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.

Confidence makes men sloppy.

I’m absolutely 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.

Just so I could feel something other than the unending, cavernous pain inside my chest.

The sacrifice is worth it for my sister, though.

superhot warriors riding mystical beasts and wielding mysterious magic?

Privilege begets more privilege, a never-ending cycle.

Knowing that I helped save her kid.

But I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to protect your sister. Let me.”

It’s surprisingly nice to laugh.

How helpful of her to share that tidbit now.

I may not want to bond, but I’m not about to let Izabel and Venna fail now.

I’ve survived.

Men like that have no true loyalty to anyone but themselves. They don’t care about anyone else, not about the lives at risk or the people lost in the cracks of the world.

If I want to survive, if I want to save my sister, I need to at least try.

Regal and terrifying and clearly stubborn.

Because this isn’t a test, in the end. It’s an execution.

But that’s life. It’s always been my life. Pain and persistence.

She doesn’t realize just what a stubborn bitch I am.

Why should the Bonded get this luxury when soldiers on the front line are struggling, when commoners are starving to death and living in fear?

I know what it’s like to have to do everything myself, to be on my own. It’s been that way my entire life, really, and I’ve never let it stop me before.

And now I have to primp and pose to entertain a bunch of pompous nobles, like I’m a nice cut of meat on display at the butcher?

Even the other wolves seem to fear her.

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.

He fucking lied.

This place is a theater of death.

I’ve never just laid down and taken anything, and I’m not starting today.

For the first time since we met, our feelings align.

Through the bond comes another shift. The impenetrable iron wall seems to thin, becoming permeable, like silk rippling in the wind.

Her voice fills my head with startling clarity, deep and rich as aged wine, carrying the weight of centuries.

An incredible sense of rightness unravels inside my chest. This whole time, our fractured bond was chafing against me in a way I didn’t even realize or sense until now, when it’s finally disappeared. It’s like sitting down after a long day at the laundry and realizing I was ignoring my entire body’s aches. It’s relief—stunning, world-shattering relief.

“But know this—I chose you for a reason. Do not make me regret it.”

Trust builds slowly between us with each maneuver, and an unexpected giddiness bubbles in my chest. Gone is the awkward cooperation, the sense of grudging teamwork. We move together with lethal precision—if not with the fluid unity of Stark and his wolf.

“We cannot afford to forget the sacrifices we must make,” he says, voice dropping to a rumble that prickles along my skin. “Every life we’ve had to take to maintain the pack’s strength. Every person who didn’t make it. Every loss is recorded in our flesh so we never forget the price of survival.”

It’s right that they—that we—should be marked forever by them. That the inner scars of pain and loss should show outwardly for all to see. For all to remember.

I know now what being Bonded really means.

Yes, they’ve led privileged lives. They have all the luxuries they could ever dream of. But in exchange, they live on the constant edge of death. In exchange, they are treated like entertainment for the king and his nobles—in more ways than one.

“The Strategos direwolves have convened and chosen their next leader. Anassa. You are the new Strategos Alpha.”

“The real reason is that every pack has a weakness. Just as every soldier does. Strategos are intelligent. Masterly on the battlefield. But their reaction times are often slowed by the information they must constantly process.

Phylax are physically formidable, but they’re less maneuverable than Daemos.”

“Daemos get… carried away,”

“And so we compensate for one another’s weaknesses,”

He laughs. Stark, laughing. He rasps his hand over his stubble, eyes warming slightly, and that deep but barely there sound of amusement emanates from his chest.

It’s shit-yourself terrifying.

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

“I will never lie to you,”

Alas, I’m only human. And, like it or not, looks are important here in this den of vipers.

For the first time since I entered this world, I’m not totally unsure about my chances of survival. I have a long way to go still, but my prospects are looking much better than before, thanks to Stark.

“If you’re going to be reckless, princess, at least let me keep you alive.”

I find myself mesmerized by him, here in this cold mountain wilderness, closed in on every side by darkness and danger.