by Brea Viragh
It also meant that Calen had to be careful. Stealthier than he had been before. There was no way in hell he’d remain confined to the kitchen and miss the opportunity to see Odessa dance one last time, before she became a permanent figurehead for their combined packs and traveled even further out of his reach.
When she moved her body, she bent the air around her. The very stars paused their shining to watch her. He’d seen grown men fall to their knees as witness. He was one of them.
He could never tell her.
When Bozart had his back turned, his throat sore from screaming out orders, Calen slipped out the rear door and took the scenic route to the gardens. It was the same path he’d traveled every day for the last twenty years he’d lived under Alex’s roof, twists and turns around the side of the mansion toward the oak tree where he and Odessa used to meet as children. They’d spent hours lost in those lumbering branches, pretending to be pirates. Outlaws. Cops and robbers. Whatever their imaginations dictated.
The only thing Calen could never pretend to be was just her friend.
He’d recognized the connection between them from the moment they locked eyes: two scared eight-year-olds, one without a mother, one without anyone at all. Except he had never stood a chance with her. Not even if his parents had survived.
So, Calen watched from the shadows of the tree where they used to play. Watched as the curtains rose, and there stood Odessa in her shimmering glory. She’d changed out of the obnoxious dress she’d be expected to wear for the rehearsal dinner, clad only in a tight leotard of the same silvery color and a sheer skirt sewn through with pearls and crystals. Her leg stretched to the side, toes pointed, and her gaze at the floor. She was an angel, something ethereal and not of this earth. Too beautiful to exist with the rest of them.
The light brought out the shades of buttery platinum in her hair, hair he wanted to curl around his fingers.
He held his breath with his heart flipping over in his stomach. If he lived to be a thousand years old, he would never see as sight as breathtaking as Odessa when she danced.
The first notes of string instruments cut through the air with a keen bay of sound, and she spurred her body into movement. Light as a feather. Supernatural grace and pride in each step.
It wasn’t until the ache in his chest grew that Calen realized he’d been holding his breath.
They made eye contact once, Odessa’s upper body swooping down in a hold and her gaze shifting across the crowd until she found him. Up close, her eyes would be a golden flame, he knew. Warm and giving like a fire on a long winter’s night. The kind that sank down to the bones without a hint of violence, although he’d seen those eyes go cold. Seen them laced with a predator’s instincts when the change took her.
Calen sent her a proud smile that she may or may not have lost in the rest of the swinging step. His heart moved with her, belonging to no one else. She’d always held it in her hands. To crush or to cherish.
God, he shouldn’t have come up here tonight. He shouldn’t have tortured himself with images of her.
One last look, he promised himself. Before she was shipped off to marry that creep in the front row. With his flat forehead, military grade hair, and humorless face.
Calen’s hands bunched into fists.
Sighing, he twisted around until he had his back to the stage. He would never be good enough for her. Through circumstance and bad luck, he’d come to love the one creature in this world he could not have.
Once upon a time, there was a lone wolf who could not change, and a princess he loved very much...
The creep, at least, could give Odessa the life she deserved. One of privilege and respect.
Not that she would ever fall for a wolf like Calen, even if their way to each other had been open and clear.
Head dropped low, he fought against the dark emotions swirling inside of him. It was time to get back to the kitchen. He’d spent enough time shirking his duties.
Calen forced his legs to carry him out of the garden, one in front of the other, the heat from the ovens already pressing down on him, if only from his own memory.
Then a shriek pierced the air.
He whirled around in time to see the recently dropped curtain torn to shreds from the backside. Four distinct claw marks formed before the fabric was ripped from the rods and fell to the floor in a pool of red.
“Odessa!”
His scream blended into the masses, the first few rows rising from their seats on a unified howl of confusion.
Without thinking, Calen surged forward, fighting to get to the stage. His heart had leaped into his throat and refused to move, blocking air to his lungs.
“Odessa,” he cried out again, shoving at a couple as they stood still in shock.
This wasn’t part of the performance. The air electrified, the hair on his arms stood on end, every nerve ending aware.
Someone was playing with magic.
The world came crashing down around him with a sense of violence, the dying remnants of Odessa’s screech echoing across the garden.
Calen struggled to pause, to force himself to relax and unclench his fists. A few more feet and he’d stand in front of the stage. Alarmed, he scanned the area, looking for familiar faces.
The rest of the pack were in an uproar. Alex stood in the center of the mess with his guards around him, the Evertooth alpha at his side, barking orders and trying to calm the rising panic. There was no time to stop. No time to take stock of the situation.
Calen’s stomach clenched as he jumped past the two alphas and landed neatly on the stage on the balls of his feat. There was no sign of Jean. No sign of Chelsea or any of the other bridesmaids who had been dancing in the chorus behind Odessa.
He called her name again, praying for an answer that never came.
“Everyone, calm!” Alex called, his voice magnetized to carry over the hysterical crowd.
A primal instinct kicked in, one so powerful, Calen could not control his actions. He slammed his forearm into a guard who came too close, trying to clear the area. Though he couldn’t shift, he felt the wolf inside of him rise up in protest. In earnest desire to protect the mate that wasn’t.
Where is she?
Calen lifted his nose to the wind and came away with the scent of gunpowder and blood.
Magic?
His lips lifted in a snarl, though his teeth remained human.
“Odessa.” This time, his voice dropped on a husky growl. He had to find her.
Shoving the other guards out of the way, he followed her scent, what little he could find of it. A shining trail leading him away from the chaos. Away from the crowds and the gathered clouds on the horizon. Clouds born of exposure to magic. Who the hell among them was strong enough to warrant that kind of reaction in the atmosphere?
The screams continued from the crowd, dropping in tenor the further he ran.
His lungs pumped air into his oxygen-deprived body. Arms and legs working in tandem, Calen sprinted away from the garden. For an endless minute, the only thing he heard was his own heart working overtime. His own labored breathing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and froze him from head to toe.
Someone had taken Odessa.
He might not be able to shift, but he recognized the scent of violence surrounding them. Like a cold rain on his senses.
Her familiar energy registered in the air like a heat signature. Calen followed it through the mansion toward the front door.
Then lost the trail.
No, I didn’t lose it, he thought, stopping on the stoop and twisting his body left and right. It stopped dead.
Calen stumbled off the stoop, past the rows of cars parked on the front lawn. “No.”
It couldn’t be true. How could the trail just end? She had to be somewhere. Someone had taken her.
Why wasn’t anyone else looking?
An elbow crashed into him and sent him flying, landing in the grass on his hands and knees.
When Calen gl
anced up, two wolves stood over him with fangs extending from their lips. Both were tall, with their arms tucked to their sides and their powerful bodies covered in dark leather. Identical grins flashed on their faces, swords hanging at their sides although neither one needed the weapons. They were display, ornamentation.
The males were pale skinned, dark haired, with flashing hazel eyes that fixed on the minutest movement. Their features were not classically handsome by any means, but attractive nonetheless, elemental and rough.
Short-and-choppy black hair allowed for the wolf to his left’s face to clear as he surveyed Calen from head to toe. “Get back in the kitchen, Siegfried,” he taunted. “You don’t belong here. Shouldn’t be here.”
“Someone took Odessa.” He struggled to tell them, rising to his feet.
“Then leave it for the alphas to figure out. I’m sure ole Van Roberts already has people searching for his bride.” The two shared a look. “The rest of the vanguard have been sent.”
“No,” Calen repeated, standing his ground against the two senior wolves.
Close to him in age but worlds apart in hierarchy. These were the muscles of the Taunway pack. The twin wolves, Ghast and Nova. Alex’s personal hitmen.
“No?” Nova scoffed, turning to his partner with a wouldn’t-you-look-at-him sneer. “You’re saying you don’t trust the Evertooth pack to do their job? Don’t you understand what this means, if Odessa has really disappeared?”
“Which I doubt,” Ghast filled in. The one with the short hair. “Odessa probably set up the whole scene to try and escape again. Some Princess she’s turned out to be. A real disappointment if you ask me. This contract with the Evertooth will secure resources for both packs and she’d rather bolt.”
“You leave her alone.” The sound of her name sent an electric charge rushing through every molecule of his body.
“Leave her alone? Our men are trying to fix the mess she’s made of tonight. Dignitaries are pissed, people are scared, and it seems she’s run off with her bridesmaids.” Nova shook his head, deep-black hair falling over his brow. “If she doesn’t turn up and go through with this marriage, it’s war. Selfish, if you ask me.”
Did the two of them really not recognize the magic in the air? The way the clouds had moved in, charged, in the aftermath?
“You two are dumber than you look,” Calen said with a scowl. After a moment to catch his breath and order his thoughts, he leveled a cold stare at the two of them. “But I’m not going back until I find her.”
Ghast reached out to grab his arm when Calen turned to leave. “I said, leave this—”
He reacted on pure instinct, lashing out to slam the palm of his hand into the taller wolf’s jaw. No longer in control of his movements, a fierce determination fueled him; he needed to find Odessa before anyone else did.
She hadn’t run. She wouldn’t, not seriously, not when she knew the future of her pack depended on her.
“You little son of a bitch.”
Nova reacted for his brother, reaching out at Calen until he felt the sickening weight of lethal sharp claws against his throat. He stilled instantly. His senses rushed back at a dizzying speed, along with the sharp reality of the predicament.
“We have to find her,” he pleaded.
Nova narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
Then Ghast brought a heavy fist down on the top of Calen’s head.
CALEN DIDN’T WAKE UNTIL the next day, and when he did, he was in his own bed with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
Bozart stood over him with eyes narrowed, gaze roaming the younger wolf’s face. “Do you know the mess you’ve made of things?”
Wincing, Calen fought to push himself off of his mattress, balancing on his elbows as the room he’d occupied for the last twenty years just off the kitchen was spinning around him. It had been designated as his after his parents died, after the alpha decided to keep him instead of putting him down.
The room was small enough to leave little area to maneuver, housing only a twin bed and a dresser.
He didn’t need much, owned less than nothing, and the furniture belonged to the manor instead of him personally.
Bleary eyes took in the space and the four walls that had been his prison and his salvation for two decades.
How had he gotten back?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied to Bozart, running his tongue over his teeth. Nothing broken, thankfully, although Ghast had certainly caused a goose egg to grace the top of his head. Calen probed the area and felt the knot there, directly at the top of his skull.
Dammit.
He’d made it too easy for them to take him.
“The twins brought you back here after you attacked them,” Bozart answered his unaired question. And he sounded as far from amused as a person could get. “Seems you disobeyed a direct order from me and left the kitchen to go to the party. After I explicitly told you not to leave your post. Then caused a ruckus during a trying time. Are you out of your mind?”
Calen swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment when the room swam in front of him. That punch must have taken more out of him than he thought. “Odessa...” he started, then trailed off.
Bozart shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “She still hasn’t been found. Patrol is out searching the grounds for her and Jean as we speak, although so far no one is having much luck. Another few hours and Darrow will begin to seriously worry.”
“Her and Jean?” Calen glanced up. “The rest of the women came back? Where are they?” If he could get out of here, question one of them on what they’d seen and heard, then maybe he would have a better chance of picking up the trail he’d lost. “Has anyone examined them, asked about what happened?”
“Came back?” Bozart barked out a laugh, his midsection jerking up and down with the motion, eyes narrowed. There was no warmth in that laugh.
“I didn’t realize I’d made a joke,” Calen said slowly.
“No, the girls didn’t come back. They were found slaughtered at the edge of the property. Carcasses dropped in the dirt and their pelts hanging from the trees.”
His knees trembled and no matter how hard Calen fought to stand, his body disobeyed, remaining seated and shaking like he’d been pulled from an icy lake. “They...what?”
Bozart’s chin dipped and there was genuine sorrow darkening his gaze. “As I said. They never made it back. Someone took it upon themselves to slaughter our eligible females.”
“They didn’t find—” His tongue swelled to triple its size inside his mouth, the coppery taste of pure fear making it impossible to finish the statement. She couldn’t be dead. Odessa...
“There’s no way she’s alive, mate. Which is something no one else will tell you, but everyone is thinking.”
“She can’t be dead.”
“Official word is ‘missing.’ Darrow is downplaying it in front of our company, so don’t you say anything. Focus on your duties. We’re housing the Evertooth pack for now, and Alex wants everything to run as normal as possible while they figure this out,” Bozart replied sadly, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re on breakfast duty.”
Breakfast duty, Calen thought numbly, watching the chef walk out the door toward the bustling heat of the kitchen. How could he possibly focus on his duties with this kind of news? Slaughtered wolves. Pelts on trees. Like...
Odessa is gone.
“Look, we’re all trying to get through this. Darrow is still sending out search parties, but...it doesn’t look good. We’re just trying to push through.”
The sorrow lacing Bozart’s words meant nothing to Calen. Nothing that mattered.
To make matters worse, they had a foreign pack gracing their halls, and with two rival alphas who had never gotten along, he didn’t see things going smoothly. Relations were tentative on the best of days. With this latest upset, the missing princess and the dead wolves, all from the Taunway Lake pack, the outlook was bleak. And
if fingers began to point in one certain direction, or vice versa...
He shook his head and shivered.
They stood on the edge of a powder keg with both sides holding matches, and a race to see who would drop first.
Brows drawing together, he stood long enough to close the door behind Bozart. Like hell he’d stay here pretending all was well. All wasn’t well. Why should he pretend to get by when everything inside of him itched for action? He had no chance of convincing the alpha to let him go out with the search parties. Not when he was an integral part of the kitchen. A cog in the wheel of “normal.”
“If no one else can, I’ll find her,” he said tightly to himself, the barest hint of a snarl lifting one corner of his mouth. “I’ll do it myself.”
He might have lost the trail last night, but he’d been the one to pick it up in the first place. And if the rest of these assholes wanted to be bothered with keeping the peace, then let them. Calen was a nobody. A loner kept on for one sole purpose. No one would miss him, which gave him the perfect opportunity to disappear.
Changing his clothes, he packed a bag with enough essentials to keep him for a few days. He might not have the ability to shift, but he could take care of himself in terms of food and fresh water. He wasn’t so useless that he’d starve outside the compounds of the pack hall.
“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
It was the first thing out of Bozart’s mouth when Calen exited the bedroom.
He kept his gaze trained ahead and his focus on bringing Odessa home, giving the older wolf a vulgar gesture over his shoulder.
“You get back here right now, Calen. Calen!”
The calls behind him faded away, as did the curses. He had no time for curses. Let Ghast and Nova come down from Alex’s side to stop him again. Let anyone try to stop him.
This time, he vowed, he wouldn’t make it easy for them to catch him.
Outside, the autumn sun brought traces of warmth to his permanently chilled skin. He passed over the border where they’d found the girls pelts. Although they’d been removed, Calen still caught the lingering scent in the air: blood and violence. This was the right place.
