Alpha Queen

by Callie Rose

  After Patrice and her wolves have left, I lean my palms on the edge of the table and say, “Okay, so what are we thinking? Full on assault?”

  Archer sighs. “The truth is, if we don’t take the fight to them, they’re going to bring it to us, just like they did last time.”

  “I think it’s better if we take the fight to them. That way, we get to decide the how and the when. We get to have it on our terms,” Dare says. Then his lips press together, his expression hardening. “But we should discuss the possibility that they could have the upper hand with it being their territory.”

  Ridge shakes his head. “Maybe, but I think that could be made up for if we have the element of surprise. If we plan our battle strategy right.”

  “We’ll be going up against the whole fucking coven.” Archer drags a hand through his blond hair. “That’s a bigger force than we fought here, possibly significantly bigger. It’ll take all of our combined packs to even have a chance against them. Every single fighter we’ve got.”

  “Speaking of that,” Amora cuts in. “What about our children and elderly? If the rest of the pack is gone to fight, they’ll be sitting ducks here alone.”

  “Not entirely,” Archer points out. “The sigils that make up our wards help.”

  I snort. “The sigils haven’t always worked. If they had, we wouldn’t have buried so many dead less than a week ago. Two witches wouldn’t have been able to chase Lawson right to the edge of the village. Amora has a good point. We have to prepare for every possibility.”

  The air in the meeting house is tense as all the gathered shifters’ minds set to work, trying to figure out a solution to this newest—and most important—issue.

  I don’t yet have children of my own, though I can imagine wanting them one day with Sable. But many of my strongest warriors do have kids, and they aren’t going to want to run into battle knowing their families won’t be safe in their absence. Elderly parents. The ill and disabled. If we leave them without protection, we might as well be their murderers.

  But how do we fight two battles? How do we go after the witches, but leave enough wolves behind to protect the children and elderly from being slaughtered?

  Then Sable makes a noise in her throat. I can feel her body stiffen a little next to me, and I look over at her to find a thoughtful look spreading across her face.

  “I think I have an idea,” she tells us.

  21

  Sable

  I feel very confident about my plan until every eye in the room turns to look at me.

  Suddenly, my old panic rustles around inside me, and I have to fight the urge to run away from all those gazes. It shows how far I’ve come that I stand my ground. I’m a part of this pack now, come what may, and I have a voice here. I don’t have to be afraid to speak up, like I did in my fake uncle’s household.

  Here, I’m a part of the team.

  But I’m about to ask something of them that I know isn’t going to be easy for anyone to swallow. That makes speaking a little harder than it should be.

  I steel myself, catch Ridge’s gaze, and say, “We should ask Gwen for help.”

  We tracked down the solitary witch in her cabin deep in the mountainous wilderness not long ago on Elder Jihoon’s recommendation. She was barely more than legend before that point. Rumor suggested she existed, though nobody had ever seen her. Rumor also said she wasn’t affiliated with the coven, so we hoped, maybe prematurely, that she would help me learn to harness and control my burgeoning powers before I hurt someone around me.

  Gwen turned out to be… not so willing to get involved. We found out that she carries a deep hatred of Cleo, and that it was the driving force behind her leaving the coven and holing up in the mountains to live a solitary life. I did manage to convince her to give us some assistance, which is how we discovered that the scars on my skin are sigils that bind me to Cleo.

  Her help has changed the game already. It’s the reason we had warning about the attack on the East Pack village. It’s the reason I know as much as I do about the bond between me and Cleo.

  But even though she willingly offered that help and demanded nothing in return, she didn’t seem to have any interest in getting dragged into the fight. She hates Cleo, but she also seems to be afraid of her—with good reason.

  Ridge cocks an eyebrow at me. “She didn’t even want to help us in the first place.”

  “But she did help me,” I insist. “She didn’t want to fight on our side, it’s true. But maybe she would’ve done even more if we hadn’t needed to leave so quickly.”

  While Gwen and I were investigating the bond through the astral plane, I saw Cleo torturing Lawson for information on the packs’ defenses. My mates and I hightailed it out of there to get back home before they breached our barriers. I think there’s a pretty good chance Gwen would have continued to help me learn about my powers if we’d been able to stay longer, and I hope like hell that if we ask again, she’ll consider joining our cause.

  To be fair, though, I understand my mates’ hesitation. Gwen was not happy to see us show up on her remote doorstep. A woman doesn’t build a life off the grid, far from all civilization, only to welcome visitors with open arms.

  “Gwen hates Cleo,” I remind my men, even as all four of them continue to eye me skeptically. “I think part of the reason she hates her is because Cleo is so vicious to the wolves. I don’t know—maybe it’s not even Cleo’s hatred of wolves that’s the problem, but the genocidal tendencies? She’s twisted her entire coven to hate the shifters, and it soured Gwen to her. She left the coven because of how hateful Cleo is. It could have been humans in our place, or other witches, and I think Gwen still would’ve seen Cleo for the psychopath she is.”

  “You don’t have any proof of that,” Dare points out, running a hand over his strong jaw.

  “No,” I admit. “I don’t. But you all met her just like I did. She didn’t treat us with hatred or cruelty. Gwen may be a bit of an outcast, but she only ever helped us.”

  Trystan chuckles. “We didn’t give her much room to deny us.”

  He has a point, but I don’t let it take the wind out of my sails. “Look, I know it took time, but I’ve finally learned to trust my witch. And I think most of you have learned to trust my powers too,” I add, casting a look around the group. Everybody’s watching me silently, giving me their attention in a way I’m not used to. But I’m the alphas’ mate, after all. I probably should get used to it. “Now, we need to consider trusting another witch to keep our families safe.”

  A long, uncomfortable pause fills the room. Even my mates still don’t look convinced, though I know it’s not because they aren’t willing to trust me. Hell, it may not even be because they don’t trust Gwen. More that they don’t believe she’d actually want to come here and help us. So I’m formulating another plan of attack, a way to convince them all that Gwen is the answer, when Elder Jihoon speaks.

  “I believe we should listen to Sable,” he says, his eyes thoughtful. “She has not led us wrong yet. My limited knowledge of this hermit witch suggests she could indeed be a strong ally, given the chance. This could, perhaps, be our moment to begin bridging the gap between wolf and witch.”

  The elder finishes up with a smile at me, and I flush with pride at his acceptance of my idea. If the pack won’t listen to me, maybe they’ll listen to him.

  It takes a bit more convincing, but I stand firm behind my idea, convinced it’s the best option available to us. I know it’s a risk, but the adage that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” feels more true than ever in this case. If there’s any witch in Montana who’ll be likely to help us in our venture against Cleo and her coven, it’s Gwen.

  After several more minutes of back and forth, Ridge finally nods. “Okay. I agree that it’s worth a try. All in favor?”

  All four of my men voice their agreement, and to my relief, most of the other shifters present do too.

  “So we need to reach out to the mountain witch,�
�� Dare says. I can hear a slight strain in his voice, but it’s the only indication that he’s not entirely comfortable with this plan. It means a lot to me that he trusts me enough to go along with my idea, despite the fact that he doesn’t like it. “Do we send a small pack? Or a single ambassador?”

  “I’ll go.” Amora raises her hand.

  I shake my head. “No, I’ll go. I think a group of shifters racing toward her secluded cabin might spook her.”

  “We can approach as humans,” Amora points out, looking amused. “We don’t have to howl at the moon while we sprint at her, fangs bared.”

  I grimace. “It should be me. I just thi—”

  Trystan cuts in. “No.” His face softens a little, his blue-green eyes burning as he catches my gaze. “You’ve gotta let us have this one, sweetheart. It isn’t safe for you to travel to Gwen’s. We can’t all go with you, and I can’t stand the idea of you going without us.”

  I start to argue, but Amora reaches out and puts her fingers on my shoulder, shaking her head. “It’s better this way. I can be fast, and you can stay with the alphas to organize and figure out a plan of attack on the coven. You know Cleo better than any of us. It’s important you be involved in the planning.”

  Of course I see what she did there, making it sound like I’m too important in this aspect of things to sacrifice for the trip to the mountains. But I still don’t like the idea of other shifters going without me.

  “I’ll take several people with me,” Amora says, speaking to the group at large. “Strong fighters. We’ll look out for each other.”

  Ridge nods once. “That would be best. But you have to promise me to be safe—don’t venture too close to Wolfsbane Mountain on your journey. Watch your back.”

  I can see the worry in his eyes. Amora’s been his longest friend and confidante, and no matter what anybody says, going to Gwen’s and passing the witches’ stronghold on the way is going to be dangerous. He holds out a hand, and she clasps it firmly.

  “I will,” Amora promises.

  “I can do a spell,” I offer. “Something to keep all of you safe.”

  She smiles. “Works for me.”

  Amora leaves to gather a team, and fifteen minutes later, we meet them outside the meeting house in the late afternoon light.

  She chose a team of five shifters—three extremely large men and two strong, lithe women, all of whom I recognize from around the village, though I’m not sure if they’re all North Pack or not. As everyone comes to grips with this “new normal” of the blended packs, I think Amora would choose her team based on merit and strength, not on whether they belong to her original pack or not.

  The crowd from inside the meeting house fans out around us, putting the group of travelers and me at center stage. But light conversation is starting up among the spectators, and my mates are standing with their heads together, discussing plans, so for the time being, Amora and I have a moment to speak one-on-one.

  I step up in front of her and regard her thoughtfully. She has her long dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail, and she’s carrying a backpack of supplies.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I murmur under my breath so that my men don’t hear me.

  She arches a dark brow. “Oh?”

  “Just because my mates are way too protective of me doesn’t mean you should feel like you need to risk yourself. I’m not more valuable than you.”

  “You have witch magic,” she says bluntly. “You’re the only person on this side of the fight who wields that power. That does make you more valuable.”

  “It doesn’t,” I insist, feeling uncomfortable at the idea. For so long, my witch magic felt like the barrier keeping me from truly being a part of the shifters’ world. I finally broke through that barrier and learned to balance both my worlds, but in the end, I’m still different.

  At least I’m helpful to the cause, I guess.

  Amora offers me a crooked grin. “Sorry, girl. It really does. We all need you alive. Not to mention that you have four mates who love you and would absolutely fall apart if you got hurt or killed. I don’t exactly have that problem.”

  It’s a casual, playful comment, meant to make me feel better. But there’s an undercurrent to her tone that makes me wonder if Amora wishes she had a mate of her own. Before the last battle, we had a conversation about just that, and she was adamant that she doesn’t need a mate.

  But maybe she’s changed her mind. Seeing me with my four men, and the way everything has changed… maybe Amora is ready for some changes herself.

  “I’m glad I know you,” I say as I reach out to take her hands. I feel suddenly shy, unused to expressing my emotions or being this vulnerable with anyone but my mates. Clearing my throat, I add, “I didn’t have any women in my life growing up. I love my mates with all my heart, but I’m happy to finally have a woman to talk to. Not even just a woman, but you—a badass lady who makes me feel like I could do anything.”

  Amora looks strangely misty-eyed as she leans in for a hug. “You can do anything. I’m glad I know such a badass lady too.”

  As she steps away to rejoin the shifters she’ll be traveling with, I perform a protection sigil I’ve learned, sending out billows of strong, smoky magic to create a ward around Amora and her team. Then the group of them strip off their clothes and shift before heading out into the forest beyond the pack’s territory.

  I watch their forms fade into the distance, my heart heavy.

  Are we sending them into danger? How many more lives will we lose before all of this ends?

  An arm slips around my waist, and I lean into the warmth that presses into my side. The fresh, clean scent of Archer’s soap meets my nose and I breathe deeply, calmed by his presence.

  He kisses my forehead, then leans his chin on my head. “Amora and her team will be okay. And we’ll make their trip worthwhile. We won’t waste time while they’re gone.”

  I pull away and look up at him. “You promise?”

  His expression turns grim. “Of course. We’ve got a war to plan.”

  22

  Sable

  Elder Patrice and her team of scouts return by mid-morning the next day with more information on the witches’ bunker. Turns out, Lawson knew exactly what he was talking about.

  While the recon team chose not to climb the mountain for a better vantage point, since that would’ve gotten them too close and taken too much time, they were able to pinpoint a strange anomaly on the side of the mountain facing away from the interior range. Using their accounts, we spend the better part of the day compiling a full report on the area surrounding Wolfsbane Mountain. Terrain, obstacles, prime cover, vulnerable zones—all of it is mapped out and analyzed.

  We’re able to bring in a few other people from all three packs for deeper descriptions too. Even though many have never climbed Wolfsbane Mountain and didn’t even know what it was called, we find a couple other shifters who have visited the little town of Anatoly and seen part of the mountain range. The interviews are tedious, and the act of drawing out their descriptions is painstaking, but every shifter we bring in is able to help us paint a better picture of Wolfsbane Mountain and the hidden bunker.

  The whole day is consumed by our work, but I know it’s important to have a good idea of what we’re going to be walking into.

  We need to know places where we can use the terrain to our advantage, or places where we might hide our forces and have backup on standby. There’s no way we can over-plan for this situation. They say when preparing for a disaster, you’ll feel like you’re doing too much; but looking back after the dust settles, you’ll think you didn’t do enough. So over-preparation seems the best option.

  We return to Archer’s house in the late evening, and I’m so exhausted that my head is spinning. I feel like I’m drowning in Wolfsbane Mountain, like I’m going to still be thinking about it in my sleep. We eat a dinner of cold leftovers, all of us too tired to make something fresh or hot, then we file into the bedroom. I
crawl into bed, and my men pile around me, skin touching, limbs curled over each other in a big pile like always. And within seconds, I’m sound asleep.

  I dream I’m in Clint’s basement.

  I recognize the dim room immediately, since it’s the scene of every childhood horror I knew. The halogen lamp over his workbench is on, buzzing faintly from the flow of electricity, and the tabletop beneath it shines rusty with dried blood. The room where he used to lock me up is closed off, and the television in the corner is on, though the screen shows nothing but silent white noise.

  Suddenly, I hear footsteps on the stairs, and I start to shake. It’s such an ingrained feeling. I know, since I’m in Clint’s basement, that it must be him coming down the stairs, and usually, that didn’t bode well for me. But I’m rooted to the floor, my feet like concrete and my fear a vicious, palpable thing.

  I can’t run.

  But the man who steps off the staircase and into the main room isn’t Clint. The halogen lamp glints off flaxen hair, and moss-green eyes flash around the room in confusion before they land on me.

  It’s Archer.

  He looks as surprised as I feel, his mouth dropping open slightly as his eyes widen. Relief floods me in a cool rush, and I dart across the room and throw myself into his arms, so fucking glad to see him I could cry.

  He squeezes me, his hands rubbing lightly over my back. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he murmurs softly. “I’m here. No one can hurt you.”

  I pull away and catch his gaze, my brows drawing together. “You know what this place is?”

  “Of course. We rescued you from here, although…” He trails off, his gaze more assessing now as it sweeps the basement. “It looks a little different.”

  “It’s… a memory,” I tell him, trying to see the room through his eyes. “This is how it was when I was growing up. Not the most current reality.”