“Of course, Lady Gianna.” He bowed low once again. “Allow the two strongest students present to demonstrate their ferocity for you.”
Where the hell was I? Fifteenth century Europe? A bard wielding a lute might jump out of the bushes next. Playing along seemed the wisest course of action.
The wolves broke formation, and two moved to the center of the big dirt ring. They started in human form and were completely naked. That meant they intended to shift forms during the fight—indicating a very high level of control and endurance to be able to shift repeatedly and quickly enough for combat.
The wolves were big in their human forms. Easily over six feet, sleek muscles cut like fine diamonds, but they weren’t very bulky. Big muscles looked great but they were impractical, inflexible, and robbed endurance. The men were tanned and already filthy and sweaty from training before I got there, but were all grins and eager to get started.
Flint had been very specific: the two best students he had right then. That meant there were wolves better than these.
“These are just our younger recruits,” Flint said to me before they began. “So forgive them if they’re a little unpolished.”
My throat was too dry to respond.
The wolves slammed into each other. They punched, kicked and wrestled each other, then tumbled into the dirt. One shifted as he tumbled into a dark brown-red wolf, and bit into the human shoulder of the other. The other’s transformation was just a few heartbeats later, into a tawny timber-wolf pelt. They slammed back together, snarling and scratching at each other. Once again they tumbled, one shifting to human form and throwing the wolf off him with his arms, then the other one rolled twice and shifted to war-form as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do.
The dark red one elected to remain in wolf, charged and leapt at the one in war-form, dodged a swipe with a massive arm, and bit into his thigh. He dropped between the other’s legs, rolled a few times in the dirt, and sprang again, but this time he got slapped backwards like a fly. He sailed through the air, his form enlarging and shifting in mid-flight.
Oh by the Moon Goddess! He could shift into war-form sailing through the damn air?
“Very impressive, Master Flint.” Impressive, and sickening. Shadowless had nothing like this. Even these wolves Master Flint said were raw and unpolished were stronger than Shadowless.
Flint smiled and nodded to me, crisp and formal. His tattoos shone with sweat and sunlight. He bowed once more. “Thank you, Lady Gianna.”
If these were Gabel’s weaklings, I couldn’t fathom what strength was—or how powerful Gabel was to hold all their leads. I had thought combat shifting was something rare and special, and this rotten, soul-stealing monster had it in spades.
Time to find Alpha Gabel, my bowls, and my explanations.
Into Gabel’s Bed
My reluctant goons took me down the hallway, past the staircase, and to a small set of doors that opened onto a slightly narrower corridor and set of stairs. His office was on a protected mezzanine level of the house overlooking the training fields. The office was a huge, two-story room, but the second story was only a wrap-around balcony that gave access to walls lined with nothing but books.
The first level was more shelves, mostly books, but also featured antique werewolf weaponry: claw cuffs, collars, greaves, all for wolf and war-forms. On a standing easel by the huge window was a large map marked with pins and strings. His desk was a huge dark cherry wood affair with clawed feet. The rug under my feet was thin and bright red, and had once been exquisite. Now its beauty was a little faded in deference to its extraordinary age.
Everything about the office was vast, huge, and heavy. It would have devoured any other single person, but Gabel carried it well.
He was there with two other wolves, one of them the male who had taken my bags from me the day before, and the scent of fury hung thick in the air. There was also the scent of Platinum’s perfume under all of it, but she was absent.
“Buttercup.” Gabel greeted me as I walked in, flicking a pen through the fingers of his left hand, over and over again. “You are awake and fed, I have been told.”
It wasn’t a gentle greeting of affectionate pleasure, only a matter-of-fact acknowledgment I was not face-down in two inches of bathwater. In the light of a beautiful late spring day, wearing pants and another button-down, shaven and groomed, surrounded by paperwork, art, and books he seemed...
Normal.
“This is Second Beta Romero, and one of the warriors, Eroth.” Gabel gestured to the wolf I recognized.
Romero had the seedy, smarmy look that fit the IronMoon reputation. Eroth was less seedy, and younger, and there was something hard and cold about him.
“Where are my bowls?”
“They’re safe.”
That’s what adults told children when they had put something up out of reach. “Where is this safe place?”
“Our room.” His tone conveyed the words as a very delicate barb.
Nervous heat formed under my breastbone. There was a my room. I did not know there was an our room.
Gabel smiled as he waited for a response. That civil exterior was a ruse. No civilized man did what he had done, and I hungered to plunge my claws right into his crotch. “I need my tools.”
“Right now?”
“I want to know they’re undisturbed and haven’t been contaminated by your ham-handed handling.”
Romero scowled. “Mind your tone, female.”
I snapped, “I have a name.”
Gabel held up a hand to silence Romero and said, “I removed them from their bag, left their wrappings intact, and put them in our closet. This is adequate, yes?”
Dammit, yes, it was adequate. His blue-green eyes took on an amused gleam as he sampled the hot gush of anger between us.
No, no childish tantrums about wanting my things now. “Yes, that should work.”
Gabel turned to the other wolves. “Step out.”
“Alpha,” Romero said, “we have—”
“We can finish later,” Gabel said with mild command.
Eroth headed out without further comment. Romero shook his head and snorted, then stalked out.
“I saw you outside.” Gabel slipped around me and put his hand at the small of my back, and his fingertips pressed gently into my clothes. He guided me to the window that overlooked the training grounds. “You met Flint.”
“Yes.”
“You were properly impressed?”
Hell, yes, antique blue-gloss tattoos were impressive. Someone, somewhere, still knew how to make the ink, consecrate it, and apply it correctly to an appropriate male. Gabel certainly had an interesting collection. If Gabel didn’t know what the blue-gloss was, then he could stay ignorant. “You don’t care what I think, Gabel, you’ve made it clear I’m here as entertainment.”
“There’s always a possibility I will succumb to your charms. I wouldn’t want you to be disapproving of your army.” His fingertips traced a spiral on my spine.
I shivered all over. “I don’t want an army.”
“No? What do you want?” His voice lowered to a purr.
He had the audacity to ask me so blithely what I wanted? “I want what you took from me!”
He cocked his head a degree. “I took nothing from you.”
He had taken my choices, my family, my home, even challenged my faith, and he thought he hadn’t taken anything from me? “Fine. You gave me a parasite.”
“I gave you myself,” he said.
“You arrogant dog. I don’t want you, and you don’t want me! You just want a damn toy. You said so, so own it. I’m too highly trained to fall for mind games. Visions play games with Oracles all the time. You’re an amateur with a cheap advantage.”
He circled in front of me. I warily stepped back, and he matched it step for step, until I stopped and held my ground. This close his eyes were like the tropical sea, all shifting greens and azure tones. Warmth swirled around us, and he admir
ed me from toes to hair. “You look lovely in that dress. Like a Luna should look.”
This is a game, and you are his toy. Remember that. Don’t get lost in the vision.
He studied my neck with those eyes, leaning close. He reached up and lifted the thin strap of my dress. My skin caught on fire, and I gasped. He needed to pull the strap over my arm and down, expose my breast to his turquoise gaze, cradle my flesh in his chapped, raw hands—
I yanked my head to the side and blinked on the blinding daylight outside the window. “How large is your army?”
He clicked his teeth once in annoyance. He rested his fingers against my collarbone, with the strap of my dress captured in the crevice of his fingers. He told me the number.
I looked back at him in disbelief. “All combat shifters?”
“Almost all. The others have skills that offset not being a combat shifter.”
“How did you find so many?” There couldn’t have been that many in all the world, much less in this small part of the world. It couldn’t be. He had to be lying. Gabel was from somewhere else, he had brought forces with him, that had to be it.
Gabel chuckled. It sounded like bones crackling. “What other packs throw out as garbage I pick up. You call them rogues, criminals, or unwanted. I call them lost souls. Some beyond redemption but many only needed a second chance. I gave them that chance.” His cruel smile turned my blood to frosty slush. “Now they are loyal without question.”
He caressed my collarbone. Nerves quickened with rising panic, like the first time the Tides had threatened to sweep me away. “All of them?”
He breathed in my scent. “No, not all. Some are recruits. Shadowless had nothing I wanted, so I didn’t make the offer. It’s ironic. So often the older, so-called stronger packs have such unremarkable warriors. Being fat on rank and glory has dulled their fangs.”
“SableFur won’t be so easy,” I whispered. The ancient SableFur, where I had finished my training and earned my bowls, rarely came out from beyond their mountain stronghold, but they’d swat Gabel’s ambitions.
“I have no interest in SableFur.” Gabel titled his head and examined the crusted scabs on my bicep. “How is your arm?”
Lies. Any aspiring King-Alpha had to have an interest in SableFur. “It’ll be fine.”
He drew the back of his fingers over the slashes on my exposed arm, sending a rush of warmth over me, and he inhaled again, drinking in the commingled scent of fear and desire. “I am glad to hear it. Since you are recovered, you will join me in my bed tonight.”
“I have my own bed.”
His bland tone betrayed him. “Of course. For when you don’t feel well. But since you said you are recovered, you will sleep with me.”
“Don’t you have that platinum blonde and every other female in this mansion to do that?”
“Who?”
“The platinum blonde. I can smell her perfume. She was in here having a fit about me.”
“Gardenia. Her name is Gardenia.”
“She’s no flower,” I muttered.
That cold smirk again. This one came with a little gleam of victory and the curling sensation of a snake’s deadly coils. “I may have a certain reputation from my earlier days, but I have found it very unwise for an Alpha to have any dalliances.”
“Bullshit, don’t lie to me. You’ve got a damned harem. Admit it.”
He pulled his lips over his teeth, and his front canines elongated a tad. The coils constricted tighter around me, accompanied by a vicious, gleeful gleam. “Are you jealous, buttercup?”
“Like hell I’m jealous. I hate being lied to.” I despised the truth-that-wasn’t. My favorite food had once been strawberry shortcake, but one bout of food poisoning had ruined that. Logically my brain knew not to blame the shortcake, but something deeper refused to let me eat it again. Gabel had done that to me: on the surface Platinum was meaningless. Deep down, in a place I couldn’t control, she was the enemy.
Gabel’s tone lightened with laughter. “I’m not lying, but believe whatever suits you. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“And my bowls,” I said.
“My room has become your room. Your bowls have only been waiting for you. Go find them if you like. Goodbye, Gianna. I have work to do, unless you would like to keep me company?”
Not a chance. “No.”
“Pity. Remember. My bed. This evening. Do not make me come get you.”
Naked For Gabel
There were about thirty people at dinner, split between two long tables in the festive and brightly lit dining room. Gabel sat at the head of one table, and I had to sit at his left hand, across from his First Beta, Hix. Hix had dusky skin, dark eyes, and smooth, dark hair. He spoke with an interesting accent. I later learned he was Turkish, and when his pack had driven him out for challenging the Alpha, he had come to the west and been one of Gabel’s first recruits.
“Have you met Gianna?” Gabel asked Hix.
“Just now.”
“What do you think?”
I wasn’t a new car or a new pet or painting! It didn’t matter what the Beta thought of me. Gabel ignored my dirty look and savored needling me.
Hix studied me, expression bland. “A very fine selection, Alpha. An Oracle with spirit. She will make strong pups.”
Strong pups, indeed!
Gabel clapped Hix on the shoulder. He was dead serious about milking this for all the entertainment it was worth. He cast a grin my way, mocking my anger and daring me to do something about it. I almost threw my drink on him. He stood. Dinner conversation and eating stopped. All attention turned to him. He gestured to the room. “Wolves of IronMoon. As you know, Alpha Jermain of Shadowless agreed to our terms.”
Applause.
More like Alpha Jermain dropped to his knees and offered up all his she-wolves for Gabel to choose from.
“And,” he twitched his fingers at me, “while Shadowless had little to offer us, they did have a treasure I could not possibly leave without.”
I dug up a smile and obeyed his unspoken command to stand. Gabel gripped my hand. His touch sent shocks through my body that invoked the sensation of his claws raking my flesh. In my memory, the parting of my skin and the melting of my soul was raw, wracking pleasure. Dazed briefly, I searched out his face to make sure it wasn’t buried once again in my neck.
He had the same shocked expression on his face. He recovered swiftly. “This is Gianna. She is an Oracle, and we have begun the mating process.”
There had been no we involved.
Applause and howls from the crowd. Master Of Arms Flint stood and offered me the howl of greeting again, which was met with tremendous applause. Most of the group was single males, although there were a few single females. Gardenia clustered with her thralls at the end of the second table. The males present made up for their lack of enthusiasm.
Gabel’s smile could melt lead. Inside was a monster, but he could turn on the charm like a faucet when it suited him.
After dinner my Goons (I still did not know their names) escorted me to the other side of the mansion to the master wing: Gabel’s quarters.
Resisting Gabel’s demand would have been pointless. It’d have given him exactly what he wanted: me squealing and kicking like an affronted, helpless piglet.
It might have been noble resistance to fight him and see if the Bond would let him beat me to a pulp every night. The problem was no one in IronMoon would care if he did, everyone would mock my foolishness, and if Gabel did succeed in abusing me, he’d get the entertainment he craved. His sick pleasure might also infect me.
I shuddered. One time feeding his pleasure with my pain, and it pleasuring me in turn, was enough.
I had expected his room to be a mini Versailles, but it was disappointingly subdued. Stormy blue and dark polished woods, with cream rugs and trim. Everything simple, functional, and quietly refined. The only odd feature was there were no windows, and only the single door in or out.
The closet was
full of clothing, both male and female. I ignored the clothes in favor of finding my tools. They were in the lowest of the built-in drawers. Everything still wrapped in silk and velvet, and the scent clinging to the velvet was faint, and only Gabel’s. I ran my hand around the lip of my favorite bowl, feeling the hard obsidian edge through its velvet wrappings. Gabel knowing anything caused nervous flutters in my stomach, him giving me my bowls back so easily doubled the nerves.
I tucked the bowl back into its drawer and examined the rest of the closet. So many clothes. I brushed my hand along the fabric, bewildered. In the closet was a tall, built-in set of drawers. I yanked one open, and closed it just as quickly: men’s boxers.
Not that I cared what sort of underwear Gabel wore, or if he wore any at all.
I pulled open another drawer. Women’s panties. Silks and cottons in an array of colors. Skimpy to barely-there.
I slammed the drawer shut.
I tore through the closet. Most of my clothing wasn’t there. The only thing that was mine were some socks. Someone had unpacked my stuff, inventoried it, and intentionally discarded most of it. It hadn’t been lost, misplaced, or put somewhere for safe keeping.
“Jerk!” I shouted at the ceiling. “You hear me, Gabel?”
“Of the many things I’ve been called,” his voice said from beyond the closet, “that’s one of the least offensive.”
I jumped backward.
He sauntered to the closet and leaned against the door frame. “Hello, buttercup.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your buttercup. I’m your war-prize.”
He flicked his brows and dismissed my accusation with disappointment. “Don’t be dramatic. No blood was spilled to win you.”
The anger kept rising, laced with wild grief. “Oh, I know.”
Gabel shifted slightly, deceptively casual. “They didn’t think you were worth dying for, but I would have spilled quite a bit of blood to get you.”
The Alpha's Oracle Page 4
