by Lola Taylor
“Do you know where you are?” Gage asked.
Violet shook her head. “They keep me blindfolded when moving me in and out. I know it’s a city because I can hear the cars honking at all hours, but I could not tell you where.”
Great. A city. That’s helpful.
Alara grasped Violet’s hands. “If you deliver us more information, I swear to you you’ll be granted amnesty once we defeat Mistress Black and shut down the mafia.”
“What?” Gage said, anger making his voice sharp. “After everything she’s done?”
“She’s trying to help us!” Alara snapped, whirling on him. “The DPI is all but useless, and this is the only whiff of the mafia we’ve had since my family’s murder. And I will be damned if I’m letting a chance at justice slip through my fingers that easily.”
They all stared at her. Nik rested a hand on her shoulder. “Alara—”
“Don’t, Nik,” she said, shrugging him off and returning her attention to Violet. “Well? Will you consider?”
Violet looked around at them. “You swear you’ll protect me?”
“On my life,” Alara said without hesitation. “As will they,” she added pointedly, throwing everyone a look over her shoulder.
Gage growled low in his throat, but Danica calmed him by placing a hand on his forearm.
Alara’s right, Danica said in his head. We have no other connections to Mistress Black, and we don’t know if another opportunity like this will appear.
Gage silently swore. His mate was right, as usual. While he could see the sense in her reasoning, he also couldn’t help but loathe the creature standing in front of him.
The woman who’d nearly cost him everything.
And not only that, but how could he hope to protect her, a captive of the most wicked witch they’d encountered, when he didn’t even know if he could protect his mate or his pack? No matter how much he wanted her to pay for her sins, he knew they needed an insider. As much as he hated to admit it, Violet could be the key to saving them all. The chance was too sweet to pass up.
“Fine,” Gage barked. “But I want you to understand something. The moment you become a liability to her”—he gestured at Danica—“is the moment I stop protecting you.”
Violet’s eyes flickered to Danica. Her face never once betrayed any hurt she might have felt at Gage’s harsh words. Her lips twitched up into the barest whisper of a smile. “As I said, I’m already dead anyway, but the thought of you trying to save me is nice. It makes me feel not so alone in this.”
Gage winced, almost feeling guilty.
“I can’t fault you on trying to protect the ones you love,” Violet said. Her expression turned serious as she looked at Alara, who awaited an answer. “I swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to help. Should you need to reach me—” she reached into the folds of her cloak and produced a shiny glass disc, which she handed to Alara—“break this and I’ll come to you if I can. But choose wisely when to use it because you can only use it once.”
She whirled. Her eyes frantically searched for a sound the others did not hear. “I must go. They’re coming.”
With that, her image flickered out of existence, like a television screen fading away after being shut off.
Nik sighed hard. “That went well.”
“At least we have a lead now,” Alara said, staring at the disc in her hand. “Violet’s given us more hope than I could have imagined.”
“And more heartache,” Gage said darkly.
Alara gave him a brief, sympathetic glance before her face hardened once more. “I’m sorry. I understand your plight, but at the same time, I cannot allow a chance like this to slip through my fingers. I have my people to think of.”
He couldn’t fault her for that. It was the Alpha’s curse, a burden you took on whenever you assumed the role of shepherd—the good of the people came before your own personal feelings.
That principle alone made him feel a little dirty. He’d promised Violet safety, but if the time called for it, he’d abandon her to the wolves if it meant protecting Danica. Since when had he compromised his values?
From the moment you met your soul mate.
He glanced at Danica, feeling an overwhelming surge of love and protectiveness. Yes, by mating with her he’d become more vulnerable, but at the same time, her love and devotion gave him strength. For that alone, he could not resent her.
The others spoke quietly while he thought to himself. Danica touched his arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Gage said at last. “Just thinking about that girl. And about what I said.”
Danica sighed hard. “It had to be done. It seems like everything at this level of politics is ‘an eye for an eye.’”
She was right. All his life, Gage had fought to be fair and just, and that just wouldn’t cut it anymore. He knew deep in his heart that in order to win this war, he couldn’t play the game the same way he used to. The ante had been upped, and he couldn’t afford to lose, even if it meant sacrificing a pawn.
He couldn’t be “perfect Gage” anymore.
“You think we can trust her?” Danica asked him.
“It looks like we won’t have a choice,” Gage muttered, shooting Alara a contemplative look. Ever since the funeral, something had shifted in his brother’s mate.
The innocent young woman who might have been there before was now gone, replaced by a darker and more dangerous version. Gage understood that darkness, the biting, scratching urge to seek revenge. He just hoped Nik could help her tame the inner beast before it consumed what light was left in her soul.
Thinking about everything going on right now, Gage felt the pressure of his world closing in on him. If he didn’t fight back, he’d be crushed by his own circumstances, and he knew there were plenty of enemies who would love to see him fall.
He would not let that happen. It wasn’t just a pride thing. It was the principle of the matter.
He was done running. He was ready to take a stand and protect the ones he loved.
And in order to do that, he was going to need more power.
A weird sense of rightness pulled at his gut, like this outcome had been inevitable from the start. It made it somewhat easier to accept what he had to do.
“Alara,” he said, stopping their group as they began to file out of the room.
She turned, raising a brow. “Yes?”
Gage’s jaw ticked as he finally made a decision that would ultimately change his life.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m running for High King.”
Malachite wiped the last of the blood from his face and wrung the washcloth under the water. Red streams floated down the drain, staining the water pink. He ran a hand over his face and examined his skin in the bathroom mirror of his private suite. Already the cut along his jawline had healed, though Gage’s right hook had made it hard to chew without shooting needle-like pain into the roots of his teeth and down his neck.
A sense of pride welled up in Malachite, briefly cutting through his irritation. The pup’s older brother might have taught him how to throw a punch, but it was Malachite who’d taught him to fight dirty. And judging from the way he’d tackled him in the hallway, a little bit of Malachite’s teachings remained embedded in his bones. Malachite smiled.
I told you, Gage. No matter how hard you try, you will never truly be rid of me.
Feeling satisfied, Malachite turned off the bathroom light and walked into his bedroom. The furnishings were exactly to his taste, reflective of the old-world elegance he so favored. Growing up in the 1700s had made him adverse to modern designs. They were so bland and tasteless. Where was the personality in a machine-manufactured piece of furniture? How could a machine love a work of art?
A familiar itch made him clench and unclench his fist. Going over to his suitcase, he removed a small leather bag and took out a block of cedar and a carving knife. Among the knife’s other more entertaining uses—like carving up the flesh of those who’d been fo
olish enough to piss him off—Malachite found solace in whittling. The pastime was methodical, the act of stroking and chipping away at the wood and pouring all his focus into it. When he was creating, he didn’t have to think or remember his past. And that in itself was a great mercy to his troubled soul.
Almost unbidden, Danica’s face flashed before his eyes, and he cut himself. He stared at the blood welling from the cut, which had almost instantly begun to seal.
Seeing Danica had been like a punch to the gut that had knocked the wind completely out of him. Nothing could have prepared him for how closely she resembled his dead Emily.
Images from his violent past drifted to the forefront of his mind, a grim slideshow he could never seem to completely forget: coming home from a hard day’s work to find his wife and child slaughtered by a rogue pack of werewolves, the wooden floors of his house slick with their freshly spilled blood, the feeling of the earth dropping out from under him as it struck him what had happened. It was the same day he’d discovered his capacity for killing in cold blood as a rage he’d never known overtook him.
He closed his eyes, seeing his wife’s terrified green eyes staring up at him as he held her, her cheek and throat marred by the deep claw marks that had severed her artery. Sorrow washed over him as the faces of his beautiful wife and child filled his head. Their laughter and screams mingled in his thoughts, racing faster and faster, until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
Rising, he roared and hurled the knife across the room. It embedded in the wood beside the door, the zing of the metal ringing as it vibrated within the ivory handle.
Staggering toward the mini-fridge, he grabbed a tankard of whiskey and knocked the bottle straight back. Large gulps of the stout amber liquid burned his throat, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the pain, to feel anything else other than the sorrow of losing his family.
Some days were better than others. He could almost forget about his Emily and the infant son he’d never get to know if he went several days purposefully not thinking of them, which was next to impossible. He was always thinking of them in the back of his mind, just as he had when they were alive. God, if he’d known love could hurt this badly, he never would have sought it out to start with.
It was the only thing holding him back now from taking Danica as his own. She was still young, as his Emily had been when they wed. What if Danica too was torn from him? Could he survive that kind of agony again?
Was there enough of the man he used to be left to love her the way she needed to be loved?
Despite his fears, the urge to see her was like a drug. Seeing her standing there and staring at him in the hallway had been like a slap to the face. There she was, a woman he never thought he’d see again, come back to him. She even smelled the same as his Emily, like wildflowers and sunshine.
He yearned to bury his hands in her hair, to taste her sweetness as he had on their wedding night.
He glanced at the half-downed tankard, then at the door. She was probably in her room right now. With her scent still fresh in his nostrils, it wouldn’t be hard to track her down. How much of a fool are you, Malachite?
The promise of happiness was too great to ignore. Grabbing his coat, he started for the hall with the full intent of seeking out Danica.
He opened the door and paused.
Norman stood there with his fist raised as if he’d been about to knock. He blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, were you heading out?”
Malachite glared at Norman. “What do you want?”
The older wolf raised both hands. “I come in peace, I assure you.”
“Just as you did for Danica, I hear.”
Norman rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I didn’t know anything about Onyx’s business interactions. Otherwise, I would have intervened. Now if you’ll please let me in, I have a proposition I think you’ll be most interested in hearing.”
“What could you possibly have to offer me that I can’t obtain myself?”
Norman’s calculating eyes glittered. “A mate.”
Malachite’s heart stuttered. Maybe it did know how to work after all. “I lost my mate.”
“You lost a wife,” Norman corrected. “As she was human when she died, the mating curse does not apply to you.”
Malachite growled. “She was my wife. In human terms, that makes her my mate.”
“Fine, fine,” Norman said dismissively, waving a hand as if this were a trivial detail. “She was your mate. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
“What makes you think I’m interested in taking a mate?” Malachite said, crossing his arms.
Norman smiled. “The way you looked at Danica Johnson this evening.”
Malachite stared at Norman, unsure what he was getting at.
Norman leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What would you say if I told you that you could claim her for your own?”
Malachite snorted. “I’d tell you you’re high on something. Everyone knows you can’t break the mating spell.”
“Ah, but as we all know, every spell has a loophole. It’s just a matter of finding it.”
“…And I suppose you’re here to tell me you’ve found it.”
“Precisely.”
Malachite studied him. The Nightshade Pack was infamous for its inability to be trusted, except when it came to eventually stabbing all of their allies in the back and changing allegiances at the last minute.
“Not interested,” Malachite said, starting to shut the door.
“You’re lying,” Norman hissed, sticking his foot in the door to keep it from shutting. “I see the way you looked at Danica. Just imagine my surprise. The mighty Malachite, tamed by a pup.”
Malachite’s gums ached as his teeth elongated into fangs. “Come a little closer and I’ll show you tame.”
Norman chuckled. “I admire your ruthlessness. It’s an underappreciated trait we both share.”
“Get out,” Malachite snapped.
“Hear me out, and I’ll be on my way.”
Norman stared at him, making it clear he wasn’t moving anytime soon. He was so lithe, Malachite could probably throw him through the wall, but he’d already caused enough of a stir earlier. If he outright harmed an Alpha, he’d be thrown out of the castle for sure. Which would defeat the whole purpose of him coming….
When he first saw Danica’s picture in a werewolf magazine, all he could think of was, There’s my Emily, come back to me. When he heard of the werewolf summit and how all the royals were invited, he knew he had to attend. He hadn’t counted on all of the ensuing drama with the witch mafia and the murder of the High King, but it was of no consequence to him.
All he wanted was Danica. What had started out as mere curiosity soon turned into full-blown obsession once he’d seen her.
He had to have her, no matter what.
The overwhelming desire to be reunited with his lost love, Emily, overtook him.
Reluctantly, he stepped aside.
“That’s a good lad,” Norman said, coming in and making himself at home in a chair.
Malachite shut the door and turned.
Norman raised his brows. “Won’t you sit?”
“I prefer to stand, thanks.”
“Touchy.” Norman tsk-tsked.
“Get on with it. What the hell do you have to offer?”
Norman’s smile hitched. “Very well,” he said more tightly than he had before. “What do you know of the mating spell?”
Malachite nearly rolled his eyes. “It’s absolute and can only be broken when one mate dies.”
“But what if one mate doesn’t have to die? What if the spell can be broken?”
Malachite barked a laugh. “That’s not possible.”
“What if I told you I could deliver the woman you want most into the palm of your hand?”
Malachite paused. “I’d tell you that you were full of shit.”
Norman laughed. “Possibly. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard that.
”
“I’m not killing Gage, if that’s what you want,” Malachite said firmly. No way was he going to hurt Danica like that. He’d heard the pain of losing a mate was almost unbearable since the two werewolves were psychically linked. It would be like ripping out a part of your soul. Though he had attained his Alpha rank in Moonstruck by killing the former Alpha in an unfair duel and terrorizing his pack into submission, despite not yet claiming a mate for himself, he knew from personal experience how painful it was to lose someone you love.
“Who said anything about killing?” Norman said innocently. “All we would need to break the link would be a tiny blood sample from each werewolf and poof! No more mating bond.”
“Then Black Magic is involved.”
“Possibly.” Norman’s eyes glittered.
Malachite shook his head. “Black Magic is too unpredictable. Besides, losing a mate is supposed to have dire consequences on the wolf left alive. Like never being able to feel love or emotion again, or trying to commit suicide from the sudden emptiness of the psychic bond being snapped.”
“All side effects my witch can remedy, I assure you,” Norman said with a careless wave of his hand.
“And you know of a witch powerful enough to do this?” Malachite said dryly.
“Yes.”
Malachite stared at him suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
Norman slowly smiled. “You mean, what’s in it for us? We both share a mutual dislike of a certain Alpha. Taking his mate from him will break him so irreparably, he’ll be removed from the picture altogether.”
The pieces fell together. “And an unmated Alpha cannot run for High King.”
“Exactly,” Norman purred.
Malachite smirked. “You feel that threatened by him that you’d resort to dealing with the forbidden arts just to see him ruined?”
“He is inexperienced in the ways of our world,” Norman snapped, his eyes hardening. “This nation needs someone with backbone and experience to take it to the next level.”
“The next level being…?”
“Acceptance.”
Malachite rolled his eyes. “That’s right. I forgot you’re a radical. No matter how romantic a notion, humans will never accept us into society. We’d be labeled a danger, a menace. We’d be captured and dissected. We’d have millions more enemies to worry about, considering humans outnumber us a thousand to one.”