Spoils of War
By
Susan Bliler
Copyright © 2019 by Susan Bliler
Alpha She Ltd.
Smashwords Edition
www.susanbliler.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Cover fonts, spine, and back cover done by:
Susan Bliler
Cover image courtesy of:
iStock by Getty Images
Editing done by:
Grammargal
As always thanks to my Beta reader:
Cindy Hubbard
Happy birthday, sister!
I love you the moon.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Susan A. Bliler.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Longfellow Elementary School library, the first place I learned to really dream. The first place that taught me books were more than just words on pages. Thank you for carrying us poor kids out of the projects, if only for a few short hours at a time. Thank you for all your lessons. Your old bones will be missed.
Prologue
War stalked through the inner yard of his compound, the Fortress. Brow furrowed and lip kicked up in a snarl, shifters jumped out of his way and avoided his gaze as he stormed past. He was in a foul mood without any really good reason to be. Crabby was just his style, and he found that it served well to keep his men in line.
“W-War?”
Shooting a dark look to the shifter that scurried up to him and kept pace with his long strides, War internally amended, it kept most of his men in line.
“What?” he snapped without breaking stride. Beside him, Alec looked back over his shoulder, and War knew he was considering a swift retreat.
Instead, Alec spoke quietly, “The men have a request . . .”
“Denied,” War growled, letting every ounce of his impatience fill his tone. He tried to be friendly with his pack, he really did, but it always seemed like they approached him at the most inopportune moments, like now.
Without another word, Alec peeled off and slunk away.
War shook his head, pissed at how easily Alec had been deterred. His men needed work. Even after all this time, after all these battles they’d been through together, most of them still hadn’t found their voice. It was frustrating. The pack’s reputation was preceding them, and they grew confident and bolder with each victory, but that was pack mentality. War wanted the individual men beneath him to realize they were just as strong without a pack standing behind them. He didn’t have the luxury of time to teach those lessons though. No, he was too busy sweeping across the land with his pack of War Gods laying waste to all who defied him. Like an arm sweeping pieces off a chessboard, War was clearing the field of tyrannical Alphas and their ruthless packs. His initial intent had been just to topple the kings, but those kings were surrounded by pawns. It’s how packs worked, which meant that instead of just dealing with Alphas, War had to deal with their packs as well. It was exhausting, but a challenge he was up to, because if wolf shifters were willing to follow lawless Alphas, then they deserved what they got.
War despised power-hungry Alphas and their lackeys. He’d had enough of that shit, had seen it all his life, all growing up. Now that he’d come into his own and had a steady pack beneath him, he was doing what he’d always promised himself he would. He was putting an end to the way packs used to be. He was ushering in a new era. Yeah, shifters were accusing him of being one of those tyrannical, power-hungry Alphas that he hunted down, but they were wrong. They didn’t see the good War was doing. Well, the good he was trying to do. Shit was stressful right now because packs were throwing challenges his way en masse. He got it. They were trying to wear him down, burn him out, but it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t. He had years of anger and resentment blazing inside him like a fiery inferno that was only just now threatening to blow. He’d been holding back, but the more the other packs refused to cow, the more relentless he became.
Rolling his head on his shoulders, he didn’t try to tamp down the persistent growl that rattled his chest. A constant dark frown had taken up residence on his face, and most of his pack knew to give him a wide berth.
Casting a frown over his shoulder, he glared at Alec. Most of his pack.
He knew why the men kept sending representatives to him. His men were lonely and wanted females allowed into the pack. It wasn’t happening. Not yet anyway. They were too vulnerable to attack right now. No, vulnerable wasn’t the right word. Vulnerable implied they were weak, and War’s pack was anything but. Still, challenges came non-stop, and War refused to have women in his pack until they’d cemented themselves on a throne made of their enemies’ bones. Women would have to wait. Pleasure would have to wait. Life would have to wait. Right now, he needed his War Gods focused on one thing and one thing alone…battle!
He stalked toward the heavy wooden door that led into the keep, a great stone tower built in the center of his compound. The thick doors were pulled open just as he approached. Silently, the two sentries stationed there stared stoically at attention, eyes straight ahead as War passed.
Inside the keep, the corridor was dimly lit with wall sconces that looked like candles. The bulbs were even those kind that flickered like actual candles.
War’s fortress resembled a modern-day castle, fit for a king.
“War,” Tallius greeted as he descended the thick slabs of stone that made up the stairs.
A grunt was War’s response and had Tallius chuckling.
“I see Alec approached you with his request.”
“He approached,” War snarled. “There was no request.”
Tallius laughed harder, and the sound eased some of the tension rolling off War. His Beta’s easy going demeanor always seemed to calm him in a way that most couldn’t. Maybe it was because Tallius had been with him from the beginning. They’d grown up in the same pack. As pups they’d watched their families be slaughtered, and because of it, Tallius was War’s brother in a way no other member of his pack ever would be. They’d been the only two to survive from their original pack, and they’d taken care of each other ever since.
Nearly as tall as War, it wasn’t much of an effort for Tallius to keep up with his Alpha’s pace as he explained, “They want women.”
“No,” War growled. “Not yet.”
“I told them.” Tallius shoved the door open to War’s chambers.
The room was massive. Stone floors, stone walls, stone ceiling, the space came across as cold even with the bright crimson Persian rugs that sat in front of a large empty hearth and lay at the foot of a massive four-poster bed that was covered in a soft rabbit fur quilt.
Tallius explained, “I told them they need to win five more battles before this’ll be over.”
“Five?” War grunted.
“Five,” Tallius affirmed. Turning one of two chairs that sat in front of the large hearth, Tallius dropped into it and watched his Alpha cross to the far wall, where he poured himself a whiskey from the decanter resting on a dark oak table. “The Dark Moon, Night Walker, and Shadow packs will be easy to defeat. Cray’s Yellowstone pack will be a little more difficult.”
“What of the Fury?”
With a hard shake of his head, Tallius smirked, “They’re out. Aydin’s just made Alpha, and he wants no part of this war even though his Beta suggested otherwise.”
“His Beta?” War growled.
&nb
sp; “A she-wolf named Mira.”
“A she-wolf . . . wanting to war? That’s new.”
“She’s a feisty little thing.”
War’s eyes narrowed on Tallius. “You know her?”
“I know of her. She was part of the FourClaws and didn’t battle when we fought ’em.” Tallius shrugged. “Apparently, she regrets that decision. She joined the Fury after the FourClaws disbanded.”
“Can Aydin keep her in line? I don’t want to have to take down a she-wolf.”
Tallius sighed heavily. “Aydin’s got her controlled for now. The Fury won’t be a problem.”
“Keep an eye on her,” War commanded. “I don’t want a she-wolf with a vendetta sneaking up behind us.” Rolling his head on his shoulders, he took another healthy swig of his drink. “You said five. Who else?”
“All that’ll be left as far as challengers are Castamere and his Imperial pack.”
War slammed his whiskey, enjoying the familiar bite and warm sting that slid down his throat just before his lip ticked up in a snarl. “Castamere,” he sneered. He hated the fuck, more than he’d ever hated anyone, and truth be told, he was counting down the days until his pack of War Gods and Castamere’s Imperial fucks finally went head-to-head.
Castamere’s father had once led the Imperials, and they were the ones responsible for the decimation of War and Tallius’s pack. Castamere’s family had killed War’s, and the Imperials would pay.
Filling his glass again, War shot the whiskey back and then slammed his glass on the table before turning. Leaning back against the table, he crossed massive arms over a thick chest. “We’ll move on the Dark Moon and Night Walker packs tonight.”
Tallius’s brows winged up. “Two packs in one night? That’s . . . advantageous.”
War snorted an amused sound. Tallius talked weird a lot, but it was entertaining. Uncrossing his arms, War shoved away from the table, reached up over his head, and fisted the material of his T-shirt between his shoulder blades before pulling it off. His heavily muscled chest and six-pack abs were crisscrossed with a myriad of scars, each one hard fought for and duly earned in glorious combat.
Heading for the bathroom, War barked, “No more fucking requests or talk of women until this is done.”
Tallius got to his feet. His tone was light as he said, “Got it.”
Everyone else was terrified of War, and for good reason, but Tallius was different. He knew War, knew his moods, and knew his reasons for going as hard as he did. Revenge. It’s what War lived for, it’s how he’d earned his name. It’s how his pack of War Gods had come to be. They took no rest and they took no prisoners, and even for as aggressively as War pushed his pack, they showed no signs of slowing down.
Stepping into his bathroom, War crossed to the shower and blasted the water on before undressing.
Women. With a snort, he shook his head.
So close to his goal, so near to victory, War hadn’t considered what would happen when his War Gods finally sat at the head of the table. When his pack reigned supreme, they’d expect reward. God knows they deserved it. His pack had fought long and hard at his side, and the light at the end of the tunnel was finally in sight, but women? Fuck!
Standing beneath the spray in the glassed shower stall, War wondered what it’d be like to have females in his pack. It honestly hadn’t been anything he’d ever given a seconds thought to. But it made sense. His men deserved a proper pack, they deserved mates and pups. They’d earned happiness, and once they finished off these last five packs, War would finally be able to do the one thing he’d always dreamed of. He’d be able to swear protection to his pack from all enemies. He’d be able to keep his War Gods safe in a way that his childhood pack hadn’t been afforded. Finally, he’d be able to allow his pack to live as it should, free from fear and tyranny.
Scrubbing shampoo into his hair, he wondered what kind of Alpha he’d be when all the fighting was done. Hell, fighting was all he knew, and standing alone in his shower rinsing suds off his scar-riddled body, he wondered if he’d be any good at being a “normal” Alpha. He doubted it. But for his pack, he’d try. Just five more battles and he’d try. Facing Castamere and his Imperials was going to be the icing on the cake for War, and he couldn’t afford to get careless now. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by the promise of a future, but still he couldn’t deny the surge of giddy anticipation that ripped through him when he thought about standing, covered in blood, over Castamere Croy’s mangled, dead body. Soon. Very, very soon!
Chapter 1
Nora had enjoyed the masquerade ball, but things were getting ugly fast. In the large, opulent ballroom, everyone shifted uneasily and eyes slid upward to the glass domed ceiling. Night had come and gone, and apparently the rumors about the lord of the manor were true. All of the doors had been blocked by wolf shifters, which didn’t worry Nora since she was one. What did worry her was the man standing nearest her. He was handsome with straight black hair and a chiseled jaw. He’d dressed for the ball in dark dress slacks, expensive-looking shoes, and a baby-blue, button-up, dress shirt covered by a V-neck golden embroidered vest. A half, Phantom of the Opera-style mask was clutched in one hand. His dark eyes were narrowed in anger, and she knew why. With her heightened sense of smell, she knew he wasn’t a shifter like everyone else in the room. No, the fair-skinned man who stood with a rigid frame and hands curled into tight fists was one hundred percent vampire.
Swallowing hard, Nora glanced up. The sky was lightening by the second as dawn rapidly approached. Head lowering, Nora eyed the vampire. He was trapped, and it was being done intentionally. No one else was saying anything. Glancing around the room, she frowned at her fellow shifters. Why was no one speaking up?
Jerking her head toward the nearest door, Nora barked, “Open the fucking doors!” She’d come for a party, a celebration. If she’d have known that the night was going to end like this, she never would have attended.
The two towering shifter males blocking the doors simply snorted at her with sinister grins.
Turning, she eyed Castamere and sneered, “You treat your guests so shamefully?”
The plan had been to appeal to his sense of duty, his obligation as a shifter to treat his guests well. That plan vanished when Castamere’s lips parted in a toothy grin.
“Vampires weren’t invited.”
Castamere slid his flashing golden gaze from Nora to the vampire. “Were you, Reign?”
Glancing at the vampire, Nora saw his jaw tick. His fists tightened just as the first ray of sunshine cut down from the glass dome above and sent a beam streaking into the center of the room. It was damn close to Reign, but to his credit, he didn’t bother looking. Hell, he didn’t even flinch.
Finally, Reign spoke. His voice was a harsh rasp, heavy with menace. “You’re going to regret this, Cas.” Canting his head, he hissed as just a ray of light touched his shoulder. Still, his intent gaze didn’t leave Castamere as he vowed, “I promise. You will regret this!”
Castamere threw his head back and barked out a laugh. The sound was bloated with self-satisfaction. “And how do you suppose that will happen?”
There was smoke rising up off of Reign’s shoulder, and small flecks of grey ash were lifting from where his coat and skin began to burn.
“Castamere!” Nora hissed. “Don’t do this!” She didn’t know why it was so important to her to try to save the vampire, it just was.
Ignoring her completely, Castamere narrowed his eyes on Reign. “You’ll die here today, Reign. It is done! And, contrary to your belief, there will be no regret on my part.” He made a sweeping motion to the room full of party-goers. “When you’re gone, we’ll dance on your ashes. We’ll celebrate your demise. One less vampire to worry about.”
Heart hammering in her chest, Nora glanced between Castamere and Reign. The sun was peeking in now, just visible in the lowest part of the glassed dome overhead. Chin jerking down, Nora felt her heart squeeze when Reign dropped to a knee.
To Nora’s horror, the sound of a violin cut through the thick silence. Slowly, more instruments joined in as all eyes stayed glued to Reign. He was in pain now. It was obvious even though his deep scowl gave no sign. Reign’s eyes were locked on Castamere, and Nora wondered how the vampire kept from crying out. Ashes were lifting off his chest, face, head, and both shoulders now. The gray, smoking flecks lifted and danced in the beams of early morning sunlight like mortal motes. It was sad, heartbreaking, and Nora wasn’t simply going to stand by and watch as it happened.
She lifted the cloak she wore, and it made a loud whooshing sound as she crossed to Reign and threw it over his shoulders. Pulling his head into her stomach, she covered his body with the thick velvety robe and sneered at Castamere. “Stop this! Now!”
She knew her request was futile. Who was she? No one. She was just a lowly shifter, a rouge, who’d only just recently joined the little-known RedRun pack. None of her pack mates were even present though because Nora enjoyed being alone. Standing packless in the home of a lord, Nora knew she had no grounds to be making demands, and certainly not of someone as elite as Castamere.
For the first time since the confrontation had started, Castamere’s brows speared down in a frown. Over his aristocratic nose, deadly eyes locked on Nora, and his voice was full of menace when he demanded, “Who are you?”
Fear hit hard. Nora was afraid to give her name, but she was in this now. Beneath her cloak, she felt Reign’s arm lift as one shaking hand wrapped around her waist. Worry for him gave her a blast of bravado. Lifting her head, she glared openly at Castamere. “I’m a wolf shifter. I’m loyal and I keep my word. When I welcome guests into my home, I don’t make examples of them. I am no coward!”
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