by Patti Larsen
The old wolf is actually pleased, obvious to me who can see past the mask of decorum he wears. And even the werewolf guards lining the throne room don’t seem to take affront to the friendly way Piers treats me. Has this been his plan for me? My wolf chuffs, though not in anger. Have Piers and my grandfather conspired to bring the two of us together? I should be upset, if that’s the case, but I’m so hopeful, suddenly, I might have more than I resigned myself to, I can’t summon anything beyond a smile.
This mating is a real possibility, then, one I hadn’t considered, not allowing myself to when Sage was my only thought. But standing here, with Piers, my wolf closing off the part of me longing for what I can’t have, the rest of me wondering now if maybe I might have the perfect mate at my side already, I relax and feel the last of Piers’s own tension leave.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so mercurial, should cling yet to Sage and the love I know my wolf has partially buried under her stoic nature. But part of my desperate loss comes from the fear I will be married off for position and power. I simply cannot live a life like that. But with Piers… hope takes the last of my hurt away, at least for now.
It helps, not hinders, they’ve been feeling me out after all. While I’ve been ignoring the two of them and their fumbling attempts at matchmaking. No longer. I slip my arm around Piers’s waist, trying it on for size, and find I like the feeling of him against me. I know I should feel odd and awkward about thinking this way, considering how I’ve just left Sage and his bed. But my wolf, as practical as ever, encourages me, and I embrace the alternative as much as I do Piers.
Do I love him? No. At least, not yet. But he is a much better choice for me than any of the pack I know. My heart swells against my wolf’s control for a moment, Sage still fresh and close in my heart. Can I do this? Just abandon the love I feel, switch it off and never think of him again? Impossible. I will carry Sage inside me, his memory and the passion I feel for him, forever. A balm against what I must do, a reminder of what I could have had. But I can’t allow it to stop me, not with my duty looming.
He is with me while I shudder at the thought of having to mate with even the best of the werewolves at my disposal. At least Piers is handsome and funny and I like him as a friend so far. He’s nothing like Sage, but maybe that’s a good thing. The constant comparison would just be too much, eventually. And may be, anyway. But I can live with that, as long as I can have the memories of who Sage and I were together to keep me warm.
Piers makes me laugh, is kind and thoughtful and always there when I need him. Maybe one day I could learn to love him, to take the space Sage holds even now, even through the cloak of my wolf’s control. It’s enough. More than I expected. Enough to begin healing my heart.
He must feel the shift in my thinking because his cheeks pink, though he doesn’t loosen his grasp on me, his false casualness adorable, really. I return my focus to my grandfather, refusing to allow the traitor thought of my missing father to cloud this moment, to ruin what I’m building. Had Raoul only remained, he could have taken the heir’s position and saved me this, left me free to live my life. But my coward of a father hasn’t changed his fur. He fled shortly after Syd freed the weres and lives now as a lone werewolf, apart from the pack, suffering his humiliation in solitude. My chin lifts. I have no shame. I fulfilled his duty to Syd when he should have done so, fear of the Dumonts or not.
I will stand up and be the were he never was. “Grandfather.” I bow my head to him, stepping away from Piers with a soft smile, so he will know I’m not doing so for the wrong reasons. “My king, I am done running and am ready to be the wereprincess you need me to be.”
Oleksander’s face blossoms in a huge smile, his emotions showing clearly as his mask of leadership falls. He rises from his throne, coming to stand before me, huge hands cupping my cheeks as he bends and kisses my forehead.
“This means you will take a mate?” So much hope and wistful sadness in his deep voice.
I nod. “I will.”
He clasps me against him, the rumbling of his joyful words vibrating in my body. “I shall assemble all eligible males at once,” he says. I pull away, just catch him winking at Piers. Proof of their conspiracy made flesh? Anger tries to resurface, no matter my relief, as I think again of being followed, but dies. I’ve made my choice, have I not? And I am ready to make another.
Oleksander’s grasp tightens on my upper arms, kind face smiling down at me. “I have only ever wanted you to be happy, my dearest Sharlotta,” he says, emotion vibrating in his voice. I’m far from stupid, Grandfather, I send to him directly. Are you and Piers working on something behind my back?
I am aware there are few, if any, weres of our pack worthy of you. My grandfather’s mental voice is full of sorrow. We are slow to convert to the new ways. And I would not wish you to mate a thug nor a mindless follower. We Moreaus are of a different breed. He glances sideways at Piers who holds his tongue and his poise. At least young Southway is powerful and a sorcerer of the Steam Union. And honorable, too. The weres trust him thanks to his friendship with your lost brother, Danilo. I was deep in bond with Syd when my brother was lost, another old ache I could no longer smother. And his involvement in our freedom. While the two of you won’t have full were children, they will still bring power and prestige to the throne in their time.
My grandfather frowns suddenly, head lifting, sniffing. I step away from him deliberately, eyes challenging him to ask me the question forming in his eyes. He looks troubled for a moment and I know he’s finally caught Sage’s scent. To dash his fears, I turn deliberately and look Piers up and down. He blushes again, grins at me like it’s funny, though I feel his nerves perk. Is he ready for this? I’m not sure I am, but he’s my best option.
“Very well,” I say out loud. “Summon those who would offer to be my mate. But know I will only choose the very best to rule at my side.”
Oleksander chuckles as Piers’s grin fades into wonder. “Of that,” he says, “I have no doubt.” He pats my friend’s shoulder with one giant hand. “May the best man win.”
***
Chapter Eleven
I escort Piers out with a slight redness to my own cheeks, knowing now where my grandfather’s mind leads him. I could do worse, and now I’ve given up on my dream of being with Sage—an impossible one I should have known better than to cultivate—I am finding my sorcerer friend’s closeness rather distracting.
I attempt to pull back and observe Piers with some dispassion as we enter the grand foyer and head for the front yard. My practical side won’t be swayed by my heart this time. I must know if he will be a good mate for me and for the werenation.
He is silent on our walk, keeping his head down, not touching me or even offering. I miss his usual banter, the sly way he winks at me with a clever grin, the brushing of his hand against mine as though by accident. I can only hope this chance at courtship won’t ruin what we have now. I couldn’t bear to think I’d lose his friendship if things didn’t work out between us.
He really is charming in his boyish sweetness, tempered by his sharp wit. Piers holds himself back from me for the first time since our friendship began. I’m grateful for his distance, despite my concern. We will both need the room to decide if the playful way we’ve chosen to engage each other can be more than just flirting and teasing. For as surely as he’s been talking with my grandfather, it must feel odd to him to have the glimmer of hope suddenly wake into pending possibility.
I will have Eva Southway to wrangle as well, should I propose mating with Piers. She’s not my first choice for a mother-in-law, the leader of the Steam Union far too harsh and cold for my liking. I’ve done some digging on his mother, out of curiosity, since the sorcerers who are our new allies have been only a shadowy presence until a few years ago. The information I’ve gleaned paints a rather grim picture of a driven and talented sorcerer letting ambition rule her. She’s won her position through calculation and manipulation, though I can hardly blame her. Had i
t not been for Syd, I’m certain I would have much more in common with Eva than not by now. Still, while I’ve cultivated my own chill exterior over the years, I feel hers runs to the heart, unlike her mercurial son and daughter.
If Eva sees our union as a benefit, she won’t stand in our way. Her concern over Piers’s interest in Syd brings back enough memories I am wary all over again. But as we step outside, my mental considerations are soothed as Piers finally looks over and smiles. Not his typical impish grin, but a genuine smile reaching his gray eyes, the scent of him stronger than ever as though he reaches for me with his body and mind if not his touch.
Dawn is lightening the eastern sky over the spiky evergreens as he stops and turns toward me. Silvery-blond hair hangs over one of his lean shoulders, a silken fall to his waist over the deep gray of his greatcoat, hanging open, showing the black button up he wears over his lean chest. The new light catches on the angles of his narrow face, makes his gaze transparent. I admire the almond shape of his eyes, his wide mouth, the way his jaw line carries to a strong chin. I’ve always thought Piers handsome, but this is the first time I’ve allowed myself to truly take in his physical beauty. It matters to the wolf inside me, my practical side admitting as much. I’m shallow that way, I suppose. But his depth of soul is more beautiful still, an excellent and impressive package.
I could learn to love him, I’m sure of it. If I let myself. If I ever let Sage go. Or, at the very least, I could care enough for him this could work, he and I. The question is, can I keep Sage’s memory from him? Can I shield Piers from the knowledge he will always come second in my heart? Sadness wakes my wolf, makes her whine softly in my head. Piers remains silent, smiling, unaware of the pain I endure at the thought of hurting both of us this way. But what choice do I have? Maybe it’s cruel to include Piers in this farce. I should send him away, choose some werewolf I can tolerate instead of ruining both of our lives with lies and old sorrows.
But Piers’s smile lures me in, and I manage a smile in return though this all feels familiar. I’m giving in to the will of others, putting aside my own wants, wants I never knew I had until I met Syd, for duty. And while doing so isn’t as comfortable and easy to slip into as it used to be, following protocol and the orders of my superior was my way of life for a very long time.
I can’t bear to spend the rest of my life with someone I can’t stand. Which means I’m dooming my friend to this hell of the heart with me. So be it, selfish weregirl. So be it.
Piers finally closes the distance between us and grasps my hand in his. The flesh is cool, his fingers stiff and tense. I squeeze gently back to soothe him as he draws a breath.
“I would like to court you, Princess Sharlotta,” he said.
So formal. My smile widens when I force it to and I purposely close the distance between us, my free hand cupping the back of his neck. My wolf rumbles approval, the pressure of my touch pulling Piers’s face down and close to mine, my lips touching his without hesitation.
I’ve kissed him on the mouth before, but never with any intent but friendship. This time I put effort into it, forcing Sage from my mind though the memory of his kiss is still fresh. I breathe into Piers’s lungs, exploring the inside of his mouth with my tongue with a hint of desperate need. Please, let me not be making the biggest mistake of both our lives. He holds back a moment, as though startled by my forcefulness, unaware it’s fed by duty, before pulling me against him and answering my kiss with one of his own.
It’s different than kissing Sage. The heat isn’t there, the fire I’m used to between us. Sage is more raw, less polished, with the passionate heart of a warrior. Piers is reserved despite his expertise, heart guarded, power holding back. Does he fear I will hurt him, or the other way around? How right he is—we may end up hurting each other, in the end, when he finally realizes I can never love him as I love another.
Whatever his cause for reservation, he’s an excellent kisser and by the time I pull away, licking my lips and smiling my satisfaction, I’m pleased with the result. I can do this. I can pretend, fake it until it’s real, or real enough to hold us together. For how long, I have no idea. But I’ll do my best to shield him if I can.
He flushes again, so adorable I barely resist pinching his cheek. Piers’s nervousness makes me feel powerful, as though I have some hold over him. An equal would be ideal, but being worshipped will have its delights.
“I accept your offer, Piers Southway,” I say, softly punching his arm. He rubs it though I know I did him no hurt, snarky grin returning.
“I’ve heard that before,” he says, but goes no further. His desire to be with Syd is no secret, though she told me long ago he removed himself from the running after Liam’s death of his own accord.
“We must open the search to eligible weremales,” I say, “if only to appease the pack. But as far as I’m concerned,” I allow him to feel the pulse of my wolf, her happiness at the direction this conversation takes us as Sage’s image wavers in the background, “you have no competition here.”
Piers’s grin widens. “I trust you’ll keep me posted if that changes?”
His question makes me sad as Sage’s scent passes through my memory. But barring a miracle, I have no doubt Piers will be my choice.
“Agreed.” I kiss him one more time, lingering. His lean body engulfs me, his strength wiry and tight, unlike Sage’s—no. I will no longer compare the two. I release my love’s image to the wolf and accept this fate, love or not.
Piers leaves at last, disappearing into darkness he creates, backing into the tunnel of black until it devours him, leaving only the new sunrise behind. I blink into it, catch sight of the white wolf watching me from the edge of the woods.
She feels sorrowful, even from this distance. I move toward her, wondering what she is looking for. But she turns and lopes into the trees long before I can reach her and is gone by the time I step into the chill dark of the forest.
Why do I have the feeling she disapproves and why does that disapproval make me sad all over again?
***
Chapter Twelve
I run, this time in human form, too irritated to enjoy the game or to embrace my wolf. I may not be as fast in this shape, but there is a certain satisfaction to the pounding of my feet, and the air rushing from my mortal lungs.
It’s easier to tire myself out, to wear down the edges of my frustration and pique without the boost of supernatural energy I gain from my werewolf body. And I’ve had more than enough werewolves in my life in the last week for me to ever desire to take my other shape ever again.
He had to put the call out for mates, didn’t he? I underestimated my grandfather’s intentions. I believed he would only do so locally, that our own pack would be the extent of his reach. When I discovered the truth, it was far too late to stop him from his plan—to call out to every single eligible weremale in the world to come and woo his granddaughter for her hand and the position of prince consort.
The old fool. I bite down hard, clenching my jaw against the need to scream curse words into the quite forest air. I’m far too much returned to Charlotte Girard, too well trained to allow my true feelings out, especially now. I have no choice but to hold myself to the highest level of my embedded discipline while packs from places I’ve never even heard of continue to trickle in, their panting, hungry offerings one sickeningly self-centered ass after another.
Disgusting, the lot of them, with their common arrogance and need to prove they are better than me. I’ve humiliated publicly more than one of them in my grandfather’s throne room, but they do not learn and they just keep coming.
When I confronted Oleksander about his decision, he seemed hurt by my anger.
“Sharlotta,” he said. “We must find for you the very best mate possible.”
While there are a few specimens that might perhaps be trainable into decent runners-up, I find myself thinking of Piers and wishing I could simply announce he is to be my mate. I’ve waffled over the past seven
days, between running away after all, and simply ending this entire masquerade by upsetting the werenation, choosing the sorcerer over all of them.
How simple my life has been until now. I had no idea, so innocent and naïve. Syd would laugh at me, I’m sure of it, tease me for my worldly face hiding a nervous and now upset girl behind the mask of my duty.
I hear them behind me, following me on my run. A few of the weremales have taken to joining me every day. But this terrain is mine, and I know it far better than they do. They maintain their own human shapes, bumbling through the foreign forest, noisy where their wereshapes are silent.
Irritation turns to bitterness as I toss aside my shirt and strip my pants from my body, shifting in an eye-blink. It costs me pain, but I embrace the feeling. I’ve used pain in the past to make me stronger, years of it my training ground, and today is no exception.
I cover more distance, laughing spitefully into the air as they fall behind, struggling to shift and follow me, catch me, even. They have no hope. They might be bigger, and, in some cases, stronger than I, but I am more powerful and my smaller body swift.
If they can’t keep up with me, I don’t want them. Nor does my inner wolf.
My mood lightens as I feel them fall away, stretching out, running at my fastest deeper into the forest. I allow the wind to wash away my anger, the rush of passing trees and scents and sounds to clear my mind. I only pause when I sense my wolf pack, waiting for me, coming to a panting halt not far from their den.
They’ve never made themselves known this close to their home before and the moment I stop, I know why. They are upset. Something is troubling them, some creature or creatures close by threatening their territory. I worry at first it’s the males who follow me and the flood of werewolves now expanding the population of the palace, but no. This is something entirely new.
