Ryatt
“What the fuck is happening?” My hands curl into fists as I stalk toward the group of warriors–a gaggle of dirty, exhausted men and wolves–and stop a few feet away from their general, a young man named Tanner.
His nostrils flare as he tries to stay upright in my presence, but his knees wobble. He’s resisting the urge to back away. “We were attacked last night in Fenwyrd Pass. We counted six rogues.”
“Rogues don’t run in packs,” I counter, eyeing the young general. I don’t know him. He was put in his position by Artyom, who is currently speaking in low tones to Granger.
“We came upon a campsite,” the young general grinds out, his teeth chattering with nerves as I lean in. He swallows hard then continues, “Two of my men were attacked from behind and hauled off into the woods. We followed and came upon a… feeding ground.”
I raise my brows. “What exactly did that entail?”
The general goes a little green, but clears his throat. “It’s about as bad as you could expect, my King.”
‘Rogues have been picking off travelers between Veiled Valley and the Roguelands with more frequency than usual,’ Granger says in my mind. I keep my eyes on the young general for another long moment before backing up a step.
I turn to Granger and Artyom, giving the latter a nod to go tend to his unit. Artyom steps past me and starts shouting commands while Granger and I walk deeper into the woods outside the clearing where we just found them.
“Artyom says there was a witch with them,” Granger says in a low voice, glancing back at the practically untrained unit of wolves who are just old enough to shift. “He didn’t see her, but he could feel her power nearby.”
“Did she have control of the rogues somehow?” It’s not a totally outlandish notion. Rogue wolves are a lot like hellhounds. Soulless and bound by forces of magic outside of the Goddess’s rule.
Granger shrugs and adjusts his leather armor, his eyes traveling through the tree line. “What are the odds of a witch going off on her own like this and building a small army of rogues? We’re not even in the Deadlands, and even if we were, our forces are stationed throughout it.”
“I don’t like this at all,” I murmur, tapping my fingers on my thigh.
The forest is quiet all around us. Even the birds have stopped their songs. Granger and I just happened upon General Tanner’s unit on our way to the Roguelands. They’d just started to regroup, and Artyom, who is stationed with the unit in question at a nearby village, had come looking for them when they didn’t come back to the village at sundown like expected.
The biggest concern I have is how close the campsite is to Veiled Valley.
“We’re out of range from the Valley now,” I grumble, turning back to the group of warriors. I watch Artyom as he speaks to a trio of them. Artyom was recently promoted to commander before the final push into Rifthold and is doing a fine job, but he’s stuck with green men. Young, inexperienced warriors that aren’t good for much but patrolling the villages along the borders of the Deadlands.
The fact they got away from the rogues unscathed is a miracle.
Which tells me they weren’t targets.
“I’m going to go back to check out the campsite and see what I can find. I’ll be able to get through to Amanda from there, I believe.”
I nod, and Granger walks away, stopping to talk to Artyom for a moment as he strips back out of his leather and prepares to shift.
I cross my arms over my chest and blow out a breath. My skin is crawling with the sense that something is wrong. This was a trap, but for who?
Or for what?
“I’m sending a few of my men with Granger. The rest are going back to the Yarrow Spur Pack village,” Artyom says as he walks in my direction. His pale blue eyes shine like moonstone against his dark skin, nearly the same shade as his obsidian leathers. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth and looks around to make sure we’re not overheard before adding, “Based on the description I’ve been given, I believe the witch in question might be Petra.”
I furrow my brow. “Petra’s dead.” At least, Ella believes so. Word of Petra’s deception of the coven has spread far and wide at this point. The commanders and generals I’ve spoken to in the days since we returned have said as much as well. Petra, heir of Ravenna until Ella came along, died when the crystal palace in Moonrise shattered.
But, if she’s not dead, she would have been banished.
Witches aren’t known to let their enemies live.
“If she’s not dead, then she’s controlling a small rogue army,” Artyom says on a breath, shaking his head. “You know she’s capable of this, too.”
Artyom and I grew up together in Moonrise. He knows Petra as well as any of us men who spent their childhoods protected and nurtured by the witches there.
“She was a jealous, spiteful bitch.”
“Spiteful is the key word. You said Luna Ella is headed to the coven with Westfall. How?”
“By foot. As wolves, they should be arriving at the coven within the next few hours. Westfall said he’ll send a messenger when they arrive.” My chest feels hollow as I say the words. Again, I have a sense that something isn’t right. It’s where our mate bond used to be–something deep in my chest that’s begging me to act.
Sunlight peeks through a storm cloud enough to illuminate the group of weary men waiting for one of us to give the command to move out.
“Yarrow Spur has an inn, right?” I ask.
Artyom nods and snaps his fingers to his men, giving the silent command to move out.
* * *
Yarrow Spur isn’t known for its hospitality.
Regardless of my being the Alpha King of the Roguelands, the locals cast dirty looks in my direction as I sit at a table in the inn, picking at a bowl of stew made of unnamed, and unrecognizable, meats.
Artyom returns with two mugs of ale and sits down across from me.
“Did you tuck your boys in bed and give them a little kiss goodnight?” I ask, smirking over the rim of the mug.
He matches my expression with a smirk of his own. “You realize this is the first generation in what could be considered centuries where most of the warriors have loving families at home and were raised by their parents.”
“You had living parents while you were growing up and going through training.”
“That’s why you and Granger beat the shit out of me at any opportunity you had,” he says wryly, leaning back in his chair. He looks exhausted, and I don’t blame him. Artyom is a man I’d consider a friend and brother in all the ways that truly matter. While not bound by blood, we grew up together. We’ve been to battle together, and now we’re watching a new generation of young warriors emerge who may not have to ever experience the kind of conflict we’ve known our whole lives.
Artyom is the man for this job. Serious and steady, he makes for an excellent commander.
Plus, he’s one of the only people I can stand being with for more than a few minutes at a time.
His eyes flicker with power as he looks around. I know he’s listening to every conversation, reading between every uttered, whispered word. That’s his gift. He’s an excellent spy. Whatever powers he inherited from his witch mother are going to be useful to me in the coming weeks.
Artyom toys with his ale for a moment, his expression unreadable, but I can see from his rigid shoulders that he also senses something is amiss.
“You feel it too,” I say, then take a sip from my drink.
“There’s been a shift,” he says in a low murmur. “Something is coming.”
I look out the grimy window. It’s late afternoon. Scouts from the coven should have been trying to contact me by now, but the mind-link is clear of any and all noise. I’m starting to think Ella might not have made it to the coven.
“Why did you let her go to the coven without escorts?”
“Are you reading my mind?”
“I’d rather not be in your head,” Artyom chuckles. “But seriously, what kind of game are you playing with the Luna?”
“She could flatten Eastonia with a snap of her fingers once she figures out how to do it. I’m not worried about her ability to protect herself. I’m more worried about the people she’s bound to run into on the way getting on her bad side. Anyway, she has Westfall with her.”
“This is part of her training, then?”
“It could be.” I nod, but that feeling of unease only grows sharper.
“And if she runs into this band of rogues?”
“She’s killed a hellhound, Artyom. She’ll be fine.” Internally, I am screaming. I had to get Ella to the coven. I didn’t have much of a choice, and I knew if I acted like a possessive, brooding Alpha baby, as she likes to call me, she would have fought me at every turn.
So, I’m allowing her the freedom to do this on her own, even if it’s killing me.
I trust her.
I have to trust her.
A ripple of energy flickers through the mind-link. Artyom feels it too because he straightens and looks around before settling his gaze on his drink in concentration.
But before any communications can come through, a commotion sounds somewhere in the village square.
We’re out of our seats before the rest of the people dining at the inn can react.
“It’s Granger,” Artyom says hoarsely as we walk briskly toward the edge of the village where curious onlookers have started to gather.
He’s right. Golden blond hair is the first thing I see as I shove my way through the crowd.
Granger is dragging Westfall, who is by all accounts completely unconscious.
“Alpha,” Granger pants, “We have a serious problem.” His face is shredded, blood pouring down his jaw and neck. His armor is in pieces, and Westfall doesn’t look any better. Granger falls to his knees, but I catch him around the middle while Artyom steadies Westfall before he can fall face first in the dirt.
I look between the men, my heart rate spiking. Westfall has deep, festering bite marks on every inch of exposed skin. His fingers are gnawed down to the bone. Granger groans with pain as I flip him onto his back and rip his blood soaked shirt down the center, revealing several deep gouges made by claws.
The smell isn’t right. His blood is tainted by something.
“Wolfsbane,” Artyom seethes. “Someone get a healer here immediately!”
“He came out of nowhere,” Granger says through gritted teeth, motioning to Westfall. “Soaking wet, saying–saying–”
“Where the fuck is Ella?” I hiss, shaking Granger’s shoulders, but his emerald eyes roll back in his head.