1. Sea

Sea

We came by land, sea, and car. All three Irish Kings converged from the North, South, and East for our agreed-upon meeting inside the ancient structure we called Clocha na Cinniúna — the fating stones.

But I, the Sea King, arrived first. After tying up my boat at the dock of the nearest town to this particular set of fating stones, I hiked up a bendy road in pouring rain past several signs the clueless humans had hung, inviting tourists to visit one of the structures they insisted on calling"prehistoric stone circles."

"Welcome to the Ballymactyre Stone Circle!"

An elderly and round human male wearing a flat cap underneath a bright green poncho sprang out of the entry booth before I reached the stone steps leading up to the fating gates.

"I'll just need a payment of ten from you then."

My wolf thrashed inside of me, demanding I let him rip out the elderly man's throat for daring to charge any sum of money for the privilege of visiting the stone monument the Wild King's ancestors had built back in the Bronze Age.

But I clenched my jaw against the constant, gnawing need that my wolf pushed on me — the need to destroy and do even the most minor of enemies harm because in twenty-nine years, I had yet to claim a mate.

I did not give the audacious male ten euros. I gave him one thousand in a thick wad held together with a bit of twine. We didn't have much use for currency in the secret kingdom. But my uncle had made sure to tuck a few wads of the stuff inside my leather belt pouch before handing it to me with an old Gaelic proverb that roughly translated to, "Money is the only oil that will light every type of lamp . "

In short, money would make it easier for me to remain the king wherever I traveled in the human world.

"Shut down the gates for a while," I instructed the rotund human as if he were one of my subjects."I've a meeting set here with two others, but if ever someone comes through with an inquiry about whether you've seen us — especially a Scottish someone…"

"I never did. Understood." The delighted booth minder nabbed the wad from my hand and tucked it into a pocket beneath his poncho."Will the three of you be wanting a tour, then?"

"No." I shifted my gaze to the car park across the two-lane road just as a vehicle pulled in — a sleek Nakamura Velocity EV. Not so flashy that humans would take notice but posh enough to spoil its driver and signal virtuosity.

I guessed the Dublin King was behind the wheel even before he stepped out and popped an umbrella to protect his fine, tailored suit and swept back copper-colored hair from the pelting rain.

"That your mate? "

The booth minder squinted at the newcomer who'd crossed the road and was now squelching through the mud toward us in polished wingtips.

"What's the craic here, then? Some sort of Top Boy nonsense?"

Irritation spiked within me. Now the greedy human was asking questions? I should've given him less dosh to keep others out during our meeting. The hefty sum had piqued his curiosity, and although we weren't in the drug trade like the Irish lads on that English series, I could certainly see why he might think so.

My wolf thrashed inside of me again. Begging for a kill.

The Diplomatic King was one of my many non-official titles among our kind. However, my inner beast had been bad, verging on terrible before the Tríbéirríthe's call. Now that it knew my long wait for a true mate might end, every little nuisance made it prowl on edge inside me — especially the clueless human ones.

"You'll want to go back inside your hut and remain there until we're done," I told the booth minder.

The old man was nosy but not daft. He shuffled back into his little entry booth without any further questions.

"Sea," the Dublin King greeted me with a nod.

His silver-grey gaze flicked briefly over the jeans and t-shirt I wore beneath a rain parka from some brand called Jack Murphy. This was the first time he'd ever seen me attempt to blend in with the humans. I'd even let the hair grow back over the shaved side of my head, which still bore the near-useless runic protection tattoos meant to keep my beast in check.

Not that it mattered. Protection tattoos be damned, my beast continued to hover dangerously close to my surface. And anyhow, when I stepped off the boat I'd taken from Ailte Faoilmar to keep the Dublin King from knowing the true location of the secret kingdom, I'd pulled my hood over my long red hair.

"Dublin," I answered with a nod of my own.

"That sorted?" The Dublin King tilted his city pompadour toward the human in the booth.

"Paid him well enough to keep his gob shut about us ever meeting here if that's what you're asking."Now, it was my turn to eye him up and down. "But then you decided to flah up looking like an entire episode of Dragon's Den for what's s'posed to be a secret get-together."

"I don't have much time for this, do I?" Dublin lowered his brows and blew out a breath. "Had to fit you in between meetings with a few of our County Kerry distributors."

He glanced around — then sniffed in the way of wolves who spent far too much time hiding what they were from humans: covertly with barely a flare of his nostrils."Where's the Feral King?"

"Do not call him that." My voice came out rougher than I intended. Though, the reason had less to do with respect for a fellow king and more with my ongoing battle with the mutinous wolf fighting me for control of my body.

"Is Wild still alright to call him?" The Dublin King's tone was a tad — but only a tad — more respectful."Or is there an Irish pagan title he prefers these days?"

"Wild is fine."

"Alright then, where's the Wild King?" he asked.

"Not sure," I admitted, scanning the road for the king who I'd only ever seen travel by foot. But there was no sign of him coming from any direction. "We'll wait inside the fating stones for him then. "

However, we soon discovered that a wait wasn't required. As it turned out, I wasn't the first to arrive.

Upon walking up the stone-covered hill, we found the Wild King crouched in front of one of the standing stones with one arm slightly in front of the other in the wet grass as if he fully intended to pounce on any prey that dared to cross his path — the hunter position, as my Viking ancestors used to call it back when they were still in the habit of running down their meat.

Upon our entry into the circle of standing stones, he rose to his feet — shorter than either of his fellow kings, yet somehow as imposing as one of his druid ancestors.

"Welcome to Clocha na Cinniúna ." His eyes glowed bright blue in Ireland's relentless gray, and he gave us a deep bow that was one part tradition and two parts mocking."It's been too long."

Nearly two decades, actually. The last time we were all together, we'd been confused boys, standing by as Dublin's father negotiated the peace treaty that merged the Belfast and Dublin wolves into a two-city kingdom and introduced the new Heat Laws. After the Terrible Belfast Mess.

However, Dublin barely nodded at Wild's mocking formalities before turning his sharp gaze back to me. "Why did you call this meeting? If this is about the pitiful population numbers after our latest zero birth year, I've already got feelers out. I'm in contact with other kingdoms across the world, trying to work out a discreet exchange program."

"According to the Tríbéirríthe, the Scottish Wolves have beaten you to the punch," I said, sweeping my gaze over them. "They've already worked out an exchange with a Canadian pack with the opposite problem. Too many she-wolves. "

I paused, letting that sink in — the idea of a pack actually having too many she-wolves. Then I dropped the rest of it on them. "And those surplus females arrived in the Scottish kingdom town not long ago." Once again, my heart jerked at the possibilities.

Switching to the auld language, I added, "They came from across the sea . "

The Dublin King stilled, like a wolf that had caught the scent of something bigger and deadlier than himself. True, Dublin didn't speak the auld language — like his father and every Norman king before him. His line, descended from conquerors, had refused to learn it from the start. At this point, it was more than ignorance; it was tradition, a deliberate signal that the Norman Wolves — as they were originally called before a major city grew up around them — were superior to the likes of us.

But this particular bit of Gaelic was different. We had all been made to memorize the prophecy as princes, and forced to recite it before we could claim our thrones, each one of us inheriting the additional title: Keeper of the Prophecy.

Wild, who had tipped his face to the sky, said, "It's exactly as the Draganclocha Prophecy foretold."

His voice was a mere breath above the wind, and when he slashed his gaze at us, the usual mocking gleam wasgone. "No wonder our numbers have fallen so low. Yer father was right, Sea. It's time —"

"No." Dublin shook his head, cutting Wild off. "We can't."

"We must ," Wild insisted. "The Second Reaping must happen as prophesied."

My wolf thrashed in agreement, ready to claim our queen. However, I kept an eye on Dublin, the king who ruled over the largest population of shifters in Ireland. We were all wolf walkers, but the City Wolves didn't hold the same cultural beliefs as the shifters who belonged to the Wild and Sea packs — especially when it came to sharing. Also, his family had a spotty history when it came to respecting my family's long held title of The True King.

"No," the Dublin King said again. "We cannot engage in a Second Reaping. Our relationship with the Scottish Wolves is still completely banjaxed after the first one. And that was over five hundred years ago!"

"You should know," I said, "that the Tríbéirríthe has also put in an extraction request for a specific female. They believe she's a potential match. This will take resources — far more than the First Reaping. But they're willing to fund the whole thing if we deliver her."

"Then it's settled." Wild pounded a fist to his chest, his electric blue eyes blazing even brighter. "Ye've only to say the word, True King, and the Wild Contingent will be ready."

"Right, I've a dead serious question for you that's in desperate need of an answer before we go any further." Instead of pounding his chest in fidelity, Dublin raised both hands, a sneer curving his mouth. "Are the two of you actually mental?"

Wild let out a frustrated huff and my wolf slammed into my chest in its effort to tear out of my body and rip the voice box from the City King's sarcastic throat.

Somehow I managed to keep the beast down, and calmly reply, "Dublin, listen, mate…"

"No, you listen. It's not the 1500s anymore. This ‘Second Reaping' — as you two so poetically call your kidnapping scheme — will land us in deep shite with the Scots and the North Americans this time."

"Only the Scottish Wolves will have reason to complain," I replied as patiently as I could with the beast snarling inside of me. My skin prickled, the urge to shift pulsing through me as my wolf clawed at my control. "These she-wolves belong to a special, mostly Canadian sect. They don't even acknowledge the North American Lupine Federation, let alone vote in their elections."

"A special sect?" Dublin took a sharp sniff, like he'd caught the scent of bullshite coming from the pasture. "Are you telling me they're religiously exempt from being counted as part of the North American Territories?"

I gritted my jaw, too annoyed that he guessed that bit right to answer.

But my lack of response was all the Dublin King needed to press on with his counter argument.

His gaze narrowed. "So, let me get this straight. You — the Viking Sea King — and your not-so-wise pagan ally here plan to kidnap a bunch of fundamentalist she-wolves because it was written on some stone eons ago?"

"It's more than that," Wild growled, eyes blazing. "She's meant to be our banríon , you disrespectful cunt."

"Oh, lovely. I'm sure this highly circumspect W?lfennite she-wolf you want all three of us to wed will be absolutely charmed by that pious mouth of yours, Wild."

Wild smirked, his grin feral. "She won't mind when she sees how well I eat pie. Besides the prophecy —"

Dublin cut him off with a roll of his eyes. "Please stop quoting some ancient rock your ancestors scribbled on centuries ago."

Wild's grin twisted into something darker. "The prophecy is real."

"Says you," the Dublin King shot back. "For all we know, that text was just some druid playing a prank with his chisel. There wasn't much for you lot to be doing back then. Or now, it would seem. "

"We Wild Walkers have got plenty to do, ye jackeen gobshite," Wild growled through clenched teeth. "And every other word of the prophecy has come true. We are all the Sons of Mairi, are we not? Fighting a Second Reaping that's already been written into the stone of fate is a waste of time."

I nodded. "He's right, Dublin. We would've died out in the 1500s if it weren't for the first reaping. And if we want to save our kingdoms, we need to be united on this. I get why you're reluctant, and I understand why you might hesitate to pledge your wolves to this cause. They are a bit…"

"Soft," the Wild King finished in a tone usually reserved for spitting.

"Untrained in the ways of stealth," I corrected, throwing Wild a sharp look. "But you can still be involved. Help us coordinate, and your City Wolves will have fair access."

Dublin, though shorter than me by a couple of inches, somehow managed to look down his nose as he replied, "While I appreciate your diplomatic attempt to persuade me into committing a heinous crime, my answer is still no."

My chest clenched at the finality in his voice and my wolf threatened to explode out of me.

"You're aware you're part of the prophecy." Unable to keep the desperation out of my voice, I lowered my head slightly, leveling my eyes with his. "We can't fulfill it without you."

Wild sneered. "And what do ye reckon the Tríbéirríthe will do when they realize ye're the only king standing between them and what they've been waiting for?"

Dublin shrugged. "I imagine they'll do what they should've done from the start. Hire mercenaries to extract this one female rather than involve our three kingdoms in a mad plan that could get us banned from North America. Or better yet, maybe they should just talk to their potential like modern-day shifters."

"And how's that working out for yer City Walkers then?" Wild shot back. "Last I checked, yer population's just as barren as ours. Now stop yer bleating and get on board before all ye've left to rule over is a pack of city willy."

"Don't you dare command me," Dublin bared his teeth at Wild in a way that showed exactly what he was underneath that posh accent and smooth shave. "I'm not one of your ferals."

Then the City King turned to me, his voice cool again. "And yes, I know you can't complete the prophecy without me. Which is why I'm walking away."

"Dublin…" I began.

But Dublin wasn't one to posture. Without a word, he turned, leaving nothing but the sight of his black umbrella fading into the rain as he disappeared around the standing stones.

Fuck .

As we watched him go, my wolf howled despondently inside of me. We'd been so close…

"Ye can't let him leave it this way." Wild came up to stand beside me, his voice a somber echo ofthe same thoughts I'd been having. "It's as yer father said. We are the ones who must do this. The prophecy must be fulfilled. Or else what did it all mean?"

Keep your noses in the air, Sons of Ireland! For the time of Mairinua will soon come!

My wolf thrashed even harder at the memory of the last words my father ever said to me — along with Wild and Dublin — after being stripped of his titles .

"Besides, yer nine and twenty, Sea King," Wild pointed out without a gram of softness in his tone. "Are ye not sick of yer own hand yet?"

The answer to that question was yes. But abject shame rendered me unable to reply out loud.

Perhaps Wild sensed the truth underneath my carefully neutral expression. His voice gentled to say, "I imagine yer wait has not been easy on ye. Or yer wolf?"

No, it hadn't. A cold wind blew through my chest, howling along with my lonely, too-long unmated wolf.

But…

"Dublin's right," I reminded Wild with a sunken stomach. "We can't complete the prophecy without him."

"He's right about that bit, sure," Wild conceded, though it looked like it pained him to say so. "But he's wrong about one thing. We don't need him for the Second Reaping. And unlike the two of ye, I have faith."

His eyes burned with a fervor that matched his name.

"I believe in the prophecy. And I believe that if we find our queen and bring her to Eire, everything will fall into place. I'm with ye, Sea. But the question is, are ye truly ready to do yer part to fulfill the prophecy?"

Wild stepped in front of me, blocking the sight of Dublin's retreating form.

"What say ye, True King?"

Wild extended a hand, his glowing eyes daring me to make a choice. "Will ye lead us in the Second Reaping?"