Come for Me 2 (The Hunt #2)

Chapter Four

Alaina

I probably should’ve slept, but instead, Sam and I spent all night into the next morning studying everything about the werewolf kingdom.

I don’t want to let him down. Dax or Sam.

I’m getting ready for my first board meeting, where I imagine there will be tons of questions about my plans as queen. River received word about her brother’s passing and came home immediately and phoned in favors to pull this dress together.

River picked a gold gown for me to represent the glowing eyes of wolves. The beading fanning around my breasts peak perfectly in its V-neckline and out toward my hips. The cap sleeves fall into a sheer cape that fans out and sparkles behind me as I walk. The crown on my head is just as snug as the floor-length gown cinching my waist.

Sam had prepped me intellectually and physically for the royal council. River believes it’s important to also make sure I look the part, and she succeeded. Hairdressers, a seamstress, and many others barged into Dax’s study with River’s blessing, fussing over my attire.

Now I stand with my hair half up, half, down in spirals around me. I push my tendrils behind me, uncovering his mark and touch the ridges of my scar, wanting the council to see that I am his choice to carry out his legacy.

I remember how mad I once was when he marked me, yet here I am, fondling it with admiration, branding it for the council. I’m hoping it’ll protect and legitimize me so I can pay tribute to continue Dax’s life’s work.

If Dax could see me... I shake my head.

Nope, don’t do this, Alaina. Not here.

“Help me get through this, Dax,” I pray.

There’s a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I announce.

Sam enters my bedroom, wearing a crisp navy-blue suit and a white button-down, with a gold pin of the royal crest on his lapel.

Sam whistles. “Wow, Alaina, you look . . .”

I spin to face him.

“Like a queen... Good thing I know you better than that,” he teases.

I smile, preferring our usual back and forth rather than the embarrassment of a true compliment.

“And you look...” I eye him up and down.

Sam eats up the attention, posing like the egotistical playboy he is. “Like a handsome gentleman. If only I didn’t know you better, I might’ve actually believed you were one.”

He laughs and holds out his arm. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, Your Majesty.”

Rolling my eyes, I hook my arm in his, allowing him to escort me to the dining hall, where the council awaits.

* * *

Male werewolves in their human forms stand in attention upon my entrance into the dining hall, dressed in their royal, embroidered robes.

I allow Sam to lead the way. He stops us in the entryway, allowing the council to acknowledge me with a bow. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at the formalities, but I promised I’d be on my best behavior.

“Mrs. Taylor” is said in hushed tones as Sam ushers me to my seat at the head of the table.

Remembering what Sam taught me, I wait until my staff pull out my chair for me instead of insisting that I’m capable of pulling it out myself. I make eye contact with the personnel in the room before being the first to sit among everyone else.

Once I do, I say, “You may be seated.”

They follow.

I smooth out my gown, careful not to fidget with my appearance too much.

The same man who visited at my old pack is present, clearing his throat, coughing into his hanky for what feels like many awkward moments of silence.

Ew . I side-eye Sam, who speaks to me with his eyes as if to say, I know .

“Mrs. Taylor, shall I start by reading last meeting’s minutes?”

The papers in his hand shake from his tremors.

How old is this guy?

“No need. I’m familiar.”

The old man glances at me again through his glasses.

Judging by his face, I was right before. He didn’t expect me to come prepared. I smile sweetly.

“Er... yes, Mrs. Taylor,” he continues, shuffling to the next page. “Perhaps we—”

Another coughing fit transpires, and I swear I thought I saw something come out of his mouth into that hanky of his.

Judging by the disgusted look Sam doesn’t bother to hide, he saw it, too.

While I don’t necessarily need the council’s approval, it’s best Sam and I tread lightly, still. The council is made up of representatives from each species. There is the werewolf council, along with the vampire council. I’ve never met with the vampire’s representatives, but I can only imagine they’re a lot like ours. Our council is made up of wolves with varying useful powers. I don’t know how many there are, but I know of the ones to show today, this isn’t all of them. The last thing our kingdom needs is a full-on war with the most powerful of them all. I kick him under the table, widening my eyes, when he snaps his head at me to tell him to fix his face.

“We should start with”—the councilman continues hacking—“with—”

“Councilman,” I say politely. “I would prefer we skip to the part where you tell me what you and your council members came here to discuss.”

His throat clears again, finally regaining his composure.

He bows his head. “Of course, Mrs. Taylor.”

“We understand you have determined you would be stepping in as queen in Dax’s departure. However, given you and His Majesty did not complete the mate bond, we believe, as representatives of the crown, you aren’t eligible to take it in your current status.”

“Status?”

“Not being mated.”

I want to know where he’s going with this, but I’m too distracted by the waiter taking away my wine glass to delve into the mystery further.

Hey, I need that.

While I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to drinking wine, anything is better than listening to this guy sober. I silently will the waiter to bring it back, and it works. Instead of a clear wine glass like everyone else, he brings me an opaque gold one, with familiar hop-derived notes of pine and citrus.

Is that—? I reach for the glass, taking a sip. It is.

Beer.

It’s the same beer I last had at the club, and I know immediately who’s responsible.

I glance at Sam, who smiles behind the finger curled over his upper lip. It was just like a playboy to learn to pay attention to details, like what a woman is drinking. This time, his charm doesn’t cause me to roll my eyes. Instead, I silently thank him and take another sip.

He winks.

“We believe we can arrange a match for you, one similar to what we arranged for His Majesty...” a councilman says.

I almost spit my drink out. Sam moves my cutlery away from me—specifically the knife—out of my reach.

Smart.

Another council member chimes in. “We were initially thinking of Ash as a suitable match.”

The old vampire I caught eye-fucking me during dinner? Pass.

“Which would make him eligible for reinstatement as the vampire ruler. However, Ash has declined on account of not wanting to engage in an eternal bond.”

They want me to become a hybrid... and mate with another. Already.

I gape at Sam, who isn’t fazed, and when I do, I’m reminded why.

“A match won’t be necessary,” I state. “I am prepared, with my beta by my side, to run Crescent pack with little to no disruption of the day-to-day.”

“To be queen, it’s important for you to be at your strongest. You need a mate to be such.”

This is the conversation Sam has prepared me for.

Bring it on.

“If a leader is only as strong as their pack, then I assure you, I am plenty strong. I will invoke my right to decline as Ash has done as I’d prefer to finish grieving my first mate before you speak to me about another one.”

The councilman has that same stupid, shocked look.

“Mrs. Taylor,” another man says.

I don’t know why they keep calling me Mrs. Taylor, but it has my blood boiling.

“It’s Your Majesty .”

I don’t even bother to look at Sam, who’s probably smirking at me for claiming an honorific I never did prior. But I’ll do whatever it takes to put these people in their place. Last I checked, I’m queen, not them. With the way these men try to boss me around, I can’t envision Dax ever having put up with it. And if they thought I would because I’m a female ruler, they’re sadly mistaken.

“I know you aren’t familiar with the customs of royalty yet. But because you didn’t complete the mate bond, you have no true claim to the throne. Ash is stepping down without a mate by his side.”

The mansplaining is just . . . Ugh!

And if he couldn’t torch everyone in here, I’m sure they’d be forcing him to mate just like they are trying to do to me.

“Actually, I know the rules of the monarchy very well. Better than you, it seems. Section twenty-eight of the royal code states the king has the right to choose his successor. It also states a fated mate, marked or not, is the Goddess-given choice to rule and therefore is the king’s choice.” I gesture to Sam, recalling the old man’s dismissal of him at Bloodhound. “If you had listened to my beta when he tried to tell you this before, you might’ve saved yourself the embarrassment and the trip.”

Sam stands as I do.

The rest remain seated, speechless. I guess the old man wasn’t the only one to underestimate me. It’s disgusting how much his status has led him to believe he could steamroll me. The book was clear about hierarchy. Their generational powers made them the best fit for a position on the board, but it did not give them more political power than monarchs chosen by the Moon Goddess. Makes me wonder who else the council has used their authority to intimidate. Surely, Dax didn’t let them bully him like this. And I wasn’t about to start. Monarchs are representatives of the people. At some point, the power shifted from the people to the council. Whether that power was taken or given away, I don’t know, but that changes now.

“I am your queen chosen by the Goddess Herself. Any question of my standing is considered treason and will be dealt with as such.” I look around the room and raise my brows. “I believe page two, section five states that, when the queen stands, all others stand as well.”

All chairs screech as they scrape against the floor except for the man with the hanky, blatantly refusing. He’s clearly disgusted, judging by the snarling of his lips, at my audacity.

Sam lets his wolf surface, his eyes glowing gold. “Let me help you out there.” He stomps over to the man, jerks his chair out, and bends down to the man’s ear, whisper-growling, “Stand for your queen.”

The man’s knees shake, but he manages to listen.

Keeping his glowing eyes on the defiant one, Sam holds his arm out to me.

It isn’t until my hand wraps around his arm that his eyes go back to normal. I take my beer with me, letting Sam escort me out.

* * *

“I’ve never seen anyone tell off the council like that. Not even Dax,” Sam shouts, amped from my encounter with them.

“Fuck them. It hasn’t even been a month, and they already want to marry me off?” I’m shaking and pacing.

Sam is smirking, leaning against a column in the hallway, his arms crossed.

“I know that look. You’re up to something. What?”

“I might know of the perfect way for you to let off some steam—well, Dax’s way, I should say.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “How?”

“Follow me.” Sam starts walking ahead.

I shuffle after him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Sam leads me to the dungeon’s steps. “After you,” Sam says, gesturing into the dark abyss.

My heels click and clack as I walk down.

What is he up to?

Making our way past the cells and into the torture chamber, I see several muzzled men chained to a concrete wall.

“Who are they?”

“These are the men who were involved in Dax’s death,” Sam says.

My wolf surfaces, and a growl emits from my throat unexpectedly. I turn slowly to face my mate’s murderers, two rogues, one vampire. Their muzzled mouths prevent them from gasping, but their widening eyes are enough indication of their shock at seeing my wolf’s glare. They’re probably wondering what I am, when what they should be more afraid of is who I am.

In unison, their muffled screams and clanking of chains from squirming harmonize poorly. All except for one.

The vampire doesn’t squirm or scream, as the only movements coming from him are his eyes following mine and the rise and fall of his heaving chest.

Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes, assessing him. I consider what he might be trying to convey, that he’s not afraid of death. But that’s not him. Death isn’t the scariest thing for this guy.

The other two are screaming because they realize they’re going to die and figure they don’t have anything to lose but their life. But this guy must have something greater than that.

What is this guy afraid of if not losing his own life? I purse my lips together, thinking it over more.

I consider maybe he’s calm because he doesn’t plan on dying and quickly dismiss it when I find it doesn’t make sense. No matter how arrogant he might be, we both know he’s not getting out of those chains.

It also wouldn’t explain why he’s angry. His reaction puzzles me.

I pace, studying him at all angles.

Ah, there it is .

My mouth stretches into a satisfied grin.

I jerk the guy’s head to the side, exposing his neck to me. A clear sign of submission, but that’s not the reason he’s squirming in my hands.

“You have a mate,” I state, pleased.

The vampire grunts and fights to cover his neck with his shoulder, but it’s too late. True mates among vampiric species being so rare, I’ve never seen a vampire’s mating mark before. An eternal bond doesn’t require one, only the bond of death and blood.

Upon further inspection, the vampire’s destined mating scar is different from a werewolf’s. Two atrophic scars from his mate’s fangs are displayed on his neck. A vampire’s body doesn’t keep scars, no matter if you received them before or after transition. They all heal, except for one. It’s the only mark that remains permanent, withstanding all phases of vampirism.

I’ve already discovered his greatest fear and the reason he’s pissed. Not because I’d be taking his life but because I’d be taking him from a life with someone else .

If they’re still alive.

Across all species, they say the greater the love, the quicker your mating mark disappears from your neck. Not all marks disappear right after a mate dies.

I try not to think about when mine might disappear and focus on the task at hand. Vengeance.

I let go of his face, taking a step back. “Take off his muzzle.”

Sam moves toward the man, removing the hardware. The man’s lips are pursed, his nostrils flaring, looking like an enraged bull.

I cross my arms, standing firmly in front of him. “Name?”

He glares at me.

If looks could kill.

Unfortunately for him, they don’t.

“The queen asked you a question,” Sam seethes and glows.

“Fuck your queen.”

Sam punches the man square in the jaw, and it cracks with a crunch as blood spurts out of his mouth. Sam steps behind me.

The vampire spits, causing blood and his tooth to fly across the shit- and piss-ridden floors. He curses at Sam under his breath. An image flashes in my head of putting the hazard fang back in his mouth for the way he dared to speak of him.

Instead, I glance back at the man, unbothered. “To clarify, I wasn’t asking. I want a name.”

“I’m not telling you my name, bitch.”

Out of my peripheral, Sam takes a step toward the vampire.

I put my hand out to stop him because I don’t need my beta knocking out my new toy just yet.

“Actually, I wasn’t asking for yours. It’s your mate’s name I want.”

The vampire tries to explode from his chains, baring his teeth, calling me every name in the book, some in languages I don’t recognize.

I snap my fingers, and Sam places the muzzle back on him.

“On second thought, I don’t need a name. Your reaction is enough to tell me she’s still alive. I’ll make sure to get her name when I find her myself.”

And I know just where to start looking.

“We leave for Bloodhound pack tomorrow,” I declare with a grin.

* * *

The scraping of my stainless-steel palette knife from mixing the paint creates the most satisfying sound. I’m finally able to get the mixture of bronze-yellow and white acrylic paint to make the ideal sandy hue.

“Perfect,” I announce, holding the blend up for Sam to see.

Sam doesn’t find painting exciting, nor does he care, but he humors me with praise and a nod, and I appreciate his company.

Seeing those that had some responsibility in my mate’s death shocked me but not for the reasons it should. Never had I felt such hatred for someone before. I surprised myself with my own violent urges and how easy it would be to have lost control and killed them. I’d like to blame it on my wolf for the desire to exact revenge, but I’d be lying. I wanted to hurt them just as much as my wolf, if not more.

We could have killed them, and they would have deserved it, but I know a quick death wouldn’t appease my broken heart. The justice I wanted could only come from torture, and I finally understand the reason as to why Dax grins wickedly when he’s angry.

He was thinking about his revenge.

I left the dungeon after I said we would be going to my old pack tomorrow, and Sam followed. Any longer in their presence, and I would’ve granted that vampire a death quicker than I have planned. But I needed to put all this pent-up energy into something, so I gathered my acrylic paints and a new blank canvas and headed to the balcony.

Sam hasn’t left my side.

At first, I thought he was being sweet, now I think he’s just using me for my balcony to watch all the women hanging out on the lawn.

“Damn, she looks good,” Sam says, rubbing his chin, studying the only woman who wasn’t waving and giggling up at him.

“Go talk to her, then.”

He’s been eye-fucking this one woman on the field for the last half hour with suggestive commentary and praise.

“Nah, I tried that once,” he says, still staring at her. “We fucked once and then she immediately wanted a relationship after.”

Bless her heart, falling for the least available man.

“She then started waiting for me outside the castle every morning, interrogating any female who exited the castle, asking if they had been with me.”

Geez.

“Damn good fuck, though. But toxic as hell,” he chuckles. “Fuck! Why does she look so good?” Sam leans against the stone baluster.

I roll my eyes. I know exactly why Mr. Playboy likes this female.

It’s the dance of the too emotionally available and unavailable. The anxious and the dismissive. And judging by his reaction, this female’s currently leading.

Sam’s entranced by the subtle ways meant to pretend she is paying him no attention, when, really, that’s all she’s trying to do. The number of times she’s flipped her hair, put on lip gloss... It’s painfully obvious, and he’s falling for it. She even bent over at one point to pick something up I would bet money she dropped on purpose.

“I need to think about something else,” Sam mutters. He turns his back to the female. With his arms crossed, back leaning against the baluster, he looks at me. “What’re you painting, anyways?”

“You.”

I tend to paint people to express my intense emotions, such as grief and love, for instance. To convey my longing for motherly and romantic love. No way do I have feelings like that toward Sam. So, what is it that has me painting him now?

Sam looks over my shoulder. “Hmm... I don’t think you’ve got my muscles quite right. They look a little small.”

“Then, I got it right.”

“Is that so?” He puts me in a headlock, giving me a noogie like the child he is, messing up my hair.

“Hey!”

He let’s go. “No, but seriously, it’s good. I saw all the paints and stuff when you moved in, but I’d never seen you actually use any of it. What made you want to start?”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the first time ever or since moving here.

I rinse my brushes in the water. “I used to paint all the time before I came here. But with everything going on, I guess I was a little distracted.”

Or I found a more vigorous way to express my feelings.

“I started out painting my mother. I guess I just missed her and didn’t know how else to cope with it.” I shrug.

“I know how you feel. I lost my mother to a stray vampire. Shit sucks.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What about your father?”

Sam walks back over to the baluster and leans into it again, crossing his arms and feet, looking up at the night sky.

“Broken mate bond. Died a few years after she did.”

The wheels in my head start turning, and I’m shocked, but I think I might actually understand him a little better and how he became Mr. Playboy. “Is that why you sleep around so much, never committing to a relationship?”

Sam rolls his neck out, fidgeting and shifting awkwardly in place.

“Are you scared of loving someone?” I ask.

No response.

“Or are you scared that claiming someone as your mate means they have the ability to destroy you if they leave?”

Sam clears his throat and sniffs, like he’s trying hard not to cry. Gripping the baluster on either side of him, he braces himself and looks down. “Yes.”

I knew it.

“The cries you made when you knew Dax was gone, the look on your face when I kept coming back empty handed after searching for hours for Dax, watching you lay around depressed for days... it’s not the first time I’ve experienced any of it.”

“All this time, I thought you were mad at me.”

But, in reality, he was scared of losing me after just losing Dax. It was triggering for him.

Explains why he acted the way he did after dragging me out of bed and tackling me.

“I wasn’t mad at you. I was upset with myself for not being able to save him. It was hard to look you in the eye every time I came back empty handed. Especially since you were starting to really accept him.”

“It wasn’t your fault, but I get what you’re saying.” Then it hits me. “Wait. How did you know I was starting to accept him?”

“For starters, your aura was always dominant. But ever since Dax marked you, I’ve felt an increase in submission toward you.”

“How come?”

“It’s the same thing that happens when someone is marked by an alpha. The acceptance of a leading mate, even one-sided, opens the door for the reciprocity of power.”

I’m confused.

“If being bitten by him starts the process of me coming into my power, then accepting him would have nothing to do with it.”

Right?

He bobs his head side to side. “Not exactly. Yes, the increase in your aura was inevitable. But how fast and how much you would come into your own was dependent on your openness to accept the counterpart of which the power came from.”

That makes sense. Like a river, a bond is meant to flow smoothly. Add in a dam, and it still flows, but it gets in the way.

“What’s the other reason?”

Sam scratches behind his ear, appearing uncomfortable. “Dax was like my brother. He told me everything.”

“That’s nice . . . wait. Everything? ”

He scrunches his nose in disgust. “Unfortunately.”

Fuck my life.

I bury my face in my hands.

Why is that so embarrassing to think Sam knows about the “acceptance” of my mate? He was his best friend—of course they talked.

It only takes me a second to answer my own question.

Sam is like a brother to me.