Alphas for the Holidays

by Mandy M. Roth

  “The meal I’d arranged was large,” Irina admitted. She waved a hand at the dining hall, encompassing the three tables’ worth of food. “But it was nothing like this! I don’t understand how cook could have misunderstood me so completely.”

  “Cook misunderstood nothing,” Kirill said smoothly, taking his agitated wife into his arms. “I spoke with her this evening before I left. I wanted to be certain there would be enough food for everyone.”

  “Kirill, even with Etienne and Patricio here, we do not need this much food,” Irina insisted. She tilted her head, tracing a finger in small circles over Kirill’s chest. “Perhaps we could give some of the food—” She fell silent, brows furrowing as she scratched one nail down the edge of Kirill’s cloak. “My love, why is your cloak frozen?”

  “I’ve been out and about.”

  “Without the carriage?”

  Telling her that the carriage would not have been fast enough for all the travelling he’d done would give away the surprise, so Kirill remained silent. Before he could think of an appropriate answer, the footman stepped into the dining hall.

  “Your Highness, your guests have arrived.”

  Kirill brushed his ice-encrusted cloak back off his shoulder, took Irina’s hand in his, and tucked it into the crook of his arm. The lines between her eyebrows remained, her gaze darting between his frozen garments and the massive feast. He patted her hand as he led her to stand across the room, to the side of the doorway so they could greet their guests as they entered. “Trust me, Irina. I will not ruin Koliada for you.”

  “Prince Etienne and Princess Loupe of Sanguenay.”

  The werewolf came through the doorway decked out in the finery one would expect from Saguenayan royalty, a crisp royal blue coat emblazoned with gold trim and buttons over a starched white shirt and stiff black trousers. His eyes were a calm autumn brown, no trace of his wolf’s gold as he swept in to meet Kirill and Irina. Loupe clung to his arm, her blue eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. The silver dress she wore looked like it could have been stitched together from moonlight. It swayed around her legs as she moved, glittering in the fire’s glow.

  “Irina, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Etienne bowed. “You remember my wife, Loupe?”

  “Of course, and it’s so lovely to see you again.” Irina smiled at Loupe. “How are the pups?”

  Loupe straightened at the mention of her adopted pups, a smile lighting up her beautiful face. “Growing like weeds. I think it’s all the dresses they eat.”

  “I told you we need to start keeping them out of the castle,” Etienne muttered. “The tailor’s going to stitch them to the furniture if they destroy one more of his creations.”

  The smile on Loupe’s face twisted, became a little less pleasant. A hint of gold swam behind her eyes. “If he lays so much as a finger on them, I’ll eat him.”

  Kirill arched an eyebrow at Etienne. The werewolf tucked his wife’s hand more securely into the crook of his arm and shrugged.

  “He’s been warned before,” he said simply.

  “Prince Adonis and Princess Ivy of Nysa.”

  The werewolf couple moved on and Kirill offered a small bow to the next arrivals. Adonis and Ivy were dressed like twin flames, the demon in a vibrant red tunic with a gold sash fastened at the shoulder with a large fire opal, and his sun elemental bride gowned in silk that mimicked a waterfall of molten gold. Ivy’s long hair was braided and looped over and over until it scarcely dragged on the floor at all. The couple had eyes only for one another and didn’t seem to notice the way Kirill froze when he saw their hands. Specks of paint were embedded in their fingernails, green, red, silver, and gold. Kirill flashed back to the images the second ghost had shown him.

  “I’ve met Irina, Adonis. She’s much too friendly and outgoing to be content with a husband who doesn’t care about her friends.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Irina’s voice ripped him from the memory in time for Kirill to smooth his face into a welcoming smile. If his nerves were a little frazzled, there was no need for anyone else to know.

  “Yes,” he whispered. He bowed to Adonis and Ivy. “So pleased you could join us this evening.”

  “So pleased you could join us,” Adonis answered, clapping Kirill on the back.

  Kirill gritted his teeth against the demon’s joviality, not missing the look the demon gave his wife. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. He glanced at Irina, cursing himself for the concern he saw in her eyes. He needed to pull himself together. The hauntings were over, it was time to move on. He brushed a curl of raven hair back from her face. “I would not miss this chance to spend time with my wife,” he turned back to Adonis and Ivy, “and our friends. It is Koliada after all, is it not?”

  Adonis’ lips parted and he blinked. He stood there, staring at Kirill, until Ivy cleared her throat and jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

  “Darling, since your mouth is already open, why don’t we go put some food in it?” Ivy suggested wryly.

  Kirill nodded. “Help yourself, please. Isai has bespelled the banquet table to keep the food warm and I’m assured everything is delicious.”

  “Prince Patricio and Princess Marcela of Meropis and Atlantia.”

  Ivy dragged Adonis toward the banquet tables as Patricio and Marcela took their place in front of Kirill and Irina. Kirill was pleased to note that the angel was dressed in one of the outfits Kirill’s personal tailor had designed. He knew the stark white tunic had special fastenings in the back that allowed it to be put on around the angel’s wings, but the yards and yards of cerulean blue fabric that formed the cape spilling down the prince’s back hid them nicely. The cape was fastened at either shoulder with silver brooches, each one bearing an emerald with a blue flame dancing in its center. The emeralds matched the dress wrapped around Marcela, the green silk a perfect accompaniment to her eyes. Something about the material shimmered, putting Kirill in mind of the mermaid tail that had once been the lower half of Marcela’s body.

  He took a step back, trying to ease the angle of his neck as he gazed up at Patricio. “Patricio, you’re looking well.”

  The angel bowed. “As are you.” He smiled at Irina. “Irina, you look stunning. What did Kirill ever do to deserve you?”

  Irina waved a hand, humor tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve always had a charitable nature.”

  Marcela snickered behind her hand. Kirill slanted a glance at his wife and Irina blinked at him innocently.

  “Indeed,” Kirill murmured.

  “Prince Saamal and Princess Aiyana of Mu.”

  Patricio offered a final bow to Kirill and Irina, then he and Marcela moved to join the others next to the banquet table. A ripple of power washed over Kirill, making every nerve in his body spasm with awareness. He drew himself together, keeping his face free of any signs of discomfort as the god and goddess moved to stand before him.

  The power rolling off the couple was stifling, like the air in the midst of an electrical storm. Saamal’s dark eyes were not the drowning pits that they’d been last night, but there was no mistaking his gaze for human either. The plain black pants and unadorned grey tunic he wore did nothing to mute the awing effect of his presence. Beside him, Aiyana smiled, her eyes kind, though difficult to look upon with the way there always seemed to be something moving behind the ebony orbs. Green vines twined through her sable hair, sliding down her neck and teasing the sleeves of her red velvet gown. She perfumed the air around her with the scent of roses—but nothing could overwhelm the aroma of blood that followed the deities wherever they went.

  “Kirill, it is most rewarding to see you here celebrating with your wife.” Saamal met Kirill’s eyes, a knowing look on the god’s face. “It’s important to realize life is about more than work, is it not?”

  Kirill’s fangs ached, the scent of blood sharpening his hunger even amidst the discomfort of facing the god again so soon. It seemed lik
e only moments ago the god had been the vessel of the Ghost of Koliada Future, and the images he’d shown Kirill were far too powerful to be forgotten so quickly. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Well said, Saamal. I’m pleased the two of you could make it.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Aiyana assured him.

  A thick green vine tipped with delicate thorns curled down her arm, twitching in Kirill’s direction. He fought to remain calm despite the nearly overwhelming urge to reach for the dagger in his waistband. Aiyana meant no harm, the vines were merely an extension of her power, moving without conscious thought on her part. Still…

  “King Risi of the Altai Mountains.”

  Saamal’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Irina jerked so hard, her hand slid from the crook of Kirill’s arm. She stared at the entrance to the dining hall, blinking at the sight of the troll king standing there in all his gold-bedecked finery.

  The Dacian royal castle had been built to intimidate, its large doorways meant to make those entering feel small, vulnerable. For the troll king, it was precisely the right size, allowing the behemoth monarch to enter the room without bowing his nine-foot frame. The muscles that bulged from his arms were constricted by thick leather bands ornamented with gold that gleamed against his stone-colored skin, giving the impression of a creature that would glitter as he crushed to death anyone foolish enough to annoy him.

  “Kirill?” Irina blinked at him, seemingly at a loss for words.

  “He is your friend, is he not?” Kirill allowed himself a small smile at the shock on Irina’s face.

  “Interesting,” Saamal murmured. “Kirill, you continue to amaze.”

  Saamal and Aiyana moved off, and King Risi strolled to stand in front of Kirill. Kirill bowed deeply to the king.

  “Welcome, King Risi.”

  “I must say, Prince Kirill,” Risi mused, his craggy voice booming through the room like a thunderclap. “I was most…intrigued to get your invitation. But far be it from me to refuse an opportunity to see this lovely lady again.”

  He held his hands out and Irina put her small hands in the troll king’s palms, a brilliant smile on her face.

  “You are too kind as always, Your Majesty.”

  “Skoll is most eager to see you as well.” King Risi glanced at the buffet table and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Though, as usual, he is seeing to his stomach first.”

  Irina followed the king’s stare and laughed at the sight of the troll king’s right hand man piling a plate high with enough meat to feed an army. She patted Kirill’s arm. “Darling, I’m going to go greet my friend, if that’s all right?”

  “Go,” Kirill urged her, Irina’s smile easing the strain creeping over him. “Welcome your friend.”

  As soon as Irina had gone, the air between Kirill and King Risi chilled. Kirill slowly drew his composure together, resisting the urge to toy with his weapons beneath his cloak. He met the eyes of the troll king who was watching him like a hawk that’s spotted an interesting shadow moving on the forest floor.

  “Have we arrived at the part of the evening where you tell me why you really invited me here, Your Highness?” King Risi asked, his voice low and still grating.

  “You are wise to question the invitation,” Kirill answered calmly. “Though not, perhaps, for the reasons you might think.” He met the troll king’s eyes, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I want to extend an offer to you. An opportunity to sever our contract.”

  The king’s eyes went dead, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What are you up to, Kirill?” he growled. “Did you invite me here to attack? Have you so little respect for your wife that you would—”

  “I have no intention of doing anything my wife would find disturbing,” Kirill interrupted evenly. “And nothing would please me more than for our contract to remain in place.” He drew himself up, holding his goal clearly in his mind. “However, I have had time to reconsider the…circumstances under which you signed the contract.”

  “Ah, yes. Irina was injured while visiting my kingdom and you made it clear—in Your Majesty’s most subtle way—that if I did not sign your contract, you would use Irina’s injury as an excuse to declare war.” The troll king’s eyes flashed. “I remember.”

  Kirill’s fingers itched to wrap around his dagger, the need to be holding a weapon growing with every twitch of the troll king’s eyes. He held an image of Irina in his mind, letting the memory of that last horrible dream touch him again. The despair at losing Irina, the horror of watching the life fade from her body, strengthened his resolve. That future would never come to pass, not if he could stop it.

  “Irina once told me that I should concentrate on making friends instead of acquiring political allies.” Kirill allowed himself a small smile. “You and I both know that the two are not the same. When one’s people and interests are threatened, it is the political ally that is most desirable.”

  “Is it?” King Risi smirked. “From what I’ve heard, it seems your friends are precisely the ones who came to your aid when you needed it. And you to theirs.”

  Kirill paused, startled into silence. Slowly, he slid his glance over to the other princes and their wives, watching them laughing and talking amongst themselves. It was true, he realized. In his time of need, it had been Etienne, Adonis, Patricio, and Saamal who’d come to his aid. Not the creatures he had contracts with, but these men who, at the time, had had little reason to like him or trust him. For Kirill, there had been practical reasons behind his decision to help when the other princes had needed it, but he doubted that had been true for the others.

  “Your Majesty, could I possibly be correct in deducing that what you’re trying to tell me, is that you wish me to sign a contract to be your ally, not because you have manipulated me into it…but because you wish us to be friends?”

  Hearing the words out loud made them sound foolish, even more so than they had already seemed. Kirill stared at Risi, at a loss for words. The dreams had…frightened him. They’d made him reconsider his choices, but in the end they were all emotion. There was no logic. How could a strategy be built on such a flimsy foundation? What had he been thinking?

  “The vampire prince at a loss for words.” The troll king’s voice was soft, his eyebrows rising as he reconsidered Kirill. “I would not have believed that even Irina could inspire such a change in the dead prince.”

  “Undead,” Kirill murmured absently, his mind still whirring.

  “We are not friends, Kirill, because we do not like each other. I will consider what you’ve said about the contract. For now, I’m willing to let it stand.” The troll king began to turn away, then paused. He glanced back at Kirill. “Irina loves you very much. For her sake, I will offer you a piece of insight.”

  Kirill frowned, distracted by his utter failure to think this conversation through before it had happened. “Yes?”

  “Friendship is not a duty, or an asset. Forming one and maintaining one are not things to be added to your to-do list and checked off. You will be able to make friends only when you decide you want them—not need them, but want them.” He nodded in the direction of the other royalty. “Perhaps you should take this opportunity to discover if you like having friends? Perhaps then you will know whether this…new pursuit, has a prayer of working?”

  A sudden ruckus at the doorway drew both Kirill and King Risi’s attention. The dwarves had arrived, each of them carrying a barrel nearly as tall as his own body. Kirill narrowed his eyes.

  “They’ve brought their own alcohol, haven’t they?”

  King Risi nodded. “Typical for a dwarf. To be entirely fair, it is unlikely what you have is to their taste, either in flavor or strength.”

  Kirill pressed his fingers to his temples. He had no doubt that the alcohol being heaved in his direction had been purchased with the gold he’d only just given them. “I do believe I hate Koliada.”

  King Risi clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly pounding Kirill
out of his skin. “It is customary for one’s family to make holiday gatherings miserable. Why do you think I’m here instead of home?”

  With a loud guffaw, the troll king swaggered off to the buffet table, nodding to the dwarves as the little men dropped their barrels and surged around Irina. She squealed in delight and began hugging each of them in turn, her eyes as bright as polished obsidian. Kirill smiled, the weight of his conversation with the troll king lifting, if only temporarily. Eventually, he would need to consider what the monarch had said. More information, that’s what he needed. Suddenly Kirill remembered something.

  He gestured for the doorman to come to him. “Summon Demyan,” he said quietly. “There is a dwarf here who is unwell. I want him to ascertain what the problem is as subtly as possible and treat it. As subtly as possible,” he repeated.

  The doorman’s face remained composed, not betraying a hint of surprise at Kirill’s odd orders. Kirill nodded in appreciation, then stood there as the doorman left. A strange feeling of nervousness slid cold fingers up his spine and he shifted uncomfortably.

  “Perhaps you should take this opportunity to discover if you like having friends?”

  The troll king made making friends sound a great deal more complicated than Kirill had originally thought it would be. More time consuming, impossible to pretend. If it was true, if one had to actually enjoy friendship in order to make friends, what did that mean for him?

  Kirill set his shoulders and made his way over to where Patricio and Marcela stood chatting. The others had drifted toward the buffet table to load their plates while Irina greeted her other guests. Marcela smiled as he approached and Patricio straightened.

  “Patricio, I was wondering if you would care to join me for a hunting expedition next week?” Kirill offered, trying to keep his voice casual.

  Patricio paused with a large turkey leg halfway to his mouth. “Hunting?” He tilted his head. “You’re inviting me hunting?”