Enslaved by the Alpha (Shifters of Nunavut Book 2)

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Enslaved by the Alpha (Shifters of Nunavut Book 2) Page 23

by Rivard, Viola


  As Erik spoke, Sylvestre gradually leaned away from him, as though needing to distance himself from the idea.

  “That… Erik, that’s crazy. You want to go down there and—on the off chance that they don’t kill us on sight—provoke them into attacking our entire pack?”

  “It is not crazy,” Erik said, through his teeth. Sylvestre was taking the small measure of liberty Erik had given him and stretching it to its limits. “It is exactly what we would do if we were capable of combating them.”

  “So we’re going to deceive them into thinking we’re stronger than we are? It makes sense in theory, but the stakes are too high to gamble like that. They could kill us and follow our trail straight back to the den. They would slaughter the pack—your brother, your niece, Astrid…”

  Sylvestre trailed off as he caught the flash of indignation in Erik’s hard stare.

  Of course Erik was thinking of the pack—the pack that included his family, and now, his mate. There had hardly been a moment that he had not been thinking of her since he left.

  The first two nights had been the hardest. Literally. Despite the blistering cold, his cock had remained rigid and there had been nothing he could do to assuage himself. Twice, he had sent Sylvestre off on an arbitrary patrol, just so that he could be alone to pleasure himself. But there was no pleasure to be found, no matter how furiously he’d handled himself, Erik could not find release. His body wanted only one thing, to be back inside of his mate.

  After the first night, it had taken all of his willpower not to turn back and return to his den. He wrestled with the thought of sending Sten in his stead, and at the height of his madness, he had even thought that he would be fine with Sten being killed by the bears, so long as Erik could spend the rest of the thrall with his mate.

  Thinking about that now gave him a chill. He hoped that he had managed to give her a pup, if only so that he did not have to go through the thrall again any time soon. He enjoyed losing control with his mate—biting her, marking her with his claws, and fucking her harder than he should. He knew she enjoyed it, too, but the thrall did not make him lose control, it made him lose his mind.

  “I am well aware of what is at stake,” Erik said, his tone measured. “Now, this is the point where you stop questioning me and start listening. And listen carefully, because everything that happens from here, whether we live or die, whether my pack and my mate are slaughtered, it is on you.”

  ***

  “Okay, fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like?”

  Astrid didn’t look up from the gown she was sewing. She now knew how cunning Ila could be, and if the wolf shifter had even the slightest inkling of how much she was getting under Astrid’s skin, Astrid would be screwed.

  “What does it smell like?” Ila repeated in her singsong voice. “Hm… Hm… Hmmmm…”

  “I’m sorry, is that some Inuit humming language I’m not familiar with?” Astrid asked through gritted teeth. She still refused to look up, but she could hear Ila lightly tapping her cheek.

  Pocahontas tried her hand. “It smells…” She let out a puff of air, and from the corner of her eye, Astrid saw her shrug and look to Snow White for support.

  Snow White and Pocahontas were two of Ila’s ‘friends’ that Astrid had made dresses for. They had real names, but seeing as how they were only hanging around Astrid because of some weird, wolf-pack social advantage that she still didn’t understand, Astrid had not bothered learning their names.

  Due to a combination of Erik taking her as his mate and the incident with Sabine, which had been just over a week ago, everyone seemed to want to be her friend. Ila had taken it upon herself to audit Astrid’s new social alliances, acting as the gatekeeper for Astrid’s new inner circle. Under normal circumstances, Astrid would have tried making her own friends, but as Ila had so kindly pointed out, Astrid was a horrible judge of character.

  “Fine, go ahead and make friends with every ratty-haired, flea-bitten female that comes your way,” Ila had said. “I’ll be happy to take Erik back when one of them succeeds in killing you.”

  Astrid considered pointing out that she was no longer desperate for companionship. On the contrary, she’d been so jarred by her experience with Sabine that she would have been content to wait out the rest of her time at the den alone in her room, contemplating her own naiveté. But Ila had steamrolled her when she had been vulnerable, and now she was stuck spending her days with Tweedledee and Tweedledumber. Dressing them as Snow White and Pocahontas had been the only thing that had made their company at least moderately amusing.

  Snow White was gnawing on the bottom of her red-lacquered lip. She wore her straight black hair pinned up in a bun on top of her head, and with her big doe-like eyes and full, rosy cheeks, she would have looked adorable if she wasn’t so annoying.

  “Effervescent?” Snow White offered.

  Astrid was mildly impressed by her vocabulary, even if she was probably using the word wrong. “I smell bubbly?”

  Snow White frowned. “No, that’s not it at all.”

  They were sitting in a circle, Ila lounging on an overstuffed pillow between Snow White, who was braiding beads into Halley’s long hair, and Pocahontas, who was painting her nails with Astrid’s bottle of “Point of Blue” polish, which she’d helped herself to.

  Sten’s chambers, which were sectioned off into a lounge room with a bedroom in back, had been Astrid’s home for the past week. She wasn’t allowed to leave the room with anyone, even Ila, unless Sten was present. He had offered to take her to the main room a few times, but Astrid always declined. She did not want to deal with the tableau of expressions that awaited her there—anger, accusation, and derision from Sabine’s former friends, and fear from pretty much everyone else.

  It still baffled her that everyone believed that she killed Sabine. That had been Ila’s idea, which Sten had unexpectedly supported. Ila had simply not wanted to deal with the social repercussions of killing a beta wolf in such high standing, whereas Sten had felt that if members of the pack believed Astrid had killed a skilled fighter like Sabine, they would think twice before trying to cross her. Astrid suspected that the beta males Sabine had been friends with had their doubts, but Sten had been on patrol at the time of Sabine’s death and the idea of Ila managing to take down Sabine must have seemed even more implausible to them than Astrid having secret kung fu skills—or whatever they were thinking.

  “Oh, who cares what it smells like?” Ila waved her dismissive hand at Astrid’s face. “You’re pregnant.”

  Astrid’s hand twitched, and the needle slipped, pricking the pad of her finger. A small dot of blood blossomed purple on the blue fabric.

  “Uh huh,” Astrid said stiffly.

  “You don’t seem very excited,” said Snow White.

  “Why would she be?” Ila cut in. She aimed her finger down her throat and made a gagging noise. “She’s going to get fat—well, fatter—and Erik probably won’t even want her anymore. And then she’ll have a smelly, mewling little pup sucking all the youth right out of her teats.”

  Halley arched her head up to look at Snow White. “What are teats?”

  Ila reached over and smacked her on the side of her head. “Stop listening to our adult conversation.” To Astrid, she said, “See? This is the kind of thing you’re going to have to deal with.”

  “Don’t hit her,” Astrid ordered, with a level of confident authority she thought might rival Erik. She set aside her sewing project and grabbed Halley, pulling the girl into her lap. “Teat is another word for nipple.”

  “You’re going to make milk?” Halley asked.

  Astrid kept her hands busy in Halley’s hair, picking up braiding where Snow White had left off.

  “Women who have babies make milk,” Astrid said evenly.

  “When will you make the milk?” Halley asked.

  “Women usually start making milk a few days after they start breastfeeding.”

  “Can any pup drink it, or only your
pup?”

  Pocahontas spoke up, “She’s not going to feed you, kid.”

  “That’s not what I was asking,” Halley said defensively, her cheeks flushing.

  Ila goaded her. “Why would you even ask that, Halley? You’re so gross sometimes.”

  All Astrid wanted was to be invisible and shrink away from their conversation, but she couldn’t sit by while they ganged up on Halley.

  “Will you two shut up? She’s a child, she’s entitled to ask whatever questions she wants.”

  “Aw,” Snow White said airily. “You’re going to make such a good mother.”

  “Why, because I’m the only one here that doesn’t have the maternal instincts of a mop bucket?”

  For a moment, Ila’s face looked pinched. Then, her expression relaxed into demure amusement. “You’re no fun today. It must be your hormones.”

  Astrid glanced at her through narrowed eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”

  Ila rolled her eyes. “This, again?”

  They were now on day two of Ila trying to convince Astrid that she was pregnant. Her first proclamation had come the morning before, when she had brought Astrid’s breakfast. Ila had taken one look at Astrid, wrinkled her dainty nose, and said, “Ugh, you’re pregnant.” Astrid had spent the next hour trying to get her to elaborate on how Ila knew that, but had only gotten the vague answer that her scent was different.

  After two years of obsessing over her fertility, Astrid probably knew as much as an obstetrician did about the process of conception. If she were pregnant—which she wasn’t—her future child would be nothing but a few cells lodged in some obscure corner of her uterus.

  There was no way Ila could tell she was pregnant, but despite Astrid’s best efforts, Ila could probably tell how much it was aggravating her when she mentioned Astrid’s changing scent. Astrid knew that this was all a cruel joke, probably aimed at getting back at her for stealing Erik away, the other thing Ila would never shut up about.

  “You don’t think you’re pregnant?” Pocahontas asked, actually looking up from her toenails.

  Astrid tightly replied, “I’m reserving judgment until I have more concrete evidence. You know, something besides a smell that no one seems to be able to describe.”

  Snow White snapped her fingers. “I know! It’s a soft, warm scent.”

  “Neither of those adjectives describes a scent,” Astrid said with a sigh.

  Ila scoffed. “Maybe not to a human.”

  Admittedly, it gave Astrid pause that Ila’s friends seemed to be in on the ruse. Pocahontas was a grade-A bitch, but Snow White was pretty nice. And neither of them seemed all that keen on taking Ila’s lead. Snow White always went out of her way to agree with Astrid, and Pocahontas never looked her directly in the eyes. From the start, they had both regarded Astrid as the leader of their group.

  But she had to believe that they were either conspiring against her, or that they were confused. Maybe she did smell a little different, but it could be for any number of reasons. Her scent had changed during the thrall; maybe they’d forgotten what her normal scent was like. She had also run out of her body soap, so her scent had definitely lost its floral undertones. And if it was neither of those, it could have been that her elusive period was about to make its grand reappearance.

  Halley looked up at her. “I can’t describe it either, but I know you smell like my mama did when she was going to have a baby.”

  Astrid’s throat closed and she fumbled with the bead she’d been threading onto Halley’s braid. It fell and clicked on the stone floor, rolling over towards Ila, who picked it up.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Ila said. “Sten’s mate. I forgot all about her.”

  Snow White winced. In a low, conspiratorial whisper, she said, “I heard she had an a-b-o-r-e-s-h-u-n.”

  Astrid cocked a brow “A what?”

  “That’s not how you spell abortion,” Halley said flatly. The little girl looked back at Astrid. “My papa’s mate didn’t care that he was a wolf, but she wanted a human baby, not pups. That’s why she got rid of the pup and papa took me away.”

  Astrid stared at Halley, unable to formulate an adequate response. The story would have been gut-wrenching coming from an adult, but the fact that she was a child made it almost unbearable.

  Halley asked, “Do you not want pups either?”

  “No,” Astrid said, finding her voice. “It doesn’t matter to me. I would love my child, no matter what.”

  Halley smiled. “That’s good.”

  The topic cast a gloomy shroud over the room, and during the hours that followed, even Ila seemed subdued. During her brief time in the pack, Astrid had observed that parents were a sore subject amongst the shifters, and it was not lost on her that Sten was the only father she knew of in the pack, and there were no human mothers. Life in the arctic was too capricious for the bonds of family.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  They waited until daybreak to make their move, not because the light gave them any tactical advantage, but because it was when Sylvestre finally became confident that he was prepared.

  Erik knew that Sylvestre would have been ready any time. In spite of being a poor planner, he was adaptive, quick on his feet, and unafraid to take risks. Erik appreciated all of those qualities.

  From their cliff perch, they’d spotted a narrow pathway, and it was the one they used to descend into the basin. Erik’s black pelt was in stark contrast with the white snow, which was now drifting down from the sky like filmy sheets of lace.

  They made no effort to hide their advance, but they went unnoticed for a considerable amount of time, something Erik made a mental note of. This was the first sign that the tribes lacked any formal delegation or structure. No one ever got remotely close to his den without being spotted.

  When they reach the bottom, the path widened, and then emptied into a well-worn thoroughfare. There were no shifters traveling the road, but they were finally noticed a few hundred meters before the first cluster of campsites. Erik found himself wondering how Atka and Torok had ever gotten caught at all. He wasn’t a great believer in luck, but he knew that only supreme misfortune—or utter ineptitude—would have led them to be uncovered by the bears.

  Three shifters approached them in human form: two hulking males in white furs and a small wisp of a female. He kept his eyes on her as they approached, instinct telling him that she was the most dangerous. If anything happened, it would be up to him to defend them, as he was the only one in a position to fight at a second’s notice.

  Though the males looked ready to attack, they had all come in human form, which meant they were willing to talk. From his perch on Erik’s back, Sylvestre waved at them.

  “Greetings,” he said in a bright tone that Erik would have never been able to pull off. Erik couldn’t see his face, but he knew that the beta male was smiling.

  The male on the left spat at the ground. “You have a lot of nerve coming to our pack, mutt.”

  Erik inwardly snorted. Their group was not a pack. More like a herd—safety in numbers, but leaderless and disjointed.

  “I don’t mean any offense,” said Sylvestre. “We are here on behalf of Erik, alpha of the Amarok pack. We greet you as allies.”

  “We’re not interested in allying ourselves with wolves,” the other male said hotly.

  More shifters had started to gather now, and Erik was aware of each one as it appeared. Most were in their bear forms, but he noticed several scrawny youths in human form. They were all eyeing the three fat hares Erik carried in his mouth.

  “Oh? And you speak for everyone?” Sylvestre asked innocuously. “Are you the leader here?”

  The male’s face flushed. “We don’t have leaders! Unlike you wolves, we’re not mindless drones, serving an alpha.”

  And look how well that is going.

  “Again, I mean no offense,” Sylvestre said coolly. “But this puts me in an awkward position, as I was sent to propose an alliance.”

 
“We don’t need any fucking allia—”

  The female gave the male a hard shove, causing him to stagger back. “Oh, shut up already.” She turned to look at Sylvestre, but pointed at Erik. “You give me those rabbits, and I’ll take you to our leader.”

  Erik didn’t wait for Sylvestre to reply. He flung them in the female’s direction. She caught two, while the male on the right snagged the third. She shot him a look, but didn’t try to take it from him. Then she turned, motioning for Erik to follow.

  As they walked through the camp, Sylvestre was on high alert. His powers of perception allowed him to glance only once at a scene and then commit it to memory as his eyes moved on to the next scene. From what he could tell, his previous assessment had been spot on. The bears had plenty of resources—adequate shelters and an abundance of clothing—but no food. As they passed, the onlookers eyed the rabbits the female carried with open envy.

  “I’m Elena,” the female said, glancing over her shoulder at Sylvestre. Whatever she saw on Sylvestre’s face made her eyes twinkle with delight.

  “Sylvestre,” he replied. “And my companion here is Otto.”

  Asshole.

  “Well, Sylvestre, you are very bold to walk into our camp. The last wolves to do so were not welcomed quite as warmly.”

  “And why am I so fortunate, Elena?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps they weren’t as charming.” But in a more serious tone, she added, “And they were spying on us.”

  “And how do you know I’m not?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are, but at least you’re willing to meet with us, rather than treat us like enemies.”

  They stopped outside of a large tent, and Elena passed one of the rabbits off to a group of cubs. A ruddy-faced girl squealed with excitement and ran off, the others chasing close behind her.

  “Share it!” Elena yelled after them.

  She pulled back the tent, and she waved for them to follow her in. Erik knew that he wouldn’t be able to remain in wolf form past this point, and he could only hope that he was as good an actor as Sylvestre. He had infiltrated packs in this manner before, but usually in a group large enough that he could remain relatively obscure. It was fortunate that Sylvestre was nearly as large as Erik, and hopefully Erik could somehow make himself look smaller. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. If they figured out who he was, they would undoubtedly hold him hostage, but there would be no benefits to ransoming two simple messengers.

 

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