Evander
I have two options.
Option one: Run like hell. Find the nearest village where I’m able to finally mind-link with someone, anyone, from King Ryatt’s forces and find a way to get Kenna home so I can run deeper into the mountains and disappear forever.
Or option two: Turn around and claim her as mate, like the Goddess intended, forever shackling her to a murderous, violent man who is grossly unable to give her everything she deserves.
I keep running–sprinting–my paws overturning raw earth as I tear through the forest and back up into the mountains until I’m past the tree line and far enough from Tiscoln that I can’t feel the overwhelming pull toward her anymore.
In the distance, I can just see the faint lights of Tiscoln shimmering in a shallow valley, nothing more than a muted glow in a thick crop of trees.
I skid to a stop on the peak of a lower mountain, my paws sliding over late summer snow and ice.
I don’t question why I just did such a thing to Kenna. I don’t need to. I already know why–I can’t control myself around her, not anymore. Not now that I’ve tasted her, and the more I’m with her, the worse this is going to be.
I have to get her back to her parents. I have to come clean to King Ryatt. I’ll tell him the truth, that I’m her mate, and that I can’t be her Beta.
She needs someone kind and gentle. She needs someone who wants a herd of children. She needs someone she can talk to, who can empathize with her, who wants to be with her and is capable of loving her as much as she loves him.
She needs someone who doesn’t have to worry about protecting her every hour of every day for the rest of her Goddess-damned life.
I sink to my belly and lower my head to the ground. Wind whips through my thick, golden fur. The urge to shift into a fox is strong, but I ignore it. If I’m going to spend the night in the mountains, I need to be in wolf form for warmth, at least.
I just need to cool off. I’m confident Kenna is safe at the inn. I interviewed several of the higher ranking men in the village and even spoke to their Alpha during the celebration tonight, and while they’re a wild, rural pack, they aren’t the violent type, at least not toward women.
They also want nothing to do with the Roguelands or the witches who inhabit it and are more than happy to give Kenna space.
It’s the only reason I feel I have the ability to leave her alone in Tiscoln at all, but tomorrow, something has to change. We need to move. We need to pick our way down the mountains to the Roguelands.
‘Can anyone hear me?’ I send through the mind-link to any and all Ghosts who might be in range. I find it hard to hope anyone is even remotely nearby.
Nothing.
I get up and shake snow from my coat two hours later before maneuvering down the mountain and into the forest. I’m sure Kenna is asleep by now. Hopefully. She’d better be, given that she has to be up at the break of dawn.
I edge into Tiscoln just as the first glimpses of sunlight break over the mountains and cast the valley in ribbons of gold, but I’m not alone.
The Alpha of Tiscoln, a man of thirty, trots out of the woods and stops abruptly when he sees me cut between two buildings in the town square. He lowers his head, ears twitching. I lower my head in a show of submission. This is his territory, after all.
Pleased, he ticks his ears to the left in a motion for me to follow, and I let him lead me down the sleepy cobblestone street until we reach a large, unimposing three-story stone cottage that stretches toward the forest canopy.
Breakfast smells hit me right in the stomach as I follow him inside.
He goes up the stairs off the foyer, but I remain near the front door.
A young woman steps out of an archway to my left and pauses, her smile fading to one of marked concern as we look at each other.
I shift, my armor coating my human body in scales and leather, and her fearful expression fades.
“Would you like something to eat?” she asks.
I roll my neck and crack my knuckles, easing the tension from my muscles. “I’m waiting on your husband. If he allows me to eat, I will.”
“He might be the Alpha of Tiscoln,” she smiles, her light brown eyes creasing, “but I am the Alpha of this house, so whether you eat breakfast is up to me. Come.” She motions for me to follow.
I glance up the stairs. I know better than to cross an Alpha’s boundaries, especially when it comes to a wife or mate, but I doubt this woman is going to let me decline her offer again.
I wordlessly follow her down the hallway and through the archway, which leads into a wide, spacious kitchen. A table is set, and two small boys sit on one side, their curly red hair gleaming in the morning sunlight starting to stream through the window.
A third child, a little girl and the oldest of the bunch, narrows her eyes at me as I sit at the table next to her little brothers.
“Who are you?” she hisses.
“Mirabella, mind your manners,” her mother says behind us.
The girl tilts her chin toward the ceiling. Her bright red curls are braided away from her face as she looks down her tiny nose at me. “Who are you, please?”
“Saying please doesn’t count,” comes a booming male voice from the archway.
I turn to the Alpha of Tiscoln as he enters the room. I begin to rise from my chair, but he waves me away, giving me a friendly smile. “No need for formalities at my family breakfast table.”
I ease back into my chair, nodding once.
But Mirabella is still eyeing me coolly.
“This is Mirabella, obviously,” the Alpha says, motioning toward his daughter. “That’s Andrew; he’s six. And James is four.”
I give the boys a nod, and they go a little pink in the cheeks.
“My mate–”
“Katherine,” she smiles, setting plates piled with eggs and sausage in front of us. “Please excuse my children's terrible manners. They get them from their father.” She gives her mate a look, but he’s gazing up at her lovingly.
It makes something twist in my gut. Something like jealousy, which I hadn’t expected.
“Why are you wearing scales like a fish?” Andrew asks before popping a piece of egg into his mouth.
All three children look at me expectantly.
“It’s for protection.”
“You’re a warrior, then,” Katherine says as she sits down with her own plate.
“Yes, I am.”
“He’s been tasked with escorting the princess of Eastonia back to her homeland,” the Alpha says.
I realize I’ve never caught his name. I doubt it matters. I glance at him, wondering how a man his age is able to have all of this–this family who eats breakfast together in the morning–while running a very large pack.
He’s only thirty at the most. His wife might be younger, but it’s hard to tell. They’re both young, fit, healthy, and seem remarkably… happy.
I eat a few bites to be polite, but I have no idea why the Alpha would bring me back here. I’m a stranger in their lands. I have a witch with me. We’re not planning on staying.
Within minutes, the children are bouncing in their chairs, ready to be dismissed from the table, and Katherine gathers their plates and shoos them into the depths of the house.
It’s just me and the Alpha now.
The air takes on a new feeling as tension roils between us, thick enough to cut with a knife.
He leans back in his chair and interlocks his fingers, his eyes meeting mine. “My pack talks. I’m sure it’s the same all over. Gossip spreads like wildfire in these Highlands.”
“What gossip are you alluding to?” I ask, keeping my voice low and level, damn near uninterested.
“The Highlands do not have an Alpha King. We never have because this area wasn’t populated until two hundred years ago or so. We used to be nomadic, more wolf than man. But times are changing, and with the packs in the Roguelands spreading out along the base of the mountains, we’re closer to civilization than ever before.”
I need him to get to the point because I’m burning daylight, and Kenna and I need to hit the road as soon as possible.
I almost say as such, but he bluntly continues, “I know about the rebel threat. The packs in these lands are close knit, forged by familial bonds and marriages. Several of the packs in the lower Highlands, toward the edge of the Roguelands, have encountered your rebel outlaws. Just last night, I met with the Beta of the Redwood pack, which is twenty miles south of here, and they’ve learned that Alpha King Ryatt is calling on his army to prepare for war.”
Flynn was right. This is bigger than we thought, and the royals are making moves.
“Which is why I need to leave here as soon as possible to bring the princess back to her family. She’s in danger here. She’s in danger anywhere that’s not the capital of Eastonia.”
“Moonrise, isn’t it?”
I nod.
The Alpha purses his lips in thought. “You cannot take the direct route into the Roguelands. We have a small road system now that leads into the river basin, where the Opal Hill pack resides. That’s your closest pack affiliated with the Roguelands. But you have to stay off the roads.”
“Why? Are you telling me you have Draven Rebels in the Highlands?”
“Possibly, or a small faction of their coven. We’ve killed at least thirty in the past month. The Alpha of Redwood took out an entire group of them in a cave near the edge of his territory two weeks ago. He left no survivors, but his pack suffered casualties.”
“You realize by telling me this that I have to report it to my commander, who will then relay this information to the king–”
“I’m telling you this because the packs of the Highlands are prepared to fight for the crown.”
I’m stunned into silence for several seconds. “How many packs?”
“Six. We have roughly five thousand warriors willing to fight. We already have bands patrolling the borders of our pack territories.”
I nod but then meet the young Alpha’s eyes. He’s serious. His eyes are set and cold as his gaze bores into mine.
“You’d be fighting for the Witch Queen, you know.”
For a split second, a new emotion flashes behind his eyes.
It’s humility–a rarity amidst the Alpha’s I’ve met in my life.
“She is Firestone. She was meant for the throne my people are willing to fight for.” He stands, and I follow. “Do you need escorts into the Roguelands?”
“Will the people of this territory attempt to stop our progress to the Roguelands?”
“No, they will not. I’ve already spread the word about your princess. You will both be welcome in any pack you come across.”
He walks me to the door. Bright, morning daylight filters through the windows, casting his rustic home in peels of gold and amber.
But I pause before crossing the threshold. “You’re giving up your freedom from the reign of another Alpha King. King Ryatt and Queen Ella will view the Highlands as part of their kingdom once I tell them this. Are you sure?”
“My people have survived here for two centuries–but barely. We’ve had several terrible winters and ever worse harvests. Now that the veil is gone, hunting has been less successful, and unless the Alphas of this land act, we will have to resort back to our old ways.”
He’d mentioned they were once nomadic, likely following whatever game they could hunt from breeding ground to breeding ground.
“I want better for my people. For my children,” he sighs with a nod. “This is the way forward for my people. They will never forget the heroic actions of your princess, warrior. One day she will be Queen of Eastonia, and that is who we truly follow into battle.”
I leave the Alphas house with a heavy chest. I reach the inn and find Kenna sitting at the bar picking at a plate of fruit.
She glances at me before sliding off her chair. She hikes a leather bag over her shoulder–likely a gift from the village for her services–and finally looks me in the eyes.
“I’m ready to go home,” she says and brushes past me into the open.