War of the Werelords by Curtis Jobling Read Free Book Online Page A

the mother reaching. Gretchen lashed out with her hand, grabbing the spear and launching it back through the air. The weapon came to a juddering halt, embedded into the mud hut wall. Feeling a moment of triumph with her small victory, the weary Werefox turned back to the woman. She had read it wrong, very wrong. The mother had gone for the hunting horn instead.
    The sharp blast of the horn echoed across the marshes, small birds from the nearby reed beds taking to the air in flocks. Gretchen’s heart sank with the knowledge that the woman’s companions would be upon her in no time. Could she really stay and fight? Or should she now turn and flee into the swamps that surrounded her? She had absolutely no clue as to her whereabouts, and to be lost in the swamp-riddled marshes was to be a few stumbling steps away from certain, sinking, drowning death.
    The horn’s peal ceased, and the woman removed it from her lips and tossed it to the floor, clutching her child in both hands once more. The baby had the same unusual features as its parent—the stubby neck and long fingers, wide eyes fixed upon the partially transformed vulpinthrope.
    In that moment, Gretchen was overwhelmed by a feeling of great pity for the mother and child, born into a life of brutality and barbarism. She wasn’t their enemy, not truly; she just wanted to be away from this place, back on the road, searching for her friends once again. Perhaps Trent had survived the attack on the town of Bray? She had seen the young man brought down by the monstrous Werewolves that had attacked under the command of the Werelion King Lucas. Could he still live? A fire had burned briefly in her heart, hopeful that she would be reunited one day with him. Instead, that one blast of the horn had sealed her doom.
    She stared at the two of them pitifully as they cowered from her, backing toward the undulating wall of reeds. She clenched her fists, wondering if she was capable of ending their lives. Was it Gretchen’s place to decide who should live and die? Could she truly do it? Was it worth it? Her hands were both open now, the crutch discarded on the ground. The mother’s tearful face paled as she saw the look in the Werefox’s gleaming green eyes.
    The net came out of nowhere, landing over Gretchen with pinpoint precision. A collection of weights that lined its edge ensured she was instantly cocooned within its constricting cords. She wriggled a hand through the mesh, her clawed fingers managing to sever a few of the bonds, but she was already toppling, crashing to the damp earth. She landed on her side, the wind knocked from her chest as she kicked and struggled, helpless as a floundering fish. The woman and child darted for cover, keeping their distance as they retreated to the mud hut. Gretchen could hear the wet footsteps approaching through the mud, coming to a halt behind her. She twisted, trying to get a look at the wild man who had launched the net at her, but she was trussed tighter than a pig for the slaughterhouse. The noises continued at her back, squelches in the wet earth suggesting that her enemy was now crouching, his shadow passing over her. She could hear his breath, feel it as it blew through her hair and across her cheek, smell its foul, fetid stench.
    â€œIf you’re going to kill and eat me, get it over with, you rotten Wylderman scum,” she said, spitting through the net wrapped tight about her face. “I hope you choke on me!”
    She felt his hands now, cold and clammy, as they landed on her exposed forearm. She shrieked at his touch, causing the mother and child to jump where they watched on. The hand, its fingertips rough and calloused, gripped her now, rolling her over onto her back. The man looked down from where he knelt beside her, the sun shining behind his head like a halo and plunging his face into darkness.
    â€œKholka no Wylderman,” said the stranger, his deep voice clicking unnaturally as it