10. A Life Taken, A Promise Kept

10

A Life Taken, A Promise Kept

JOAQUIN

I heard them coming long before I saw them, though they were quiet, for such young shifters, especially in their human forms. They moved gracefully on two feet, alert for any movement, their eyes on the forest floor. Of course, that was their mistake.

I spied on them from the tops of the trees, knowing I could not speak to them, not yet. Still, I wanted to learn all I could about these males who would be my little one's consorts beside me.

They seemed worthy, though the red-haired one had come close to dying, even if he never knew it, when he rejected her. From the shadows, I had watched her face pale, seen the trembling and pain his callous words of rejection had caused. If he hadn't thought better of it, if he had fully rejected her, I would have made certain he didn't live more than a few hours to regret it.

Finnick was his name. Finnick McDonnell, son of the repulsive Aidan and his reclusive mate, Elina. My teeth grew sharp as I considered Aidan. He was a coward, weak in spirit as well as body. How had he ascended to his current position? How had a shifter like that, vain and corrupt, produced a strong Heir such as this? There was something I didn't know about the wolves of the Eastern pack, but my instincts warned me to keep my little queen away from them.

Hmmm. Perhaps that was why Finnick had tried to reject her. To protect her. I could forgive that. Still, he had wounded her heart, and he would be held accountable. She was in pain even now.

Though some of that was the fault of the first mate, the one who lived in agony now, as he should. The unworthy one who had allowed her to be hunted and abused. Luke, the broken, weak male who had watched our little one suffer for years.

I knew more about him than he would ever dream. While he slept, I had entered the Southern Pack House and stood over his bed with a magical blade in my hand. I had been hunting her enemies: the disgraced Alpha Callaway, the Enforcer Trevor. But someone had taken them far enough from the Southern packlands that I could not find them by scent or magic.

Which meant a vehicle. But there had only been the cars and trucks that the visiting Alphas and their contingents had arrived in. Which meant the enemies of my mate had been taken to safety inside one of those. What allies could such dishonorable men have? I had suspicions, but no proof.

For her sake, I had left Luke alive, but stayed long enough to learn every secret the shadows of that Pack House had to tell. They had stored up so many. Gleaning them all had kept me from coming for my little queen sooner, though the delay would most likely work in my favor. She needed time to grow more confident, to learn what it meant to be a shifter.

Though for some reason, she had not taken her wolf form again, since the first time, when she was wounded. I worried about what that might mean.

Shaking the thought away, I concentrated on weaving the shadows under my perch in the tall pine. The two young males hunted well, their tactics proven, if predictable. If Flor accepted them—when she did—I would teach them a few of the oldest methods of hunting.

"He's not here," Finnick said, his shoulders slumping. I almost smiled. If I dropped a pinecone, it would land on his shoulder.

"But he was," the blond replied, sniffing around the base of the tree, then looking up. He leaped up on the wide trunk, climbing near enough that if it had not been for my magic shielding me, he might have caught me. His inner beast could sense me. Through our mutual connection to the little queen? Perhaps. I felt inexplicably proud that he'd come so close.

Glen Hillier, son of Bradley and Margarette. He was a bit of a fool, unaware of so much that was going on in his pack, right under his nose. I hoped for his sake that he had more integrity than his parents.

He continued quietly talking to his friend, while he scented the air. "I don't like it. We don't know anything about him. A new Alpha from the Borderlands? Which ones? Texas? New Mexico? The rogues own all of what used to be the true packlands to the west. Their incursions are what's kept any Alpha from holding onto more than a few acres of land long enough to establish a pack. My father said he hadn't heard of a new Alpha, but his power when Flor was hurt… He was definitely an Alpha; there's no denying it." He climbed back down, resting on his haunches on the pine-needle-strewn ground.

Finnick grunted as he paced around the tree, still searching for me, though Glen had stopped. "He spoke Spanish with a strange accent. If I had to guess, he's not from Mexico, or the Americas."

"Spain?" Their voices grew quieter as they walked away, back to the Lodge.

"Wherever he's from, if he hurts Flor, we'll kill him," Finnick called back over his shoulder, his narrowed eyes lifted to the trees.

Had he seen through my magical concealment? I smiled, half-hoping he had. If Flor did choose him as a consort, that particular sort of strength would give her even more protection.

A part of me liked that the Eastern Heir had paid enough attention to me to realize my accent wasn't perfect. I had only been speaking Spanish for nineteen years, since I crossed the Arctic circle and made my way from Canada, then down to Texas.

Nineteen years since I felt her wolf's spirit enter the world, and knew I had to find her.

I waited for a few more moments, until I was sure the males had gone and no one else was near, then climbed down to the forest floor. It was time to visit my little queen, and keep my promise.

I crept past the unranked housing, where voices were still raised. Did the leaders of Northern know how pervasive the rot was in this glittering gem of a pack? It wasn't the Alpha and his Enforcers doling out cruelty here, though they most likely suspected at least some of the abuses. In a pack of thousands, I supposed it could be difficult to keep track of a few dozen ill-doers.

But too many of the stronger unranked shifters here, along with a few of the lower-ranked Enforcers, used the petty power they had to force the others to do their bidding. And the blanket of the deep night to hide their crimes.

From what I had gleaned, listening to the women's soft voices over the past week, the system the Alpha had in place for rising in rank was a large part of the problem. Hidden corruption, as well as stagnant thinking about who deserved the chance to rise, made for an atmosphere of frustration and hopelessness, even in a pack that pretended to be forward-thinking.

Hopelessness had a stench, and I stopped, smelling it now. Along with blood, and… other fluids.

Soft words accompanied the scents. "Stay quiet and take it, bitch."I heard a slap, and a stifled, feminine cry, and knew what was happening.

It had been centuries since my heart had been touched by the plight of shifters so far beneath my notice, but now, understanding my little queen had been one like them, suffering under the injustice, I was compelled to intervene.

I didn't hesitate. His death would be a gift to her, though she would not know I had given it. I might tell her someday.

Sliding next to the rough wooden door, I sent a tendril of magic underneath the doorframe. Seconds later, the sounds of a male choking to death joined the quiet insects that hummed in the nearby woods.

A woman whispered, "Stan's gone purple. Is he… dying? Should we help him?"

Another girl's bitter laugh caught my ear. "Let him choke on his own spit. He's spit on us enough times." A clawing sound and a crash of a dish breaking split the air—this Stan's death throes.

A raspy voice, thick with tears, added, "It's not right, though, to let him die without telling someone."

"It's perfect. I wouldn't spit on Stan if he was on fire. After what he did to you? Tried to do to me?"

They argued for a moment that he couldn't be dying, until one announced, "Too late now. He's not dying. He's dead."

Gasps. "It's magic."

"No. This is the Moon Goddess, wreaking Her justice."

Of course they thought it was magic, or a miracle. Choking on spit was an impossible death for a shifter, and for a moment, I let amusement flow through me at the confusion it would sow the next day. Then I moved past again, trying not to allow myself to get lost in the heady pleasure of killing a worthless male. I needed to hurry.

I had to time my visits to her window just right.

She shone so brightly in my mind's eye that it almost felt like I could see her through the thick stone wall of the Lodge. I slid from shadow to shadow across the training ground, making no sound, and arrived at the exterior of her room. I climbed a few feet, using the wide stones, and placed my ear against the window. She was muttering in her sleep again, her dreams painful, as they often seemed to be. Her limbs moved restlessly under the quilts, her hands smoothing the fabric, then gripping it.

My own hands still burned from the small touches we'd shared. When I'd tucked her red hair behind her ear. When I'd bound her wounds in the ring, after her fight. I longed to touch her again, with her consent.

With her eyes on mine, her lips opening to me. Her arms embracing me. Her heart softening, though there was little chance a young, bright soul like hers would want to dwell alongside the darkness for long.

It would be enough to be near her as she grew, and accept whatever affection she would give me. To be close, protecting.

Killing. She would need a shadow to kill for her.

I unlocked the window and slid it open an inch, enough to allow my voice to enter the room, but not too much of the cold night air. Then I sang an old lullaby, keeping my voice as quiet as possible. She settled instantly, a long sigh emerging from her lips.

"I will sing for you every night, my love," I whispered, then slid to the ground, just as a howl rose up from the unranked housing.