The Alpha's Oracle

by Merry Ravenell

  This punishment did not fit the crime. This was a cruel, cruel way to die. This was not the death I would have thought appropriate had they been my warriors. This was not how warriors should be treated. There had to be mutual respect.

  The ones who had ran could run straight on to hell.

  The other IronMoon wolves melted behind Gabel, one after the other. This was how Gabel acted. This was what he did. The IronMoon would return to the house, knowing that out in the forest, two wolves lay dying, abandoned by everyone but the Moon.

  I could bark and bark, and it wouldn’t matter.

  Hix was one of the last ones to leave. His eyes were full of apology as he turned away. This was the IronMoon way, and the Alpha had ordered the dying be left to die.

  Gabel thought the Bond left him with choices, and as much as I prayed for freedom, chances of that were slim. Responsibility pressed down on my shoulders. This was not the kind of Queen I would want to be. This was not the reputation I wanted. I would not let Gabel turn me into a cruel monster, or a weakling too cowed to do what was right. I would not be the Queen who permitted punishments to exceed the crime committed.

  The wolf under me whimpered a soft plea.

  Moon, give me strength.

  I lowered my head and took the throat of the wolf in my maw. He stretched his head back to fully expose the soft tissues. I closed my eyes. He smelled of peace, and calm, and a deep, deep gratitude.

  The Mark, long since healed, pounded on my shoulder.

  I bit down.

  Underestimated

  Splattered with the blood of multiple wolves and with the taste of more blood in my mouth, and the scent of grief and blood and thanks in my snout, I loped up the hillside in pursuit of the IronMoon.

  Gabel would have left me there to prove a point: that the wolves didn’t matter, and my choice to deal in mercy didn’t matter, either.

  Gabel looked more like a Hound than ever with blood clumping his ugly, oily fur. He turned one amber eye to acknowledge me as I fell into place by his shoulder. He did not slow his pace, but increased it.

  I’d tell you I didn’t remember finishing those wolves off, and that my mind hid it from me behind a dreamy veil. But that would be a lie. I remembered all of it, as if the Moon had etched it into my brain. I would never forgot even the smallest detail of what I did in the forest that day. The only thing that kept it from eating my mind was that it had been the right thing to do. The thing I would have wanted for myself, or for any wolf from my pack.

  I also hoped the IronMoon hunters found those cowardly RedWater runners and tore them into a thousand shreds.

  Late that night Gabel left our bed for an hour, then returned. “The hunters are back.”

  I had laid awake until that time, unable to sleep. “Success?”

  “Yes.”

  At least something had gone right, and the hunters had punished the cowards who had abandoned their packmates. I hugged my pillow and hoped their insides were hanging from trees.

  In the morning at breakfast the hunters were acknowledged for their success. Gabel raised his cup to them all, and Master of Arms Flint led the howl that celebrated returning, victorious warriors.

  “We shall send this,” Gabel raised a cloth bag filled with many small objects, “to the RedWater! So that Alpha Holden knows not only is he an arrogant fool, but his warriors are cowards.”

  More howls.

  The hunters had pulled the cowards’ canines. Pulling a wolf’s canine teeth was a desecration of the corpse. A final humiliation and exactly what those cowards had deserved.

  But there seemed to be more teeth in that bag than there should have been.

  Only six wolves had fled and abandoned their dying packmates.

  Gabel held up the bag and showed it around so everyone could see it, his face alight with a wide, handsome grin. The wolves cheered and applauded, a few made noises of contempt.

  Then, noticing that I wasn’t cheering our warriors, he turned his gaze to me. “You are not pleased, Lady Gianna?”

  Sudden silence.

  “Why are you not pleased, Lady Gianna?” Romero asked me. “No taste for blood?”

  “Shut up,” Hix growled at him.

  “But you aren’t pleased.” Gabel’s pointed menace pricked my insides.

  In my mind I saw Amber’s beautiful wolf form lying dead on that forest floor, with her canines pulled.

  There were rules to war and combat. There were rules, and it was about damn time someone made Gabel obey them.

  If you’re going to pick a fight, pick a fight over something that matters.

  For just a second Gabel’s eyes flickered with doubt, then a painful shudder between our souls where my disapproval and resolve ignited into a fire.

  I stood. The silence deepened. Gabel’s lips twitched—oh, was he glad he’d finally have an excuse to kill me? He wouldn’t have to admit to crawling away from the Bond. He wouldn’t even have to admit defeat to himself.

  I wasn’t going to live or die as his puppet. If I was going to have to be his Queen, then I would live and die as a Queen.

  He could get Platinum for sock doll duties.

  “May I see these trophies?” I held out my hand.

  Refusal to let me examine his triumph was against the rules, and with the whole pack watching, he was forced to give me the bag.

  The smell hit me first. Not the best smell in the morning. Inside were many more than twelve fangs. “The hunters pulled fangs from all the RedWater wolves.”

  “Yes.”

  “But only six died as cowards,” I said in as mild and querying tone as I could manage.

  The silence did not move, nor shift.

  “Who cares?” Romero scoffed. “They are all fools and idiots. Send the teeth back to Alpha Holden so he knows better!”

  Hoots and fists pounding on the table. Many of these wolves were outcasts, rogues and criminals from other packs. But not all of them. Beta Hix watched me, and Flint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, observed out of the corner of his green eyes.

  Gabel said, “Your point being?”

  “My point is that I care.”

  “Why do you care about some dregs?” Gabel snatched the bag from me. “They’re mongrels sent like cowards to hunt on our land because they were too afraid to face us!”

  Howls of approval that made my skin prickle. Gabel grinned at me, and his triumph and mocking of my paltry little attempt to resist him rubbed up against me.

  With the majority of the pack weighing in on Gabel’s side, I didn’t have a way to get all the fangs back. I didn’t know which were the runners that deserved to be de-fanged and which died in the fight. But I could get four fangs back, and two souls. It wouldn’t change the desecration of their corpses or the matter of their souls, but it was something. I flicked my hair back and gave him my best imperious look. “I know the manner in which two of those wolves died, because I killed them. Their canines belong to me. They died bravely. You cannot desecrate them with the rest of the cowards.”

  Romero’s chair scraped on the floor as he stood. “You didn’t kill anything, Gianna.”

  “Lady Gianna,” Hix corrected.

  “She is not a warrior. She killed nothing!” Romero shouted.

  “I ended the suffering of two wolves left behind to rot and die of their injuries!” I shouted. “Those are my souls. Not Gabel’s, not yours, not IronMoon’s. They didn’t die as cowards. Or are you afraid of an Oracle who has fangs and the will to use them?”

  “You killed the dying.”

  “I tasted their life and their death.”

  Gabel scowled, and his shoulders bunched under his shirt. I spun back to him and snarled. “You sent back one of your wolves to desecrate my kills? You said they weren’t worth the swipe of an IronMoon paw. How dare you!”

  “Giannnnna,” he growled, voice twisting into something not human.

  “Dog!” I spat back. “You self-serving, petty, cowardly, low-bred piece of
garbage!”

  The flash of his extended front canines matched the violence that coursed through me.

  How dare he flash fangs at me like I was some common male that needed discipline! I swiped at his face with my right hand.

  Utter silence.

  I didn’t make contact. The gesture was enough.

  Glasses and plates vibrated with growls.

  These low-bred mongrels, and Gabel among them! If this was where I died, I was ready. “There is nothing you can do to me that will ever equal what you’ve already done. Do whatever you want to me, Alpha of IronMoon. You chose me because I can fight you, and now you are angry that I dare? I will fight you until there is not a piece of me!”

  I waited for the violent crush of his fury or the crash of his hand across my face.

  Instead he churned and smoldered, and terrifying, contemplative fury weighed my words.

  Flint, in the hot quiet, said, “If Lady Gianna says those wolves died bravely under her fangs, then they died bravely.”

  “What would an Oracle know of bravery?” Romero shouted.

  “She-wolves have a different sort of courage than males,” Flint’s voice said matter-of-factly. “Their courage is in their hearts. A male’s courage is in his balls. You can castrate a male to make him worthless, but you have to kill a female to stop her. If she says she will fight until there is nothing left of her, she will.”

  I shoved my hand at Gabel. “Give me the fangs, you loathsome, small-minded, petty, disgraceful, hypocritical, pathetic excuse for a tyrant.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I will take them from you or die trying.”

  Gabel paused, contemplating the sensation that passed over his soul. It might have been defeat. It was so unfamiliar he could not categorize it. Thoughtful, he handed me the bag, and observed my next move.

  I picked out the four fangs by smell, and clutched them in my hand. “These are mine. The others I care nothing for. Let Alpha Holden see what I think of his pathetic little attempt at intimidation.”

  I tossed the bag onto Gabel’s plate instead of handing it back to him, and, clutching the fangs in my palm, retreated up to my workroom.

  Getting them from Gabel had been symbolic, nothing more. For some reason I felt compelled to wash them, bury them in salt, and set them before the Moon.

  Maybe I was just riddled with guilt, afraid that if I threw them out, someone might find them and think they belonged to cowards.

  Gabel was pensive when he came to bed that night. When he lifted the blankets, his churning presence drew my attention. Normally he was like a swinging sword, moving with sharp, active purpose. Or a cloud of rage tumbling down a mountain consuming everything before it.

  Not this thoughtful, contemplative stillness.

  “I think I underestimated you, buttercup.”

  I looked sideways at him.

  He smiled and slid closer to me. My book tumbled from my hands. His naked skin slid along mine.

  Out of habit I contemplated the Bond between us for clues. I didn’t sense anything remarkable.

  His smile thrilled me, and it frightened me. It was his most typical smile, the one full of amusement and cunning.

  Dazed, his blue eyes captured mine, and his fingers slid over my neck to cup my chin. I couldn’t breathe. He felt so warm, his skin soft. My heart throbbed, and I could barely breathe. The Bond howled its pleasure, my mind couldn’t think over its sound, but part of me scratched and clawed to not fall into the Bond’s swirling clutches.

  Gabel’s lips pressed to mine. The now-familiar rictus of pleasure shook my body from skull to spine. My skin felt alive. I felt every inch of my flesh, every drop of blood. The Bond’s howling increased.

  He pulled back. “Yes,” he restated, “I think I did.”

  What You Want, What You Deserve

  Gabel may have underestimated me, but I never underestimated him. I could not figure out if he was cruel, insane, or misguided. Perhaps he was all of those things. But I never dismissed him.

  “What’s this?” I asked a few mornings later.

  “A phone.” He gave me a look like an explanation would only confirm my stupidity, and walked away.

  I shuffled through the phone’s contents. There wasn’t much I hadn’t expected. The only thing that seemed out of place was the large list of contacts. As I scrolled through them, an uncomfortable feeling took up residence in my belly.

  Alpha Jermain. My father. Alpha Anders. Alpha Travis. Hix. Flint. Even Platinum. Dozens of other names I didn’t know.

  It had to be a trap. Gabel had to be testing my loyalty. This was all I would ever need to betray IronMoon.

  Of course I could have just stabbed Gabel in his sleep if I wanted to betray him. Why go small-time?

  I pocketed the phone. Flint didn’t suffer anyone being late, and I needed to stay on his good side. The two hours a day I got to spend under his eye were two hours a day Gabel didn’t expect me decorating his office.

  And Gabel watched every session.

  I’d infuriated him, and now I fascinated him. I wasn’t thrilled with the upgrade. Things were less dangerous when I’d held the status of plaything. Being Gabel’s adversary was akin to being his prey.

  It would have been much easier to put on my fairy princess hat and assure myself he wasn’t such a bad guy. That there must have been some dark thing in his past, like his pack getting slaughtered or his goldfish grilled and eaten in front of him, and he was just misunderstood and his love for me would redeem him.

  Right. I rolled my eyes at myself, and instead told Hix, “You look grouchy today.”

  His face compressed into a scowl. “Hello, Lady Gianna.”

  I smiled at the ritual. I showed up, he glared. I told him he looked grouchy, he glared more. The burning, late-summer heat didn’t help his disposition much. Hix actually trained with Gabel and the elite warriors but suffered this extra time with the idiots for my sake. The punishing summer sunlight made them puke and collapse while he barely broke a sweat, and he did not hide his contempt for them.

  I’d stopped training so young I’d never amount to much, but Flint always praised my warrior’s heart, and said that would take me farther than any talent. I’d started to enjoy the scratching and clawing and triumph, along with the largely inevitable defeat. It gave me a perverse kind of pleasure.

  Unless that was Gabel’s violent nature corrupting me.

  So I told myself it was that it made me feel powerful, and it was something I chose. I would not have chosen this pack, but at least now, I got to carve out a little corner for myself and piss off Gabel in the process.

  Still hurt when Hix popped me in the nose.

  I sneezed out some blood.

  “Shake it off!” Flint shouted. He wasn’t talking to me.

  Hix ignored Flint’s command, stood back, and glared at me while I sneezed again

  “Come on!” I shouted. Every time he landed a good shot on me, he fell back instead of pressing his advantage. He stood back like a surly donkey until Flint yelled at both of us.

  Hix grumbled something.

  Anger bubbled up from inside me. A bop on the nose and a little blood were love-taps, and I didn’t need stupid love-taps. “I’ve got to scry later. Will you just get on with it? This is how I clear my damn mind these days.”

  Hix sighed. “Have you tried meditation?”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” And of course I had, except I had a pet parasite living inside my soul, and it was pretty damn comfy. We were almost on speaking terms, but I didn’t want to be on speaking terms with it.

  Before we could clash again a commotion by the house drew everyone’s attention. Hix grunted, and his dark eyes left me for the house. “They’re back.”

  Six young men that I presumed were IronMoon warriors came along the back of the house.

  The warriors had not gone in the front, nor through the kitchen entrance, but instead through the little-used side porch. That opene
d onto a large mudroom. Nobody went in that way unless they were bleeding or covered in filth.

  Flint barked at us to get back to it.

  I became aware of an intense roiling within me. At first I thought I was going to be sick because I had worked too hard, or Hix had punched me too many times.

  I dropped to my knees and panted. I fell forward onto my palms and struggled with the sick feeling. Swear poured down my scalp, between my eyes, and off my nose.

  Gabel was angry.

  Mysteriously, furiously angry.

  “You’re done,” Hix informed me. He nodded to Master Flint and exited the circle.

  He was always so worried about hurting me in training but left me gagging and panting on the grass? Jerk.

  Master of Arms Flint pulled me back to my feet. “More cardio for you, Lady Gianna.”

  Gabel’s rage built and built, magma pouring from a chamber and overwhelming me. How could anyone be so angry? So malevolent?

  His anger was like the Tides.

  But unlike the Tides, this anger wasn’t meant to be ridden. It wanted to consume and burn.

  Flint gave my forearm a final squeeze, then spun around. The hem of his kilt brushed my legs. “Back to it, wolves! You don’t want to crawl home like those pups!”

  The tattoos on his back clenched and rippled, shining with sunlight and sweat. The blue-gloss hypnotized me for a second.

  Where had Gabel found him... and why did Flint, who had commended his body to the Moon’s service, stay with Gabel?

  The house was silent, but Gabel’s anger still churned against my awareness. I couldn’t save the wolves from Gabel’s rage—and I probably didn’t want to—but what had driven the man I slept with to such fury?

  The stench of bloodied, humiliated warrior led me to the drawing room at the far end of the first floor.

  I expected shouting. I wanted to hear shouting.

  Instead I walked into a room filled with Gabel’s hot, silent fury with six warriors on their knees.

  Gabel jerked his head to face me. “What are you doing here, Gianna?”

  Gianna. I had always been buttercup.