*Granger*
Commander Castiel Westfall enters Ryatt’s office without a sound, but his presence is felt by the entire room. Ryatt looks up from the map laid out on his ebony wood desk as the commander comes to a halt and stands near one of the massive windows overlooking the city of Veiled Valley.
Westfall’s black hair is cut short and peppered with silver along his temples, and his arms are crossed over his broad chest as the sunlight dances over his black leather armor. Glacier blue eyes meet mine as he gives me a short nod of hello. I’ve known him for years now, and he’s still as unsettling as the first moment I saw him. He’s handsome and fit for a man in his mid-fifties, but his brow is perpetually pinched by a scowl that seems to be his most relaxed expression.
Shadows dance around him, severed into pieces by the sunlight. Shadowsynger. One of the last. He’s the second most powerful man in the room beside Ryatt. Maybe even the entire kingdom.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth and turn back to where Ryatt is pouring over an updated map that just arrived from the Roguelands, ignoring the creeping sensation of Westfall’s powers as they suck the air right out of the room.
Stay focused. Now is not the time to question your Alpha. Now is not the time to be fretting over the woman upstairs in your room.
I exhale as an image of Amanda lying on her back against a bed of furs, her mouth parted in a sigh of ecstasy, fills my mind. I let it linger for a single, devastating second before snapping back to reality.
What a fucking mess we’re in right now, and I have more to lose than ever if anything goes wrong.
“The Royal Army is gathering at the Silver Bridge,” Commander Nytos says, his finger trailing over the map. “Fifty-thousand strong by our spies' estimation and growing.”
“That’s impossible,” Commander Reinheed says from the other side of the room. “Your spies are mistaken, Nytos. King Kane’s army suffered a staggering number of casualties in his failed invasion of Crescent Falls. He can’t possibly have that many warriors left.”
“These are obviously slaves. I doubt their trained warriors,” Nytos explains with a bite to his voice as he glances at Reinheed. They’re hard to tell apart, in all honesty. They look alike–older men with countless years of experience as fierce, merciless warriors defending the Veiled Valley from King Kane, who kept this sanctuary hidden until Ryatt was old enough to take the throne.
But from whom? I’ve always wondered that.
Reinheed’s scarred face twists into a scowl as he crosses the room to stand closer to the desk, his fingers tapping on the hilts of the daggers strewn across his belt. “I can’t send my men into battle without knowing exactly what we’re dealing with. We already took too many losses during the war this summer. If these warriors are slaves, and this is just a show of force from King Kane, so be it. If these warriors are part of his dreadwolf army with their fucking collars, all we can do is take out the bridge. Our forces cannot take any more casualties.”
“My spies are trustworthy,” Nytos argues, tension rising in the room around us.
Reinheed laughs bitterly, “The same spies who sold Alpha Ryatt and his mercenaries out to the Royal Army two weeks ago?”
“That was an isolated incident.” A growl leaves Nytos throat and rattles the room.
“Quinn has been dealt with,” I cut in, her name like acid on my tongue. Quinn, the hired assassin, who ran back to Rifthold like the rat she ended up being, alerted the warriors there about Ryatt’s presence in the forest near Twin Rivers. Her actions cost the lives of eight good men, eight friends of mine. I would have loved to have been there when she was taken apart piece by piece by the scouts Ryatt sent looking for her.
And all of this out of jealousy because Ryatt’s mate had finally come.
Ryatt raises his eyes from the map and looks past the three of us to settle his gaze on Westfall. I’ve always found the two of them to be shockingly alike. The set of their jaws and rigid stance mirror one another, but that could be chalked up to something as simple as posturing. Westfall trained him at the coven, of course, when Ryatt was a teenager. He was the only one who could do so, seeing as they are the last Shadowsyngers who walk this realm–or any other realm, for that matter.
“We’re going to invade Rifthold within the year,” Ryatt says in a low, gravelly tone. “The bridge stays, for now. If my father’s army makes a single move for the bridge, I will see it as an act of war and deal with it then.” He straightens, resting his fingertips on the map as he glances between Nytos and Reinheed. “General Artyom and General Thorne are already in position in my pack lands with small forces. I want all available warriors in their wolf forms spread out along the river boundary between my territory and Rifthold. The safety of my packs is my priority right now. We will not instigate battles until I have the support of all of the Alphas in the Roguelands. Let my father make the first move otherwise.”
I don’t miss the look of muted pride that flashes behind Westfall’s eyes as he watches our Alpha.
Reinheed, on the other hand, is seething. “We must bring down that bridge, Alpha–”
“And leave the people of Rifthold with no way to come to us for safety when this war begins?” Ryatt snaps, shadows dancing behind his eyes. “The bridge stays. Every woman and child who is able to cross it into my lands will be offered sanctuary, and every man who makes the journey and survives will be questioned, and if deemed fit, serve in my own army. This ends now. My father is closer to bringing down the veil than ever before, and I will not put my Luna’s realm at risk of collapse.”
“You will risk all of Veiled Valley’s men to ensure the family of one woman–”
Ryatt cuts Reinheed off with the flick of his wrist. “You’re dismissed, Reinheed. Your men will march on the Roguelands tomorrow. Get out of my sight.”
The commander knows better than to go against Ryatt’s orders, at least. He turns, throwing daggers with his eyes at Nytos before stalking out of the room. Nytos is dismissed next with orders to station his warriors in Twin Rivers, linking up with Thorne. Notably absent is Commander Grey, Artyom’s shifter father. Like Commander Westfall, Grey has powers outside of his ability to shift, but I’m not familiar with the man past knowing his name. Ryatt has him off on some scouting journey through King Kane’s territory, acting as a spy in the furthest reaches of Eastonia.
The door to the office closes, and now I’m trapped here with two men who could slice me to pieces with nothing but their powers.
I trust Ryatt. I trust Westfall, to some extent. He would be willing to follow Ryatt into hell if he asked, and that’s enough for me.
Ryatt sits down and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. He’s wearing a simple black shirt with cut off sleeves that have his tattoos and scars on full display. Casual, and exhausted, he says, “Ella’s training starts tomorrow, Westfall. She can handle whatever you throw at her, but she has a propensity for tears and dramatics if she gets frustrated. Don’t let that deter you from doing what must be accomplished.”
Westfall arches a brow, his mouth ticking into a smirk that makes me wonder if Ryatt picked up on that mannerism, too, and made it his own. “I know what to do, Alpha.”
“Show her around the castle for the rest of the afternoon. Take her to the city, if you’d like. Just keep her occupied. You’re dismissed.”
Westfall turns on his heel and disappears through the door, shutting it behind him.
I sit down in front of the desk. “Are you serious, Ryatt? He’s going to scare the hell out of her.”
“She’ll be fine.” He sounds incredibly tired as he folds up the map and runs his fingers through his hair before continuing. “You can send Amanda with him, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want her anywhere near him and his shadows.”
“Then go with him, Granger. He might be able to help them both understand what’s happening to them. Especially Amanda now that she has some of Ella’s power in her when she shifts.”
My mouth dries out. “She hasn’t shifted since we were attacked by the hellhounds, so we don’t know if Ella changed something about her, or if that was temporary.”
“I can feel it on her, feel that she and Ella are connected in some way. That means Amanda is in this now, and not just as your–your–” he locks his gaze on mine, a brow arched.
I grit my teeth. “She isn’t my mate, Ryatt, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Is there a chance she’s pregnant?”
“Of course there is,” I say calmly, casually, as if I’m not gripping my anger and shoving it down somewhere deep. “That’s the whole point of the Rite.”
“I was never able to confirm why the two of you were chosen for it.”
“They didn’t tell us anything.”
“Then why did you do it?”
I stare at Ryatt, unable to form the words I need for several moments. “Because if I had said no, they would have found another man to take my place, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.” I pray the tone of my voice doesn’t slip as words dripping with possession fall from my tongue. “I am indebted to her now. If she’s carrying my child, I have sworn to protect her, and that child, with my life as long as they live.”
“You’ve imprinted on her, then?”
Imprinting, the act of marking someone when there’s a lack of a mate bond, is common in these parts. Mate bonds are rare. It has something to do with the veil, we’re told. That it’s harder for mates to find each other when the Goddess stays on the other side of that magical barrier. For every thousand or so people, only a few of them will ever find their true mates.
The rest of us imprint. It's the equivalent of a marriage. And during the Rite, I’d put my mark on Amanda and made her mine.
“I will be traveling to Granite Rise in a few days once she’s settled. I plan to speak to her father directly and assure him of her safety and my commitment.”
“He will not take kindly to this, Granger.”
“I know,” I grind out. I want to ask if Ryatt ever thought about talking to Ella’s father but know that will only cause an argument. He’s my Alpha, after all. That often trumps friendship and brotherhood even in times like this.
Ryatt keeps his eyes on mine as he slides a piece of paper toward himself. “Keep this business about the Rite quiet. She’s already a fox, which means she’s being hunted by the royal army like my own mate. Add a pregnancy into the mix…” Ryatt takes a breath as he signs the random paper and moves onto the next. His eyes gloss over for a moment as if in deep thought. “She cannot return to Granite Rise with you, you know.”
“I am well aware,” I tell him, losing patience with the conversation. Ryatt couldn’t understand. Even if I told him the truth, he wouldn’t understand. I’ve known him since we were boys, since my family sought sanctuary in the coven during the first of many packs torn apart and villages destroyed by King Kane. Ryatt and I never thought about ever settling down, of falling in love, of finding our mates and living happily ever after like in those stupid books read to children around a fire.
No, we grew up hungry for war and bloodshed and revenge for our families like all boys of our generation. We grew up knowing we’d die young and with honor.
Now I wasn’t so sure that’s what I wanted, not after seeing Amanda for the first time. Not after feeling that spark that moment she slapped me across the face before I sent her and Ella to the waterfall to hide from the Royal Army.
Not since I laid her on those furs and made love to her under the eclipse.
Ryatt exhales deeply, dark circles lining his eyes. Once again, he’s exhausted his powers just to bring us here, skirting what would have been a week long journey on foot. “You should rest. You're wound up.” He signs another paper, his eyes flicking down to where my hands are clenched into fists. “Or, better yet, go talk to your wife and see how she’s settling in. This place can be… unnerving, to say the least.”
As if on cue, two cups of scalding hot coffee drop out of mid-air onto Ryatt’s desk, one purposefully too full and spilling over the rim, soaking the paper he’d just signed as if in punishment.
“Thank you,” I say to the house, taking one of the cups and holding it between my hands. The house doesn’t like it when it’s insulted, and neither do I. “And what of your wife?”
Ryatt’s pen stops moving, his eyes locked on the creeping stain of the spilled coffee. I know I’ve hit a nerve. I try not to do that with him, but after what we went through for Ella, I feel like I’m justified in asking what his intentions are with her now that we’re home.
But his fingers tighten on the pen, his shadows curling in tendrils over the surface of his desk.
A question for another time, I guess.
I don’t wait for Ryatt’s dismissal. I leave the office, the door shutting on a phantom wind behind me as I walk briskly through the castle.
I find my wife in our room, which has been greatly changed since the last time I was here. That was weeks ago now. Amanda whirls around wearing a new dress made of crystals and emerald fabric, silken and flowing in the ethereal style preferred by the woman in Veiled Valley.
She’s beautiful, my fox.
I lean on the door to close it as she does another twirl. “I like it here,” she says softly, smiling up at the ceiling.
“Good, because it’s home now. Do you want to see the city?”