The Alpha's Oracle

by Merry Ravenell

  His rage seemed to strangle me, reaching up like tentacles from the Bond, grabbing and pulling at me, snarling and lashing. Was he just blowing off steam, or was the worst of a male’s protective instincts driving him to blindness and fury?

  I stood up and approached him with caution.

  Once within reach one hand snaked out and grabbed me by the dip of my waist. I squeaked but didn’t resist, and he snatched me against him, his other hand clasping down on my hip. “Buttercup,” he growled. He shoved his nose into my neck, inhaled my scent, held me so tight it hurt. I closed my eyes against it so I wouldn’t whimper.

  “I’m fine, Gabel,” I whispered.

  “You are tired. You smell of bruises and old blood and distress.”

  I pushed his head away from my neck, slid my hand over his cheek. He tried to snake away from me. I didn’t let him. “Listen to me.”

  “I cannot let them hurt you,” Gabel growled.

  “They did not hurt me. No one has hurt me. I am here. I am whole. I am not going to do what they want.”

  He growled and his hands pushed under my shirt. His fingertips found each bruise and sore spot, counting them all again.

  The tentacles of his seething anger pulled at me, as if he needed to assure himself I was still there. He lifted me onto his desk and pulled my shirt over my head. I didn’t resist. Feral fury flowed from him, and something else I had never sensed in him: something that resembled fear.

  “I am still here, my Alpha,” I whispered around his hungry tongue and rough hands.

  But I don’t think he heard me.

  Stay In The Past Where You Belong

  Gabel kissed me, his breath hot and ragged from exertion.

  The Bond slept like a contented, warm cat.

  It had been selfish, and rough, and about him, but I did not mind. I raked my fingernails over his shoulders. “I am very much here, my Alpha.”

  He ran his hands over my breasts, ribs, hips, thighs, assuring himself once more that my body was whole. He kissed the scars on my arm, lost in stormy thoughts. “The Master of Arms will be expecting me. I have things to attend to. To make certain this... nonsense... never bothers our den again.”

  Never was a long time for an Alpha, and even longer for a King, but I didn’t point it out. He’d take a page from Hix’s book and put me in a gilded cage I’d never leave.

  I slid off the desk and twisted my skirt back around my thighs. My panties were in ruins on the floor, and my bra hadn’t fared much better. So much for my plan to meditate that afternoon.

  Violet intercepted me in the second floor hallway with an envelope. “I was just bringing this to you.”

  A pang of anxiety hit me, but this envelope was cream colored and embossed, not red. Quite formal and thick, though. Stiff enough I could have cut a finger off with it. Violet didn’t normally rush the mail up as soon as it came in from town. She pursed her lips at me. I took the cue, turned it over to the front and—

  “The fuck,” I said before I caught myself.

  It was addressed to Gabel and...

  Gardenia.

  I almost threw up. It slammed into me like that blasted comet coming from space right smack into me.

  “The fuck is this?” I snarled.

  “Shhhh!” Violet grabbed me and shushed me with her fingers. “Shhh! Shhhh!”

  I snarled at her, holding it up like it was some kind of holy writ.

  “Shhh! I don’t know. I was bringing it to you. Not him.”

  I grit my teeth so hard they squeaked

  And now this. Goddamn Gardenia again. The stupidest, most insignificant, pathetic problem I could possibly have coming back for round fucking...

  What round was it with her? Five?

  I was going to make a belt out of her hair.

  Right after I throttled Gabel.

  “Violet, I swear by the Moon-”

  Violet dragged me into the bathroom off the hallway. “Shh! Deep breaths, Lady. Deep breaths.”

  I shoved it at her. “Tell me what it is. I can’t look at it.”

  I could look at anything my scrying bowls wanted to show me, but I wasn’t going to look any farther at the contents of that envelope. Violet took it, and I spun around so I didn’t have to see. Every sound of the thick card stock scraping against the envelope’s satiny interior was a fresh papercut on my skin.

  “It’s an invitation. To a Solstice party at GleamingFang.”

  “Gleaming Fang?” I asked over my shoulder. Alpha Anders.

  “The postmark date is the day before Alpha Gabel had me send out the invitations to our Solstice festivities.”

  “Anders may not know, you mean,” I said, feeling like I had gulped down some toxic brew. “He still thinks Gardenia is Gabel’s BondMate. He’s heard Gabel has taken one, and mistakenly thinks it’s Gardenia.”

  “That sounds most likely,” Violet offered. “Anders holds a Solstice party every year.”

  “Anders must have his head up his ass to not know by now,” I grumbled. Or Anders didn’t have a spy in IronMoon.

  “Unless names were never mentioned, and when people spoke of Gabel’s BondMate, he assumed it was Gardenia and said he had met her... not knowing it was um... that Gardenia was—”

  I glared at the bathroom wall. “Does Gabel usually go to this party?”

  “He went last year.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alone.”

  I huffed a breath. Gardenia. She was no flower. She was a goddamn weed, and I was going to have to gulp down humiliation on her account one more damn time. I turned around and took the invitation out of Violet’s fingers. “Well, we can either be sure Anders doesn’t have a good flow of gossip, or he’s being deliberately insulting.”

  “What are you going to do?” Violet asked.

  “I’m going to put this in our room. On his pillow. Then I’m going to find something to punch.”

  I got as far as putting it on his pillow. Right there, torn envelope and all. He wouldn’t miss it when he came in from working out. After that my plan to punch something didn’t work out, because if I tried to actually work out, I’d run afoul of Gabel, Hix, and Flint, who were not going to let that happen for various reasons. If I saw Platinum as she scurried around the house preparing for my wedding (oh, the irony) I would probably strangle her. Instead, Cook occupied me with questions about the menu for our Solstice party.

  He seemed really into it, especially the matter of if we should roast four pigs or a single cow.

  Gabel came in from training through the kitchen, sweating despite the cold, blood trickling from various scratches and scrapes, absolutely filthy. He was haphazardly dressed in his usual mangled, faded kilt. His stitches had pulled and bled, and the cracked skin was reddened and dried. It’d never heal at this rate, the stubborn ox. Blood wept out of the deep slashes.

  “Get out of my sight,” I snarled.

  He gave Cook a look. “Excuse us.”

  Cook headed for the walk-in pantry muttering something about capers.

  Gabel leaned down to be eye level with me. “So very, very angry.”

  “I left it on your pillow.” I narrowed my eyes. “Go bathe. You’re disgusting.”

  “Come with me.” His tone pulled at my spine, willing me to follow him.

  “I might hurt you,” I growled back.

  “Promises, promises, buttercup.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Romero,” I hissed.

  “What did you call me?” He pushed his face right in mine with a snarl.

  This time his dominance had no effect. I snarled back, aching and humiliated, and it was his fault!

  “That’s not very nice, buttercup.”

  I slid off the stool and stormed up the stairs. If the pack saw me having a tantrum over this, they’d think I was actually jealous, and it would get back to Platinum. I slammed our door behind me while Gabel went to his pillow.

  He picked up the envelope, noted the address, then read the cont
ents. His face chilled to something unreadable. “I haven’t touched her.”

  “Oh, I’m not accusing you of that. But dear Alpha Anders of Gleaming Fang seems to think she is your BondMate. Either he’s being insulting or he doesn’t pay attention,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. I get to be publicly humiliated again on the evening of my Bonding because you wanted to cause a catfight, you small, petty, pathetic—”

  “Gianna.”

  I tossed my hair. “So what are we going to do, Gabel? Show up at the party, and you tell him what? How are you going to explain this?”

  “You’re grumpy, buttercup.” Gabel said, eyeing me sideways. “Are there pups in your belly?”

  “No, there are not. Perhaps I’ve had enough of curs outside my door, Elder Oracles playing mother-may-I games, bitches smashing my tools, and this little relic from a time I’d rather forget. I’d feel better if I knew this was because Anders was jerking my chain, not if he actually thought that pale-haired bitch was your intended. But I think he thinks it’s Platinum you chose!”

  Gabel put down the invitation on the nightstand. “This is very embarrassing.”

  “Oh, shut up if you don’t have anything intelligent to say.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I thought this was a matter settled between you and I.”

  I threw up my hands, then clasped them to my sides, fingers holding the fabric of my leggings. “It doesn’t mean I won’t still get angry when it crawls out of its grave, and I have to pretend it doesn’t stink.”

  Gabel’s fingertips lingered on the invitation. He stared at the wall, a frown carved into his features. Then he pulled off his kilt and headed for the shower.

  I wished his backside wasn’t so damned perfect. There was the large silver burn marring his left thigh and butt cheek, but that only made him more perfect in some demented way. The Bond nagged me to put the humiliation behind me and reconcile.

  I told the Bond to shut up. I was so not in the mood.

  Standing in the corner was stupid. I hugged myself and moved to the edge of the bed. The pack couldn’t see us fighting over Platinum. Platinum couldn’t know I had even flinched. I picked at the sleeves of my sweater and held myself very tight, keeping the awful memories at bay.

  “You’re very upset, buttercup,” he said when he emerged from the shower.

  “You expected something else?” I hunched over my arms and stared at the wall.

  “You told me the matter was settled.”

  He didn’t get it. The matter was settled until it crawled out of its grave to humiliate me again. I twisted my head to look at him. Did he just want it to all go away, or did he really believe that since we had settled it between us, I wasn’t allowed to be angry when past mistakes came back to the door? I was allowed to be angry that I was going to have to go to some party and smile and make up some snide lie to my Alpha’s vassals about how it had all be some ploy. I was allowed to be angry about that.

  Gabel was just annoyed at me. “Buttercup, we’ve spoken about this. Sulk up here if it suits you, but do not let the pack see.”

  “I’ve never let them see it before, why would I now?”

  “Don’t forget that.” He circled around in front of me and bent down to my level. His warning pressed on me like a stone wall. “You should be more concerned with Anders either being an idiot, or him growling at me.”

  I glared at him.

  He straightened. “Let’s go, buttercup. We have dinner.”

  I couldn’t let the pack see me upset, just in case anyone found out about the invitation. I had managed not to cry, so I wasn’t all pink and blubbery. I could just imagine walking up to Anders, his face confused and there being some awkward, painful conversation, then everyone muttering about and thinking for the next however many years that Gabel had had a fling with Platinum.

  I ran my tongue over my teeth and worked my jaw. The ulcerated pain wailed within me, and I couldn’t stop it. I could only shove it deep away from the surface and endure it. The Bond wriggled and bit at Gabel, shaking him like a dog shaking a toy.

  For him, this pain was an unfortunate necessity. A consequence of past actions, like an injury not yet healed and re-opened. Just like that wound on his shoulder that kept ripping open.

  Gabel was Gabel, my four-form wolf, and all the marks he left.

  All I had to do was go to this party, smile sweetly, and show no pain.

  I paused in the hallway, remembering the jungle vision, and how Anders had barked at Gabel while the cloaked man got away.

  “Buttercup?” Gabel growled at me, thinking I had balked for a different reason. “Dinner.”

  “Don’t growl at me. I was just remembering something I never told you.” The jungle vision suddenly seemed very important. It intruded into my mind, ringing like a bell. I had never finished telling him all of it. We had gotten too distracted.

  “Buttercup, you and your secrets.” He turned around and advanced, backing me up against the wall.

  “Not a secret. It’s the jungle vision. We got... distracted,” I growled back.

  “So we did.”

  “It’s an old vision now.” I wasn’t feeling the least bit gracious. My heart whimpered and wailed. “But in the vision, Flint was there. He was dead, but then he jumped up again. You attacked him, or tried to, and while you were distracted, the cloaked wolf slipped away. Anders barked at you to keep fighting with the other wolf. Hix was also there, watching you, and when Flint escaped you, singing the song to call a female leader to war, he wanted to go after him, but didn’t.”

  Gabel’s blue eyes held mine for a long couple of moments. Then he pushed off the wall and headed back down the stairs, brooding and contemplative. “We are late to dinner.”

  Wolves In Tuxedos

  Predictably, Hix had something to say about us going to Anders’ little Solstice get-together.

  “It is obviously a trap,” Hix stated. “It is bait. You have the perfect excuse to not go. What is a Lord-Alpha doing at this party anyway?”

  Lord-Alpha? That was a new term, but Hix’s meaning was pretty clear. I didn’t say anything. I was still bristling with annoyance, Flint had told me training was out of the question with Gabel so rankled (because I had to babysit his emotions?), and I had had to pretend like I wasn’t about to swallow a big mouthful of humiliation. So I just stood on the second floor of Gabel’s office and watched the other ranked male members of IronMoon argue and growl at each other.

  “It is disgraceful what you did,” Hix snarled at Gabel, “and now your Luna has to be humiliated again for your... indiscretions.”

  “I never laid a hand on Gardenia,” Gabel stated.

  Technically that was a lie. I didn’t correct him.

  “No, you presented her to another Alpha on your arm. I care that you publicly disgraced the woman carrying your Mark. While I am glad you are going to have to answer for this to those who should have your respect, I also know how much shame this will bring on Lady Gianna, and how it only furthers the worst of IronMoon’s reputation.”

  Those words would have provoked almost any other Alpha into a fit of rage. Gabel was like a dark, angry void. However, he stood there, and after a few minutes of reining in his temper, he said, “I agree.”

  “Good.” Hix didn’t back down.

  “It doesn’t change that we have to go. I went last year. I need to appear gracious yet powerful. And because of this, Gianna has to come with me.”

  “No matter how dangerous it is. Do you not understand she’s a target?”

  “Get used to it, Hix, that won’t change,” Gabel said, like it had just recently dawned on him how much of a liability a mate was.

  “No.” Hix didn’t budge. “I will not get used to it.”

  “Enough.” Flint waded between them. “The choice has been made. She is going.”

  “And so are you, old man,” Gabel told Flint.

  “Me?” Flint never showed surprise before, but he did right then. “I need to remain here.�
��

  “You are the voice of calm experience. If things get ugly, I want you there,” Gabel said.

  Because Flint could tear whole war-form wolves into pieces and splatter them on walls. That sort of calm experience.

  Flint folded his arms across his chest. “I do not do parties.”

  Anders’ Solstice party was a black tie, human-style affair. I contemplated how much work it would take to wrestle the kilt-wearing Master of Arms into a tuxedo.

  “You are going. As are Hix and Donovan. Eroth will have to manage things here.”

  “Take Eroth,” Flint disagreed. “He is a bachelor. Let him meet some females.”

  “This is not a friendly party, Flint.”

  Flint rolled his eyes and wandered over to the window. That accounted for him resigning himself to the inevitable. “I am not wearing a tie. Or buttoning my collar.”

  “You could wear a kilt. It acceptable formal dress,” Donovan said.

  “No. Tuxedo means court shoes, which can be kicked off. Kilt means brogues.”

  “We will be a long way from here should it not be friendly,” Hix said in a dour tone. “You and I and Donovan will go. Flint and Lady Gianna will remain here. If they kill you, it does not matter.”

  “It matters,” I said from my perch. “His violent death will likely kill me. I am no safer here than I am there.”

  “The Bond being ripped is survivable.” Hix, as usual, disagreed. “It is males who are the least likely to survive. Haven’t you two figured out by now that our enemies are circling us? They do not want you to mate. The Elder Oracle failed to prevent it. They will move at this party.”

  “And what if they do kill you and Gabel? What does that leave me, Hix? The almost Luna of IronMoon? I’m not safe anywhere. I’m worth more dead. As violently and painfully as possible.” I swore that Hix’s logic at times was as blunt and dense as a stone.

  Hix shifted his baleful glare to Gabel. “This is your fault.”

  Gabel snarled, “Do you have a point, Beta?”

  Flint pushed Hix and Gabel apart again. He glanced at me as if to say you need to deal with this. As if I could. What could I do about it? Trying to reason with Hix was like trying to reason with a tree or stone.