WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations by Kathryn Veque (top 20 books to read .TXT) 📗

were four extremely large and well-armed knights, but one never knew when fools would attack. The moved further away from the section in town that contained the taverns and hostels, a quieter area that was rather dark and without much traffic.

In fact, the very air seemed ripe with darkness and murder.

An exclusive guild in this section of town? Andreas wasn’t entirely sure that Theodis was leading them in the right direction, so he started to open his mouth when Theodis abruptly took a left turn and headed up a small alley, away from the river.

A dark trek became darker – literally.

There was hardly an ambient light in the alley called Beet Street. it was only a block or two from the walls of the Tower of London, so they were generally familiar with where they were. This was the older side of town, the side where the Romans had left their mark and the Saxons had built their timber city. It had a feel all its own, like something wild and uncivilized, which simply went along with the general seedy nature of the district.

But it was more than that.

Andreas felt as if there were some kind of otherworldly and barbaric flavor to this part of town, mostly because many of the buildings that were still there were of Saxon design, something the Normans modified once they took control of the City of London. In his rare trips to London throughout his life, he’d only been on this side of town while traveling to the Tower, and that was always the sense he got from it –

Barbaric.

Traveling up Beet Street, the knights came to a fork in the road. The fork heading northeast would take them through more of what they had just passed through, and the fork to the south would lead to the Tower of London. They took the fork to the northeast, traveling up the road and passing shabby businesses and residences.

St. Dunstan’s Church was on Hart Street, an offshoot of Beet Street. It was near the wall of London but in an area that was not well traveled. In fact, there was a dumping ground on this side of the city used for rubbish, so the stench kept people away for the most part.

Except for those heading to a particular burned-out church.

They could see St. Dunstan’s Church as soon as they turned onto Hart Street, the bones of the church pronounced against the moonlit sky. As Andreas looked at the distant church, he recalled Theodis speaking of the location as being cursed and he could instantly see where that opinion came from. The church had been built out of timber originally when the Saxons built over the old Roman temple, but when the Normans had come, they ripped down the wood and replaced it with stone. Still, the wooden roof had been vulnerable and St. Dunstan’s had burned three times before the church finally decided not to rebuild.

Therefore, it was a skeleton that existed these days, looking forlorn and macabre against the night sky. The closer the knights drew, the more Andreas wondered if this was really a good idea. Theodis certainly thought so and he was more than excited to take his friends through an adventure they would all remember.

But Andreas… not so much.

They ended up moving in the shadows of the burned-out structure until they came to an enormously heavy door with iron braces. Theodis held up a hand, bringing the group to a pause.

He knocked once.

Several seconds later, he knocked again.

That went on twice until the door lurched open and two big men, heavily armed, stood in the doorway.

“Da verbum,” the first man rumbled.

“Gomorrah,” Theodis replied.

The man looked to the three massive men behind him. “Name?”

“De Velt and de Wolfe. Northumberland has arrived.”

The man looked at him, registering some surprise. Or perhaps it was approval. The names of de Wolfe and de Velt carried weight all over England, no matter what the situation. The man took Theodis’ money, quite a lot of it, and retreated back into the church with his companion.

“Enter,” he muttered.

Theodis turned to his friends, flashing that big-toothed smile.

“Now,” he said quietly, “it begins.”

Andreas was the last one in. He wondered what, exactly, “it” meant. What was beginning?

He was about to find out.

CHAPTER THREE

The Asher Manor

London

“Gavy! Gavy, awaken!”

She could hear a woman’s voice in her ear, a voice she recognized. But she was still entrenched in a haze of sleep that had her within its grip. Her dreams had been warm, dreams of her home in the north, and she was reluctant to leave them.

But someone was hissing in her ear.

“Gavy!”

Lady Gavriella de Leia eyes popped open. For a moment, she didn’t recognize her surroundings. It took her a moment to orient herself.

Then she remembered.

I’m in London.

The familiar pangs of grief hit her. She was here because her father had sent her here. Not because she wanted to be here. She’d never wanted to come, but here she was.

Caged.

Trapped.

Rolling onto her back, she saw her cousin, Lady Camilla de Kennet. Camilla had just come of age and beneath that pale, innocent-looking exterior beat the heart of a rebel. Gavriella had learned that the first day she’d come to London. Camilla’s sister, Lady Aurelia de Kennet, was older by two years and even worse, only Aurelia had a titian-haired sensuality about her that she wasn’t afraid to weaponize. If she saw a handsome man, that sensuality would be put to good use.

Camilla had learned quite a bit from her scandalous sister.

“Gavy!” Aurelia was in the chamber now, hissing at her cousin on the bed. “Get up, do you hear? We are going out.”

Gavriella sat up, rubbing one eye. “Going out?” she repeated. “But… but it has to be the middle of the night. Where on earth are we going?”

“Shhhh,” Aurelia put her finger to her lips. “Not so loud. Mother might hear you.”

Camilla was dragging her out of bed. “Hurry,” she said. “We must hurry!”

“Hurry for what?” Gavriella