The Sacred Wolf

Throne of Wolves, Book Two By Marisa Claire The Sacred Wolf Copyright © 2023 by Torment Publishing. All Rights Reserved. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Sacred Wolf: Throne of Wolves, Book 2 Marisa Claire www.tormentpublishing.com www.marisaclaire.com Printed in the United States of America Contents: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter One Wolves didn’t keep pets, but Evan wasn’t letting that stop me. His smokey gray wolf crouched in a play bow on the other side of the training room, tongue lolling like one of those dopey Labradors I often saw galumphing around the corner of Central Park that was visible from the Tower Room’s north window. Five weeks had passed since my first awful night at The Plaza, and I was still living in the suite meant for my twin sister’s honeymoon. An event which I now knew would have rightfully been mine had it ever actually happened. But it had not. It really, really, really had not. For me or Kiana. And now that Sebastian had released me from his mate claim, I had every intention of keeping it that way. Forever. If life in Manhattan had taught me anything, it was that I needed a male like—how had Charlie always put it?—like a fish needed a motorcycle. Was that right? That didn’t sound quite right. But now my mind was filling up fast with infuriating images of the Sebastian I might have fallen in love with. The Sebastian with the Danny Zuko jacket and the Clark Kent glasses and the Jack Kelly newsboy cap. The Sebastian who’d secretly been sitting in the back row of the Last Century Cinema the last time all my human friends and I would ever watch The Princess Bride. The Sebastian who’d been ready to rumble when his shady pack mates had me cornered in the empty subway station. But I hadn’t seen any hint of that Sebastian since the night on the bridge when he’d bowed his head and murmured, “As you wish.” Instead, on the rare occasions that I saw him at all, I saw nothing but an overpriced suit snugged tightly around the same passionless statue who had sat quietly on that wretched subway car while Evan jumped up to defend me. So yeah, I needed that Sebastian like a fish needed a motorcycle, no matter how many nights the one in the jacket swaggered through my dreams. My incredibly detailed dreams… Evan pounced, caroming off the padded wall and barrel rolling like one of those human parkour pups that used to do crazy stunts on the playground near the Bronx pack’s high-rise. Impressive to watch, but foolish to try. I easily caught Evan broadside with my giant white paws, and he flew through the air in the opposite direction before tumbling to the floor like a swatted fly. “You got me!” he howled, flipping onto his back and pointing four stiff legs at the ceiling. He flopped his head toward me and croaked, “Tell my mom… tell her I love…” His tongue unfurled onto the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Men.” “Don’t do that,” I growled, stalking over to him. He rolled onto his chest, panting with mirth. “Oh, right, sorry. Males.” “That’s not what I meant,” I said quietly. “Don’t play—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t make myself say that awful word for what Charlie was now. That word for what Evan would’ve been too if the Mark of Chann hadn’t compelled me to sink my fangs into his shoulder. The word for what we all were to Jayla now. “Don’t take my dark humor, Elyse.” Evan widened his bright blue wolf eyes and manic Labrador grin. “She’s the only therapist I’ve got.” I lowered my head with a heavy sigh and touched my snow white muzzle to the ashy gray one I’d bestowed upon my friend. My bite may have given him back his life, but it had taken every single thing that made it uniquely his. The apartment full of movie memorabilia he'd shared with Jayla and Charlie… the high-paying tech job he’d thrown himself into after giving up on acting… the dream he never should have trashed just because he wasn’t the right guy to play Helena Bonham Carter’s teenage son on Alma Mater Animalis… and, worst of all, any hope of ever finding the right guy to spend the rest of his miraculously extended life with. Some miracle! I turned his New York City into that backwards town from Footloose! As if sensing my oncoming spiral, Evan gave my cheek a quick comforting lick. I didn’t have the heart to remind him right then that it didn’t matter what form we were in, tongue-based physical affection between unmated males and females was strictly prohibited. Even here in Manhattan where a lot of things were considerably less old-fashioned then they were back in the Bronx. If Evan and I ever appeared to be in danger of spontaneously mating, then Alpha Max had the right to arrange a ceremony before we gave into temptation—and not necessarily with each other. My own father had once disliked a self-made match so much that he arranged a double mating ceremony for the would-be