“I’ll explain what’s happening to her when there’s time,”
Lyre says, not even glancing my way.
“But there’s something more important you need to deal with right now.”
“Nothing is more important than her.”
The words tear from my throat in a feral snarl.
Lyre doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me with her uncanny eyes. Then she shakes her head with a sigh.
“Get outside and deal with who you brought here with your pointless display of dominance.”
Her voice drops to a hiss.
“Or they’ll be breaking down my door, and I promise you don’t want that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your little tantrum summoned an audience. Your beta’s dealing with them right now, but you need to deal with it.”
Ah.
I can feel it-the press of unfamiliar wolf energy against the periphery of my awareness. A pack. Territory holders. A presence I would have noticed immediately, if I wasn’t so focused on Grace.
I growl through clenched teeth.
“Indeed.”
Lyre places her hand on Grace’s forehead.
“The ambulance will be here soon, so take care of them before they scare off the EMTs. I’ve got Grace. Go be a king.”
One more look at Grace, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the scatter of faint freckles across her nose, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“I’ll be right back,”
I whisper to her.
“I promise.”
Lyre sighs.
“Just go.”
Outside, Jack-Eye stands at the foot of the RV steps, his broad back a barrier between what’s mine and a semicircle of wolves-eight of them, various ranks within their pack, all bristling with restrained aggression.
Their alpha isn’t here, but the one might be their beta.
“Sir,”
Jack-Eye says, relief evident in his voice.
“The Fiddleback Pack was concerned about our… presence.”
I should be enraged. I should want to tear through these lesser wolves for daring to interrupt when my mate lies unconscious. Even Fenris should be clawing at my control, demanding blood for this intrusion.
But Fenris remains by Grace, silent in my head, leaving it to me.
And I feel… contained. A strange lucidity courses through my veins where molten fury should be. I can still access my anger-it’s there, simmering beneath my skin-but it no longer threatens to consume me whole. The sensation is so alien I nearly stumble.
Jack-Eye studies my face with a frown.
I give Jack-Eye a curt nod, sidestepping him to face these interlopers directly. My shoulders square, stance widening-the posture of a king who refuses to acknowledge any challenge as legitimate.
The moment they catch my scent, and the light dominance rolling through the air, their faces grow pale. Jack-Eye’s presence should have been enough, but not all wolves are smart enough to recognize a Lycan. Especially when they’re weak.
“Where is your alpha?”
My question cracks through the air.
The wolves shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances. This pack was clearly unprepared for a direct confrontation with the Lycan King. Their discomfort saturates the air, the forced bravado of those who’ve stumbled into something far beyond their capabilities.
A female wolf steps forward from their ranks. Mid-thirties, compact build, with sharp features and calculating eyes. Not their alpha, but someone of authority.
“High Alpha.”
She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere near my collar, avoiding direct eye contact. Smart.
“I am Elizabeth, of the Fiddleback Pack.”
I incline my head.
“Why are you here?”
Elizabeth squares her shoulders, her face grim.
“Until we felt a surge of alpha dominance unlike anything we’ve experienced before. In human domain. Our protocols require investigation of unusual shifter activity, especially this close to human populations.”
My jaw tenses.
“You do not recognize the authority of the Lycan Throne?”
“We do,”
she assures hastily.
“We recognize your authority, High Alpha. We were just… unaware of your presence until now. I apologize for interrupting…”
Her eyes flick to the camper.
“Your pleasure.”
I can feel Jack-Eye’s amusement behind me, though his face is likely impassive. It’s a sixth sense borne of years of friendship.
“Was my beta’s presence not enough for you?”
“My apologies, High Alpha. It is our first experience with Lycans in our territory.”
I grimace. The reasoning is fair, packs like Fiddleback are small, based in rural areas.
“Now you know. Now leave. My business here is my own.”
Elizabeth regards me for a moment, then clears her throat.
“We mean no offense, High Alpha. The Fiddleback Pack would be honored to offer you hospitality during your stay in our territory.”
She straightens her posture, schooling her features into a mask of deference.
“Our compound has suitable accommodations for you and your entourage.”
A heavy hand smacks down on my shoulder. I don’t have to look, I already know Jack-Eye’s grinning like a fool. He loves anything free, he calls it an occupational hazard, after helping with our pack finances for so many years.
“We’ll take you up on that generous offer,”
he says, voice warm with charm.
A growl builds in my chest. I’m not leaving Grace.
We need somewhere to stay, anyway, Jack-Eye pack-links directly to me. His mental voice is pragmatic. And it means we can keep Andrew away from her.
My shoulders relax. Yes, distance between the two would be ideal.
My gaze drifts beyond the confrontation. Andrew stands by my car, arms folded across his chest, eyeing the wolves with suspicion. Thom hovers beside him, nervously fiddling with his copper-wired glasses. Behind them sits a pile of our belongings-the collapsed tent, sleeping bags, some bags of unknown provisions. Everything already packed up and ready to move.
How long was I in that camper with Grace? Long enough for them to break down our entire camp.
“Jack-Eye, take Andrew and Thom to the compound. I will stay here.”
My body feels like it’s been used as a car crash dummy. Voices filter through the cotton stuffed between my ears, muffled and distant at first, then gradually sharpening into familiar tones. Angry tones.
“Absolutely not. Stay ten feet away at all times.”
Lyre.
An unmistakably familiar growl.
“You aren’t in charge here.”
“No, but they are, and you’re sucking her dry every time you make contact. Keep your damn mutt off her, too.”
A snarl. Definitely Fenris.
“Stop looking at me like that. You’re a mutt without manners.”
Consciousness hovers just out of reach, and honestly, slipping back into oblivion seems like the smart option. Nothing good waits in a room where Lyre and the Lycan King are squaring off. Death wish, party of one.
“Her energy is finally stabilizing, and you two want to go right in and take what she’s gathered-“
“If touching hurts, why are you letting them touch her?”
“They’re not feeding off her like she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.