Had this been any other situation, Kirastasia would have been quite happy to stay sandwiched between a gorgeous femme and a paralyzingly handsome brute. Her maple eyes—exact copies of her mother’s own bewitching portals—had widened in unmasked appreciation at Devil’s approach, taking a less-than-subtle scan of the older male’s impressive physique. She drew herself up proudly when the midnight assassin called her “princess,” preening like a bird at the light snippet of recognition. Oh, how Kira craved attention—especially after that jerk ROM hung her out to dry. Devil May Cry’s brief grin revived the snowbird’s heart like rain falling on flower petals. And Hocus Pocus was no less lovely, with her fearless swagger and the thirst for danger dancing in her dark eyes. Kirastasia could invent any number of ways for the threesome to have fun.

Unfortunately, the stranger at the border was growing angry. And Kira very rapidly lost time to daydream about dalliances with her two attractive packmates. Her glowing gaze refocused on the other brute’s furious visage, surprised at his abrupt switch in emotion. Hadn’t he been pleasantly laughing with her a few seconds ago? Had somebody said something to upset him? She backtracked in her mind, wondering if it were a word that had fallen from her maw . . . but no, the stranger appeared to be equally infuriated at all the gathered Malignant wolves. The heiress felt her waving banner droop, her head tilted in confusion. My, but this gentleman took things personally. From her skewed view point, Kira thought that she and Devil had given the soldier more than enough time to realize his folly and turn back. Instead he remained, building his rage and allowing Hocus to provoke him more. He was spiraling out of control, falling to wild aggression instead of doing the smart thing and backing down.

In fact . . . he reminded her a little bit of Kavik: her poor broken brother who turned into a shark as soon as he heard a twig snap.

Well—Kirastasia knew how to deal with THOSE tantrums, didn’t she?

The ice damsel gave no warning for her next move. Not a gesture, not a word. As soon as Hocus returned to her position next to her, practically purring with humor, Kira launched herself—snarling—at the stranger, crashing into him so that her forelimbs locked around his throat and sent them both tumbling and rolling roughly into the underbrush a few yards from the border. She desperately hoped their momentum had been enough to carry them far enough away that Devil and Hocus wouldn’t see what she was doing beneath the cover of vegetation, and that the two Malignant wolves would either be too amazed or too busy laughing to immediately come to her. Once the pair stopped—Kira sprawled on top of her quarry—the princess smashed her paw down on the stranger’s muzzle to prevent him from speaking. If he tried to move, the girl simply moved with him; she’d had plenty of practice subduing her brother, who was so violent he might have broken her bones more than once if she weren’t careful.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the girl asked in a low hiss, as if admonishing a pup. “What did I just tell you? They’ll KILL you, you fool! Two against one? AND you’re injured? I’m sure you’re strong, and all, but our Beta could eat your throat out by himself even if you WEREN’T full of wounds! You silly, crazy goose!” Kirastasia wasn’t sure why she was doing this, taking the brute out of immediate danger. She owed him nothing. She didn’t especially like the way he talked to her packmates. But for some reason the duchess thought it a shame to let such a fool get killed, when so far his main sin was stupidity. Watching him yell at Devil was entertaining and all, but after a while such a display held all the appeal of trashy television. Yawn.

“Listen,” she continued, angelic face set in a pretty pout. “You want to join a pack so badly? Go to Abendrot. I hear my father will take practically anyone who wants to fight. But you have to be RESPECTFUL, got it? None of this absurd talking back to pack wolves and that nonsense, you idiot. You better talk nicely, and you better submit, and you better follow orders if someone gives them to you.” The young fae was speaking from experience; she remembered the militaristic way Kershov had treated her when he’d dragged her to Saw tooth all those moons ago. He had no patience for anyone.