Page 3 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

I draw my paired fighting knives and sprint toward the warehouse. My warriors follow without question. They know the sound of inevitable engagement when they hear it. The time for stealth has passed.

The carter stumbles over rubble as he flees, his panic making him clumsy. Behind him, four more ember wolves pour from the warehouse, their movements coordinated and predatory. They're not just hunting. They're herding him toward whatever trap they've prepared.

I reach optimal range and let my first knife fly. The blade takes the lead wolf in the shoulder, spinning it sideways but not dropping it. Ember wolves are tough with their transformed nature makes them resistant to conventional wounds.

But I don't use conventional tactics.

The second knife follows immediately, aimed not at the wounded wolf but at the stone wall beside it. The blade strikes with enough force to chip the masonry, sending a shower of small rocks clattering across the ground. The sound confuses the pack's coordination for just long enough.

I close the distance while they're distracted. The wounded wolf turns toward me, fire spilling from its jaws like molten drool. It lunges, powerful enough to knock a man flat.

I'm not there when it lands.

Side-step. Duck. Let momentum carry the beast past me while my retrieved knife opens its throat in passing. The wound hisses and steams, but it's deep enough. The wolf collapses, twitching once before going still.

One down.

The pack leader, a monster, fixes its burning gaze on me. This close, I can see the intelligence behind the flames. Ember wolves aren't just beasts anymore. They think. They plan. They remember grudges.

And this one has decided I'm worth killing personally.

It doesn't charge like the first one. Instead, it circles, forcing me to split my attention between itself and its remaining pack mates. Two wolves keep moving toward the carter while the fourth positions itself to cut off my retreat.

Classic pack tactics. They've been hunting humans long enough to adapt.

The carter reaches his cart, probably hoping to find a weapon among his cargo. Instead, he trips over the canvas cover and sprawls across his mysterious merchandise. Whatever he's hauling shifts and clanks with the impact—definitely metal.

The two wolves pursuing him slow their approach. They know he's trapped. Now they can take their time, coordinate with the pack leader's attack on me to ensure maximum chaos.

Behind me, Thane and the others engage the fourth wolf. I hear the ring of steel, a yelp of pain that might be human or lupine. No time to check—the pack leader has finished its assessment and ended this.

It comes in low and fast, aiming for my legs. Smart. Take away my mobility, and the fight becomes a slaughter. But I've faced ember wolves before, in the months after the Blazing when they first started appearing in the ruins.

I leap straight up as it passes beneath me, then drop onto its back with both knives reversed. The blades punch through hide and muscle, finding the ribs. The wolf staggers but doesn't fall. They are built to endure punishment.

It bucks and twists, trying to throw me off. Fire erupts along its spine, singeing my leathers and filling my nostrils with the smell of burned hide. My hide. But I hold on, working the knives deeper, looking for something vital.

A scream from the carter's direction splits my focus. One of the remaining wolves has him pinned, its jaws inches from his throat. The other circles the cart, investigating his cargo with intelligent curiosity.

What are you hauling that interests them so much?

The pack leader beneath me finally manages a move I don't expect. It rolls. All its weight plus mine comes down on my left shoulder, driving us both into the ash-covered stone. Pain explodes through my arm, but I keep my grip on the knives.

The wolf rolls again, this time catching my ribs against a piece of rubble. Something cracks. Not broken, but definitely bruised. I need to end this before it wears me down completely.

I release my left-hand knife and grab the beast's ear, yanking its head around to expose the throat. The right-hand blade sweeps across in a single brutal stroke, opening the great vessels that feed its burning brain.

It dies with a sound like a smithy's forge being doused with water.

Two down.

I roll away from the corpse and assess the situation. Thane and the others have finished their wolf. I can see it motionless near the warehouse entrance. But the carter is still in immediate danger, and whatever he's carrying has definitely caught the remaining wolves' attention.

The canvas covering his cart has shifted, revealing the corner of something metallic and inscribed with symbols. Even from this distance, I can see the faint glow that signifies magical enchantment.

That's why they're interested. Magic draws them like carrion draws flies.

The wolf pinning the carter lifts its head, probably preparing for the killing bite. I'm too far away to reach it in time, but I have one knife left.

The throw is perfect. Thirty yards, compensating for wind and the wolf's movement. The blade takes it in the skull's base, severing the connection between brain and body. It drops instantly, dead weight pinning the carter's legs.

But the sound of its impact alerts the final wolf, which has been investigating the cart's cargo. This one is smaller than the pack leader, but it moves with the quick aggression of a juvenile proving itself. It abandons the magical artifacts and charges straight at me.

I have no weapons left except my hands. The wolf has fire for teeth and claws like heated metal. Under normal circumstances, this would be a poor matchup for me.

But I'm still carrying the guilt of not being here when it mattered. When my brother needed me. When the clan needed me. I've been looking for a way to balance those scales for three months.

Maybe this is it.

The wolf leaps, jaws wide, aiming for my throat. I catch it mid-air, fingers locking around its muzzle to keep the fire-teeth away from anything vital. Its claws rake across my arms and chest, but leather takes most of the damage.

We go down together, rolling through the ash. It's strong, but I'm stronger, and I have the leverage. I work my right hand up to its skull, feeling for the pressure points that will snap its neck.

The wolf realizes what I'm doing and panics. It thrashes wildly, claws scrabbling for purchase. One set rakes across my thigh, cutting through leather and into muscle. Pain flares white-hot, but I maintain my grip.

Almost there.

My fingers find the right position. I take a breath, set my stance, and?—

The cart explodes.

Not literally. But whatever magical items the carter was hauling have been damaged by the wolf attack, and they're releasing their stored energy in uncontrolled bursts. Light flares across the market square. The air fills with the smell of ozone and burning metal.

The wolf in my hands convulses as the magical discharge hits it. Its fire-eyes flicker and dim. When the light fades, I'm holding a corpse that looks almost like a normal wolf again.

Three down. Pack eliminated.

I release the body and try to stand. My left shoulder protests. My ribs ache. But it's the gash on my thigh that's the real problem, deeper than I initially thought, and bleeding freely. I need to get it wrapped before I lose too much blood.

The carter struggles out from under his dead wolf, cursing in three languages. Now that I can see him clearly, I understand the type: independent trader, probably dealing in salvaged magical items. The person who makes good money moving questionable goods through dangerous territory.

"You all right?" I call out, testing my weight on the injured leg. It holds, but it won't for long.

"Alive." He examines his cargo with the frantic urgency of someone whose livelihood just took a beating. "Fuck. Half this stuff is ruined."

"What exactly are you hauling?"

He looks up at me, probably noticing my clan markings for the first time. His expression shifts from gratitude to wariness in the space of a heartbeat.

"Trade goods. Nothing that concerns the Ironspine."

Liar. But I don't have the energy to press him right now. My thigh is throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat, and standing is becoming more difficult by the moment.

"Thane." I keep my voice level despite the pain. "Secure the area. Check for additional threats."

My second-in-command appears beside me, blood on his sword but moving without obvious injury. "Casualties?"

"Minor wounds only. What about you?"

"Clean kill. That one put up a fight, but nothing we couldn't handle." He notices my stance, the way I'm favoring my left leg. "Sir? You're bleeding."

"Flesh wound. We'll deal with it once we've finished here." I turn back to the carter. "You're operating in Ironspine territory without authorization. That requires explanation."

"Look, I didn't know about the wolves. If I had, I'd have taken the northern route."

"Not talking about the wolves."

The carter's face goes through several expressions before settling on resigned honesty. "I'm moving salvage. Pre-Blazing artifacts. There's good money in the border settlements for items that survived the magical fires."

That makes sense. The fire elementals that destroyed Ember Hollow left behind a strange aftermath, some magical items were demolished, while the experience transformed or enhanced others. Collectors in the safer settlements pay premium prices for such artifacts.

But it also means this carter has been looting Ironspine burial grounds and sacred sites.

"Where did you acquire these items?"

"Various sources. Estate sales. Private collectors. All legitimate."

Another lie. I can see several pieces in his cart that I recognize, ceremonial weapons from the warrior's quarter, ritual implements from the clan shrines. They should have buried these items with their owners or destroyed them during the evacuation.