If anything, her words irritated Northrup, for his jaw tensed.

A puff of air caressed her cheek as Conall laughed. “Fool girl. Too blind to know real power when she sees it.”

Her insides went liquid as his claw slowly dragged over her jaw, not hard enough to cut but to let her know how much it would hurt should he choose to. She held steady. “I know true power when I see it.”

He did not miss the scathing bite of her words. The claw stopped at her jugular and pressed just a bit harder. “Shall we test the theory?”

Daisy looked at Conall through lowered lashes and licked her lips in a show of nervousness, but it had the desired effect as his nostrils flared again. “I hardly believe you need to prove anything, Sire.”

He stared at her for a hard minute and then ran a finger slowly over the swell of her bodice as if considering what he might do with her.

Northrup’s voice broke the silence. “I spoke to Lena.”

Conall’s jaw clenched. “Did you now?” He turned away from Daisy, and her insides sagged with relief. “Turned errand boy for the frozen bitch, have you?”

Northrup’s mouth curled. “Perhaps I have.”

Conall’s hands went to his hips. “Out with it then.”

Northrup’s smile grew. “Oh, I think you can imagine what she might say, brother.”

The entire court seemed to buzz with nervous energy upon hearing of this mysterious Lena. Whoever she was, she held a position of power. Dozens of shining eyes turned to Conall, waiting, it appeared, to see what their king would do.

Suddenly, Conall snorted. “Keep your counsel, brother. It is inconsequential to me.”

Northrup’s mouth kicked up at one corner. “I would expect not, brother.”

Conall returned Northrup’s look but his tone grew hard. “You will cease this talk of werewolves. And if I find you anywhere near another human death, I will take your head, Ian Ranulf.”

Surprisingly, Ian bowed his head. “As you wish, Ranulf.” He was too complacent, Daisy thought with trepidation.

Apparently his brother did not know, or consider, Northrup’s more canny tendencies, for he made a sound of satisfaction. “Now that that is settled, there is one more bit of business before I’m done with ye.” He turned back to Northrup. “Payment for Alan.”

A ripple of excitement went through the hall, and Daisy’s stomach clenched, for it held the taint of violence in it. Fangs lengthened, and the rangy scent of wolf grew deeper. All of it directed at Northrup.

Northrup didn’t flinch. “Get on with it then.”

“As you wish.” Conall’s black eyes found her, sending a chill of ice down her spine. “And let the lass watch.”

Chapter Twenty-two

It was going to hurt. Hurt badly. Most men thought of torture in an abstract manner, never knowing precisely what they were in for. Ian knew. And although he’d like to think of himself as brave, a large part of him wanted to turn tail and run.

He took a breath and walked calmly out of Ranulf Hall and toward the open balcony doors. Flanked on both sides by members of the pack, he couldn’t see Daisy, but he knew she was there. Her scent touched the air, an elusive tease that heightened his senses. He didn’t want her to see and vowed that he would not beg, no matter how much he might want to.

Conall followed at a leisurely clip as the party moved down the terrace steps and onto the large expanse of parkland backing the house. “No trophies today, lads,” he called out before slanting Ian a glance, and the crowd grumbled its disappointment. “Not this time.”

Relief washed over Ian in a wave that dissipated too quickly. So he’d keep his appendages and eyes. They’d grow back eventually, but he was admittedly a vain man in regard to his appearance and didn’t fancy the idea of walking around maimed, even for a short while. And hell, regrowing a limb hurt almost as much as the injury.

Shit. He started to shake as the pack stopped and surrounded him in a wide circle. Relax. Pain grew worse with tension.

Conall strolled to the center of the circle, keeping his back to Ian. “No trophies, aye, but pound for pound he’ll feel the force of Ranulf. He took one of the pack”—Conall’s black gaze scanned his subjects—“when he’s no’ willing to come into the fold as one of us.” His eyes landed on Ian, cold and calculating. Conall knew nothing of true calculation, just brute force.

Two lieutenants drew near. One ripped off Ian’s shirt and the other clamped irons around Ian’s wrists and neck. The heavy silver-dipped chains, designed to weaken lycans, clanked as they fell to the ground before being pulled tight by the lycans in charge of keeping him tethered. But he wouldn’t fight. This was as much his show as it was Conall’s.

Wrists chained, he stood tall and looked around at the lycans who would mete out his punishment. Some he knew, old lieutenants of his father who wouldn’t look him directly in the eye; others were younger and lusting for a bit of blood sport.

When Ian spoke, his voice rang strong and clear. “I accept the penalty for taking another lycan’s life. For the law is clear.” He turned his gaze to Conall and held it. “The leaders of Clan Ranulf have always upheld our laws. As is their right and privilege. For who else has the strength to protect the innocent? Or the bravery?” His voice rose on a wave of pride he didn’t see coming, and his words came out a roar. “Dei Dono Sum Quod Sum!”

Around him, Ranulf’s men raised their fists to the air and returned the cry, caught up as he was by their clan motto.

“Cease!” shouted Conall, his skin molting with rage.

Spittle flew from his lips as he stalked forward. “Will ye let this bastard play you the fool and distract you with his speeches? Hear your king and show what the true power of Clan Ranulf means!”

On a grumble, the lycan men settled down. They knew better than to ignore their alpha’s command. Conall flashed a bit of fang at Ian as he spoke. “Teach him respect, lads. Claws and fangs!” With that chilling allowance, Ian’s brother walked out of the circle and folded himself into the gilded chair a beta had set out for him.

Daisy stood next to the chair watching Ian, her skin ghostly white and her eyes wide with fear. She shouldn’t have to see this. It will scar her. I’m sorry, lass.

It was the last thought he had before they came for him.

Northrup was letting them tear him apart. Daisy pressed a shaking hand to her mouth as lycan after lycan came forward to slash, bite, kick, or hit him. His body jerked with each attack, blood spraying and flesh ripping open. His face was now unrecognizable, his trousers hanging in crimson-soaked tatters.

Bile rose in her throat. It was too much. Too much like the night of her nightmares, too much pain for one man to endure. Her stomach contracted, and she swallowed hard, blinking back her tears, but she would not look away. If he had to endure, she would endure too. But why had he agreed to this? He might have run. Daisy ground her teeth as she realized that had he run, he would have had to leave her behind. The scene before her eyes blurred.

The warm morning air grew thick and fetid with the stench of blood and sweat and the growing tang of aggression and excitement. There was a method to their torment. She could see that, but it was not going to last. The crowd swelled closer, the attacks becoming more brutish, one on top of the other. They’d soon break into a frenzy. She could feel it. The men had shifted at the start of the violence, their jaws elongating, mouths filling with fangs, their fingers lengthening, claws bursting from the tips. Despite herself, she pressed against the chair in which Northrup’s treacherous brother lounged. She glanced at his strong profile and repressed the urge to do him violence.

“Don’t like what you see?” Conall asked, not bothering to take his eyes from the carnage.

If she opened her mouth to speak, she would surely vomit. A particularly hulking lycan threw himself at Northrup, his blow opening a huge rent across Northrup’s once magnificent torso. Northrup didn’t make a noise as he doubled over and blood poured from his mouth. Daisy swayed. Let it end. Let it end.

“Perhaps I should have allowed them to take ears,” Conall muttered.

“You sick, bloody bastard!”

The man lifted a slanting brow, an expression disturbingly similar to his brother’s. “My parentage is secure,” he said with a cold smile, “but I can appreciate the sentiment.” He glanced at Northrup. “My brother thinks he knows me better than I him. He thinks he will not turn, that he’ll take the beating, go free, and the clan will admire him for it.” A disturbing chuckle rumbled from Conall’s chest. “He knows nothing.”

Conall stood and glanced at Lyall, who leaned against a nearby tree. “Lyall.” Though Lyall was several feet away from them and Conall’s voice did not lift beyond the level of normal conversation, Lyall stood straighter. “Finish him off when he strikes,” Conall said to him. Lyall gave a short nod and pushed off from the tree.

“No!” Daisy hissed, turning on Conall. “No. You said a lesson, not death.”

“Did I?” He shrugged. “I can’t say as I recall those words.”

She took a step toward him, fighting the need to hurt him. “Liar. You made him believe he would go free.”

“Och, that’s not so much a lie as a tactical maneuver, lass. I needed him weakened.” His amused expression traveled over her before dimming. “Ah, but it is a shame that I’ll have to be involving you. A fine bit of skirt, ye are at that.” A look of true pity filled his dark eyes as he watched her. “Normally, I don’t fancy hurting females. It isn’t sporting.” He frowned, but then it cleared. “Let us call this an unfortunate circumstance of necessity, eh?”

Daisy’s heartbeat sped up as he stepped closer. Her answering step back had his nostrils flaring as though scenting a chase.

“I’ll have him turned,” Conall said with a jerk of his head toward Northrup, who was being kicked in the hip. Northrup’s eyes were vacant, as if he’d moved his mind elsewhere. “And I well know his weakness.”

A blow to her cheek sent her sprawling on the ground. Somewhere beyond the ringing in her ears, she heard a shout halfway between a roar and a snarl, but then a kick to her midriff took her breath. Crawling along the ground on wobbling limbs, her mouth worked in a wordless cry, her fingers digging into the cool earth.

Vaguely, she was aware of chaos breaking out around her. Lycans ran toward a commotion. Ian. She saw him in the corner of her eye. He’d risen to his feet and was straining against the chains, his eyes flashing fire. Blood streamed from his lips, thickening his words. “You will no’ touch her.”

Conall grabbed Daisy by the hair, and pain exploded along her scalp as he hauled her up. “Come and stop me then, brother!”

Northrup snarled, thrashing his arms to get free. One of the brutes holding him went flying forward from the force. The lycans struggled to get hold of Northrup as his body grew in size, ripped flesh and muscle swelling and shifting with the crackle of bones. Fur sprouted along his arms, and over his chest and face. He lunged, his elongated snout snapping at limbs. And then the pack fell upon Northrup, dragging him under in a flurry of fangs and claws. Blood sprayed. He would fully turn. And they would kill him.

Fury surged through Daisy’s body so strong it felt like another kick to her gut. She lashed out, grabbing Conall by his soft cods and wrenching them. The man screamed high and sharp as he fell. Daisy stumbled free, the rage within her vibrating. Truly it felt as though the ground rumbled. And then it was. It took a moment for her to realize that the lycans around her were falling, grabbing onto whatever they could to stay upright.

Still hunched over, Conall tottered around like a drunken sailor as he glanced wildly about. Daisy turned for Northrup. Save him. Get him free. He lay in a heap as the earthquake made the others scatter. Two beasts still had a hold on him and were trying to drag him away.

Daisy took a step toward him and then fell when the ground heaved up in great chunks of pungent earth. Another surge went through her. It felt like need, as strong as lust but with a painful force behind it. The ground around Northrup exploded in a spray of earth and grass as thick tree roots flew upward. One of the lycan blinked in shock as a thick tree root shot through his chest, and his life ended in a gurgle of terror.

The pack froze for a horrified moment and then they flew into action, running for their lives as tree roots shot from the ground to spear or coil around their victims. Dark gratification burst through her at the sight. Run. You cannot hide. The words had barely formed in her head when a tree root sprang forth to claim Lyall, lifting him high and tossing him like rubbish.

Strengthened by it, Daisy pulled herself up. Fear me. Beside her, Conall looked at her as if seeing a ghost. She smiled with grim satisfaction, the feeling of fearlessness like a drug in her veins. Run away, little wolf, or I shall kill you.

Conall’s eyes went round. Then he took off in a sprint toward the house, narrowly missing a tree root coming for his neck. She saw no more of him as she staggered toward Northrup’s limp form. She was almost there when a hand grabbed her arm. She turned, her fist raised and ready to strike, caution be damned, when she saw the familiar face of Jack Talent.

“Let us collect him,” he said in a rush, his green eyes flashing with terror, “and leave this cursed place!”

Chapter Twenty-three

Agony had its own special burn: sharp and breathtaking. Ian lay as still as he could. Every rock of the carriage slashed pain through him with lightning-hot intensity. His world was dark, yet loud, blood covering his eyes, blood roaring through his ears. Blood, blood, blood. He almost sang it aloud. Christ, he was becoming giddy with pain. The carriage hit a bump, and he groaned, tried to move his arm but found it bound against him.