Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
After delegating all of the commands, I head out to the courtyard and warn each member of my royal guard to treat these females like royalty. It’s important to Morwen, so it’s important to me.
After they’ve all left, and the sun begins to set, I look up at the stone tower to my private quarters where I will be hosting my mate soon.
Alone.
Within a few paws of my bed.
I exhale long and hard, fighting the intense urges ripping through me.
Three weeks.
I must wait three weeks before I can touch that heavenly body.
I do not know how I will survive.
But I will.
Because when the moon finally rises full and bright, when I am at last allowed to claim what fate has placed in my hands, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
She will be worth every second of the wait.
Chapter Six
Morwen
Ihave never worn anything like this before. I didn’t even know it was possible to make such gorgeous material.
The lovely gown drapes over my body, sliding along my hips like water over a rock as I move. The woman helping me, Nyxara, told me it was called silk. Along with the heavenly material is embroidery so fine I’m afraid to touch it too roughly.
I’m mesmerized by my reflection in the large mirror as I move, the fabric catching the light in the most ethereal ways. It shimmers as I walk. It looks like I’m being lit up by the moon itself.
“You look beautiful,” Nyxara says, nodding in approval at her work. I took a hot bath, my first ever, and let me tell you, I can get used to that. It beats bathing in the cold stream with the other women while immature boys peer from the bushes.
Nyxara washed my hair with a fine liquid soap she called shampoo—I can still smell it on my long, silky locks—and styled it in waves. It’s stunning.
If I had a crown on my head, I’d look like a queen.
The thought is absurd.
But it’s true. Dressed like this, I look the part.
“It’s time, Lady Morwen,” Nyxara says. She’s a young wolf shifter, probably less than two decades old, but she’s talented beyond belief. She never looks me in the eyes, but I keep catching her studying me curiously whenever she thinks I’m not looking.
I follow her out of my room and into the castle. It’s darker now and the stone hallway is lit up by torchlight, the flames dancing with the shadows where the light and darkness meet.
Nyxara walks in front of me and I study her firm, muscular body. She’s tall and lean, with powerful muscles on her bare shoulders and arms. There’s a natural grace in the way she walks, her strides confident and powerful like she’s completely in tune with her body. I’ve noticed that all of the shifters are this way. Not clumsy and uncoordinated in the lovable way that humans are. These shifters move like apex predators. Nyxara looks stronger than any human warrior I’ve ever seen, and I wonder how the toughest of human men would fare in a fight with her.
And then it hits me.
She has a wolf inside her.
They all do.
The thought settles cold and heavy in my stomach as two more wolf shifters pass, both of them staring me down curiously.
I’ll have to watch myself around here.
The intricate politics of a castle are dangerous for anyone, let alone a helpless human amongst a pack of wolves.
“It’s not much farther,” she says as I fall behind. She stops to let me catch up. “Would you like me to carry you?”
I fight back a biting reply. How weak does she think we humans are?
“I’m quite capable of walking,” I say, marching past her. Although my feet are killing in these gorgeous shoes, and a piggyback ride sounds delightful.
I follow her down long stone corridors, my footsteps echoing softly, my pulse refusing to slow. We arrive at a heavy wooden door, which Nyxara opens before gesturing me inside. “King Alaric will greet you in here.”
“Thank you, Nyxara,” I say, smiling at her. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
She smiles back, bows her head, and leaves, closing the door without another word.
I get a chill as I look around the large room lit by the soft glow of lanterns. My gaze is immediately drawn to the enormous mural dominating the far wall.
It’s a battlefield.
Wolves and humans locked in brutal conflict, blood and steel and fur rendered in chilling detail. At the center stands a Wolf King, towering and victorious, holding the severed head of a human king by the hair.
Lovely.
The door opens behind me, and King Alaric walks in, looking larger than ever.
“I apologize for that,” he says with a frown. “I’ll have it changed at once.”
He’s not wearing his crown.
Without it, this seems more real. The crown was just… surreal. Like I was dropped into some wild fairy tale told to children before bed.