Stealing the Wolf Prince

by Elle Clouse

  Kiera couldn’t help but laugh as Ayden’s eyes widened. He screeched Lachlan’s name, then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

  Chapter 11

  Brogan removed his mask with the rest of the guests. He’d spotted Kiera immediately; she wasn’t hard to miss in her shimmery lavender gown. The man with her wore a darker shade of the same color, and they both held the same unicorn mask; one was feminine and one masculine. Her escort was tallest in the room, and powerfully built.

  Brogan was relieved to see her well and smiling. He had never seen her so happy during all the time he’d known her.

  Her partner made his way to the podium where Ian stood and Ayden lay unattended. The crowd whispered one name over and over again: Lachlan.

  “What’s going on?” Phelan asked from beside Brogan.

  Brogan shook his head. “I don’t know. I think that might be Lachlan.”

  “Hmm.” Phelan nodded.

  Brigid and Erann were going to be upset they had missed the festivities. They had remained with the rest of the elfin party in their concealed camp outside Cearbhall.

  Lachlan reached the podium and ascended the few stairs to its top as Ian kneeled down to slap his younger brother awake. Ayden’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned. By the time he staggered to his feet, Lachlan had reached the dais.

  Brogan wanted to watch the inevitable confrontation, but he knew that wasn’t why they were there. He turned and he saw his elfin companion, Melchir, using the distraction to make his way toward Kiera. She was Melchir’s sole purpose for attending the ball and the reason the elves had helped them avoid the royal guard. Melchir needed to find her. Brogan followed him as best he could, but Melchir was faster and more agile, able to navigate the clumps of gawking people with ease. Kiera wouldn’t believe a word Melchir said, but at least he would be there when she got the news.

  KIERA TENSED AS SHE watched Lachlan stare his brothers down on the podium. He towered over both of them. Ayden looked as though he might cry. After a pause, Lachlan turned to the crowd, smiling as though nothing was wrong.

  “Thank you all for coming.” His voice rolled through the room, and he waited for the guests to quiet down. “I have been away for a very long time, but I am back from my studies in the east. I have completed the work that my mother wished of me, and I have returned.”

  To Kiera’s amazement, no one questioned his explanation. People just nodded and smiled at one another.

  Ian remained silent. Ayden seemed at a loss, but only for a moment. “The wayward son returns!” He opened his arms wide and burst into fake tears. “You rascal. One might think you were trying to emulate, well, me!” The crowd laughed. “This calls for a cheer! Hip, hip!”

  Shouts of “Hurray!” radiated through the room, and smiles broke out on every face. Kiera could see Lachlan’s plan was working well; everyone was excited to see the long-lost prince.

  All eyes were on Lachlan, so he made a go-ahead gesture to the musicians. Some of the guests returned to dancing, but most retreated to the edges of the room to gossip.

  Lachlan put a hand on each of his brothers’ shoulders and pulled them aside. The look in his eyes was anything but mirthful. With each sentence Lachlan said, Ian flinched. Ayden stood firm.

  “Kiera.”

  She turned. An elf stood at her side, staring at her with a frown on his angular face. The height and angle of his pointed ears accentuated his high cheek bones, and he wore his reddish-blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Behind him stood Brogan.

  Ignoring the elf, she stepped up to Brogan and slapped him. Then, before he could recover, she hugged him. “I thought I’d never see you again, Brogan,” Kiera said when she let him go, wiping tears from her eyes. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

  “I am Melchir Laelithaar,” the elf said before Brogan could speak. “I am your father.”

  Kiera snorted.

  Brogan brushed her curls away from her ears. She slapped at him again and scowled. “That was uncalled for.” Kiera adjusted her tresses. To Melchir, she said, “What are you talking about?”

  “I am your father.” Melchir raised a brow. “It’s time you returned to your people”

  “You are not my father. The man I called father died when I was a child. Brogan is my only family.” She glanced toward the podium. Ian and Ayden were gone, while Lachlan stood at the base talking to guests, but he lifted his head and met her eyes.

  She motioned Lachlan over. He excused himself and made his way to Kiera. “What is the matter?” His concerned glance snapped from Kiera to Brogan to Melchir, then back to Kiera again.

  Melchir bowed, and Lachlan returned the courtesy. Brogan just stood there, apparently done with the courtly formalities for the moment.

  “Brogan, this is Lachlan,” Kiera said. “And this is Brogan, my cousin.” The two men sized each other up, then shook hands.

  “And I am Melchir Laelithaar,” Melchir said. Another elf, a young male with similar features and hair, squeezed through a cluster of gossiping women. “This is my son Ardhor.”

  Ardhor jerked into a bow.

  “It is strange to see you here, Your Grace,” Lachlan said as the musicians started a new waltz. In seconds, dancing couples whirled all around them.

  “I am here to collect my daughter,” Melchir said. Lachlan startled and looked at Kiera.

  “That is a brazen statement. Do you have any proof?”

  “Of course. I can explain everything, but perhaps in a quieter setting?” He tilted his chin to indicate the guests making a poor attempt at disguising their curiosity.

  “Yes, of course. Not tonight, though. We will have to address this at a later date. I invite you to stay here in the castle as my guests. Stay for the coronation. You too, Brogan, and your group. There are some pressing issues of state that I need to attend to. In the meantime, feel free to get to know one another. Excuse me.”

  Lachlan gave them a polite smile and pulled Kiera aside. “I have to work the room,” he explained, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I need to persuade those I can to support my efforts to ascend to the throne. It cannot be delayed. Try to enjoy yourself.”

  Kiera glared at Lachlan as he left her in the company of Brogan and the elves. He was lucky he had stepped out of striking range.

  “Brogan, a moment please?” Kiera pushed Brogan away from the group. As soon as they were out of earshot, she smacked him on the back of the head. “Where the hell were you?”

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “You are actually asking me that? I was kidnapped and thrown in a pit with a wolf monster. Thank the gods Lachlan was able to save me. And now you show up with these guys, and you don’t think it’s wrong that one claims to be my father?”

  “Melchir said that he’s been looking for you since your mother died. She apparently sent word before she passed away. He says that she wanted you to stay with them but he wasn’t fast enough. Your mother died and my father moved. You weren’t supposed to come stay with my father and I at all.”

  “And you bought it? Don’t you need proof to believe something like that?” She turned to look for Lachlan, but she could not see him.

  Brogan sighed. “They helped us avoid the guard the princes sent after us, Kiera. Without their help, we would be in the dungeon as well, or dead. The forest around this castle is stranger than you can imagine.”

  “They helped you? What happened?”

  “Well, I saw them take you,” Brogan said. “I couldn’t stop them; I wasn’t fast enough. But I got the girls out and Phelan. Ayden barred the door to that dungeon. I couldn’t get it open; I tried. They must have used magic on the lock to make it impossible to pick. We went to the woods to hide while we planned a way to save you. That’s where Melchir found us. He said he was looking for you. He had tracked you from the capitol.”

  “Still no proof.” Kiera waved away a gentleman trying to get her attention as the
next dance began.

  “How else can you explain your ears and this red hair?” Brogan picked up a curled lock. “Red hair is not a Fletcher trait. Tomas Clark was dark-haired as well.”

  She glared at Brogan, pressing her lips into a thin line. He shrugged and mouthed the words all right.

  Lachlan’s booming laugh from across the room caught her attention. Kiera watched him smile and chat amid noblemen and ladies. His actions were effortless. No one watching him now would ever suspect he’d spent the last fifteen years in the dungeon.

  Brogan followed her line of sight and grinned. “So, you and this Lachlan.” He made a catcall.

  “Not even,” Kiera snapped, play punching him in the shoulder.

  “Is it love?”

  “I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure of her feelings yet. “I am going to bed. Flann can arrange for your rooms. We can talk more in the morning.”

  “What do I tell Melchir?” The elves appeared to be waiting for her.

  “That he can petition for an audience tomorrow, like a normal person,” she snapped and marched away. She needed some peace and quiet after such an excitement-filled evening.

  KIERA RETURNED TO LACHLAN’S suite and shut the bedroom door behind her. She had her own guestroom, but she wanted familiar surroundings. Lachlan’s room made her feel safe.

  Her wardrobe was in her guestroom, so she grabbed one of Lachlan’s shirts to put on. The exquisite cotton softness glided against her skin, and she missed him already. Things made sense when he was near, especially this evening, which had been a mixture of perfection and startling discovery.

  Brogan was alive and well. The troupe had survived the fallout too. All they had left to do was count their losses and wait until after the coronation to leave. Lachlan didn’t need her support; he’d won many of the lords over with his dramatic entrance back into society. She would never understand the workings of politics. It was best left to the nobles. She missed her library and her books.

  She poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand. Her head swam from the champagne and the events of the evening. She stood near the fire, sipping the cool water to clear her mind.

  An elf claiming to be her father was a twist she’d never considered. Although she knew Tomas Clark wasn’t her sire, he was her father in all the ways that mattered. He had made her mother happy. If Melchir was her father, why hadn’t her mother ever talked about him?

  A wave of fatigue washed over her. She must have been more tired than she had thought. She returned to the bed, turned the sheets down, and climbed in.

  And the nightmares began.

  She was in a strange place: dark, cold, wet. She was wearing the violet dress she had worn to the ball and could hear the beast howling in the darkness. Strange light with no real source threw shadows around her. She stood and stumbled down the corridor toward the main cavern.

  The stone of the walls was cold beneath her fingers. The corridor spanned forever. She couldn’t reach the end.

  She heard the creature howl; it was behind her. She ran as fast as she could, but her legs felt as though they were moving through mud.

  Every step the creature took echoed and shook the ground. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t seem to get away. The creature was breathing down her neck.

  Then hands grabbed her, pulling her down. She screamed but no sound came out. She was being dragged down, through the floor, by hands with claws.

  THE ROOM WAS DARK WHEN Lachlan entered, the fire low but still warm in the hearth. He was exhausted, but even that could not wear at his satisfaction. He had wined and dined a full house of nobility and wealthy merchants and won them over phenomenally. No one was happy with the way his brothers were running affairs.

  He heard Kiera’s soft breathing as she slept in his bed. It was such a treat to think of her in his bed. The thought of her here, waiting for him to crawl into bed and snuggle up beside her, made him smile.

  He locked the door behind him and did a quick check of the room. He checked the windows and found them secure, then checked the servant entrances to make sure they too were locked. He couldn’t hear anyone or anything else in the room.

  Satisfied, he approached his bed. Kiera was lying on her side, her burgundy hair cascading down the pillow. The collar of one of his tunics draped over her shoulder. His breath caught in his throat. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had to restrain himself from entangling his fingers in her soft locks.

  He exchanged his waistcoat and slacks for a nightshirt, then returned to her.

  Kiera’s breathing had slowed drastically. Dangerously slow. He brushed his fingers over her cheek. Perspiration and heat met his fingertips, and she was shivering.

  A half-full glass of water sat on the nightstand. He picked it up, then smelled something foul. He lifted the glass to his nose, and a fetid stench wafted to his nostrils.

  Poison.

  His mind raced. They couldn’t have known Kiera would come to his room. The toxin was not meant for her; it was meant for him.

  He pulled on the rope to summon Flann, then went to a nearby chest and pulled out another blanket as Kiera continued to shiver. A few minutes later, he unlocked the door for Flann, sleepy-eyed and still in his nightclothes.

  “How may I assist you?” he asked.

  Lachlan grabbed Flann’s elbow and pulled him over to the bed. “She’s been poisoned. In the water. I can’t identify it.”

  Flann looked at his arm and Lachlan released him. He picked up the carafe and sniffed, swished the water around the container, and held it to the firelight.

  Lachlan sent a prayer of thanks to the gods that Flann had studied folk remedies.

  “She needs black root. Soon. It can only be found in the mountains.”

  He growled and the rage built within him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Flann cut him off. “Go. I will keep her safe until you return. Then we’ll find out who did this.”

  Lachlan barely registered Flann’s mention of fresh horses in the stables. He crashed through the door and ran down the servant halls. He wouldn’t need a horse.

  The evening air hit him as he burst into the outdoors. The late-autumn nights were getting colder and colder. He had maybe seven hours before the sun rose, and the black root might take time to dig up. He tore across the garden as fast as his legs would carry him, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough. He knew what he had to do to get there in time.

  He let the beast out.

  The first time his change was neither voluntary nor expected, and excruciating. Now his body expanded purposefully. His hands sprouted long claws, and coarse, gray hair covered his body. He fell forward onto his paws and propelled himself forward in a wide sprint. The night air coursed over his body. He reveled in his ability to change between forms at will, no longer at the mercy of his anger. Kiera had given him that gift. Until her return to Cearbhall, he had been a slave to his own rages. Now his mind no longer became a haze of animal instinct. Kiera was the one, as his father had said. She was almost his; he couldn’t lose her now.

  He’d last seen the hills as a boy, but the world looked different at night through his wolf eyes. The scenery flew by in shades of blue, clear as daylight. He took the condemned mountain road, jumping over the Do Not Pass sign. The path lead up to the plateau where the black root grew.

  Only someone very skilled in herb lore could make a poison countered by black root. Herb lore was required study under Tomas Clark, but Ayden had dabbled beyond the lessons. Lachlan wanted to believe in his brother’s innocence. After meeting them on the podium and looking into their eyes, he had his doubts.

  The vines and shrubs grew rampant over the path. It would have been impassable on horseback.

  He jumped over the fallen trees and ran through the underbrush. Nothing would stand in his way.

  He reached the plateau and skidded to a stop, his claws rending the ground to halt his momentum. He took a deep sniff. The black root grew here. He s
tabbed his claws into the ground and dug. It was a shallow-growing, so he slowed his digging lest he render it unusable. He needed to gather enough whole roots for Flann.

  If he was to save her, he couldn’t let his panic overwhelm him now. He dug up a hearty handful of roots, gripped them in his clawed hand, and loped back down the path.

  Holding the roots in one hand, he trekked back down the mountain. Every branch and shrub marred his path, but he couldn’t use his speed and strength to rush; his harvested roots were too precious to drop. He howled at the sun as it started to stain the sky to the east. He was taking too long.

  Focus! He tried not to think about what could happen if... Kiera...

  The castle rose into view right as the sun broke over the hills on the horizon. He leaped over stone fences and used his bulk to shatter through the old oak door of the servants’ entrance. He ran down the hall, allowing himself to revert back to his human form. The transformation left him naked, his nightshirt ripped to shreds when he departed.

  He burst into his room, the door all but disintegrating from the force of his momentum. Shreds of wood fell all about him.

  Flann sat near Kiera’s bedside, dabbing her forehead with a cloth. The hearth blazed, filling the room with suffocating heat. Water boiled in a kettle over the fire. At the sight of him, Flann leaped to his feet. “Put the roots in the basin near the hearth. They need to soak for an hour.”

  “An hour? Does she have time? How is she?” Lachlan dropped the roots in and watched them sink.

  “An hour, my prince. If we don’t wait, then the remedy won’t be effective. It will be all right. You made it back in time.” Flann left Kiera’s side to tend to the black root; Lachlan rushed to take his vacated position.

  Kiera was very pale and breathing shallowly. Perspiration beaded her forehead, but she felt cold, clammy. Several more blankets lay atop of her.

  “She is in pain.”

  Flann cleared his throat and averted his eyes. Lachlan looked down at his state of undress. He threw on a set of breeches and went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and wash his hands.