The man didn't ask any more questions, and I was too distracted with this news to try to maintain the conversation. My other watchdog finished sharpening his blade and sat quietly, his gaze also tracking any footsteps that came near the tent.

I wracked my brain, but my options were limited. Extremely so. I was in a war camp with at least a hundred soldiers. This tent may have been near the edge of the camp, but with two men specifically designated to watch me, I couldn't even move my hand without them noticing.

Considering everything else I'd seen, I wouldn't be surprised if these men were assassins or the high-ranking warrior's bodyguards. They certainly had the alert patience for such roles. Even if they were called away, I doubted I'd be able to run fast enough to reach the trees. Not with the other soldiers and sentries present. The small crossbow resting beside the silent man only reinforced the consequences of trying to run.

If escape wasn't an option, that meant I'd be meeting an irate and sadistic Warlord hellbent on revenge. That was where I ran out of ideas. My family was rich compared to many traders, but their coffers wouldn't contain enough to reimburse the wages of so many soldiers, let alone appease a tyrant.

My mind kept circling around the hundreds of senseless horror stories I'd heard, some of which had been from people who'd witnessed the events. I remembered the burned villages I'd passed and wondered if Dryden was even still standing or if it had been destroyed because the son had died there.

A volley of horns blasted through the night, the volume and close proximity making me jump. The two men were instantly on their feet. The silent one flung the tent flap open while the other grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, dragging me outside.

He gave a sharp whistle, and his horse yanked against its short tether, which came undone, the knot merely for show. It charged over and slid to a stop beside the man. Hands grasped my waist and threw me across the saddle.

The horse was moving even before the man was properly in his seat. I tried to push myself off, but his iron grip kept me firmly in place. The saddle pounded into my midsection as the horse raced toward the shouting and snarls.

As the horse came to a sudden stop, the restraining hands let go, letting me tumble to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I struggled to sit up.

"Freeze!"

I looked up to see several crossbows pointed at me, although most of the men holding them were focused on something else. My two watchdogs kept a sharp eye on me, but the one with the crossbow wasn't aiming it my way.

The order hadn't been directed at me.

My heart sank as I looked to the side, only now noticing a pit. At the bottom was a brown werewolf. His hackles were up, and his teeth were bared, far more prominent in the faint moonlight than should have been possible. A crossbolt stuck out of his lower leg, which he completely ignored. A few darker patches on his fur marked other injuries.

Shane had returned but had fallen victim to another one of their traps.

The saplings and numerous branches scattered under his feet must have been part of a pitfall trap. That was why they had put me in a tent near the edge instead of keeping me at the center of the camp. They had been trying to lure him in. The tent hadn't been right at the edge, since that would have been too suspicious, but it was close enough that a bold werewolf might come closer to investigate how alert the sentries were.

With over twenty crossbows now aimed in his direction, he was just as out of options as I was. He was standing on his hind legs with his arms held slightly away from his sides, tense and ready for a fight. But he remained where he was, his eyes locked on the men pointing their weapons at me.

The warrior, still in his fancy armor, strolled through the crowd. He stopped beside me and frowned down at the werewolf.

"About time you showed up. I was beginning to wonder if you'd actually taken off." He pulled out his sword and held it above me. "Come up here. And no attacking anyone."

Shane gave the man a hard stare before reaching down and ripping the crossbolt out of his leg. He flexed his leg a few times, then crouched down and sprang up in a giant leap. He landed right in front of us with a deep growl.

A couple of soldiers flinched or stepped back at the unexpected way of climbing out. Alas, the warrior and my watchdogs didn't number among that group. Shane slowly stood up on his hind legs to stare down at the warrior, his anger burning in his eyes.

I glanced around quickly, but even with the distraction of a werewolf standing in front of us, my two watchdogs were still primarily focused on me. The silent one had his crossbow aimed at Shane's face, and at this range, I didn't doubt his ability to manage an eye shot. I gritted my teeth and remained sitting on the ground.

"Change to your human shape," the warrior ordered, his tone almost bored, as if an overgrown wolf didn't want to rip out his throat.

Shane's lips pulled back more in reply.

"Don't be dense," the warrior continued. "There are over fifty crossbows present, and the woman is uninjured so far. You aren't able to escape, and your stubbornness will only cause both of you unnecessary pain."

With a deep growl, Shane gave himself a tremendous shake while raising both hands over his head. I saw the faint glimmer of silver before the orange and green light cloaked his fur.

Seconds later, a man with a handstitched cloak of waterproof Terrian silk stood in front of us. The silver necklace around his neck gleamed in the torchlight, and the orange gems caught the light, seeming to glow from within. The anger in his eyes hadn't abated any, and his hands were clenched into fists. Yet, he didn't move.

"Interesting party trick. Drop your knife to the ground."

After waiting a few seconds in a show of resistance, Shane complied.

"I'm not overly worried about this lady here, but you could possibly cause some trouble. Just to prevent such annoyances, both of you are getting your hands chained. Assuming you behave, I'll skip the leg shackles and other restraints."

Two soldiers came forward with manacles. One passed the light chain and cuffs to my primary watchdog. He crouched down in front of me and briskly grabbed my wrists, clasping the cuffs around them. I regarded my new fashion accessory in distaste. I rotated a wrist, checking the fit. It wasn't overly tight, but I wouldn't be able to slip my hands out. The slender chain connecting the cuffs was long enough that it didn't hamper my movements.

My eyes strayed to the other set of manacles, which were very different from mine. The cuffs were thick metal, and the chain looked sturdy enough to hold draft horses. The soldier stopped in front of Shane and held them out, saying, "We can eith'r do dis the easy way or the hard way."

Shane's muscles trembled in rage, but he eventually held his hands in front of him. The soldier clamped the manacles around his wrists and backed up. The chain between his cuffs was shorter than mine. It wasn't long enough for him to rest his arms at his sides, but they allowed a lot more leeway than I'd expected.

I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering if the cuffs would disappear if Shane shifted. His cloak and clothing did. Would such restraints likewise vanish until he returned to his human form? With over half the soldiers in the camp now surrounding us, this wasn't the time to ask or try.

The clattering of hooves and the squeaking of wheels grew louder as the crowd parted, letting a covered wagon through. The four horses were covered in armor, as was the driver. Several other men sat up front with crossbows and piles of cloth that looked suspiciously like fishing nets.

The fabric covering the wagon had thin chains crisscrossing every section. The chains were interlocked in such a way that even if someone cut through the canvas, they couldn't get in, nor could those inside get out.

It was one step above those rolling wooden jail cells, but it was clearly meant to confine. With the manacles already on our wrists, it didn't take a genius to figure out who the prisoners were.

"Get in," the warrior said as a soldier brought his warhorse over to him. "The Warlord wants to meet you, and we're already late."

Two soldiers with crossbows clambered into the covered wagon ahead of us. I slowly stood up as Shane frowned at the chain-covered canvas flap. He glanced at me, then moved his gaze across the soldiers still surrounding us.

"Get going," my primary watchdog told me. "Delaying ain't going to stop nothing."

I made a face but began walking over. The watchdogs shadowed me, apparently unconcerned if Shane listened or not. One glanced back and moved farther over, allowing Shane room as he stormed after me.

I climbed the three steps into the wagon as the chain rattled against the wood. Benches sat against the side walls, and the two soldiers were already in the far corners, their crossbows pointed at the floor in front of them for now.

There was no way I was sitting by them, and I didn't want my watchdogs any closer than necessary, so I chose to sit in the middle of the bench. Shane sat across from me, turning his head to glare at my two watchdogs as they sat in the corners by the flap. Another soldier closed the cloth flap, and chains clinked as they locked the chains from the outside.

With a jolt, the wagon started moving.