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Village of Lucia, Spain; 1485

The moonlight glowed too dimly through the cottage window. The thick wax seal remained an undecipherable blur to the old witch, her eyes clouded by years spent toiling in the garden.

While the stranger loomed over her small table, Isabel DeLagado caressed the wax ridges and let her fingertips prove the truth of the package’s sender.

Surprise jolted her frail frame. “The seal of the Alpha King himself?”

Carlos, her companion, protectively laid his gnarled hand on her shoulder, mistaking her awe for fear. Her lover’s struggle to bring his frame to full height filled her with sadness. Alas, any defense Carlos mustered against the stranger would have been useless. Utterly useless.

“Señora, and good Señor,” the man watched Carlos’ trembling hand hover above an empty scabbard, “Be not alarmed. My king personally answered your plea. Your request, plus the fact that your message found us at all, demanded his personal reply.”

Isabel smiled in spite of the danger surrounding their meeting. Locating the den of the legendary Baltic Pack had not been easy. The wily Spanish werewolves had made themselves scarce since the Inquisition began burning across the countryside, and her far-flung coven mates refused to aid her, instead begging her to flee east with them.

Yet no obstacle existed to make the Witch of Lucia give up her quest. The scar from the bloodletting ritual tingled on her bosom as she recalled the powerful spell used to summon otherworldly aid.

A month ago, like the coming of night, the sullen gypsy with a healthy dose of pixie blood in his veins had appeared at her doorstep. Pixies viewed witches as their mortal enemies, but Isabel’s spell proved stronger than his primal urges to flee or fight. When he had left that night, he carried with him as payment, her missive to the Baltic Pack and her most sacred blade.

It was an ancient and powerful knife, but a mere plaything compared to the contents of the package on her table this night. Their magic seeped through the heavy leather wrapping, beckoning their new mistress.

“My Isabel, time is passing quickly. Cardinal Vega’s guards will notice our guest. Give him what you promised and let him leave.”

Carlos. Her dear Carlos. His mortal body ravaged by wars fought for long dead lords and by an even more persistent enemy—age. He knew her strengths, and yet he feared more for her than he did for himself. Ever the protector.

“Your man is right. I remind you, Señora DeLagado, my lord Alpha bid me present when you opened the parcel as proof of no trickery on our part.” He didn’t attempt to hide the venom in his voice.

Once—long before Carlos transformed her existence—this whelp’s arrogant tone would have unleashed her anger, but now it only made her pause and wonder. Why such hatred for an old witch? A mystery, certainly, but one for another night. Tonight called for action. Isabel slid a sharp nail across the thick seal, revealing the parcel’s contents.

Long fangs stitched to a piece of velvet gleamed with their own light. The Baltic were an ancient, strong werewolf pack, and Isabel guessed few other werewolves possessed teeth as powerful as these.