by Lola Taylor
For all his vices, her father, King Victor, had at least looked the part of a High King. Gage tried imagining himself as High King and couldn’t see anything more than a country boy who still struggled to fill a man’s shoes from time to time. Hell, he still hadn’t fully adjusted to thinking of himself as the Alpha of a minor pack.
“Listen, Gage,” Alara said, interrupting his thoughts. She held his gaze, a question in her eyes. “Before we go in there, I need to know where you stand. I want you to know I won’t hold your decision against you. It’s yours to make. I will not force the crown on you.” Her eyes darkened. “I know all too well what it’s like being coerced into something you do not want, and I would never wish that upon anyone.”
Gage ran a hand over his face and growled a sigh. “I wish I had an easy answer for you, but I don’t. If it were just me, I’d say, ‘Hell yes, let’s do this.’ But Danica….”
Nik wrapped a lazy arm around Alara’s shoulders and pulled her small frame into his chest. “I hear you on that one, man. But you’ve got to remember you’re an Alpha now, and no matter what you do, she’ll always be in the spotlight somehow. You can’t lock her away from the world just because you’re scared she’ll get hurt—or because you will.”
The terror of losing Danica returned, along with a chill worse than death. Feeling haunted by losses he’d already suffered, he said, “I can’t lose her too, Nik.”
Nik’s expression filled with understanding. He nodded once, lips turned upward in a grim smile, and took Alara’s hand. “Guess that’s that. You’ll have to pick another heir.”
For the most part, Alara hid her disappointment well. After all, she’d grown up amongst royalty and some of the most cutthroat politicians in the Underworld. Perfecting her poker face was a survival skill.
But when Gage saw how much disappointment filled her lovely eyes, he felt his heart wrench. Letting people down wasn’t something he liked to make a habit. But he’d also meant what he’d said to his mate—if he had to choose her welfare or that of his race’s, he’d always choose hers, damn the consequences.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Alara shook her head and her eyes warmed. “It’s all right. I understand. Believe me, I do. Sometimes you have to do what’s right for you.”
Nik gave him an encouraging nod, and together, the three of them turned the corner.
The meeting chamber was down a long corridor lined with the portraits of all the other previous High Kings.
Gage surveyed them with growing distaste as each king’s expression became more arrogant than the last’s. How is that the men who cared so little about the common people became their leaders?
Because money buys power.
This was exactly why he avoided politics whenever possible. Gage was ready to punch through a wall from frustration by the time they arrived at the meeting room. The murmur of conversation drifted through the cracked doors; from what he could hear, there were mostly men inside.
Alara looked back at her companions. “Ready?”
“To get this over with,” Nik muttered, and Gage couldn’t agree more. Both of them looked like they’d rather have their souls sucked out by a succubus than walk through those doors.
Alara sighed. “I think I’ll have one of the servants fetch us some liquor after this.”
Nik squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be there the entire time, just a few steps away.”
She gave him a tight smile, looking noticeably paler than before.
Gage felt sorry for her. He knew she was nervous about telling everyone she wasn’t really the High King’s daughter. There was no telling how they would react, especially considering how wound up they already were over the events that had unfolded these past few days.
Alara nodded to the guards. They opened the doors, and out spilled all the overly polite conversations. Heads turned as the trio walked into the room, and the noise gradually died down.
The room was circular and arranged with stadium seating. The room could seat three hundred, and it was nearly filled to capacity. The marble pillars lining the walls stretched all the way to the vaulted ceiling, from which hung a golden chandelier glittering with thousands of bulbs and tiny dangling crystals. Banners bearing the pack crests hung along the wall in rows, representing all four hundred.
Gage spotted Moonstruck’s crest near his seat at the front; it was a moon partially eclipsed in darkness, with a pair of daggers that crisscrossed over it.
Gage and Nik exchanged glances, then parted ways as Gage climbed the steps and sidled down the third row to his seat.
Someone whistled nearby, and Gage leaned forward. Down the row were Shawna and Jason, who was waving excitedly while Shawna rolled her eyes.
Gage couldn’t help but soften at the sight of the kid and smile back, giving him a brief, friendly wave. It had saddened him more than he thought to feel his pack bond to the pup grow weaker with each passing hour he was mated with Shawna. Though he could barely hear the other werewolf’s thoughts since he’d mated with Shawna and thus joined her pack, Gage could imagine what was rolling through the kid’s head. The words epic and freaking cool were probably in there somewhere. Gage would miss him. Jason had already informed him he would be leaving with Shawna to rejoin her pack after this meeting.
Nik remained at the bottom of the stairs and positioned himself alongside a wall near the podium, where Alara stood waiting to address the room.
Gage watched as a tall, elegant Alpha with black hair streaked with gray—Norman Black of the Nightshade Pack—leaned over to Nik and said, “Betas aren’t allowed in here.”
“I am while my mate’s in here.” Nik’s eyes glowed gold. “Besides”—he let his eyes rove Norman’s pompous attire—“I bet I’m more Alpha than you are.”
“How dare you!” Norman shrieked, his face red with rage.
“Care to prove me otherwise?” Nik said with a flirt of that bloodthirsty grin he always got before ripping someone to pieces.
“Gentlemen,” boomed Alara’s regal voice over the speaker system. She looked pointedly at Nik before returning her gaze to the crowd. “If we’re done observing the size of each other’s dicks, I suggest we get started.”
Nik smirked while Norman scowled.
Gage grinned. That’s my boy.
Alara gripped the sides of the podium, slowly gazing out over the sea of heads and expectant eyes. Gage could practically hear her heart take flight as her nerves choked her.
At last, she took a shaky breath, which was amplified by the mic. To her credit, her voice only warbled a little when she first spoke; she gained confidence as she went on. “Almost all of you have been packmasters long enough to witness Alphas come and go, but never a High King. This position normally falls to the firstborn child of the ruling family, be that a boy or a girl.” She swallowed hard, pausing. “I may be the firstborn, but I am not Victor Crescent’s daughter.”
Gage tensed as the air was sucked out of the room, leaving a silence so pristine you could practically hear people’s hearts beating with anticipation.
Alara’s nails dug into the wooden frame of the podium. “It has come to light recently by my father’s own confession that the queen, my mother, had an affair, resulting in the pregnancy that brought me to this world.” She looked them dead-on. “As such, I am illegitimate and no longer eligible to inherit the crown.”
No one breathed. Hundreds of shocked looks were mirrored by the people around Gage, all of whom stared at Alara like she’d just declared she was the Anti-Christ.
Someone dropped their cell phone, and all hell broke loose.
People stood, shouting and arguing, each man or woman yelling about how they would be the best king or queen.
The sound of a gavel striking the stand broke through the noise. “Enough!” Alara snarled into the mic. Her voice boomed through the room, making her sound like an angry goddess.
The whole room froze. Sweet, obedient Alara had never raise
d her voice in public.
She stood tall behind the podium, eyes blazing gold. “I may not be able to inherit the crown, but I am still my father’s daughter, by blood or not. And until someone can be diplomatically selected by the High Council, I am your princess. And I command you to sit. Down.”
Like a bunch of scolded dogs, the Alphas all sat back down in awkward silence. All but one.
“You bastard,” the old Alpha spat, striding toward the podium. “You’re not worthy of royalty, you mutt!”
No sooner had he spoken the last word did Nik’s fist collide with his jaw, toppling him backward and onto his ass with an, “Oomph!”
Nik stood over the man, planting a foot on his chest and growling, “Another word and it will be your last.”
Alara came down from the podium and rested a hand on her mate’s shoulder. “It’s fine. There’s no need to harm him.” She raised her voice. “Guards.”
Silently, the uniformed men came forward, grabbed the scowling Alpha, and hauled him to his feet.
He glared in silent fury at Alara, who kept her features calm and collected.
“Please take Mr….?”
“Go to hell!”
“Please take Mr. ‘Go to hell’ to his chambers. Childish behavior deserves a time-out.”
“You bitch, I’ll have you know I come from a long line of—”
Nik didn’t hold anything back this time. His fist flew out, striking the Alpha squarely in the temple. His eyes rolled back and he slouched in the guards’ arms.
Nik shrugged. “Sorry, boys. Guess you’ll be carrying him out.”
Alara pinched the bridge of her nose as the guards carted off the sleeping Alpha. “Really? Did you have to knock him out?”
“No one talks shit about my girl.” He laid a smooch on her cheek, at which she rolled her eyes.
“Your decorum is going to need some work,” she said sternly, though her eyes and the corner of her mouth were slightly smiling.
Nik winked at her as he returned to his post along the wall and she to the podium. After she composed herself, she continued. “Though this has not happened in decades, there is a procedure that shall be carried out to ensure a new king or queen is elected as soon as possible. As you may or may not know, no supernatural race alone chooses its own leaders. A High Council comprised of high-ranking members of each race always selects the leader from a pool of qualified candidates. This is to prevent bias and keep things running peacefully between our races. Any mated Alpha may put his or her name in the hat to be considered, so to speak, and the High Council chooses the best candidate for the crown. Until the time such an heir is elected, I will stand in as regent. There are no laws stating a regent must be of pure royal descent,” she said as grumbling started to arise.
“What about the witch mafia?” called out a man from across the hall. “Shouldn’t we postpone this until we find out who’s behind the attacks?”
People nodded their heads.
“No,” Alara said firmly. “Now, we are more vulnerable than ever. Without a leader, the witches have even more incentive to strike at us. We must choose a new leader soon.
“The rules stand as such: A nomination box awaits on a table outside the door. If you are a mated Alpha, you may place your ballot inside the box no later than tomorrow at noon. At that time, the ballots shall be collected and sifted through by the High Council, and nominations will be officially announced.” Her expression turned grim. “Guard your mates, ladies and gentlemen. Realize that by placing your name in that box, you risk the lives of those closest to you. It has been ages since a High King or Queen was chosen, a rite surrounded by blood, greed, and betrayal. Mind your surroundings, and as the old adage goes, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ We shall adjourn until tomorrow at two p.m., when the candidates are announced.”
She slammed the gavel down on the podium once more, dismissing the room. Everyone began to get up, and Gage impatiently made his way down to where Nik and Alara stood.
“That’s it?” Gage said. “People can just nominate themselves?”
“Yes,” Alara replied simply, a devious smile crossing her red lips. “Why? You reconsidering?”
“…No.”
She pointed a finger at him, narrowing her eyes. “I heard a catch.”
“It just seems this will take forever if just anybody can pitch their own names,” he said, eager to get the topic off him.
“On the contrary, it expedites it, as there are only a handful of mated Alphas.”
Gage hadn’t thought of that, but it didn’t surprise him. It drove home the fact that the statistic was most likely earned from Alphas’ mates being targeted for assassination. After all, an unmated Alpha couldn’t remain a king or queen of wolves for long.
Which was precisely the reason he would never subject Danica to that.
Still, it frightened him to think of the filth that was already heading to the hall to nominate themselves.
At this rate, the witches might as well finish us off before some selfish idiot embarrasses the werewolf nation.
“Someone should put a caution sign on you,” Nik said, grinning at Gage. “‘Excessive brooding over here. Be careful not to trip on the deep frown.’”
“I was not brooding,” Gage growled.
Nik grinned. “Careful, brother. Keep it up and we’ll have to buy you more black clothing and stock your classic rock collection with heavy metal and emo rock.”
Gage couldn’t help but crack a smile.
Alara waggled her brows. “I do believe he’s reconsidering.”
Gage sighed in exasperation. “For the last time, I am not—”
“I surely hope you’re not considering putting in your name. I believe our princess said mated Alphas, not mated pups, may place their ballots in the hat.”
Gage gritted his teeth, unable to keep from rolling his eyes. Hadn’t he met his asshole quota for one lifetime?
Norman smiled pleasantly at them.
“What the hell do you want?” Nik said, stepping forward to stand beside his brother.
Gage’s brows raised. Leave it to Nik to get right to the point, part of his whole “screw decorum while dealing with slimebags” protocol.
The pseudo-insult brushed right off Norman’s thousand-dollar suit. “Nothing,” he said, smiling wider to reveal his fangs. Most werewolves’ teeth were at least a little pointier than humans’. “I was merely walking by and overheard your conversation.”
“More like you were eavesdropping,” Alara said lightly with just a hint of accusation and more steel than an armored van.
“No, no, no,” Norman cooed, “I would never dream of that. I am a gentleman, after all. I don’t resort to such petty tactics. Can I help what my ears overhear?”
“I don’t know,” Nik said, stepping up to Norman so he towered over him, “but I might not be able to help throwing you through a window.”
Norman stared up at the taller, bulkier werewolf with contempt. “You dare threaten an Alpha, whelp?”
“It’s not so much a threat as a fantasy.”
Norman’s eyes blazed gold as he raised his hand, his nails already sharpening into claws. “You arrogant—”
“Gentlemen!” Alara dove between them, shoving them apart. Her hands trembled, as did her voice. “I have seen more than enough violence these past few days to last a lifetime. If you please…”
Both instantly stood down, looking sheepish. “Sorry, baby,” Nik muttered, kissing her head.
She stiffened, stepped back, and pursed her lips like she’d swallowed a lemon. “There is a new word I’d like for you to add to your vocabulary—‘decorum.’”
“Not this again.” Nik stiffened. “Is it an offense punishable by death for me to want to show affection for my mate?”
“Not when doing so could make me look weak,” she hissed.
“Great.” He threw up his arms. “Now I make you look weak.”
Gage started shrinking awa
y. “Perhaps I’ll go see what Danica is up to….”
It didn’t appear they’d heard him. Which was even better for him, since they couldn’t convince him to stay if they didn’t know he was leaving.
He’d taken about three steps down the hall when a deep voice from his nightmares said, “It’s been a while, my protégé.”
Gage tripped, his inner wolf immediately going into the defensive as he whirled.
No… what is he doing here?
A tall man wearing a black trench coat that barely fit over his bulging arm muscles lounged against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The rest of his ensemble was black, making his pale skin seem even whiter. Coupled with his long, pale-blond hair, which hung freely around his face, he looked every bit the part of a dark knight from a fairy tale.
Or from a nightmare.
Gage bared his canines, barely able to utter the man’s name. “Malachite.”
His former Alpha shot him a devious smile, his malevolent gaze burning gold for a second. “Miss me?”
It was too much—Alara pressuring him to be king, Danica’s safety, seeing Malachite again for the first time since the fight that nearly killed them both.
Before common sense could kick in, he’d formed a fist and charged with a roar of rage.
Staring out the window and dreaming about running around naked in the woods howling wasn’t something most people dreamed of, but it was the only thing crossing Danica’s mind. The higher the moon rose, the crazier the itch in her skin became. Before she could start licking the moonlit glass, Danica promptly drew the drapes shut and clicked on the TV. She idly flipped through channels of reality show after reality show, looking for something mindless to watch.
A late-night rerun of Say Yes to the Dress caught her eye, and she sat up in anticipation. Wedding shows—along with cake decorating and haunted houses documentaries—were a guilty obsession of hers. Trashy as it could be some times, reality TV and romance and fantasy novels were her only ways of escaping reality when she lived by herself.