“Morgane won’t hesitate to slaughter you after you’ve fulfilled her purpose.” Lou abandoned all attempts at civility, planting her feet wide in front of me. Defending me against an entire pack of werewolves. “Dames Blanches loathe loup garou. They loathe anything different from themselves.”

“She can try.” Blaise’s canines extended past his lip, and his eyes gleamed in the darkness. The wolves around him snarled and began to circle us again. Hackles raised. “But she will quickly discover that loup garou savor the blood of our enemies most. You were foolish to venture into La Ventre, Louise le Blanc. Now your huntsman will pay with his life.” His bones began to crack and shift, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Liana grinned. The wolves inched closer, licking their lips.

Lou lifted her hands once more. This time, the gesture wasn’t placating. “You will not touch him.”

“Lou.” I touched her elbow, shaking my head. “Stop.”

She knocked my hand aside and lifted her own higher. “No, Reid.”

“I knew what would happen when I came here.” Before she could protest, before Blaise could complete his transition to wolf, I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I challenge you, Blaise, the Beast of Gévaudan and alpha of this pack, to a duel. On your honor, and my own.” His bones stopped snapping abruptly, and he stared at me, frozen between two forms. Lupine and humanoid. A grotesque blend of wolf and man. “Just the two of us. One weapon of our choice. If I win, you and your pack will join us in the upcoming battle. You will help us defeat La Dame des Sorcières and her Dames Blanches.”

“And if I win?” Blaise’s voice was distorted, disjointed, from his elongated mouth. More snarls than words.

“You kill me.”

He snorted, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“I refuse your challenge, Reid Diggory.” He nodded to his daughter and son before surrendering himself to the change completely. Within seconds, he landed on all fours, panting in the cold night air. A wolf once more. Liana stood behind him. In her eyes shone a hatred I recognized. A hatred that had once stolen my own breath and hardened my own heart.

“This time, Captain Diggory,” she said softly, “we will hunt you. If you reach the village on the other side of our land, you escape with your life. If not . . .” She inhaled deeply, smiling as if scenting our fear, before extending her arms to her pack members. “Glory to the loup-garou who kills you.”

Lou’s face twisted in horror.

“The village, Gévaudan, is due south from here. We will give you a head start.”

“How much of a head start?” Beau asked, eyes tight and anxious.

She only grinned in response.

“Weapons?” Lou asked.

“He may keep the weapons on his person,” Liana said. “No more and no less.”

I quickly tallied my inventory. Four knives in my bandolier. Two in my boots. One down my spine. Seven teeth of my own. Though I prayed I wouldn’t need them, I wasn’t naive. This would not end well. It would end bloody.

“If any of you intervene in the Hunt,” her little brother added, looking between Lou, Coco, Ansel, and Beau, “with magic or otherwise, your lives will be forfeit.”

“What about Morgane?” Coco asked quickly. “If Reid wins, you’ll ally with us against her?”

“Never,” Liana snarled.

“This is bullshit!” Lou advanced toward them, hands still lifted, but I caught her arm. To my surprise, so did Beau.

“Little sister,” he said, eyes wide as the wolves closed in around us, “I think we ought to play their game.”

“He’ll die.”

Coco’s eyes darted everywhere as if searching for an escape. There was none. “We’ll all die unless he agrees.” She looked to me for confirmation. Waiting. In that look, I understood. If I chose not to do this, she would join me in fighting our way out. They all would. But the cost—the risk—

As if pulled by an invisible force, my eyes drifted again to Lou. To her face. I memorized the curve of her nose, the slope of her cheek. The line of her neck. If we fought, they would take her. There were too many of them to kill, even with magic on our side.

They would take her, and she would be gone.

“Don’t do this,” she said, her distress palpable. My chest ached. “Please.”

My thumb brushed her arm. Just once. “I have to.”

When I turned back to Liana, she was already halfway through the change. Black fur covered her lupine face, and her lips curled in a horrifying smile. “Run.”

HarperCollins Publishers

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The Wolves Descend

Reid

A sense of calm enveloped me as I entered the swamp. South. Due south. I knew of Gévaudan. The Chasseurs and I had stayed there the night after our werewolf raid—the night before I’d become Captain Diggory. If I remembered the terrain correctly, the river that powered Gévaudan’s mill flowed into this estuary. If I could find that river, I could lose my scent in the waters. Traverse them into the village.

If I didn’t drown first.

I glanced down. The tide was rising. It’d soon flood the estuary, which would in turn flood the river. The current would be dangerous, especially while I was laden with heavy weaponry. Still—better the devil I knew than the devil I didn’t. I’d rather drown than feel Blaise’s teeth in my stomach.

Hurtling around the trees—taking care to mark each one with my scent—I doubled back, diluting my trail as much as possible. I dropped to a crouch. Loups-garous were faster than regular wolves, faster than even horses. I couldn’t outrun them. The water was my only hope. That, and—

Clawing at the ground, I scooped handfuls of mud and slathered them onto my skin. My clothes. My hair. Beyond strength and speed, the werewolves’ noses were their greatest weapons. I needed to disappear in every sense.

Somewhere behind me, a howl shattered the silence.

I looked up, the first knot of fear making me hesitate.

My time was up. They were coming.

I cursed silently, sprinting south and listening—listening—for the telltale rush of water. Searching for thick trunks and hanging moss amidst the other muted greens and browns of the forest. The river had taken shape within a thick copse of bald cypresses. It had to be near here. I remembered this place. Each landmark that rose up before me refreshed my memory. Jean Luc had stopped to rest against that gnarled trunk. The Archbishop—stubbornly clad in his choral robes—had nearly fallen over that rock.

Which meant the cypresses should be right . . . there.

Triumphant, I raced toward them, slipping through the trunks as another howl sounded, breathing a sigh of relief as I finally, finally found the—

I stopped short. My relief withered.

There was nothing here.

Where the river had been, only a cluster of ferns remained. Their leaves—brown and dead—fluttered gently in the wind. The ground beneath them was muddy, wet, covered in lichen and moss. But none of the river bed remained. Not one grain of sand. Not a single river rock. It was as if the entire river had simply . . . disappeared. As if I’d imagined the whole thing.