Page 159 of Dhampira

I shook my head. I wouldn’t leave him and Lorcan to face the wolves alone.

The ground trembled as the werewolves drew closer. Howls rose in waves, the eerie sound lifting the hair on my body. Thousands of pairs of yellow eyes fixed on the courtyard.

“Corinthe, go upstairs now!” Lorcan shouted over the noise.

But I couldn’t leave. The werewolves were seconds away, their bodies a wall of fur and fangs we had no hope of standing against. They would tear Lorcan and Vander apart.

Sir Gawain appeared at my side with his bloodied sword in his hand and an anxious look in his eyes. “Your Highness, we don’t have much time.”

We were out of time. The wolves in the lead reached the courtyard’s edge. Two in front sprang forward, leaping dead bodies as they charged toward us. They were both enormous, one buff-colored and the other muddy brown.

Irata hovered in my mind. But what good was a mirror against thousands of wolves?

The brown wolf skidded to a stop. Behind it, the rest of the wolves did the same, halting the charge in a precise, coordinated movement.

The brown wolf shifted in a blur of movement, and a towering man with thick hair the same shade stood nude before Vander and Lorcan. But his glowing yellow eyes landed on me. He was handsome despite the jagged scar that started at the corner of his eye and ran to his jaw. Beside him, the buff-colored wolf transformed, and I caught my breath at the sight of Daryn’s dark blond curls and upturned nose.

He gave me an arrogant look. “Told you we’d find you.”

Fighting continued around us, vampires and witches clashing at the edges of the courtyard. Other werewolves battled, too, but they hadn’t arrived with the newcomers.

“I’m Kristoff,” the brown-haired man rumbled, “alpha of the Greyskold Pack.”

It wasn’t hard to see why. He stood head and shoulders above the wolves behind him, and his body bulged with muscle. Several scars marred his thick pecs and rippling stomach. Others wrapped around big thighs sprinkled with dark hair. Like the rest of the werewolves, he seemed completely at ease in his nudity.

My heart thumped harder. “You received my message.”

“Yes.” Kristoff swept his glowing eyes over the chaos around us. “I’ll help you rid Nocta of the vampire king, but I only command my wolves. The other alphas control their packs, and many of them have endured several lifetimes of Rasimir’s atrocities. In their minds, you’re no better than your father.”

“But you’re here,” I said. “I’m grateful for your help.”

Kristoff’s eyes lightened several shades. “If my people and I fight at your side, you’ll keep your promise. We’ll rule ourselves once Rasimir is dead.” He made it a statement, not a question. And certainly not a request.

“You have my word,” I said.

Shouts sounded to my left. A pair of witches, one man and one woman, advanced on us, their eyes glowing and fury on their faces as they moved through the sea of combatants. One flung out an arm, and magic streaked through the air.

Vander grabbed me and yanked me into a crouch. Lorcan ducked with us as the unspoken vor whistled over our heads and slammed into one of Kristoff’s wolves, who went down with a cry as boils exploded all over his skin.

Brown fur rippled down Kristoff’s body. “We hunt,” he growled through a rapidly transforming jaw. When he dropped to four paws, his pack surged behind him. They leaped toward the witches in a chorus of howls and snarls. Kristoff reached the witches first, and he clamped his jaws around the man’s midsection and swept him off his feet. The man’s scream climbed unnaturally high as Kristoff shook him like a dog with a bone. A sickening crunch split the air, and the witch went limp in Kristoff’s jaws.

The battle continued, with more witches rushing from the forest. Kristoff’s wolves fought vampires and other werewolves. Vors rang out, cries of sezat, olnava, and vraka taking vampires to the ground. Vander plunged into the chaos, his claws snapping down. Lorcan gripped my arm and pulled me toward the Drakhold.

“You’re helpless with those gauntlets,” he said. “I want you inside.”

I dug in my heels. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Olnava!” a witch cried. Magic struck me in the center of the chest. My entire body went rigid, my eyes stretched wide, and my muscles went stiff. Between one breath and the next, I was on the ground with Lorcan covering me. He waited a heartbeat, then surged to his feet with his fangs bared and fury in his eyes.

He charged toward a female witch. “That’s my wife,” he growled, “and you just made your last mistake.” The woman flung another vor. Lorcan dodged it. Then he sped to her, spun her around, and savaged her neck.

I lay on my side, my senses sharp but my body useless. Footsteps pounded around me. Steel screamed against steel. The ground shook under my cheek. And then Lorcan was next to me, his eyes fully black and his fangs dripping blood.

He turned me onto my back and cupped my cheek just as the witch’s vor died with her, releasing me. My muscles contracted, and pain swept from my head to my toes in a blistering wave. I squeezed my eyes shut as my knees pulled to my chest.

Lorcan cradled my face in his hands. “Talk to me,” he ordered, a tremor in his voice. “Tell me you’re all right.”

“I am,” I said, shaking off the last of the vor. He pulled me to my feet, a pleading look in his black eyes.