“I beg your pardon.” Master Bow leaned forward. “Did you say Phillipa tried to kill you?”
“She asked quite a few of us for pointers on how we would do it,” the orc that Phillipa had danced with last night offered. “Of course, none of us gave her any new ideas. But we were all quite concerned for the wolven’s safety.”
Countess Stalbridge shook her head. “I’m not sure I can invite you to bring her back to the Ball if that is true.”
“I’m going.” He moved past Martin and Master Bow, his paw clammy as he put it on the doorknob.
“Wolven, I cannot recommend that you do this.” The countess sighed. “But I completely understand why you’ll do it anyway.”
The night was dark and clear, and he couldn’t imagine that the Willoughbys would be traveling far at this hour. There was probably a boarding house nearby.
On all fours, he was glad he thought better of ripping off his clothes. He was tired of society and rules and promises. It had done nothing for him. He’d lost everything—his humanity, his promised fortune, and most importantly, his wife. Although he appreciated the concern from the countess and Master Bow, he’d learned in his months in the woodlands, and even more so attending the Ball, he could count on no one but himself.
He was the Wolven King, and he would make his own rules.
Pausing only to take the silver pendant out of his pocket, he winced as it once again seared the skin on his paw. He’d hoped to pick up on her scent one more time, but he couldn’t smell much over the burned skin.
He attempted to get it back in his pocket, but the silver was having more of an effect on his paw than he expected. Letting it drop to the ground, and ignoring the pain each time his paw struck the gravel, he followed the only road that led away from Broadstone Hall.
The scent changed the further he got away from the Hall. He relished the clean scents of the woodlands, feeling nostalgic for his little den. For the days that he’d spend doing nothing but watching Phillipa in her garden. He didn’t have her, but he’d been able to live with the dream that he would.
Now that he’d had a little taste of that reality, there was no way that he could live without her.
So many possibilities swirled through his mind. If—when—he was able to claim Phillipa, where would he bring her? No matter what, he would have to stand before the Queen tomorrow and answer for what he had done.
He would have no regrets. But that didn’t mean he could be foolish.
When he was human, the Willoughbys had not been of high status. They had their place in society, of course. Phillipa’s father had been a doctor before he passed. A very honorable man, but not someone who would easily get the audience of Her Majesty.
Mrs. Willoughby had befriended a priest, who could very well have such connections. Wesley had never liked the man when he was human. He had meddled in the planning of their wedding one too many times.
His paw went numb, and he picked up his speed. The last thing he wanted to do was to have to break into a boarding house, going room to room, scaring innocent guests. He’d find himself in a jail cell before he found his wife.
He picked up the smell of horses. Yes. That was a very good sign. At this time of night, a carriage heading away from Broadstone Hall was most likely carrying the Willoughbys.
Running as fast as he could, the carriage came into sight. Now he regretted not stripping out of his suit. It was slowing him down.
The horses whinnied, sensing he was there, and the driver slowed. Stupid human. It gave him the opportunity he needed to gain on the travelers.
He skidded to a stop in front of the horses, growling and snarling. The horses cried out, with their front paws in the air.
“Whoa!” the driver said. “We want no trouble, wolven.”
Wesley stalked toward the carriage. “Who rides inside?”
The driver didn’t answer, instead reaching into his pocket. Wesley knew he had to act now before he had a silver bullet in his chest.
He jumped into the driver’s seat, knocking the man out of the carriage. He did not mean to hurt him—he had enough charges mounting against him by the moment—he just intended to startle him. Separate him from his weapon.
A gun lay on the seat. Wesley howled when the silver hit his tongue. He tossed the weapon in the other direction.
Screams came from inside of carriage. Female screams. Praying. He didn’t have much time to act. He had to get that door open.
“Wesley!”
The one word was enough to stop him in his tracks. Only for a moment. Phillipa was in there.
Grabbing the door handle, he wasn’t surprised to find it locked. But no mechanics would keep him from Phillipa. Not after he’d come this far and put everything on the line.
He would dismantle this carriage with his teeth if he had to.
He nearly missed the driver when he ripped the door off the hinges. Inside, he found a priest holding up a cross, Mrs. Willoughby, and his beloved Phillipa.
“I’ve come to take my wife home,” he said. “And nothing written on a piece of paper, no laws, and no royalty will even begin to stop me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Phillipa
“Wesley!” Phillipa could hardly believe her eyes. The wolven panted, exhausted from whatever he had to do to catch up to their carriage. She jumped into his arms.
Not only because she was so excited, so relieved to see him, but because she didn’t think they would hurt him if they had to go through her to do it.
His heart pounded, and his breath was ragged. He was all wolven, and all hers. If anything proved that he was her husband, this was it.
“I couldn’t come for you the first time I was taken away from you, my love, but this time, nothing would keep me away.”
“My daughter was married to a duke! Not some wayward beast,” Mother sneered.
“I’m married to one now.” She smiled at Wesley and he pulled her more tightly into his arms.
“No, she is not,” Father Donnelly said, holding up that dreaded paper. The one that threatened to ruin her entire life.
Wesley growled and ripped the papers out of the priest’s hands with his teeth.
“Did he just eat the annulment papers?” Mother asked with the utmost disgust.
“Yes, he most certainly did.” Phillipa didn’t even bother to stifle her laugh. But her joy was short-lived, as she saw the driver come up behind Wesley.
Pointing a gun at the wolven.
“No!” She screamed, using all her might to turn Wesley’s enormous body to the middle of the carriage.
But it was too late. The gunshot jerked the horses into motion, and she wound up turning Wesley’s back right in line with the trajectory of the bullet.
His eyes widened, and he let out a howl, which gave Phillipa a moment of hope that the bullets hadn’t been silver after all…but that hope was fleeting as his eyes closed and his body tumbled out of the broken door of the carriage.
He hit the gravel hard, harder than he would have without him on top of her. The horses were spooked and the carriage was on its way down the road with Mother and Father Donnelly inside.
Phillipa pulled herself away from the wolven’s body. His eyes were closed and he still hadn’t moved. She wanted to make sure he was alive, but first, she needed to make sure the threat was over.