20. A Mating Gift

20

A Mating Gift

JOAQUIN

T he Northern Lodge was quiet tonight, and I was vexed. The Sergeant at Arms had made an error that could have cost my fiery mate-to-be her life, and I had been hard pressed not to punish him for his idiocy. But when I went to his cabin, set apart from the other ranked Enforcers' lodging, he had been aware of my presence, though he hadn't seen me.

Something about him—a scent, or the angle of his jaw—reminded me of my perfect little female. He bore scars far more extensive than hers, of course, lines put there with magic that had me wondering how he'd survived them. Of course, if he was related to my mate, his inner strength would be a match for almost anything.

I'd kept my magic and my claws to myself. Not only because of the resemblance, but also because of his behavior. For some reason, he'd seemed concerned about the unranked shifters compound. He'd stood guard, sword in hand for hours that first night after Flor's injury, as alert as any shifter I'd ever seen. Waiting for something nefarious. Aware that something was afoot. Each night, he returned to guard, scenting the air until dawn.

I felt it, too, and the knowledge that something, or someone, was approaching the Lodge while my Flor was tucked inside her room, sent me in ever-widening circles each night, seeking the unseen enemy.

When I finally circled close to the wing of the Lodge that housed the dying Alpha, I wondered if the enemy was death itself. Flor admired the Alpha shifter, Bradley Hillier. Personally, I had no use for him. He had inherited reprehensible traditions regarding the ranked wolves from his own father, and hadn't cared enough to change them. Though I understood in part how such things could escape a leader's notice, when far more insidious threats abounded.

But he had allowed his pack's wounds to fester, and his ranks to weaken. He himself would have stayed a weak Alpha, unworthy to lead the Council, if not for his mate, the charismatic Margarette.

I considered them both. I had a feeling he would have been dead weeks before, if she didn't tether him to this world. The silver he'd been dosed with had gone into his blood, his bones, and even his brain. I'd looked in on him once before, deep in the night. He lay in a coma, only slightly less horrifying than the agony he'd endured until they had given him the sedatives to help him sleep. I'd been able to taste the silver on the back of my tongue as it ate away at him from the inside out.

I didn't like him, but it was a horrific death. And Flor, she did like him. What to do? Put him out of his misery? It would be a kindness at this point.

I had left a courting present at Southern for my love, and hoped she would return to find it soon. But perhaps I could give her a mating gift as well, to celebrate the first of her lovers. I approved of the one she had claimed, even if I detested how the event had transpired.

The Mountain Heir was strong, taciturn, and humble. He worshiped her with his eyes, and cared for her in unobtrusive ways, not assuming he had earned the right to her bed just because he had saved her. His habit of sleeping outside her bedroom door kept her safe from the snakes inside the den. So yes, I approved of him.

Hmm. Brand had a fondness for the dying Alpha as well. A worthy mating gift for them both.

I would not kill the Alpha. I would save him, I decided, unlocking a window with my magic and slipping through a maid's room as I followed the stink of death and silver to the sickroom.

The Alpha's mate sat in a chair beside his sickbed, her arms draped over him, her eyes shut. She dreamed, whimpering, and her lids moved with what had to be a nightmare. The Alpha was hooked to machines that were breathing for him. Their sound and her exhaustion were the only reasons she hadn't noticed the door opening.

I noted the mate magic that flowed between them. She pulsed with hidden fire, even asleep, at his side. Funneling it into her mate.

These North American wolves were such foolish children to believe that magic could be forbidden, when we were beings made of it. I spun a filament of my own power into a pillow and slid it under her head.

She had not proved to be quite the maternal figure my little Flor had desired, though her motivations were sound. In a way, it was for the best. I had a very strong feeling the shifters of Boreal—of Northern , I reminded myself—would not welcome me into the pack, and if Flor had truly bonded with this woman, it would have made our eventual relationship more difficult.

I placed my hands on the sides of the Alpha's head, at his temples, and sent my energy through his body. Using my power to kill was far easier than to heal, and I'd taxed myself only days before, when Flor's blood had been spilling too quickly. Now, it was sluggish to respond. I pulled my focus away from everything but his healing, and began.

With each breath the machines forced into the Alpha's lungs, he took in a little more of my magic. When there was enough of my power inside him, I exhaled and sent a command through him, coaxing his own cells to hunt beside mine, our prey every infinitely small particle of silver in his body. We hunted them, and devoured them.

His blood began to flow more easily, his skin losing some of its gray pallor. With the silver dissipating, his own innate healing ability surged to the fore. His mind began to stir, fighting off the sedatives. He was aware of me beside him, but unable to move.

For Flor, do you understand? I whispered into his mind. This is my gift to her. Protect her at all costs, Alpha of the Northern pack.

The Alpha's machine was no longer breathing for him when I straightened and slipped out the door. His mate was awake by the time I reached the end of the hallway.

I stopped there, supporting myself with one hand on the wall, fighting exhaustion. The Alpha had been less than a day from his death, and I had underestimated how much it would take from me to pull him back.

I needed to rest. Perhaps with my little one? I could sneak into her room again, sing a few verses. No one would note my passing; it was the witching hour, my favorite time of any night. But the air in the hallway that led to my little one's room spoke of her absence.

And when I turned, the walls in the next hallway told a tale of her being attacked. Taken.

Silently, I cursed myself, understanding the cost of healing the Alpha. My attention had been focused on him, giving her enemies their opportunity. My mouth tasted of silver, and I spat a glob of tarry black to the carpet, then sucked in a sharp breath. There was a spot of blood on the carpet. Her blood.

I pulled on my power, and in seconds I knew who had taken her, and could guess at why. I also knew they would be dead soon—at my hand, if the moon was merciful. The only question that remained was where they had gone. Where was my Flor?

In the Lodge, voices cried out, in joy and then in fear. Feet pounded down corridors, and weapons were taken in hand as they realized they had been betrayed.

I felt neither joy nor fear. My entire being was consumed with rage as I tracked her, and her captors, over the dark landscape.