Magic Rises

she dug her heels in at any suggestion of a cart. She would not be riding in a cart, and she was the daughter of an alpha, and if she didn’t get her way, she would rip out some throats. I ended up going through all of the horses available to us and picking the oldest, most docile creature I could find. Now I had a heavily pregnant woman on a horse that kept flaring her nostrils. Clearly the mare had a serious suspicion that the human riding her was really a wolf and was considering bolting for her life. Werewolf wombs had to be made of steel, because not only did Desandra not show any signs of distress, but she looked fresh as a daisy.
    Andrea had chosen to ride a horse as well. Being in a saddle gave us a good field of vision, and in a pinch we could use the horses to block an incoming threat. Derek had decided to walk and some others did as well, including Curran, who was convinced that all horses secretly plotted against him. Since Andrea and I kept Desandra between us, he ended up walking on my left and slightly in front, and Lorelei chose to walk next to him.
    I still couldn’t figure out how she was involved in this entire affair. As far as I could tell, she didn’t appear to have any ties to the three packs involved.
    Lorelei wore a light blue blouse and jeans that hugged her butt. Her hair was down, blowing in the wind. If we were back home, someone would be nudging me by this point, because by Pack standards they were walking too close and I would be required to snarl, but we weren’t at home, and Barabas, riding on a white horse directly behind me, was quiet.
    Lorelei chatted on, something about squishing grapes and making candy out of wine. Curran nodded. I caught a glimpse of his face. He was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself. They were walking together and I was stuck here. On my horse.
    It should’ve taken more than a pretty twenty-one-year-old to unsettle me. This was a new and unwelcome development. It had to be this place. Everyone was waiting to stab us in the back, so I was probably making too much out of this. Lorelei was a kid. Legally she might have been twenty-one, but when he’d met her, he was twenty-two and she was twelve. That alone should’ve guaranteed that nothing was happening.
    She was the daughter of a man Curran knew, stuck out here likely against her will, and he was being nice to her, because few people were. He and I had been through so much shit together. He loved me, I loved him, and I needed to stop measuring the distance between them and pay attention to my environment. I had a job to do.
    Nobody demanded that I wear a dress for the hunt, so I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a green men’s shirt, which I left unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. I wore my belt with an array of herbs in small pouches, my leather wrist guards were full of silver needles, and I had taken both Slayer, which was on my back, and my second saber, which I wore on my hip. Anybody who had a problem with my extra hardware was welcome to make my day.
    Hugh dropped back through the procession. He was riding a monster of a horse, a massive stallion, a darker bay than mine, with a white blaze on his forehead and white feathered stockings. There were shades of Shire horse there, and Clydesdale, but the lines were cleaner and the chest was more developed. It was the kind of stallion a knight would ride into war.
    Hugh drew even with us. He wore a long black coat, the same as Hibla’s werejackals. Belted and tapered at the sides, with bandoliers filled with bullets across the chest, the coat made his shoulders wider, his waist slimmer, and his body taller. He seemed to loom rather than ride. Since he pretended to be the lord of the castle, he’d probably decided to dress the part. No dagger, though. Instead he had a full-length sword in a scabbard. I could only see the hilt, simple functional leather with a cross-guard.
    Andrea moved aside to let him ride next to Desandra.
    Hugh bent forward, concern on his face. “How are you feeling today?”
    Desandra sat straighter. It was like she couldn’t help herself. Anything male instantly made her come to attention. And Hugh was handsome, in an aggressive masculine way: blue eyes, dark hair, and a clean-shaven square jaw so solid that thinking about punching it made me wince. He was surrounded by people who turned into nature’s best equivalent of intelligent spree killers, but he was completely undisturbed by it, as if he knew with one hundred