Page 42 of Wanted by the Wolves (The Last Shifters #2)

Chapter 41

Dex

M y head hits my shoulder, and I jerk awake. The mask has been removed, and large yellow flames dance in my vision. I blink, and they slowly sharpen.

I attempt to move and realize my limbs are my own again. Just as quickly, I’m yanked back to a tree post by a set of chains on my hands, ankles, and throat. The wolfsbane burns my skin, muzzling my wolf, but it can’t douse my rage.

I try my hand at breaking the chains anyway, the cuffs burning brands into my wrists and neck. Panting and pissed, I stop lashing. I need a plan, not to burn through my energy.

A large fire, as big as a funeral pyre, burns in the center of a cleared circle in the woods.

Frantically, I search for Nova until my gaze lands on a large tent off to the side.It’s over the top. A wolf banner proudly sways in the night air, and the curtains are drawn to reveal lush furs and tables draped with food. It’s as if the Alpha King fancies himself some kind of medieval warlord.

I can’t see Nova, but I know she’s in there. I feel it. If they hurt another hair on her head or touch her, I don’t fucking care if I’m chained in wolfsbane—I will find a way to destroy them all.

A rotten stench draws my eyes to the great roaring fire billowing smoke into the wintery night. The scent of it is off, the fire too dark despite its light. The flames seem to draw closer, leaping at me for a taste. I remember what flames feel like when they lick flesh, and I draw myself in as much as the chains allow.

I watch with a deep sense of foreboding in my bones as little purple-and-black sparks spit from the white flames. Whatever moon ritual the King and his skeleton crew are performing, I don’t think it’s the same as Gage’s.

My littermate bond surges with relief. Briggs must be able to feel me now. I focus on the bond, but all I get is that he’s alive and coming. At least, I think that’s what his determination means.

It doesn’t matter. Even if he is on his way, he and Gage may not make it in time. I take in the wolves just beyond the fire. They’re mostly boys, but there are dozens of them, all standing around eagerly awaiting their unhinged king, and beyond them, I can scent ferals in the woods.

The Alpha King doesn’t disappoint, striding from the tent with the swagger of a self-appointed god. His chest is bare, a feral wolf pelt draped over his shoulder, its fangs wrapped around his throat. He takes his place before his crowd. He hasn’t bothered fixing his face, the macabre ash and blood making him look like the fucking psycho he is.

His equally sadistic healer follows from the tent, dragging Nova behind him by the chain around her neck. They’ve put her in a red gown, the bright color harsh against the dark night and the white snow. Like me, she’s shackled, but she fights every step, her sweet voice at odds with the curses she hurls.

That’s my girl, a fucking fighter till the end.

It wrecks me that I can’t step in. No matter how fierce she is, this is a fight she shouldn’t have to enter.

The dark healer backhands her, and I fucking lose my shit, pulling against my chains as a red haze washes over my sight.

“Get your fucking hands off my mate.” My words don’t even translate. It’s my wolf’s snarl that cuts into the night.

The Alpha King ignores me, shouting a welcome to the crowd. The wolves holler in answer, but I’m lost to any form of coherent thought. My shackled wolf chants in my mind.

Mate. Protect. Avenge.