6

I f she doesn't leave soon, I'm going to be an ass and throw her out. I'm trying really hard not to be a dick, but I've lost all my patience.

India has been here for two days. She's kissing everyone's asses and playing nice, and it's weirding the guys out, especially the twins. It's weirding me the fuck out too, if I'm being honest. I know it's just an act after our last interaction, and she's just trying to get my good graces, but it's not that simple.

I don't hate her. I hate that I'm being forced to marry someone I don't enjoy spending time with. Someone I can't see taking care of our people. It's really just annoying me more than anything. She's been prancing around the townhouse all day, pretending to be some kind of housewife, if I had to guess. Now she's been in the kitchen for hours and had better not be upsetting Matilda. Those two have had quite a few spats in the last few years.

She's so dead set on being accepted; she let everyone know she was going to make us a big family meal to have tonight. Multiple courses, a coordinated wine menu, a set time—the works. I don't know what she's up to, but it can't be good. Just as I'm getting up to head to the table, I hear the doorbell. Not expecting anyone to be here for me, I stay my course for the large dining room. If I were a better man, I'd go to the kitchen to see if India needed or wanted my help with anything. But I'm not. All that was good in me died with Imogen and our child. I take my seat at the head of the table and pour myself a glass of the red wine that is set on the bar that runs along the wall beside the table.

Just as the glass grazes my lips, Matilda comes around the corner, looking sheepish and upset. I'm on my feet in a moment. "Matilda , what's wrong?"

She raises her hands slightly with a small shake of her head. "Master Razboinic, you have a guest," she says as strongly as she can muster. I want to question her more; she never addresses me as master, just as his scent hits me. It all makes sense.

Benny, grab the guys and get your asses to the dining room now. I'm able to finish my thought to Benny just as my father strolls into the room like he owns the place. I should have known. Now the question is, did India invite him or did he arrange the whole thing and demand she orchestrate it on his behalf?

"Father," I grunt, trying to seem unphased by his presence. Just looking at him sets my blood to boil. He's probably an inch shorter than my six-foot-six frame, but he still manages to look down his nose at me. We have the same square jaw, but that's where our similarities end. His dark hair is slicked back and plastered to his head with what has to be an entire bottle of some kind of hair product, where my sandy hair is just long enough to either look like a mess or be styled just right. He's broad for an older man, but he doesn't have anything on me or any of my men.

He does everything with the worst holier-than-thou attitude I've ever witnessed, even from India. He's always judging everyone he encounters with those empty blue eyes. It's like staring into the calm of the deep depths of the ocean, knowing damn well a shark could take your arm off any second.

You'd think he was the king of our people with the air he presents himself with. He thinks that highly of himself, but luckily, as far as titles go, he's a nobody, and he knows it. Because I've made sure to remind him every couple decades, when the need arises. The only titles he's acquired are Commander's Father, King's Advisor's Best Friend, Lousy Father, Worthless Mate, and Asshole.

"It really is time you hired better help, son. That woman you have here tried to get an attitude with me and prevent my entry," he complains.

Remind me to give Matilda a raise and some flowers. Benny chuckles back in my mind as the guys enter the dining room.

"Hey, old man!" Benny bellows, clapping both of his hands on my dad's shoulders because he knows how much he hates it, not to mention how much I love it.

"Benjamin, I'll remind you that I do not answer to that title, and you can keep your hands to yourself."

The twins are already snickering, and I allow myself to think for a moment that maybe this evening may not be all bad. Sure, my father will do everything in his power to piss me off, and he will succeed, but I have my men. My brothers. They'll have him far more irritated by the end of dinner, and I'll get to enjoy the show.

Smirking at the thought, I head into the kitchen to confront India about the evening's new development. I'm barely through the door when her back runs into my chest, as though she were about to shove through the door with a breadbasket in her hand. "Playing chef and homemaker won't win you points with me when you just so happen to forget to mention that my father would be at dinner tonight."

She freezes for a single moment before regaining her composure. "He made me promise not to tell you he was coming. He wanted to surprise you," she says with a pout. I wish I could believe her, but she knows how much I loathe my father's presence. What are they up to? She shimmies past me in a hurry, leaving me in the kitchen with a moment to myself when I notice it actually smells kind of good in here. If the evening somehow doesn't turn into the shitshow I'm expecting, I'm going to try to remember to thank her.

"Oh, good evening, Avram; I didn't know you'd made it already!" she squeals with that shrill ring she gets in her voice when she's putting on a show, like when she's recording something for her followers.

Maybe the boys will take turns pissing her off alongside my father. This might not be such a bad evening after all.

Smirking, I head back into the dining room to find my father has taken Benny's seat at the other end of my table. I always sit at the head of the table, while Benny takes the other end. I guess I should be surprised that he didn't take my seat. Hell, maybe he thought he had. It's okay, Boss, you know I don't give a shit about a chair. Let's just get through the meal so he'll leave. Benny rationalizes in my mind. He's not wrong.

I dip my chin in a nod as I look at him, then the rest of my men, before taking my place at the table.

The men begin to take their seats after I've sat down, while India looks around frantically, trying to decide whether to sit by my side or my father's. She can have him for all I care, but I know I won't get that lucky. Like I said, he's a nobody, and that wouldn't be enough for the advisor's daughter. It almost makes me regret being in command of Zabella's armies. It's my reputation and strength that put me in this position. Add in my professional hockey career, and I'm just well and truly fucked.

"So, Father, what brings you through the rift gate and across the globe for dinner?" I ask, knowing it can't be good.

My hope drops even further when he smiles like that. He's proud of whatever he's about to say, while I will likely loathe the words that come from his mouth. "I have word from Boian," he says smoothly, all too happy with himself. Boian is the werewolf king's advisor, and India's father. My father latched on to him when they were young. Always striving for more than he was born with and never quite reaching it until he was able to use me.

My men know the direction this conversation is about to take and how I'll feel about it. They all visibly tense at his words. At ease, men, don't react. He finds power in it.

"Father, do you care to finish your sentence, or are you practicing the art of suspense?" I ask, feigning indifference, as I straighten my silverware next to my place setting.

I've obviously ruffled his feathers, judging by the small scrunch of his brows for only a moment, and I love it. "Well, son, it is most excellent news!" he exclaims as he claps his hands.

Nothing good can come from him being this truly happy with himself.

"Boian has informed me that the union of you and India will be so much more than your average arranged marriage . . ." he pauses once again, for dramatic effect, and I can feel my resolve to not strangle him weaken. My men are just as restless. My wolf is growling and pacing under my skin.

"When you've finished with your silly little hockey career, you will return to Zabella, and you will no longer be commander of the army."

I'm up and out of my chair in an instant, letting the roar loose from my throat. "What are you going on about? No more of this illustrious bullshit. You have only a moment to tell me what's going on before this is no longer a nice family dinner."

My father takes a moment to straighten his cufflinks, like he doesn't have a care in the world, but I can see the tic in his jaw that tells me how he feels about me interrupting him. "Well, son, if you would let me speak. Now, as I was saying, you will no longer be the commander of our armies."

Small growls erupt around the table.

"As you know, our poor princess was lost to us some time ago. Though the King and Queen continue to hold out hope that she will be found, Boian has been in discussion with them for some time. They have finally all agreed that should our princess not be found by the time you're finished with your little hockey games, you, my son, will take the throne as king, with India as your queen."

All the men begin yelling into my mind at once, causing me to throw up my walls.

"What did you just say?" I ask in a calm and deadly voice. "I didn't ask for this. What if I don't want this? It's not enough to marry her to make your old pal happy, but now I'm to lose all my freedom and become King?!"

India flinches from the level of my voice, but I can tell she's still immensely pleased with herself.

I couldn't imagine her as the Luna of my pack, and they want her to be the Queen Luna of our existence? This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. "Alright, Father, joke's over. What did you really want to talk about?" I ask.

"Roman, I will not be spoken down to again, and I do not spin fairytales. You will be king, whether you like it or not. Enjoy playing your silly games, and when the time comes, you will be king." With that, he stands, throws his napkin from his lap onto his plate, and storms out of my home with India hot on his heels. I'm sure she has questions and more ass-kissing to do, but I can't be bothered to care right now.

Once we're alone, all of my men look to me with different expressions on their faces. Benny is a mixture of shock, awe, and trying not to laugh his ass off. Eris and Dolos seem to be rendered speechless, which I haven't witnessed in a long time. Slate looks like he's going to kill someone, but he always looks like that so it's hard to tell if he's affected. Andrei looks a little confused, and maybe a little lost in thoughts or memories.

"I don't know anything more than all of you. I didn't know this was coming," I state, quietly.

"I think you made that clear with your father, but that doesn't change the fact that it's happening," Slate replies, always the logical one but he's not done yet, "should we talk about this and make a plan of some kind? There are going to be a lot of moving parts we'll need to take care of."

I've always been immensely grateful for my men, but they never cease to amaze me with their loyalty to me. "Thank you, Slate, but that's not needed yet. I don't plan to retire from hockey any time soon, and I'm not thinking about this right now. Let's just finish eating, and for now, we can pretend this didn't happen." And so, we did.

As the last of my men make their way out, leaving just Benny and myself at the table, Benny looks at me without a hint of humor in his words, "What now, Boss?"

I drop my chin for a moment feeling my wolf fight a mixture of rage and pride under my skin. Looking back up, I scrub my hand up and down my face and let it settle on the back of my neck, "Benny . . . for once I don't really know."