Chapter Eight

The few members of the Rockwell Pack who traveled with me have set up in a spacious building a few miles away from Aesara where shifters stay when they’re traveling through. It’s on the edge of the forest, giving our wolves ample space to run about—a necessity for our more primal halves.

I received word that more members are on their way, wanting to offer their support in the face of the difficulties I’m currently up against.

Those difficulties are vast.

I sit at the head of the large chestnut table in the dining room, watching my brother pace back and forth over the stone floor in front of a fireplace on one side of the room. The rest of our packmates are littered throughout the large home—a few in the dining room with me, chatting with each other, and more occupying the many other rooms.

Both Wyatt and I had the fortune to find our mates in Aesara—but that fortune soured rather quickly. Wyatt’s mate, Leisel, is too young to be taken, as per the laws my father enacted during his reign to give the remaining humans an illusion of protection and power. My mate, though she’s old enough to be taken by my pack, despises me with every fiber of her being and actually managed to win a duel to stay away from me.

I glimpsed her hatred each time she looked at me. Her tempting lips curl ever so slightly in disgust, and her eyes glitter with malice. It’s hatred that seems to extend to all shifters, and I’d wager all mythics as well.

I expected complications with having a human mate. There have only been a handful of cases where humans were accepting of mating with mythics from the start, and I can’t entirely blame them. This world was theirs before we made it ours, and the changes we imposed caused much damage and discontent to their ways of life. Not to mention the fact that all but a few hundred thousand humans were killed off without the aid of technology they’d come to rely on, along with their silly attempts to fight off mythics.

I never expected the complications to be a soul-deep hatred from Sierra, however. I assumed there would be fear that my mate would need to be coaxed past—even a strong dislike. But Sierra doesn’t fear me whatsoever, nor does she just dislike me. If I’m reading her correctly, she simply wishes to see me suffer and most likely drop dead.

Wyatt casts a glance at me as he paces. “Our mates are earthly witches. Leisel’s an even more powerful healer than Claude, and she’s a child. Your mate has the Black Flame. We need them, for more than just the strength to be gained through bonds; the pack will need their powers.”

I nod. “Quite so.”

I only got a small glimpse of the fire Sierra manifested—but that fire was golden and black. If the lore surrounding that particular variation of magical fire is anything to go off of, black flames destroy anything they come into contact with. That ability will be incredibly useful in the war that’s brewing.

I recall overhearing the plump man Sierra was speaking with after the duel ask her what her fire did. I looked at her just in time to see her eyes darken, and hear her solemn response, “Nothing good.”

As for Leisel, the healing capabilities I saw her display are remarkable. If she’s already able to heal extensive wounds within the span of a few seconds, it stands to reason that she’ll be able to do a great deal more in the future.

“We can’t leave without them,” Wyatt says, running an agitated hand through his dirty blond hair. “I refuse to leave without Leisel, and I doubt you’ll leave without Sierra.”

If Sierra lost her duel, I’d have no problem tying her up, throwing her over my shoulder, and forcing her to come home with me. Once there, I’d have plenty of time and space to build a relationship with her—to attempt to bypass her innate hatred of mythics and of me. Its impossible to do that at present, though, because she won her duel.

I must admit, watching how soundly Sierra beat Aspen both angered and impressed me. It should have been impossible that a mere human—even if she’s an earthly witch—could beat one of the warriors who always travels with me for protection, yet Sierra didn’t use any magic during the fight—just blurring speed, and unbelievably accurate strategies. She seemed to know the few weaknesses shifters have and capitalized on them brilliantly.

I respond to Wyatt, “Legally, I have no power to take her with me; Sierra won.”

Which means I’ll need to get clever with how I go about this. I could appeal to the shifter high court, as I know and work closely with all the counselors seated on it, but that would be a lengthy legal process requiring time I don’t have.

“There has to be some loophole we can use,” Wyatt rumbles, rubbing his temples with his index finger and thumb. “If we don’t have our mates, the pack will end up crumbling. We’ll end up crumbling.”

He’s right. Aside from the fact that I need to be bonded before facing war with the vampires, I now understand that Sierra will prove quite a dangerous distraction until we’ve completed our bond—or at least reinforced it with a mark and consummation. A bond can take a long time to reach completion as it requires a couple to achieve a certain level of openness and emotional intimacy, but once the bond is sealed with a mark and consummated with sex, it’s mostly formed and highly functional. Until those two cornerstones are reached, though, it seems the bond will only torture me with mental images of Sierra, memories of her taste and scent, serving as the most alluring distraction.

The few times we’ve been in proximity, she held my attention so soundly that I struggled to form coherent thoughts. When we’re apart, I can’t think of anything but her. Last night I tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep, our kiss playing on repeat in my mind, experiencing a growing desperation to kiss her everywhere. I know that’s the bond at work, but it’s also the fact that she’s so singularly unique and captivating.

Everything about her is enthralling to me. Her flaming long red hair, her remarkably unique golden eyes, the light dusting of cinnamon freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her lithe, toned body that gives me an erection the likes of which I’ve never felt in my thirty-four years of life.

I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already a man obsessed. I want to know everything there is to know about her. I want to fucking consume her—body, mind, heart, and soul. I’m already addicted, and an Alpha with an addiction is a very dangerous thing, especially when it’s for someone who’ll go to the grave with resistance.

It doesn’t help that my inner wolf is pushing me to seek her out, to fuck her in any and every way possible. To hear her compelling, lilting voice without the coating of anger it’s carried the few times she’s addressed me.

I glance up as Aspen strolls into the room. Her embarrassment of losing a fight to a human is still vast, and she apologized to me profusely after the duel, begrudgingly admitting that she’s barely seen any warriors of my pack move with the speed that Sierra did. I gave her a stern scolding before instructing her to venture into Aesara to gather all the information she could on Sierra and Leisel as penance—a task achievable with enough gold coins.

She approaches me, eyes downcast, and motions with a hand towards a seat to the left of me requesting permission.

You may sit, I allow. Once she has, I ask, “What have you gathered?”

She clears her throat, still not meeting my eyes. Although both she and her wolf are particularly dominant, it’s difficult for anyone to hold my gaze—being an Alpha compels submission in almost all those around me. The fact that Sierra stared into my eyes without flinching is a testament to her strength of soul.

Within packs of any shifters, there are two primary categories; those with a dominant inner animal, and those with a submissive one. Alpha’s have to be the most dominant of all, or they risk being overthrown by other pack members.

“Your mate’s full name is Sierra West. She’s twenty-three years old, and Leisel is nine,” Aspen tells me.

Wyatt perks up at the mention of his mate, pausing in his pacing to listen to Aspen. The rest of the shifters present also stop their conversations, curious to hear about their future queen and princess.

“Go on,” I encourage.

Aspen clears her throat. “Sierra’s father died from cancer when she was thirteen. Her mother shortly found out she was pregnant, and then died giving birth to Leisel when she hemorrhaged on the birthing bed. There are no accounts of any magical blood in her family—it’s an incredibly well-kept secret.”

My eyes flutter closed. It’s little wonder that Sierra can’t stand me—she lost both her parents because humans are no longer afforded the medical attention they once had direct access to. In a roundabout way, they died because of mythics.

“By most accounts, Sierra’s relatively solitary, oftentimes keeping to herself while working on her farm. She does, however, trade in the village multiple times a week—anything from meats she gathers on hunts, to produce and grains she harvests from her farm. On occasion, she’ll sell paintings she makes as well. Every Sunday she visits the struggling families in Aesara, bringing whatever food she can spare for the children.”

My chest warms. Aspen’s words tell me that my mate has a considerable soft side hidden under her armor. Perhaps I can coax that softness out and use it to my advantage.

“All the villagers seem to like her well enough—and they all positively adore Leisel. Sierra raised Leisel as her own daughter and has seemingly dedicated her life to providing for her sister.”

My assumption that Leisel and she are very close was spot on which means Leisel is the only leverage I have on Sierra.

“How did the villagers respond to seeing their magic?” I ask Aspen.

With any luck, that’ll have turned some of them against her, leaving her in need of a safe haven which I’d be most happy to provide.

Aspen replies, “Mostly positive, but there’s a group that’s not happy with finding out that two magical beings, mythics or not, have lived right under their noses for decades.”

History shows that mobs don’t take long to spread hatred; if there’s already a group of individuals that have turned on Sierra and Leisel, they might grow in numbers and pose a threat. That’s something I might be able to use to my advantage, as well as it serving as an additional reason for wanting to get Sierra away from here, where there might soon be danger to her afoot.

“You’re dismissed,” I tell Aspen.

With a bow of her head, she scurries off. Wyatt takes her place, clenching his hands into fists.

I watch the fireplace thoughtfully. “Leisel didn’t declare duelum,” I say, thinking out loud.

“She’s not old enough to,” Wyatt responds, brows furrowing as he watches me. As both my brother and Beta, we grew up quite close, and he often helps me strategize during tumultuous times, especially since our father abdicated the throne to live out the rest of his life in solitude.

“Very true,” I allow, “but technically, she is a member of the Rockwell Pack by association. The laws state that humans under the age of eighteen can’t be marked or officially mated, but if I recall correctly, nowhere is it stated that mates can’t still be brought to pack territory.”

Wyatt’s eyes spark with interest as he listens. “In other words, I have jurisdiction to take her to Kinrith with me.”

I incline my head. “And anywhere Leisel goes, Sierra will undoubtedly follow.”

It’s an underhanded plan—a dirty one without a doubt—but I have no compunction about playing dirty to get Sierra.

I knew from the first five seconds in her presence that she’s not a person who’d ever submit to anyone, let alone me. I doubt even physical punishments could bend her will—not that I intend to hurt her. The longer we spend in proximity, the stronger our bond innately becomes, even without her bearing my mark or consummation. That means that soon enough, her pain will trickle over to my body through the bond; even if I wanted to hurt her, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be in my best interest to do so.

The only real thing I can use against her is her love for her sister, and I intend to use it as much as is necessary.

Sierra will come to accept me—few can resist the pull of the bond for long. In time, she might even come to love me. How much I crave that truly startles me.

I glance at one of my packmates, Oscar, and motion him over with a hand. The tall, burly blond is our pack scribe—when letters or documents need to be created and sent about, he’s the one who writes them.

“Put together a formal invitation for Sierra and Leisel to join us for dinner tonight,” I instruct him. Then I stand and walk to the kitchen, instructing my chefs to replicate the normal dinner spread Wyatt and I are offered each night.

Beyond wanting to feed my mate a hearty meal—foods not afforded to mere humans—I’m curious to see how she’ll interact with the pack. Curious to see just how deep her hostility towards us runs—if there are any chinks in her armor I can press on. At the end of the evening, I’ll inform her that Leisel will be taken to Kinrith in the morning and prepare for the fight of a lifetime she’ll no doubt put up.