The Last Emperor

by Kari Gregg

  The woman smiled at Arit’s dad and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Efficient as always, staff moved into place to collect discarded clothing to store in the cubbies under the stairs as well as retrieve dinner cutlery and bowls to return to the kitchen for washing. With his operation working like a well-oiled machine, Arit jerked his own shirt off and shimmied out of the loose pants he’d worn to the train station to greet their guests. Benjic stripped, too. “Security?” he asked one of his employees.

  “Several in the group left to check the grounds when they arrived,” the shifter replied in a low murmur. “The kitchen is keeping stew warm for personnel patrolling the property.”

  Focusing on the business helped Arit ignore Nick, who had disrobed alongside everyone else save Lydia and Arit’s dad. Arit wouldn’t glance at Nick’s groin nor his ass. Wouldn’t give Benjic the satisfaction of more evidence of his keen interest than Arit’s hard jutting dick. He was an adult. He could control his body’s responses. He gritted his teeth through the flush of warmth pumping through him and concentrated on his job. “Ensure heated blankets are ready when we’ve finished our run. We won’t be long, probably half an hour in this weather. An hour, tops.”

  The lodge employee nodded. “Evacy has afghans and throws warming.”

  “Heated blankets.” Rolan arched an eyebrow at Nick. “Ain’t that precious.”

  “I am their crown prince.” Nick grinned. “If not for the rebellion, I would’ve ultimately mated into this tribe to become a prince of the Urals, no less.”

  Benjic grunted. “Still might.”

  “Don’t count on it, pal.” Rolan clapped his hands in eager anticipation. “I’ll have to get used to the coddling instead of freezing my ass off when I shift back to my human form. You ready?”

  “Yes.” Nick passed the stockings he’d removed to a lodge employee and offered a polite smile. “Thank you. No need to leave my clothes downstairs. I’ll head directly to bed after our run. If you take my things to my room, you can enjoy an early night rather than waiting for me.”

  Arit blinked. Tried and failed to remember any capitol shifter exhibiting such deference and courtesy to his staff before.

  “Thanks.” The staff member beamed his gratitude.

  Naked, Benjic repeated Nick’s kind offer to his own attendant.

  “Suck up,” Arit said with a fierce scowl.

  “Your pissy attitude won’t ruin this for me. I haven’t set foot or paw on this land in decades, territory that has been in my family for centuries. I gave up my rights to this place for you and your future, but securing your legacy doesn’t mean I haven’t missed home. I’m going to wallow in every minute.” Benjic laughed when Arit’s eyes narrowed on him and he turned to Arit’s dad. “He knew this land and the old tribal headquarters you remodeled into the lodge were mine, right? That I surrendered it to you in trust for him?”

  “He chooses to ignore the fact you didn’t leave us destitute and instead provided the means to support our child. But yes, he knows.” Dad shrugged. “Go. Explore the improvements we made. Have fun. Dealing with our stubborn son will be waiting for you after.”

  Annoyance spiking, Arit led the others to the French doors spilling from the hall to the rear patio. “This way.” He swung the doors wide, gratified to see his staff had already lit warming fires in platforms dotted around the patio. The gusting wind, frigid and familiar, sliced through him. He shivered as the tour group huddled on the natural stone. Born in the Urals, Arit had acclimated to the bitter winters, but the cold still caught his breath. He didn’t like to imagine how the storm must feel to tourists. “If you’d prefer to shift in privacy…” He waved to several changing closets separating the patio from an inground pool guests enjoyed in the summer season, but he’d ordered drained and covered weeks ago. “Or you can shift in the wild, as our ancestors did.”

  “Ancestors?” Though his teeth chattered, Nick chuckled. “Gardens in all the palaces were equipped with changing closets for visitors, but the imperial family didn’t use them. I’ve never seen the inside of one and I don’t intend to start now.” Nick’s smile stretched wide, despite the cold and snowflakes sticking in his hair. He slapped his adopted brother on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait!”

  The crown prince hesitated, raising an eyebrow at Arit, who rocked his weight from foot to foot. “Your necklace.”

  “What of it?”

  “You need to take it off.” Arit gulped at the ferocious scowl Nick concentrated on him. “Wearing anything at your throat that could twist and choke you during a shift isn’t wise. It could snag on branches during your run, too.” Arit’s nerves skittered at Nick’s black glower at him. “Keeping jewelry on you during a shift is risky. Reckless.”

  “The chain is flimsy and inexpensive. It’ll break before presenting any genuine danger to me and should I lose it during my run, my sense of smell is sharp enough to find and recover it later.” Lip curling to a sneer, Nick covered the locket with his hand. His glare challenged Arit or anyone else to argue. “The necklace stays.” Dropping his hand from the locket he was bizarrely attached to, enough to risk injury, Nick jerked his chin at his brother. “C’mon. The Urals await.”

  Rolan shivered but gamely ran from the patio and into the untamed darkness, the crown prince at his side. Benjic frowned but hurried after them. The group split, half stumbling to the changing closets and the others following Nick into the rocky wilderness surrounding the lodge.

  Arit didn’t bother waiting to shift. Why? His fur would insulate him from the cold, and he tolerated few insecurities about forcing the transition from man to wolf in front of an audience. He wouldn’t have gone far in his profession if he was shy about shifting. He shut his eyes and reached for his inner beast, welcoming and inviting the wolf forward. He barely felt the flat stones of the patio against him as he dropped to the ground. His bones snapped. Muscle reformed. Fur pushed through his skin to blanket him against the pelting snow. Shifting hurt, but even before Arit had made embracing shifter heritage his avocation, he’d spent a lot of time on four paws hunting and exploring the land his absent sire had deeded to him. Like any other skill, practice helped Arit become better at shifting. Faster. Instead of requiring a prolonged and agonizing period to complete the change from man to wolf like most of his clients, Arit could finish the process in under a minute.

  When he rose from the flagstones, he was all wolf. Though his senses were more sensitive in his human form than non-shifters, that couldn’t compare to the wealth of sounds that met his ears nor the clarity of movement he could see with his wolf’s eyes despite the gently falling snow. Fleeing prey animals skittered in loose rocks, and the muted groans of customers still struggling through the transition to wolf echoed in Arit’s ears. A snowy owl high up in a tree that gusts had newly stripped of leaves turned its head to regard him warily. Arit was no stranger to the dark, but as he crept from the patio, familiarity nor his improved sight was necessary to find the guests who had spilled into the grounds. He caught the bountiful riches of their scents in his nostrils before he lifted his muzzle for a deeper sniff, surprise perking his ears when the unmistakable smell of a strange wolf lingered in the crisp air. At least one in the tour group had completed the shift to wolf as readily and rapidly as Arit had.

  Perhaps Rolan, the prince’s adopted brother. He had a raw wildness about him Arit couldn’t mistake as anything except the sign of another who had embraced his roots.

  He padded from the lodge into the rocky surroundings, resisting the instinct to renew his scent markers to warn these new wolves whose territory they trod. When his chest heaved, frigid air filled his lungs. Not as icy as the winter season would soon become, but he shivered regardless. He would’ve loved a longer run to burn off the energy of his unwelcome mating heat, but city shifters wouldn’t last in the plummeting temperatures as this first snow storm sank its teeth into the Urals. After he finished catering
to his guests, Arit resolved to return outdoors. The lodge didn’t need to be resupplied with fresh game yet, but the urge to run and run and run seared through him.

  He followed the scent trail of the others and halted on a granite ledge where the mountain abruptly shot into the clouds when he spotted the wolf watching from the top of an outcrop of stone leading higher. Around him, the other guests twisted and writhed, limbs shortening, dense fur emerging, newly released claws scrabbling on the rock, but Arit noticed only peripherally, his attention focused on the shifter who was his equal in hurrying the transition to wolf.

  Arit blinked, but the veil of drifting snowflakes hadn’t lied. Uninterrupted by the muddled gray fur common in the Ural tribe, the white wolf’s pelt gleamed brighter in the night than the crescent moon would’ve if storm clouds hadn’t concealed its light. He was no runt, either. The wolf stood tall and proud on the rocky outcropping above them, dense muscle bulging beneath the dazzling white fur that beckoned to Arit. Commanded him. The white wolf’s ears perked. His yellow-eyed gaze swept the plateau dotted with other guests yet transitioning into their beasts, as though the wolf stood guard over them during the vulnerable moments of the shift and would protect the group from all harm.

  As if Arit could entertain any doubt of the wolf’s identity, the cheap gold locket gleamed at the beast’s throat, as good as a flashing neon sign.

  Heart thudding against his ribcage, Arit shuffled his paws forward. He crept past the befuddled gray wolf that smelled like his sire, black fur tipping his ears similar to Arit’s, and ignored the wolf’s shake of his head and awkward attempt to rise from the cold ground. He inched around the wolf closest to the emperor, too, this beast a darker gray but with white fur like socks at his paws and throat. The emperor’s adopted brother was another lost noble, then. Figured. At least Rolan shook off the disorientation of the shift faster, already lifting from the dirt on steady legs. Arit couldn’t be distracted by them, though his wolf vibrated with eagerness to greet and learn the scents of these new wolves in his territory. Instead, he walked to the stony juts rimming the mountainside upon which the white wolf had climbed because nothing—nothing—was more important than reaching Arit’s mate. When Arit neared the foot of the boulder Nick had crested, Nick finally looked at him. Arit halted, barely resisting the instinct to whine and lower to his belly.

  Alpha.

  The white wolf was no omega, nor beta. Only another alpha could tempt Arit to cede to him, to bow or submit. Not that Arit did, either. The land was his, the shifters his to watch over during their stay in the Urals including Nick. Chest swelling with pride, Arit marched to the base of the rock, stare locked on the magnificent beast who should and would be his. He met Nick’s regal stare and, huffing out a breath, Nick broke whatever imperial training still lingered inside him to grin at Arit, Nick’s pink tongue lolling from his snout in glad welcome.

  He was the most handsome wolf Arit had ever seen.

  Arit choked off a warning growl as Rolan joined him, nudging Arit with his shoulder. He, too, stared up at the crown prince with adoring eyes, though not as a rival. Rolan truly did love him as a brother. Men lied, and in their human forms, devious shifters could learn to manipulate their scents to deceive, too. The wolf cared not for clever tricks, though. Rolan loved Nick with the same devotion reserved for family, and Arit sensed identical affection from Nick when he glanced down at Rolan at Arit’s side.

  Rolan whined at the white wolf, Rolan’s head dipping to avert his gaze. He didn’t lower to his belly as an omega would have, but the deference of a beta was unmistakable.

  Panting out a pleased breath, Nick turned and climbed down the rock. By the time he joined Arit and Rolan, Benjic had scrambled to Arit’s other side despite a low growl to his sire from Arit. Wolf or man, Benjic wasn’t stupid. He didn’t touch Arit. They didn’t brush against one another in greeting as Rolan and Nick did, nor did either of them lick the other’s snouts as Rolan lapped at Nick. Arit would’ve bitten and snapped at Benjic even for such a submissive posture simply for daring that degree of intimacy, but with the crown prince and his adopted brother’s happy welcome crowding him, Arit couldn’t escape proximity with his wily sire, either. Ears flicking with his annoyance, Arit glared at Benjic and waited for the rest of the group to complete their shifts as snowflakes drifted from the blackening sky.

  Waited for his mate to acknowledge him.

  Tail straight, ears perked, Nick finally faced Arit who did not cower at his mate’s authoritative stare. An emperor Nick may be, but between them, there was no such thing as royalty, station, or status. Only equally matched dominance and the wispy scent of aroused interest. If Arit had trouble squelching his desire for Nick while they were in both their human forms, denying his lust as his wolf was nigh impossible. His blood sizzled in his veins with their burgeoning mating heat. Arit couldn’t hide his craving, and as a wolf, trying wouldn’t have occurred to him. Nor did Nick attempt to mask what he wanted. His arousal was bare for Arit to see, in the darkening of his pupils in Nick’s shifter yellow eyes, to the ripe and bewitching scent taunting Arit to come closer. Arit’s fevered brain tempted him with the possibility of mounting Nick and being mounted by him, so much Arit trembled. The crown prince shook, too, and despite Nick’s fresh arrival to the Urals, Arit was willing to bet he shivered with desire rather than from the freezing temperatures.

  Next to him, Benjic huffed and wagged his tail. As the rest of their group stumbled toward them, Benjic stretched out his front legs and raised his hind quarters in an invitation to play. Arit snarled at him, but loosing a joyful bark, Nick accepted by pivoting and streaking up the rocky mountainside.

  Benjic and Rolan raced after him.

  Tail high, Arit followed, too. Falling snow blew into his eyes and dusted the ground under his paws as he ran, stare hardly diverting from the white wolf sprinting ahead. Nick hadn’t shifted into this form since he was a young prince of the peoples coddled in elegant palaces. Arit remembered the reports breathlessly recounting the last emperor’s sacrifice in not shifting throughout the many seasons since the war to best hide him in the lands of men as well as cunning insinuations that perhaps more than ruthless self-control had blocked Nick from taking his animal form. Maybe, just maybe, the trauma of his family’s executions had robbed Nick of his ability to shift altogether. Nick had refused to parade his white wolf for the populace, and media had responded by implying Nick probably couldn’t.

  Streaking through rocky crevices and the snow, Arit barked with the happiness filling him. Because the pretentious capitol shifters hadn’t only been wrong in assuming Nick was an omega. They’d been wrong about his ability to shift, too, wonderfully wrong.

  Nick was possibly the strongest shifter Arit—and the tribes—had ever known.

  Higher and higher, they climbed the mountain upon which the lodge had been constructed generations ago, when the building had served as a gathering place for local tribesmen and women. Storm winds gusted, blowing fat snowflakes into Arit’s eyes. His paws slid on the ground beneath him, which grew increasingly slick with ice-crusted rock. With autumn descending upon the Urals, wind had stripped most of the leaves and greenery from the vegetation, but trees and barren scrub thinned as they neared the elevation in which the lodge’s upper camp nestled. They wouldn’t go to the camp tonight. Arit had chosen a site looking down on the valley to the east, where shallow caves pocketed the mountainside to provide emergency shelters against unpredictable spring storms. Nick could explore that far up this piece of the Urals, though—and Arit, racing to catch him.

  Not Benjic and Rolan, however. Benjic swerved, smacking into Rolan who stumbled. Both wolves rolled, wet snow clinging to their fur. Arit slowed, because the ground could be tricky here, but Benjic’s mottled gray wolf and Rolan’s wolf with the white socks of a noble only reared up on their hind legs, front legs locking together. Both wolves growled, jaws wide as they sparred, each shifter trying and failing to clamp their open mouth over the
other.

  Was the roughhousing play?

  Or dominance?

  Likely both. Arit couldn’t guess and, as long as the two weren’t legitimately fighting, he didn’t care. Let his sire and the prince’s brother wrestle. All he cared about was the white wolf ahead of him streaking up, up, up.

  Unfortunately for Nick, no one knew his territory better than Arit. He diverted to the left, taking a steeper but faster trail through towering boulders littering the mountain and emerged from the craggy rocks moments later…no more than a few body lengths ahead of the white wolf.

  Who barked in giddy surprise and continued the game by chasing Arit instead.

  Panting in the frigid and thinning air, Arit ran through the worsening storm. He wasn’t shocked that the white wolf caught up with him—the shortcut hadn’t gained Arit much distance. Arit’s heart warmed with gratitude when Nick didn’t try to retake the lead, apparently content to lope alongside Arit. Relief flooded Arit because he didn’t want posturing and plays for dominance marring their first night and their first run together.

  Chest heaving, Arit guided them through the increasingly rough terrain to a granite overlook he usually reserved showing guests until after they’d migrated to the upper camp…if he showed outsiders at all. Proud to his core, Arit wouldn’t share the places he loved most with customers who proved themselves entitled and unappreciative, but Nick was hardly that. Arit sensed his boundless admiring wonder, a synchronicity of spirit gently sinking into place as they ran. The link between them intensifying beyond physical lust should have alarmed Arit. Perhaps he’d regret it once his wolf receded and his human mind ruled him again, but for now, the budding companionship of his mate slipping into his awareness was as amazing to him as the land upon which they raced—wild but beautiful.

  He wasn’t alone anymore.

  Neither was Nick.

  Arit slowed on the trail through the rocks, and next to him, Nick curbed his sprint to a jog as well. They both pivoted, heading deeper into crevices that had bought Arit precious ground to best Nick in their race. The tumbled boulders provided a windbreak, sheltering them from brisk gusts and blowing snow. The cold didn’t rattle Arit’s bones as fiercely. The layer of snow thinned to a scant dusting on the path under their paws.