“What? How did they find us?” I scramble for my clothes, hands shaking as more howls echo through the night, definitely closer now.

“I don’t know,” Ryan says, tossing me my shirt. “I’d blame our light show. But this is too fast. Fuck. Get dressed fast. We need to?—”

The door explodes inward.

Three massive wolves burst through, their eyes glowing with predatory intent. I barely manage to yank my shirt on before Ryan shoves me behind him, his body already shifting, bones cracking as he takes his hybrid form.

“Georgia Harper,” the lead wolf snarls, his voice gravelly even in wolf form. “By order of the Elders, you will return with us for judgment.”

“Like hell,” I snap, my own anger rising to match Luna’s fury. She claws at my insides, desperate to defend our mate, but I still can’t shift. The frustration burns. I’m tired of being the weak link, tired of watching others fight my battles.

More wolves pour through the shattered doorway—four, five, six. Ryan roars, muscles bunching to attack, but we’re grotesquely outnumbered in this small space.

“Stop!” A young voice rings out with authority. A blonde úlfhéenar warrior—he can’t be more than eighteen—stands in the ruins of our doorway. “You dare attack guests under our protection?”

The lead enforcer barely glances at him. “Stand aside, pup. This doesn’t concern the úlfhéenar.”

The young warrior’s eyes flash dangerously. “Guest-right is sacred law, older than your pack, older than your Elders. To violate it is to declare war on every úlfhéenar who has ever lived or ever will live.” His voice carries the weight of absolute conviction. “You’ve just made this our concern.”

“Then you’ll die with them,” the enforcer snarls, lunging forward.

Ryan meets him mid-leap, his body exploding into his massive alpha wolf form. They crash together with the sound of thunder, fangs bared, claws raking across fur and flesh. The small room becomes a battlefield.

My eyes burn silver as Luna claws at my insides, desperate to help. My fingernails stretch into claws—just for a second—before the shift collapses like a wave hitting rock. She’s so close. I’m so close. But still not enough. “Come on,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Help him!”

Two enforcers circle toward me, and I grab a heavy wooden chair, swinging it with all my strength. It shatters against one wolf’s skull, sending him stumbling into the wall.

The door bursts open again—what’s left of it anyway—and Scarlett and Ethan barrel in, already partially shifted. Scarlett’s claws are out, her eyes blazing amber as she launches herself at the nearest enforcer with a feral scream.

“Nobody fucks with my friends!” she snarls, raking her claws across the wolf’s muzzle in a spray of blood. “You bite, I bite harder, bitch.”

Ethan slams into another enforcer, the two massive wolves rolling across the wet floor in a tangle of teeth and fury. But more keep coming—seven, eight, nine enforcers pouring through the shattered entrance like a dark tide.

The young úlfhéenar warrior—barely bloodied despite the chaos—raises his head and howls. It’s not just any howl. It’s deep and resonant, carrying layers of meaning I can’t understand but feel in my bones. The sound echoes through the settlement like a war horn.

Within seconds, answering howls rise from every direction.

“You’ve doomed yourselves,” he tells the enforcers with grim satisfaction.

The enforcers hesitate just long enough for the first úlfhéenar to arrive—a she-wolf even larger than Ragnar, with fur like midnight storms. At her back, a wave of warriors floods in, some on two legs, some on four, all radiating fury.

I scramble for cover behind the overturned bed as two packs collide in an explosion of violence.

Ryan has the lead enforcer pinned, jaws locked around his throat.

Scarlett dances through the chaos like a whirlwind of destruction, laughing even as she bleeds from a dozen wounds.

Ethan fights with terrifying precision, every movement calculated for maximum damage.

The úlfhéenar fight like forces of nature, coordinated, brutal and decisive. Where the enforcers fight to capture, the úlfhéenar fight to kill.

“What is the meaning of this?” The roar comes from Gunnar, who holds a bloodied enforcer against the wall by his throat.

The lead enforcer, struggling in Ryan’s jaws, gasps out, “We claim the right of retrieval. The female is?—”

“Under our protection!” Ragnar’s voice booms as his massive form fills what’s left of the doorway.

The ancient alpha’s presence makes everyone freeze, even mid-combat.

“You have violated guest-right, spilled blood in my hall, attacked those who ate at my table. Your pack has declared war on the úlfhéenar!”

The temperature in the room seems to drop. Even through the chaos, I can feel the weight of what just happened. Guest-right isn’t just tradition—it’s sacred law, the foundation of supernatural diplomacy. To violate it is unforgivable.

“Bjorn,” Gunnar barks at the young blonde warrior. “Get them out. Use the old paths.”

“But the fight—” Bjorn protests, blood dripping from a gash on his cheek.

“Is not theirs anymore. This is úlfhéenar business now. GO!”

Bjorn nods sharply, then grabs my arm. “This way. Quickly!”

Ryan releases the enforcer’s throat and shifts back to human form, naked and bloodied but unharmed. He grabs our scattered belongings as Bjorn leads us to what looks like a solid wall—but it swings inward at his touch, revealing a narrow passage.

“Move!” Bjorn urges as the sounds of escalating violence explode behind us. Snarls, howls, the crash of bodies and furniture, and underneath it all, Ragnar’s voice condemning the enforcers to death.

We run through the dark passage, Bjorn leading with the confidence of someone who knows these paths by heart. The tunnel winds down, sometimes opening into natural caves glistening with moisture, sometimes showing tool marks from hands long dead.

After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, we emerge into the cold night air at the edge of a cliff. The úlfhéenar settlement glows in the distance. But now I can see fires starting, hear the echoes of battle carrying on the wind.

“Holy shit,” Scarlett pants, hands on her knees, blood still dripping from various wounds. “What the fuck just happened?”

“War,” Ethan says simply, shifting fully human and accepting clothes from Ryan’s hastily grabbed pack. “The Elders just started a war with the oldest, most powerful wolves in existence.”

“They did. We do not take kindly to unwelcome guests,” Bjorn says, matter-of-factly.

“Does this mean the úlfhéenar will help us during the supermoon?” Ryan asks.

“It does.” Bjorn brushes his too-long hair from his face. “And we are disheartened that we were unable to help with your curse.” His eyes land on me. “There is one who might offer direction where we could not. A vampire in Sugar City. Nicolai. He owns the Sangre Noir club.”

He pulls out a small wooden token, carved with runes that seem to shift in the moonlight.

“Tell him Bjorn sent you. Tell him...” He pauses, something dark and haunted flickering in his eyes.

“Tell him the blood debt from Prague is called due.” The words hang heavy in the air, darker than any curse I’ve heard.

Whatever happened in Prague, it wasn’t clean.

“A vampire?” I squeak. Because of course. Why not add asking vampires for favors into this insane mix?

“Nicolai trades in information. He’s old—older than most. If anyone can help you find what you need to loosen this curse and complete your bond, it’s him.” Bjorn presses the token into Ryan’s hand. “He owes me. He’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says formally, understanding the weight of what Bjorn is giving us. “We won’t forget this.”

Bjorn grins, young and fierce despite the blood and exhaustion. “The úlfhéenar won’t forget either. The Elders just made the last mistake they’ll ever make.”

Another howl echoes from the settlement, followed by screams.

“Go,” Bjorn says. “May the old gods watch over you.”

Then he’s gone, loping back toward the battle with the easy grace of someone running toward home, leaving us alone on the cliff’s edge with nothing but a token and a vampire’s name.

“Well,” I say, trying for humor despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “Anyone know how to find a vampire club?”

“I do,” Amara says, appearing with Darius from the shadows of the trees. Both look disheveled but uninjured, and relief floods through me at seeing them safe.

“Thank the gods,” Scarlett breathes. “We thought you might be?—”

“Caught in the battle? No.” Darius’s usually impeccable appearance is marred by soot and blood. “Though the úlfhéenar are showing no mercy. The enforcers severely miscalculated.”

“Ragnar’s fury is legendary,” Amara adds, her eyes distant. “I haven’t seen the ancient ones fight like that in... well, centuries. Your pack will learn what it means to violate sacred law come the supermoon.”

“Will they be OK?” I ask, glancing back at the settlement where fires now burn bright. “This is our fault?—”

“This is the Elders’ fault,” Amara corrects firmly. “The úlfhéenar understand that. They chose to honor guest-right, knowing the cost. That’s what makes them noble.”

We take a moment to catch our breath, to process what just happened. I lean against Ryan, feeling the weight of how many people are now fighting—dying—because of us. Because of what we represent.

“Hey,” Ryan murmurs, sensing my spiral. “This isn’t on us. The Elders made their choice when they sent enforcers into the settlement. The úlfhéenar made theirs when they defended us. All we can do is make sure it means something.”

I nod, drawing strength from our bond. Luna has settled somewhat, though she still radiates frustration at our inability to shift and fight.

Soon, I promise her. We’ll find a way to break this curse. Soon.

“We need to move,” Amara says. “The pack will send more enforcers, and they won’t make the same mistake twice.”

She raises her hands, portal magic already swirling between her fingers. The familiar tear in reality opens before us, showing a glimpse of city lights and urban decay.

“Sugar City?” Ryan asks.

“The supernatural quarter,” Amara confirms. “I know where Nicolai’s club is. Stay close, stay quiet, and whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with the blood dealers. The neighborhood can be... interesting after midnight.”

Scarlett groans, pressing her hand to her ribs where bruises are already forming. “Great. Just what I need. More supernatural bullshit.”

“You’ll be fine,” Ethan says, but his grin has an edge of wildness to it, the adrenaline of battle still singing in his blood.

“Vampires are more civilized than wolves, anyway. They like etiquette and tradition. Just don’t touch anyone’s drink, never mention the sun, and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t bleed on anything expensive. ”

“Super helpful,” Scarlett mutters.

We take one last look at the burning úlfhéenar settlement—at the place that offered us shelter and paid for it in blood.

Then, with Bjorn’s token clutched in Ryan’s hand and no other options left, we step through the portal into whatever fresh hell awaits us in Sugar City’s supernatural underground.