8
We arrived back at the cabin at dusk. Wulfgar carried me, though I protested when he’d swung me into his arms.
“You are hurt.”
“I am not so weak that I cannot carry you. It does the pack good to see that I am able to care for my mate,” he’d told me, but as soon as he set me on my feet inside the door, I ran for my herbs and bandages.
“How many attacked ye?” Fergus asked in a grim tone.
“Six,” Wulfgar sucked in a breath as I pulled a broken claw from his back. “All from our pack.”
“The cowards could not challenge ye for dominance, so they jumped ye alone.”
“This is madness,” I dabbed at the wound, but it was already closing. “The Games were supposed to stop the fighting.”
“We will never stop fighting for ye, Muriel,” Fergus sat in the chair balanced on its back two legs, his arms
