Grave Secret by Sierra Dean Read Free Book Online

you?” I demanded before head-butting him.
    He took two steps back, and I unholstered my weapon, training the armed gun on him in lightning speed before he decided to make another jump at me.
    “Answer my question or lose the top of your head.”
    He laughed. Well, this brought back memories. It had been a long time since someone had laughed while they were fighting me. “I don’t need to answer to you,” he replied.
    “Mr. SIG P226 would like to suggest otherwise.”
    The werewolf chuckled again, but between the two of us, I had a gun and he had a bloody nose.
    “I’m going to ask one more time, and I’d really appreciate if we could bypass the whole I’m a scary werewolf and you’re Little Red Riding Hood bullshit, okay? Who are you?”
    “A loyalist.”
    “Loyal to what?”
    “The true queen.”
    In spite of the general warmth of the night air, I was suddenly freezing. “What did you say?”
    “The true queen.” This time he spit at the ground in front of my feet.
    I’d heard this before, the delusional ramblings about rightful queens. A lot of people didn’t believe I deserved to wear a werewolf crown, and I wasn’t disagreeing with them. But two had gone to great lengths to see me lose my head rather than have it be the one wearing a tiara. One of them was in Siberia.
    Morgan Scott wasn’t the werewolf I was worried about when faced with this wild-eyed stranger.
    “Do you mean Mercy McQueen?”
    “The queen,” he corrected.
    Oh sweet merciful crap. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate right now.
    “My mother sent you?”
    That stopped his laughter. “Your mother?” He must not have been too bright if he hadn’t sorted the connection out on his own.
    “Secret,” I replied, pointing to myself. “McQueen.”
    “The pretender.”
    “Oh for the love of God,” I groaned.
    The wolf advanced, trying to punch me again. His strike glanced off my shoulder, and I replied by cold-cocking him with the gun. “Stop that.”
    He was slumped against the brick wall, glaring up at me. His expression said, When I stop being concussed, I’m going to get you really good.
    “What bullshit line is she feeding you now to make you believe she’s the rightful queen of anything?”
    “Ian, don’t answer her.” A few feet away a trio of men had arrived to join our party. Awesome, so Mercy had more than one lackey believing her lies now. And me with only the one gun. The three new wolves drew closer, and much to my chagrin I recognized one of them. The scrawny, racist asshole I’d met in Callum’s compound the previous month. I’d enjoyed meeting him so much I’d introduced him to my fist.
    “Hank,” I growled.
    “Princess.”
    “You in charge of this charade?”
    The man in the middle of the group, whose dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, laughed at my question. “We answer to the queen.”
    “I’m no expert in werewolf politics, boys, but I know whose territory you’re in, and the only queen here is not the one giving you orders.” None of these wolves had been part of Marcus’s hostile takeover attempts, so where were they getting this queen garbage from?
    “Our queen has been misplaced from her territory,” Pony-boy replied, casting a glance to Hank. “So she’s looking for a new throne. Yours.”
    “Mine isn’t currently available.”
    “That can be changed.” Ian, the werewolf I’d knocked to the ground, made a grab for my ankle, and I kicked him in the head.
    “Do you understand the hell you’ve just invited on yourselves?” My tone wasn’t threatening, it didn’t need to be. Given my history, they should have known it would take more than a few rogue wolves to get me out of Mercy’s way.
    “We’ll see.”
    Between Callum and Lucas, they’d signed their own death warrants. The implication, as I understood it, was that Mercy believed she was the rightful heir to the Southern kingdom. And if Callum wouldn’t give it up to