by Patti Larsen
Oleksander lunges forward when Caine stops fighting, teeth clamping over the same spot. He shakes his big head, Caine’s body tossing like a rag doll before my grandfather releases him. Caine crashes to the floor one last time, crimson pouring from his damaged shoulder, one arm bent at an odd angle as his king stands over him, blood dripping from his silver jaws.
“NO WERE.” Oleksander’s wolf voice carries, I’m certain, to the ears and hearts of all werewolves. “EVER.”
Caine pulls himself to his feet, shifting back to human, the leather pants he wore hanging from him in tatters. He glares at Oleksander. Maybe he’s going to attack in turn. But I brand him a coward when he finally bows his head and nods.
“Yes, my king,” he says.
I’ve seen his true nature, and it disgusts me. When he lifts his head and meets my eyes, I smile at him, spiteful, to show him I know exactly what he is.
Caine glares back.
My grandfather ignores his fallen opponent, though I’m still dissatisfied he’s left Caine alive. But only for a moment. Oleksander spins on Andre, towering over him and his cringing sons, long tongue licking the blood from his snout, curved claws cupped, giant haunches ready to launch him at their weak, human bodies. All is forgiven if he will just deal the Dumonts their final due and have done with it.
“If I ever catch you near my people again,” he snarls, the words spitting out of his wolf-muzzle, “I will personally kill you and your sons before wiping your despicable coven from the face of the earth.” He bends closer while my hands fist at my sides, wanting to be with him, to see the fear in Andre firsthand instead of just catching satisfying whiffs of it from a distance. “I will hunt you and your people until not one remains, Andre Dumont. And I will drink of your blood and eat of your flesh until not a single Dumont lives to perpetuate your evil.”
Andre’s magic crackles, but Oleksander’s meets it. I have no idea if my grandfather’s power is equal to the coven leader's, but the appearance of his opposition makes Andre finally back down.
“You can’t touch us,” Andre says. That’s fear talking. I smile wider. “The Councils will retaliate.”
“Not if you invade my territory again,” Oleksander says. “This is your final warning, Dumont. From here on in, your life is forfeit.”
There are no further arguments from Andre, though I wish he would push the issue, just to give my grandfather cause to make good on his warning. The Dumont leader and his two sons leave in a hurry, followed closely by four guards also in wereform, panting and breathing down their necks. I wait for the door to the throne room to close before turning my attention to Caine.
His injuries have mostly disappeared, our considerable power focused on healing us from major injury one of the main reasons we are so sought after as bodyguards. A gift, though I used to think it a curse, wishing I could just die at times from my hurts.
Oleksander returns to his human form, massive body rippling muscle as he stands over Caine, still topping the Californian alpha by at least half a foot, no matter his advanced years. “The next time you challenge me,” he says, dropping the preamble of threat and fear he used on Andre. “I’ll kill you.” No other words are needed.
Caine simply nods, leading his people out. This law, at least, hasn’t changed, nor will it. The way of the pack is the way of the strongest leader, though strength, I’ve learned, comes not only from physical power, but emotional and magical force as well.
I’m startled when Piers speaks. I’ve forgotten he was there and from the slight tremor in his voice, I realize he’s never seen such violence from my grandfather before.
“They are up to something,” my friend says while I wonder which set of enemies he refers to. “They didn’t come here to hire weres.” Ah. The Dumonts.
“No,” Oleksander says, accepting a robe from one of his wereguards before joining us on the dais. “He is definitely here for other reasons.”
“If you’ll allow,” Piers’s eyes meet mine a moment before he looks away, “I would take my leave.”
“This isn’t your concern,” my grandfather says.
“No,” Piers says, “but I’m curious now. With your permission, I’ll see what I can find out?”
The blond sorcerer leaves it there, he and I both waiting to hear what my grandfather’s verdict will be. I simply can’t hold my tongue.
“If not him,” I say, “then me.”
Oleksander chuckles, one large hand on my shoulder. “We both know if I send you, my dear granddaughter, the Dumonts will meet a grisly end.”
“It will only be grisly if someone finds the bodies,” I say.
Piers winks at me as my grandfather softens.
“We would be happy to accept the assistance of the Steam Union in this matter.” He reaches out to Piers with his other hand, squeezing both of our shoulders at once. “Whatever you uncover, I expect you to be discreet.”
“In the meantime,” I say, “we need to expel Caine and his werewolves from the palace.”
Oleksander looks troubled while I impatiently await his agreement.
“They are werewolves,” he says at last with pain in his eyes. “And while Caine may not know his place, our kind has been on the outside for far too long, Sharlotta.”
I almost argue, but I have other means of getting what I want. “Fine,” I say before turning to Piers. “I’ll walk you out.”
We leave my grandfather on his throne, my stride carrying me swiftly to the door. Piers’s hand on my arm slows me somewhat, though I tsk at him for the delay.
“You’re not going after them,” Piers says, lips close to my ear.
I long to. It would make things so much easier, the world a much better place if the Dumonts weren’t in it any longer. But I nod.
“Agreed,” I say. “You find out what you can. I have another job to do.”
Piers pulls me to a halt at the front steps, frowning at me. He touches my cheek with one cool fingertip. “You’re going after Caine.”
“I want him out,” I snarl, unable to control my anger. Syd has created a monster, freeing my emotions like this. “My grandfather might be king and one of the bravest werewolves I know, but he’s wrong about Caine. I don’t care if he’s a were. Anyone who challenges Oleksander’s authority isn’t welcome here. Time to encourage Caine and his little pack to move on.”
Piers nods, worry in his eyes. “Just be careful,” he says.
I pat his cheek and spin him toward the lawn. “You, too.”
I watch him go, the black tunnel closing behind him, before opening my senses to the palace and spinning in my tracks. Caine’s particular scent reaches my flaring nostrils at the same time I sense his magic.
Like it or not, my grandfather would just have to understand my need to take out the trash.
***
Chapter Eighteen
The Californian leader is easy enough to find. And from the grin on his face, he's been waiting for me to track him down. I don't want to disappoint him. Though I do refrain from going for his throat, at least for now. I know I have no paws to stand on in this particular conversation, but I need to take my own personal measure of this wereleader and his pack. To push a little and see what surfaces. I might not have the authority to send them scurrying back to America just yet, but I want to know just who I’m dealing with, outside of my grandfather’s purview.
The fact Caine is surrounded by his people, lounging in a chair in his elaborate quarters my grandfather was so gracious to supply has nothing to do with my reticence. I'll happily take out his throat no matter the risk to myself if he gives me cause. But I couldn't care less at this point.
I just want him to go away, and if I can find a chink in his armor, a reason to suggest to Oleksander for his removal, I’ll do it any way I can.
Viveca and Roman attempt to block my path to Caine as I slam open his door and stalk across the room. Their arrogance I will not tolerate. The weregirl goes flying, blood gushing from her nose, the bulky Rom
an sagging as my fist makes an indent in his side. They try to rally, the rest of the pack watching with hungry eyes, but Caine waves them off, showing his teeth.
“The princess may approach,” he says.
He is trying to shake me, to make me act without thinking. To force me to attack him instead of the other way around. I simply come to a halt and glare, hands on hips. I’m so much better than that. He has no idea who he’s dealing with and what I’ve endured. His kind, dangerous if allowed to fester and sow discontent, are none the less pathetic compared to the horrors I’ve lived through to tell the tale.
He simply doesn’t stand a chance against me.
“Werelaw demands you stand to salute your princess.” I keep my voice low and soft, though my wolf surfaces in my eyes.
“Werelaw.” Caine snorts. “Your laws.”
“All of ours.” He’s arrogant, yes. But would he go against law? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The werenation is so young and we have very little reach to enforce laws. I feel a sudden wave of crushing doubt. Are my grandfather and I simply fooling ourselves? Can we actually band all weres together? We’ve been hiding away in the palace, playing at being leaders. The real world is so much bigger and full of those who would stand for other things.
I’m staring at one of them right now.
If Caine senses my shift in mood, he doesn’t take advantage, simply continues with his slick egotism. “So you say. But we’ve been on our own for a long time. Where was your werenation, Charlotte? Where were you and your grandfather when we were slaves?”
It’s an excellent question, one I don’t have an answer to. “We are trying to put our past behind,” I say. “To assemble the full nation into a powerful whole.”
Caine sits back. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He grins at his people who murmur assent, though they don’t look all that warm and fuzzy toward the idea. “To join the mighty werenation.”
He’s a liar and has other intentions, I can smell it in him. “Then our laws,” I say, “must be upheld. Agreed?”
“Only if we’ve all decided on those laws.” Caine’s humor vanishes, a growl escaping him. “You follow ancient rules set down centuries ago. But things have changed, the world has shifted. And we must shift with it or stagnate.”
More agreement, this time authentic. The worst part is I’m leaning toward his argument myself. I wanted to get the measure of this werewolf. He’s giving me what I asked for, and more.
“If you have changes to suggest,” I say, “take them up with my grandfather. But there are those laws that will not be altered. Such as unequivocal obedience to your king.”
Caine’s eyes glitter as his grin returns. “Of course,” he says. “A strong pack needs a strong alpha.”
Why do I get the feeling he’s not talking about Oleksander. Do I need to worry Caine has aspirations for the throne? Silly Charlotte, of course he does. Why else is he here? I can’t risk threats to my grandfather. And the more I stare into Caine’s eyes, the more I want him gone. I’ll deal with him privately, once he’s out of Oleksander’s sight.
That is, if I can get Caine to leave voluntarily.
“Time to go,” I say. “You and your pack can find somewhere else to be while you propose your changes to our laws from a distance.”
Caine helps himself to a plate of grapes, nibbling on one as his eyes travel the length of my body. I want to shower, to wash myself clean of his hungry gaze, but I've been under such scrutiny before. Much worse, in fact. It won't kill me, but losing my temper could cause more problems than solutions. I pull the memory of my mother and her admonishments around me and show him only my cold glare of determination.
“That isn't your decision to make,” Caine says, teeth crunching the soft flesh of the grape in an audible snap of its skin. “Unless our great and fearless king has decided to have us removed?”
“Preemptive suggestion,” I say, though I’ve already lost this argument. “Leave before I make you leave.”
Caine gains his feet, doing his best to intimidate with his superior size. I almost laugh in his face. I've faced this before, too. No one makes me afraid, not on my turf, not after what I've endured in my lifetime. And with every failed attempt to intimidate, with each push against me, Caine loses his battle with me, though he might not yet know it. Caine may think he's tough. He has no idea what tough really looks like.
“I'll leave,” he growls at me, “when I'm dragged out of this palace and my dead body dumped in the forest.” His weres echo his growl.
“That,” I say, “can be arranged.” But I have no paws to stand on at this point, not without Oleksander’s backing. I might not be impressed with Caine’s little bully act, but until my grandfather gives me the go-ahead, my hands are tied. “I’ll be back with some plastic sheeting.” I lean closer with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to splash your blood on the décor.” I turn and leave, teeth gritted, wishing my grandfather weren't so focused on the werenation and could see the danger Caine and his people pose.
I was wrong to doubt. My grandfather and I have worked so hard to pull our nation together, and to create relationships with other magical races. We can’t expect to succeed over
night. It will take years to pull everyone together, years of strife and frustration. But we are stronger now than we’ve ever been and this is the last time I will allow anyone—especially a werewolf like Caine—to make me feel inadequate.
I also refuse to allow a rogue pack to ruin things for us, especially a pack willing to confront and challenge my grandfather.
My normally quiet feet stomp down the stairs, but my anger doesn't have further time to build. My intent to return to Oleksander and plead my case against Caine once again is curtailed by the rush of shadow on the staircase and the panting appearance of my friend, Maksym, and his vampire girlfriend, Isabelle.
Maks is in were form, his body hunched around Isabelle's slim body as though to protect her. I stare at the two, wondering why he's so nervous, considering the vampire could likely outfight my werewolf friend on power alone.
Isabelle’s light brown hair ripples with gold around her, eyes of the same color filled with worry. She hurries forward and grasps my hand in her slim ones, pulling me to her, back up the stairs in a hurry. I wonder why she glances over her shoulder with a nervous expression, tugging me into the hallway and the darkness of a shadowed corner. I open my mouth, now irritated by their secrecy, but Isabelle silences me with a hissing whisper.
“You need to come quickly,” she says, golden eyes full of anxiety. “There is trouble brewing in Yutsk.” The local coven town is led by a pair of powerful witches. It used to be we avoided each other as best we could, the Black Souls wanting nothing to do with witch meddling. But now we are free, Oleksander has made a point of befriending the Makosky leaders and their coven.
“What's happened?” While I don't need more trouble, the distraction gives me something new to think about. Though the thought one of my weres causing trouble in the coven town stirs my anger further.
“It's not what you think,” Maks says in a deep, gravel voice. “Someone is asking about you.”
My brows come together, a heavy feeling in my stomach chilling my anger into worried confusion. “Who?”
“We don't know him,” Isabelle says, looking up at Maks. “But he knows a lot about you, Charlotte. And he's making the witches nervous.”
I nod, releasing her hand, hesitation gone. Whoever it is, they won't be asking for long. “Show me.”
The shadows that carry me to Yutsk feel far different than the sorcerous tunnels I've ridden lately. Spirit magic lives in the flickering shades the vampires use to travel. When we step out into the back courtyard of the towering hotel, its shadow looming over us, I instinctively look up at the black-stained building. It’s the main landmark of the town and has always given me a hint of the creeps, like a haunted house in an old horror film might. I look back in time to see Isabelle stagger slightly, Maks reverting t
o human to catch and support her.
“Apologies,” she says in a hushed voice. “Traveling with more than Maksym over such a short time period takes the strength from me.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your dedication to me and the pack.” I'm already turning toward the back door. “You two stay here. I’ll check this out myself.”
“Not likely.” Maks and Isabelle are right behind me, her pale face composed whether she’s recovered or not. I sigh, shaking my head, wondering if this was how Syd used to feel when I refused to let her act alone.
From my own experience, I know better than to argue with them.
I slip through the door into the dark hall, the few faint, quaint lights casting a soft yellow glow over the dark wallpaper, the elaborately woven runner lying the length of the corridor. Being inside only accentuates my feeling of walking into a stereotypical Hollywood film. Heavy, dark furniture lines the walls, the kitchen on the left, scents of boiling cabbage and some kind of roast meat making my stomach growl.
It's only a moment to the front lobby, where I pause and observe the quiet space. Visitors are rare here in Yutsk, for good reason, though the odd witch family comes to call from time to time. I glance behind the front desk, finding it empty. A few steps carry me to the guest registry, open on the black-stained counter, my fingers sliding down the column to the last name on the list.
My touch stutters over the Dumonts. They were staying here? The date is from a day ago, they must be gone by now, per my grandfather’s orders. But, their situation escapes me as I falter and gape at the last name penned in crisp hand at the bottom of the row.
It can't be. He can't have found me here. And yet, there it is, his name in black ink on the yellowed sheet. Sage America, Room Six.
***
Chapter Nineteen
I spin and bound for the stairs, the patch my wolf placed over my heart shattering into a million shards now jabbing me ruthlessly with pinpoints of agony. Sage is suddenly in my senses, the love surging back so abruptly I stumble one step before catching myself. I’m unable to pull air into my lungs, fear and heartache and other emotions I can't control driving me forward while my wolf chuffs and fights me for calm. My speed leaves Maks and Isabelle behind, scenting him, the final bit of proof I need to the reality of this disaster, about a heartbeat before I slide to a halt at his door.
