Dire Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #1)

by Sable Sorensen

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty-three years alive, it’s this: Women in pain give men confidence.

Meryn Cooper, the infamous Alley Cat of the Eastern Quarter.

fucking sick of it. Of living a life where I just accept that I have no control, that our children can just disappear and no one will do a single thing about it. Tonight was too close of a call. And if no one’s going to stop this… well, then I will.

Kids have been getting kidnapped for as long as I’ve been alive, maybe as long as this entire war has been going on. And we all know who the Nabbers actually are. Siphons, our ancient, monstrous enemy from the neighboring country of Astreona.

When my father was killed, I was left alone at twelve years old with a pregnant, mentally ill mother. Overnight, everything changed. Saela was born, and she was so perfect and tiny and good. And I was the child put in charge of her.

The Bonded are the king’s most elite forces, soldiers who have mental bonds with massive, fearsome direwolves. They ride the wolves into battle and, rumor has it, the riders can even tap into the magic that the direwolves wield.

People idolize the Bonded as much as they revile them. Technically, anyone can become Bonded, and during Bonding Trials, when the direwolves have enough young to bond en masse, all of Nocturna’s army recruits are required to participate. But everyone knows that the direwolves almost exclusively choose people who come from Bonded families. Privilege begets more privilege, a never-ending cycle. There’s nothing magical about the riders themselves, but because of generations of natural selection, they just look different from the rest of us. Tall. Beautiful. Honed fighting machines.

My pulse speeds up as I clock the tattoos completely covering his neck, his hands. Not much makes me afraid, but this? Run, a self-preserving, animalistic part of me cries. Danger.

“Nocturn is trapped,” she hisses, and the venom in her voice makes my skin prickle. “He’s trapped, and when he escapes, he’s going to tear the world apart.”

“And you,” she says, turning on me, wild-eyed. “You are not where you are meant to be.”

While it’s perpetual winter here in Sturmfrost, the fiefdoms closer to the border are perpetual autumn.

Stark Therion, Alpha of the Daemos pack and one of the instructors during this year’s Bonding Trials.”

“Being Bonded requires great sacrifice. The direwolves have lived in this range since before our history started. They’ve always been our allies, but before they choose to bond, they need proof that the human they’ve chosen is… worthy.”

Anassa, running in the moonlight, racing down the mountainside, faster than wind. A sun rising, rays blinding and beautiful. A crown, its metal glinting, then drenched in blood.

Strategos, Kryptos, Daemos, Phylax.

“For a Bonded family, there’s no such thing as failure. If you fail to bond in your Trials, you’re out. You’re dead to them. Not one of them any longer.”

“I would do criminal things to get that man between my legs,” the second woman whispers.

“You could just let me be… culled, or whatever it is you do here,” I say. “Whatever it is we do, Rawbond. And the answer is simple,” she says, hands on her hips. I care about you, I muse cynically. Not. “We have a bet going.” I nearly snort. “A bet.” “There’s a betting pool among the instructors on which pack will lose the fewest recruits. I really don’t want to lose to that fucking asshole Stark, so stay alive. Please.” She moves to her table and sits. “I have coin riding on it.”

Crown Prince Killian descends to the balcony while I stand there frozen, my whole world crumbling around me. And then, seated at his father’s side, he lifts his head and looks right at me, dark blue eyes filled with regret. My heart cracks. Lee.

“What was that?” I breathe, voice raw. “A tattoo for your kill,” Izabel replies. “No, why did he lick me?” I demand, hands in fists. Venna’s lips purse. “Oh, we lick one another’s tattoos when we’re done. It’s an instinct to help heal the surface of the skin.”

“The Voice Trial consists of a complex obstacle course,” Egith continues, “so it’s important that you are both adept at moving with your direwolf and that you communicate well with each other.”

I haven’t seen my tattoo since I got it this morning. And it’s… oddly beautiful. It wraps around the side of my neck, midway up, at about the same level I had to shear my hair. It’s in the same runic style as the others I’ve seen, but with decorative elements that swirl like dark fire, moving fluidly around a central circle empty of saturation.

The two women who were lusting after Stark mentioned that his mother was the Sovereign Alpha. Of fucking course she is. Stark moves with the violent confidence of someone who knows he’ll never get in trouble. Nepotism at its finest.

The king’s role is to ensure that the commoners he reigns over always have an equal balance of power with the Bonded and the direwolves. So while Siegrid is the highest in power for the Bonded, we ultimately all answer to the king.”

“Better pace yourself, princess,” he says darkly, standing much too close for comfort. His deep voice thrums against my ear. “Wouldn’t want you stumbling off somewhere dangerous where accidents could happen. Especially after your miraculous survival today.”

Among the Strategos, our wolves can share their enhanced strategic abilities, which are heightened by pack unity.”

They manifest in several key ways. One: an almost prescient understanding of troop movements. Two: the ability to spot weaknesses in enemy formations. Three: to calculate odds and outcomes with supernatural precision. However”—she turns to look directly at me, raising one eyebrow—“accessing this power requires complete synchronization between wolf and rider.”

“In war, the weakest link endangers everyone. We can only succeed against our enemy if we work together. And if any direwolves or Bonded riders might endanger the pack’s safety, it is in everyone’s best interest to cull them now—before we are at war and all our lives are at risk.”

with blood. “Mother…” My voice comes out weak and childlike. But it reaches her. She turns. Icy terror surges in my veins. Her eyes are black as pitch—no whites, no pupils. Just pure, demonic black. I stumble back as she opens her mouth to speak. No words come. Black blood pours from her lips and streams from her unseeing eyes. An echoing, disembodied voice thunders through the arena, filling me with terror unlike any I’ve known before. “Nocturn is calling. Are you listening?”

Stark’s dark gaze fixes on me with the same intensity it always has, like the rest of the room doesn’t matter so long as he keeps his prey in sight. He tilts his head slightly to the side, and a lock of his dark hair falls across his brow. It’s like a tether has snapped taut between us.

And in case my implication is not crystal fucking clear: You touch her again and I’ll cull you myself.”

That’s the only way to ensure Siphons die; you need to behead them.

“I’m the rightful queen of Nocturna, aren’t I?” I ask. Stark’s eyes spark, he takes a single step back, and he bows down on one knee, hand to his chest. “Welcome home, my queen.”

“Give me the word and I’ll tear out his throat. All the lives I’ve ever taken were just training for this moment, my queen. Make me your instrument of vengeance. Let my hands act out your every savage, depraved thought. Use me. I’m yours.”