by Kari Gregg
Milling around the dying buck, this tour group didn’t flinch from the savagery. The white wolf stood tall on four paws, posture erect and alert, ears peaked, tail straight. If Nick paid any mind to the sticky blood coating him or the gore flooding from the deer’s wounds, Arit couldn’t sense it. Arit growled low when Rolan approached Nick, paws dragging in the pink snow, and he didn’t choke off that sound of fierce displeasure until Rolan hunched his shoulders to make himself appear smaller and timidly licked blood spattering the snowy crest of Nick’s chest.
Turning away from the submissive pose, Arit scanned the surrounding area to ensure no other predators dared poach the pack’s dinner. Other animals didn’t steal their kills often, but it happened. Mountain cats especially could be vicious. That lynxes and mountain lions didn’t usually wander this far from the heights in early winter did not lessen Arit’s wariness. He wanted this hunt, above all others, to be perfect—purportedly the white wolf’s first since childhood.
With the flick of an ear, Arit directed Chree and Jesyn into position around the dying deer to stand guard with him. The buck stopped twitching, and the barrel of its chest no longer rose and fell with its last labored breaths. Arit let loose a rumbling bark. Irritation bloomed inside him when the tour group failed to obey his signal, stares focused instead on the white wolf.
Who regally nodded.
The pack leapt at the buck. Some lapped at the hot blood spilling from their prey’s neck while others tore into the animal’s flanks to rip free chunks of meat. Rolan targeted the buck’s vulnerable belly, opening up the abdomen so the pack could reach tender internal organs, the sweetmeats prized by pack hunters. The crown prince’s brother stepped away as soon as the deer’s guts slipped from the gaping wound he’d slashed, air steaming near the gash to indicate the protein-rich heart, liver, and intestines were still warm and flush with the deer’s living blood.
The white wolf finally joined the pack at the carcass, nosing aside ropey strings of the animal’s guts to nip at his prey’s juicy liver. Nick pulled the organ free and ate it in a few greedy gulps. He woofed, snout dripping wet crimson, and returned to the delicacies the pack had offered him by choosing the deer’s heart next. The locket dangled from Nick’s throat into the mess, blood smearing the cheap gold plating. Gore pasted bristles from the deer’s pelt to it and stringy sinew clung to the locket, but the crown prince seemed to neither notice nor care.
Arit’s curiosity at the puzzling locket might drive him mad, but he dug his paws into the snow, held his ground.
Positioned around the deer to provide a guard, none of Arit’s staff joined the feast, but Arit wasn’t sure Jesyn and Chree wouldn’t have also yielded the choicest bits of the kill to Nick had they opportunity. Arit trained his staff to award the most tender cuts of their prey to guests. He’d fire any guide who failed to control his beast when game was still warm on the ground. Their duty was to watch for danger while weaker and less experienced hunters celebrated their success with a banquet of meat, Arit and his staff eating only after their guests had their fill.
His staff didn’t watch Arit alone for the signal to join the other wolves, not for this hunt. They watched Nick.
The white wolf was truly high alpha and proved it by approaching Arit with half of the deer’s heart held in his ruddy, dripping maw. He didn’t shrink, nor did Arit. Pride kept Arit’s gaze high and fastened on the white wolf’s yellow eyes, streaked with black and chocolate brown flecks. He didn’t back down when Nick reached him or shy from Nick’s snout grazing his. Tail straight, ears perked, Arit accepted the choicest of the sweetmeats from Nick in the spirit in which the offering was intended—as a mating gift. Arit chewed, the iron-rich morsel bursting with salty flavor, and shuddered as Nick’s tongue licked the rim of his mouth.
Arit needed no special bond or link to understand what this meant.
Nick couldn’t have made his designs plainer if he’d rented a billboard or screamed it from the top of the Urals.
He wanted Arit. He announced his interest in a traditional gift of meat in front of his pack. Arit could have rejected him, stayed vigilant at his post, guarding his guests. Probably should have. Giving Nick any sign or hope of success wasn’t wise. In his human form, Arit was confident he would have stood firm against Nick’s ploys and cagy seduction.
The wolf wanted what the wolf wanted, though.
So Arit ate.
Sweat prickling his skin under his thin shirt, Nick added logs to the hall’s fire from a wood box next to the fireplace. Lydia sat on the sofa nearest the heat, her blue fisherman’s sweater a gift Nick had knit for her two Christmases ago, but so far, the adventure tour company had kept the lodge warm enough for the oddity of a visiting human. Additional layers were unnecessary. Nick intended to keep it that way.
“Him, I understand,” his best friend said, her eyes sparkling when Rolan settled beside her on the sofa. “Rolan won’t pass up a single night of sex while his heat is on him. Of course, he trekked back to the lodge rather than staying at the upper camp after hunting. But you?” Her gaze narrowed on Nick. “What the fuck?”
Nick could have told her, despite last night’s submissive displays, he didn’t trust the tribes—including the Ural tribe—with his human friend, particularly a human involved in mating another shifter. Many in the tribes still objected to pair bonds that bridged their species, and he also wouldn’t leave either Lydia or Rolan unprotected in an environment in which the tribes must have surely realized controlling the ones Nick loved most was a potential means of controlling Nick. By virtue of their relationships with him, Rolan and Lydia were targets. Nick had dared joining the hunt, risking hours away from Lyd, only because most of the security team he’d brought with him from the lands of men had stayed behind at the lodge with her.
“This is a working trip for me, not a vacation.” Nick pushed back from the hearth, a believable lie that would keep the ones he loved safe already swirling in his head. “As much as I would have preferred a night at the camp, I’m obliged to make myself available to Elder Benjic and the council to finalize negotiations.” He smoothed his palms down his thighs, brushing aside any lingering dirt and debris from handling the logs for the fire as readily as he set aside any qualms over manipulating his brother and best friend. “The faster we hammer out those details, the sooner we can return home.”
Having claimed another couch across the room, Benjic sniffed in disdain at the laptop he’d been working at since the pack had streamed into the lodge from their hunt.
Human or shifter, Lydia didn’t miss the slight. “Yes?” she said, drawing out the word in a disapproving drawl. “Something you want to say about Rolan, Nick, and I going home?”
A deep V furrowed the elder’s brow. “This is where His Highness belongs.” He tipped his head at Nick, then at Rolan. “The tribes are your mate’s home, too.” He scowled at her. “You? If you reject Rolan as your mate, you can go, but not them. Tribe should be with tribe.”
Lydia clenched her jaw, temper lighting up her dark eyes. “The tribes tried to kill Nick. Some would gladly finish the job if they could. Every day we stay in the territories, his danger climbs.” She jabbed an accusatory finger in Benjic’s direction. “You don’t deserve him. You people aren’t his family, and this is not his home.”
Rolan grabbed Lydia’s hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “It’s all right, Lyd.”
“No.” Her eyes narrowed on Rolan. “It’s not.”
Too bad Nick couldn’t let his best friend’s anger rule the day. “Lydia doesn’t trust easily. She needs to see more of the tribes than hotels, trains stations, and ballrooms.” He pushed from his crouch in front of the fireplace and plunked onto the oak floor in front of the sofa occupied by Lydia and Rolan. He nudged his brother’s leg with a shoulder. “She wouldn’t feel as antagonistic toward the tribes if she learned more about the peoples, our culture, and history. You should take her on one of the driving tours, show her the Urals while we wait
for the forensic team to complete their work.” If Rolan also wandered far enough to learn the fate of his own lost family, all the better. Nick grinned.
“Leave you alone with him?” His brother scowled at Benjic. “With them? Not a chance.”
Lydia nodded. “We promised your mom we’d make sure nothing happened to you.”
“And nothing will.” Nick elbowed Rolan’s calf, and when he’d captured Rolan’s attention, he jerked his chin at Arit, who glared at him from the other side of the room, a cluster of lodge staff gathered around him. “He’ll never be far.”
Leaning forward, Lydia mussed Nick’s hair. “He doesn’t want you.”
Laughter rolled from Nick’s chest. “He isn’t happy about it, but there’s nothing he desires more than me.” Nick sensed his mate’s longing, his fascination in the link building between them, but also in the physical cues Arit couldn’t hide. His hot stare followed Nick’s every move. The flush of arousal painted Arit’s stark features. His scent, musky with lust, taunted Nick incessantly. Arit hadn’t left Nick’s side since Nick had exited the imperial suite for breakfast, had run with Nick during their hunt farther up the mountain in the afternoon. “His people will fight to the last against any intruder who means me harm, too.”
“That’s true.” Benjic closed the laptop. He handed the machine to a member of his security team and stood. “Because you are human, you can’t know, but it wasn’t only our group who offered him submission on the patio last night. The lodge staff, to a man and woman, also recognized him as high alpha.” Face smoothed to a placid mask that revealed nothing, Benjic joined them near the fireplace. “Ask your mate. Rolan will tell you the same. His Highness has never been safer than he is here.”
“Nick,” Arit growled at his sire from across the room. “He wants to be called Nick.”
Benjic waved a careless hand at his son. “See? Even from perceived social slights, Arit protects him.”
As galling as playing this game was to Nick, he had to go along. For his brother. “I realize the pomp and circumstance in the capitol was difficult for you.”
Rolan snarled. “Dog and pony show is what it was.”
“I appreciate your forbearance. Stealing a day or two away from the lodge to enjoy normal people and do normal things will do you both a world of good. Get away from the press and politics for a while. You can’t negotiate the funeral arrangements or the abdication ceremony for me anyway. Cooping you up here at the lodge is pointless. You should explore the countryside. Who knows if we’ll ever have another chance. Take lots of pictures. Eat local. Buy gifts for Mom.” He arched an eyebrow. Search for news of your birth family. “I’ll be fine.”
Towering over him, Benjic crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Why wouldn’t you visit the Urals again?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Political ugliness and intrigues. The murders of his entire family. The lengthy laundry list of wrong-headed and demeaning assumptions the tribes have made about him since he reclaimed his identity and his title.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “The question is why you’d believe he’d want to step foot in the territories at all.”
Nodding, Rolan squeezed her hand in his. “He’s here only to see that his family is decently buried. The elders’ constant scrabble for power among the tribes is tiresome to him. To all of us.” Lifting their clasped hands, Rolan kissed Lydia’s fingers. “Nick is right. We should rent a car in town and take off tomorrow, just the two of us.”
“Shifter Frontiers is a full-service resort. For our guests’ convenience, we keep several Jeeps fueled and stocked with tour maps for sightseeing excursions. Using one of our fleet will allow you to bypass the attention of media staking out rental shops in the valley, and I guarantee the small nominal fee added to your final bill for a Jeep is less expensive than typical rates in town.” Before Nick could blink, Arit dropped to the floor next to him. “I recommend the northern route through the Urals. Jeeps can handle snow from last night’s storm at the higher elevations, and the views from the peaks can’t be bested.”
“North seems…like a productive use of our day.” One corner of Rolan’s mouth curved. “If we decide to find an inn?”
“Call to let us know we shouldn’t expect you,” Arit replied, lifting his raised palms. “We’ll activate GPS to find guests who are missing in the event of emergency. Storms can appear suddenly. As a precaution, our Jeeps have been equipped with trackers satellites pick up more readily than cell phone signals, coverage of which is notoriously poor in the outer territories and the Urals particularly. Unless you’re lost, we won’t invade your privacy, though. Guests are free to drive up the entire mountain range if they wish.”
“Sounds great.” When Rolan glanced at Nick, his brows disappeared behind the heavy drape of his hair. “We’d love to reserve a Jeep. Thank you.”
Nick smothered his sigh of relief. Rolan and Lydia would search for survivors from the war in his bloodline while Nick was stuck at the lodge, mired in infernal capitol politics, and if they managed to give the media the slip, they’d be safe. Mission accomplished.
“The Jeep will be parked at the front door, keys in the ignition, at dawn.” Arit lifted his chin at a staff member, who rushed away. “If you’d prefer a guide, the ticket seller at the train station will obtain one for you, but stopping in town would, of course, alert the media of your plans.”
Lydia snorted. “We don’t need a babysitter.”
“You’re set, then.” The good news was the tribes were so focused on Nick that Rolan and Lydia could search for survivors from the revolution in his bloodline without drawing unwelcome attention. “Go. Have fun. Hopefully we’ll have finished arranging the end of my brief reign before you return to the lodge and we can finally go home.”
“You are home.” Benjic glowered. “And some in the council aren’t certain abdicating the throne is strictly necessary.”
Next to him, Arit stiffened, his spine snapping straight.
Barely managing to stifle a laugh, Nick smiled at the elder. “Is that right?”
“The monarchy in the lands of men surrendered authority to directly rule after the war with the tribes.” Benjic lifted his chin. “Peacefully. They realized times had changed and their peoples were ready for a more modern form of governance. You are cousins with the queen, yes?”
Nick curled his lip. “Distant cousins.”
Benjic leaned toward Nick. “You’ve spoken to her?”
Nick shook his head. “We were strangers before the executions. She couldn’t confirm I am Nika.” He shrugged. “Waiting for this trip to play out was more politically expedient for the royal family.” He couldn’t blame them. After the rebellion, the monarchy in the lands of men managed to hang on by a thread. Benjic was right that they’d given up the bulk of their power to rule. They served as figureheads, a relic of the past for their people. While they still led as a moral compass to the nation and, technically, had held on to the right to confirm or reject the parliamentary representatives the people elected, they risked the few powers they’d retained after the war if they dared to interfere. “They’ll better know how to deal with a throne-less cousin they’d believed dead once the matter has been settled by the tribes and their parliament decides the best path in which to proceed.”
“You grasp then how retaining your title could be possible.” Benjic dropped down to perch on the arm of the sofa upon which Rolan and Lydia sat. “Some elders feel the tribes would benefit from an emperor such as yourself providing a positive example of what service to the tribes should be.”
“Because of the popular fiction of me as an everyman.” When Nick let his shoulders slump, Arit edged closer, the toe of his boot nudging Nick’s calf in silent support. While the maneuver heartened Nick—his promised mate encouraging him was a positive sign—he was less enamored by the fact their bond was so fragile Arit apparently couldn’t sense Nick’s dejection was a ruse. Nick would simply have to make the subterfuge up to Arit later. “I’m not who
they think I am. I’m not who you and the other elders wish to believe, either.”
That much, at least, was true.
“Yes, yes. You aren’t an omega. That was a shock.” Benjic squared his shoulders. “You were refreshingly adept at controlling your beast in spite of the many winters you hid with the humans, though, not too traumatized to shift at all, and you haven’t forgotten how to hunt in a pack, either. Your skills in your wolf form can work to our benefit.” He gestured around the hall. “Arit’s adventure tour business succeeded because many in the tribes have lost touch with the wolf within in ways you never did, regardless of the hardships you faced.” The smile curving his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “We need that spirit revitalizing the tribes.”
Rolan, bless him, could always be counted upon. “You want to use him,” his brother said, voice dipping into a disgusted snarl. “As a PR stunt.”
“Not a stunt.” Benjic shook his head. “We’ve already enjoyed a splash of coverage from the media during the string of balls in the capitol that launched your visit home, and Nika carried those off fantastically. The peasantry loves him. His quiet and elegant dignity won over the political elites, too.” He frowned. “I won’t claim retaining your title would be easy. A few elders clinging to the tragedies and mistakes of the past want you gone from the tribes as soon as the memorials can be arranged, want nothing more than to close the imperial chapter of our history as rapidly as we can.” He stared at Nick. “They can be overruled. If those of us who believe you could make an exemplary spokesman to and for the tribes can be persuaded your loyalties are with our people.”
Next to Nick, Arit grunted. “You demand proof.”
“We do.” Benjic nodded decisively at his son.
Who blinked.
“What?” Arit stiffened as what his sire proposed sank in, his muscles bunching in fierce objection. “Oh no. Oh, hell no.” He growled in ripe disgust.
Nick didn’t share his mate’s distaste, but being born into royalty had its perks, such as acclimating to the demands and obligations of public service. He mightily resisted the urge to reach for the locket around his neck and instead regarded Benjic with a calm, cool stare. “You mean to see the mating pact you forged with my parents on my behalf fulfilled.”
