by Tanya Chris
He took a spot along the wall, remaining at attention rather than leaning against it. He was conscious of being the only private citizen in the room, but he had no inkling of why he was there until a group of five Western Pack alphas entered. They were all dressed in battle gear with black leather loincloths cloaking their groins and more black leather wrapped around their wrists and ankles. Even their braids had been bound in black leather. It was uncommon for shifters to fight in human form, but the uniforms signaled intent. This wasn’t a friendly visit.
The one at the front must be Head Alpha Harrod. He was rumored to be exceptionally large, and the rumors had done him an injustice, if anything. Though there wasn’t an exact correlation between human size and wolf size—Angel, for instance, was a bigger wolf than he was a person—you could certainly get a sense of potential. Quoitrel had a sinking anticipation of dread. Marta was too old, Devin too cowardly. Angel’s rigorous training program was their only hope.
Just when he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, a pair of alphas from the Southern Pack came in. Though they weren’t as intimidating size-wise, their coming meant Harrod hadn’t been bluffing when he’d claimed to have southern support. Marta’s guards, ranging along both sides of the dais, stood taller, raising spears that were meant for ornament, not injury. The whole room buzzed with aggression—pheromones flying like missiles, every wolf there primed for battle.
A herald announced the appearance of Head Alpha Marta. She wore ceremonial robes—a cascade of purple trimmed in white—and an expression of beatific calm. A low murmur came from the congregation surrounding Harrod as they sniffed the air, searching for some indication of fear or aggression and not finding it. Western Pack wolves primed for battle were intimidating, but not as intimidating as Marta absolutely not giving a fuck.
Harrod made a respectful bow, which Marta acknowledged with a nod. “You wished to see us?”
“I’m here in a demonstration of goodwill,” he said, which was laughable. “Through my emissaries, I’ve previously requested the return of my son. I come in person today to make one last attempt to resolve the issue peacefully.”
“We don’t have your son and wouldn’t return him if we did, unless that was what he wanted. Our position on this matter hasn’t changed, nor will it.”
“Then you leave me with no choice but to demand your surrender.”
“Surrender?” Marta repeated with a laugh. “I seem to have missed the battle.”
“My terms are thus,” Harrod continued, as if she weren’t mocking him. “You will step down as head alpha. Your successor will rule under the guidance of Head Alpha Lisol from the Southern Pack and myself. We will repatriate our omegas and oversee the return of proper order to the Northern Pack. When order has been restored, we will willingly disengage, allowing the Northern Pack to return to a state of sovereignty.”
“Our laws of succession don’t allow me to step down, assuming I would agree to such a thing in the first place.”
“Your laws allow you to pass the title to your heir via a ceremonial challenge. You are a great and venerable alpha.” Harrod bowed, laying it on a bit thick in Quoitrel’s opinion. “We respect your legacy as a supreme fighter, but you’ve ruled past your fitness for it. Cede the title to the crown prince, and no harm will come to you or to any citizen of your pack.”
Ah, so that was what this was all about. Devin couldn’t secure the throne himself, so he’d brought in some muscle for a little quid pro quo. The Western and Southern Packs would get their escaped omegas back, and Devin would secure the head alpha title without having to fight for it.
“You pretend to have come out of concern for Owen’s welfare,” Marta said, “yet you would promote the alpha who harmed him. Your true motives are showing, Harrod. If you want the Northern Pack throne, you’ll have to challenge me for it.” She rose to flip her cape off her shoulders, baring the strong lines of her body.
Harrod assessed her carefully before waving off her suggestion with a casual gesture. “I don’t want your throne. The terms of my offer demonstrate that. The only reason I’m interfering in your governance is because you’ve interfered in mine. If you won’t give back our omegas, then cede the throne to someone who will. Otherwise, there will be war. You have three days to reach a decision.”
Harrod swept from the room, not waiting for Marta’s permission to leave. His cohorts streamed along behind him in an impressive show of size and strength. Quoitrel had never lived in a time of war, and his work as sheriff consisted largely of cajoling wolves who were hopped up on adrenalin into waiting out their emotions. He hadn’t wanted to believe it would really come to this, but the aggression rolling off the foreign alphas as they left the throne room was palpable.
“Well.” Marta sat back down, her imperious starch melting away. “Sounds like we’d better start planning for war.”
“Aren’t we even going to talk about our options?” Devin asked. “That’s why he gave us three days.”
“He gave us three days because the Southern Pack has troops on the way,” Angel said. “Not because he expects us to change our minds.”
“But we ought to change our minds,” Devin insisted. “We’re already outmatched. If he has reinforcements coming, we’ll be outnumbered.”
“How much are you in his pocket, Devin? Can we even trust you to fight on our side?”
“I’m insulted by that.” Devin flung the hem of his robe over his lap. “I’m Northern Pack royalty. I’ll always fight for our right to self-govern. But Harrod is offering a perfectly reasonable compromise. It’s past time Marta handed down the title. I’d like to know what she’d have done if he’d actually challenged her for it.”
“Fought him,” Marta answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Won, perhaps. I’d prefer a challenge to an outright war.”
“If you want to avoid war, he told you how. Honestly, Marta. Think of someone besides yourself for a change.”
“Ah, Devin. I regret that I raised you so poorly. It is others I’m thinking of. I can’t allow you to assume the throne. It would force Angel to kill you, and then Harrod would be back anyway.”
“Angel would seriously kill his own brother.”
“Don’t ever doubt it,” Angel said. “I suggest you stay off the throne if you want to live.”
Devin twitched the hem of his robe again, putting on a face very close to Daisy’s pout except that it wasn’t at all adorable on Devin—just juvenile and spoiled. “Well?” he challenged the line of wolves behind him. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Thus far, the council had remained silent, but now the Senior Member stepped forward. He made a low bow to Marta and waited for her acknowledgement before beginning to speak.
“War is a dreadful thing. Though we have no legal authority to force Her Excellency to pass on the title to the crown prince via ceremonial challenge, we strongly urge her to take that course of action. The omegas in question aren’t even of Northern Pack origin. We beg Her Excellency to consider the welfare of her true constituents.”
Devin gave his mother a smarmy look that only made her angrier.
“You’re all so determined to mistreat the weakest amongst us that you’d hand over the reins of our government to a foreign entity. It’s a shameful betrayal of our land and its citizenry—which includes those citizens who’ve been naturalized. Some wars are worth fighting.”
“If you’ll permit me,” the Senior Member said. “Your Excellency has previously expressed an interest in instituting democratic rule in the Northern Pack. If democracy is your guiding principle, why not listen to your subjects on this matter?”
“The wolves in this room aren’t representative of the full range of my subjects.”
“Then ask your subjects directly. Call a town meeting and put the matter before them. If Your Excellency believes that war is the will of the people, let it be put to the test.”
Angel and his mother exchanged looks. Quoitrel saw how neatly
the trap had been laid. If Marta chose to engage in a war without popular backing, she’d be seen as a hypocrite. But how many wolves would be willing to risk their lives and property for the sake of a handful of foreign omegas? Some would be outright gleeful at the thought of Devin becoming head alpha. Others would regret having him on the throne but would be so little affected by it personally, they’d be unlikely to go to war over it.
“Let it be done then,” she said. “But when I said the full range of my subjects, I meant the full range. Not just alphas, and not just those who were born here.”
“But Your Excellency,” the Senior Member interjected. “You can’t really intend to let omegas decide the fate of this pack.”
“I’d rather have them do it than anyone.” Marta waved her hand. “Leave me. I’m tired to death of all of you.”
The council scattered at the rebuke, reverse bowing their way out of the room, and Prince Devin slunk out after them. Marta remained on her throne, looking as tired as she’d claimed to be, but Angel stepped off the platform and made his way over to Quoitrel.
“Marta had him scared,” Angel said in an amused voice.
“Devin?”
“Him too, but I meant Harrod—all that talk of nobly allowing us to govern ourselves according to his terms. I’ll bet he came to challenge her and thought twice about it once he saw her.”
“Her composure was impressive.” Quoitrel would’ve thought more than twice about challenging her himself. “Three days gives us some time to prepare, at least. Assuming the pack votes in favor of war.”
Angel grimaced. “A nice trick on the council’s part, turning our own principles against us, but we’ll fight regardless.”
“They’ll take Leo back to Western Pack territory over my dead body,” Quoitrel promised him.
“They’ll take Leo back to Western Pack territory over Leo’s dead body. He’s not the one I’m most worried about. There are too many others, and if we cave in to Harrod’s demands, he’ll head for the Central Pack next. It has to be stopped here.”
“Will the Eastern Pack help?”
Angel shook his head. “Marta received official word from them this morning. They regret our circumstances but consider themselves neutral. Their pack laws are decent enough with respect to omega rights, but they extradite.”
That was what too many would think the Northern Pack should do. Protect their own omegas? Sure. Stick their necks out for the cast-offs from other packs? No.
“Daisy says Eastern Pack wolves are practically human anyway. According to him, they didn’t know how to either fight or fuck.”
“How did his first day of business go?”
“Very well. I wanted to ask you a question, actually. A personal one, if you don’t mind.”
“Come to my suite then. I still have rooms here, since Marta refuses to believe I’ll never move back.”
Quoitrel followed Angel down a long corridor, at the end of which he opened a door so cross-hatched with claw marks it looked as if it’d been the scene of an epic battle. He flipped on a light and gestured Quoitrel over to a couch. The room smelled faintly of sex and very much of Angel, making Quoitrel think he used it more than he admitted.
“What’s on your mind?” Angel took a seat next to him, turning to him as attentively as if they weren’t three days away from war with a rival pack.
“I’ve heard…. Not that it’s any of my business, but there are rumors to the effect that…”
“Just say it.”
“When you and Leo first started having sex, his former alpha was still alive. Not that— I’m not accusing you of anything. I know you had your reasons.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I’ve heard it caused a problem with Leo’s heats.”
Angel nodded. “I don’t understand the exact science involved, but having sex with me while his blood carried another alpha’s scent markers threw him into a sort of heat spiral. The prior claim had to be… put to rest.”
Which Quoitrel knew was a polite way of saying that Leo had killed the brute who’d broken his bones one too many times. “I’d like to claim Daisy,” he told Angel, getting down to his point, “but I’m concerned about what’ll happen with his heats if I do.”
“I think it’ll be fine. His sexual history aside, he’s never been claimed. Once he’s only having sex with you—”
“But he wouldn’t only be having sex with me.” That was the only answer Quoitrel had been able to come up with. He could claim Daisy, but he couldn’t corral him. “I don’t plan to change my profession for him. I can’t ask him to change his for me.”
Angel’s mouth hung open briefly before he remembered to close it. He cleared his throat and met Quoitrel’s eyes with the same impressive equilibrium his mother had just displayed in the throne room. “Then I suggest you talk to Dr. Petra. She could give you an expert’s opinion on how being a sex worker might affect a claimed omega’s heat cycles. I can only guess.”
“And that’s all you have to say about it?” Quoitrel had made up his mind to claim Daisy if Daisy would have him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of what others would think.
“Quoitrel.” Angel put a hand on his shoulder. “Since we changed our laws to allow everyone to love freely, we’ve seen how many ways there are to do it. Leo and I are happy as husbands. Owen has formed a triad. Donovan mated with another alpha. If you love Daisy, claim him. Whatever that means to you.”
Chapter 12
“Fuck the Eastern Pack,” Daisy said. “They’re cowards and hypocrites.” He sniffled, suggesting that his true feelings about his native pack’s refusal to help were more tender than he cared to admit. “I’m glad I changed my citizenship.”
“I just hope this pack does better. We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.”
Quoitrel was nuzzled up behind Daisy in his magnificent four-poster bed. They were both naked and relaxed, curled together under the covers. Daisy was tired tonight after three appointments, two of which had resulted in knotting and all three of which had resulted in orgasms, so Quoitrel was rutting his hard cock lazily through the cleft of his ass—not demanding entry, just enjoying the friction of their bodies coming together. He would either find the energy to roll over and jerk off or he’d let his erection dwindle as he fell asleep. Either way, it was nice like this.
“You don’t think you should go back home?” he suggested. “Before…” Before who knew what.
“This is my pack, so it’s my fight.” Daisy bumped his ass back, pulling a small moan from Quoitrel’s throat. He wanted to let Daisy rest, but his skin was so soft and he smelled so good. It was hard to remember the threat hanging over their heads when he was so grateful for this moment in which to forget it.
“I want to keep you safe,” he whispered into Daisy’s ear. “I want to claim you.”
Daisy looked over his shoulder, his expression a mass of conflicting emotions.
“Not own you, not like that. You’re too amazing to keep to myself, and I promise not to try. I just want to be able to say ‘That’s my mate.’ It doesn’t even have to be a claim. We’ll have a civil ceremony if you’d rather.” He’d stopped by Dr. Petra’s office before coming over, so he told Daisy what he’d learned there. “She doesn’t think it’ll be a problem, not as long as you’re having regular contact with me too. Your heats might come more frequently, but that would be a good thing, right?”
“Because you’d let me sell them?” Daisy rubbed the sheet in front of him with a manicured finger.
“I wouldn’t be letting you do anything. Full autonomy over your own body. That doesn’t change because we’re mated. I just— I want you to be mine, Daisy. I want it so bad.” His voice cracked as he pulled Daisy in tighter to his body. Maybe it shouldn’t matter whether they had a legal bond or not. He got to be here, like this. It ought to be enough. “Think about it,” he said. “You decide.” He rolled away to give his heart and cock some breathing room.
“Where are
you going with that thing?” Daisy asked grumpily.
“I was trying not to bother you with it.”
“You might as well put it in.”
“You’re tired.”
“I am,” Daisy yawned. “But I like a nice knot to fall asleep on. Be a doll and do all the work for me.”
“Mm.” Quoitrel slid his hand down Daisy’s abdomen and over his soft cock to seek out his hole. It was loose from having been used so thoroughly but dry due to his lack of arousal. When Quoitrel eased a finger inside, he found the remains of the loads that’d been dumped there. He stroked in and out to the rhythm of his cock sliding through Daisy’s cleft, an easy rocking tempo with no particular purpose to it.
Daisy wasn’t making his usual sex noises, but he sighed with something like relief when Quoitrel finally entered him. Quoitrel fucked him in long, smooth strokes that drew his pleasure out like spun sugar. When his knot rose past the point where it went in easily, he stopped moving, letting it expand inside Daisy in a slow spiral outward.
Daisy moaned as it began to press against his prostate. Quoitrel brought a slick-covered hand to his cock and worked it gently to full hardness. Until he’d met Daisy, he’d never known giving handjobs was an art, but Daisy had shown him how good they could be. He applied every technique he’d learned, lazily wringing pleasure out of the thrice-depleted cock while his knot expanded and expanded.
Come ran from Daisy like lava, flowing slow and thick out of his slit. Daisy hummed as it spilled, sleepy but content, and Quoitrel let his own orgasm loose—a soft buzzing warmth that reverberated through his whole body.
Daisy tilted his head to the side, opening up his neck in a graceful curve. “Do it. Claim me.”
Quoitrel didn’t hesitate to obey. He sank his fangs in Daisy’s throat until warm blood, heavily scented, flooded his tongue. Daisy’s hole twitched around his cock, which spasmed in a valiant attempt to fill him further. His come mixed with the come of the alphas he’d shared Daisy with today even as his scent markers claimed Daisy as exclusively his. It was a contradiction, but also a perfection.
