7. Fennik
Chapter 7
Fennik
B rooks is waiting for me in the courtyard that separates the main house from Randi’s personal wing. The burly clean-cut wolf looks pointedly at the scruffy pup wrapped in a blanket in my arms. “She chose the half wolf for her personal guard?”
“So it seems,” I say with a sigh.
“But at least she has chosen. You both need it. He can travel with you to the Council while we keep fort here.” Brooks falls into step beside me as we weave along the stone path in the garden.I grumble my dissatisfaction, but Brooks only shakes his head. “You know we can’t go with you, not when my mate needs to stay here.”
He’s right. I know he is. But others have been on the guard longer. “We know nothing of this wolf but whispers.”
Brooks rolls his eyes. “He’s only been here two days, and I can already tell Gunnar isn’t a spy. He’s from the Outskirts, and none of those wolves think much of the Council. He’s made quite a reputation in the ring, taking down multiple ferals at once. I made some calls after I realized Councilman Lars sent him. Turns out he was owed a favor.”
I lift my chin in acknowledgment. “Henry learned the slightly more politically correct version. That doesn’t mean his loyalty couldn’t be bought. A kid from the Outskirts? The Council could make him a hell of a deal.”
My wolf paces, pissed at my line of reasoning.
Brooks shrugs. “True. But Vandi says he has the trace.”
“Does she know who?” I ask.
We stop at the edge of the courtyard, Brooks turning toward me. We have reached the protection wards, and he can’t go beyond them. “You know the spell doesn’t work that way. She can see that it called him but not why or for whom.”
“But does she have a hunch? By now, she usually does.” I look at the moon high overhead. It offers no guidance. Instead, my wolf paces inside me, impatient and eager to return to the lair.
The odd young wolf shifts in my arms. He’s all pup, snuggling closer against my chest, little goosebumps rising on his skin from the cool night air.
Brooks chuckles. “Of course.” He pats my back gruffly and turns around for the main house.
“You’re not going to tell me?” I call in disbelief.
“Nope. You’ll figure it out,” Brooks calls over his shoulder, obviously amused about whatever he thinks he knows.
My wolf beats against my chest, urging me to take the man inside and get him warm.
I’m halfway up the stairs to our shared rooms when I realize what Brooks means. I’ve been through dozens of guard trainings and never seen Randi respond to a wolf like she did tonight. She always begins the caging with a singular wolf, but it’s detached, an unemotional necessity.
But the memory of her golden eyes turning molten makes the new connection. The pup touched her dragon and coaxed her to come out and play, something she rarely lets herself do. Randi has chosen the half wolf for her own because he must be one of her mates.
Mine . My wolf snaps his jaws at me as I stare wide-eyed at the man in my arms. My wolf’s singular thought is insistent.
Mate.
I sip my bourbon, watching the sparking flames in the fireplace shift and dance, contemplating how to handle this newest revelation.
Gunnar is our mate, mine and Randi’s.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Wolves typically mate in trios. Two alphas, one omega. Usually, though, the wolves are matched in their dominance. This man is barely a wolf. It’s happening to more and more of the young ones. I know it’s because there is something wrong with our magic. But a half wolf as mine and Randi’s mate?
I can’t wrap my head around it.
My wolf growls low in my chest, annoyed by the distance between the pup and me. He wants to hold him and ensure he is okay after playing with our dragon, but I don’t share my wolf’s certainty. I can’t tell if pride or befuddlement clouds my mind.
How is the half wolf going to protect her? With how he reacted to her touch, I would guess he’s submissive by nature, no matter his reputation in the underground. Will he be able to stand up to her? Push back when she needs it? Will he stand for her if it comes down to us or the Council?
Why him?
The dragoness is aloof and solitary. She is with us but always separate, like when she soars above us during her flights. I doubt Randi will even acknowledge why she chose Gunnar. She may not even realize who he is. Or worse, she’ll deny him as she denies me.
Two mates don’t make a horde. In the old stories Randi used to tell me, it was always three or more mates. But if Gunnar has arrived from Vandera’s call, maybe that means it is time?
I’m no closer to an answer about what Gunnar’s arrival means when the pup wakes. He sits up, drawing the blanket around himself and yawning loudly as he looks around the room.
Randi’s lair has the same rustic feel as the main house: wood, stone, and iron, with low lights, furs, and fires. Without modern touches and human technology, it would be easy to believe we live in some faraway time.
Gunnar’s gaze lands on me, and I notice for the first time that his eyes are not the traditional silver of a wolf but almost a greenish grey.
He clears his throat awkwardly. “I know your role is, like, the silent statue, but that was hella intense. So, uhh…” He blows out his cheeks, eyes going comically wide. “Could you tell me what the fuck is going on?”
I bury my smile against the lip of my glass, taking a sip to buy some time. He is adorable, I’ll give my wolf that.
“What exactly would you like to know, pup?” I flick my wrist, twirling the amber liquor in the glass, and study the fire.
He stands, tying the blanket around his waist as he crosses the room. In a move I don't anticipate, he snatches my drink from my hand and drains it in one go. “Let’s start with what the fuck is on my dick.”
I stand, crowding into his space. He attempts a step back, but the fire behind him blocks his retreat.Up close, his eyes are the exact color of the morning mist in the mountains, and I can see how easy it will be to get lost in them. I take another deep breath of his earthy sage. My dick plumps against my thigh, harboring none of my brain’s hesitation. I grab his hip, tugging him closer in a stumble of blanket that causes his hand to clutch my chest for balance.
Unable to resist scent marking him, I rub the back of my hand across his cheek. “Let’s be clear?—”
“Because it seems you’ve already forgotten your lesson,” Randi’s amused voice calls from behind me. “Your cock belongs to me.”
Gunnar gives Randi a lazy grin. “I gathered that, gorgeous. Mind telling me how it works now that I’m not huffing the rut hash?” He takes a sidestep from me and crosses his arms, looking at us expectantly.
Randi prowls toward us, her dragon still at the surface in how she moves. The lace dress she wears is so short it barely covers her, and I’m mesmerized by the flex of her thick, muscular thighs. I want to get my hands on those thighs, dive between her legs, and finally get a taste of her. She is power and grace personified, so fucking beautiful and strong. But it kills me that she won’t let me care for her.
She reaches the pair of us, her dragon still very much in her eyes. “Your cage is made for long-term use. Everyday activities you do as normal—except sex and self-pleasure. The magic of the cage is supple and allows for things like washing, but only mine or Vandera’s magic unlocks it. The cage is spelled to create a kind of scent blocker. With it, you will still become aroused, but it allows you to resist the pull to rut with anyone but your mates. It will allow you to train safely and become used to denying your body’s reactions.”
Gunnar paces in front of the fire. “What happens when it comes off?”
“We bring all our guards through a full rut at the end of their training,” I explain, walking to the bar cart in the corner. I refill my drink and pour two more. “It helps settle their wolves, makes them less likely to go feral.”
Gunnar pauses his pacing, looking at me in confusion. “If going into an early rut fixes it, why not make all young wolves do it?”
I hand off the drinks and return to my chair by the fire, waiting for Randi to explain.
Randi takes a sip, staring into the blaze. “Because the only real cure comes from a mate bond, not a spell. The club isn’t enough.”
“What’s the deal at the club? Those candles are spelled, right?” Gunnar chews his bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.
“Yes, they help enhance the scents in the room. At Frenzy, we use magic to mimic the environment of the old mating rituals.” She stares unseeing at the fire as she explains. “For many centuries, mates were selected when all the young of the packs and the hordes would come together. The dragons call it the Thunder.”
She always has difficulty talking about the past and her beginnings. It’s heartbreaking watching her struggle when all I want is to pull her into my arms and offer her comfort.
“Wait. Back up for me. What is a horde?” Gunnar’s head drops to the side in confusion. I can almost see his wolf ears cocked to listen.
An image of him on his knees, naked and head cocked to the side, awaiting orders from our dragoness, comes unbidden. In the bedroom, at least, the two of them will be exceptional together. Maybe the three of us would. But Randi is too lost in her memories to see either of us.
Her voice quivers when she answers him. “A horde refers to the mates of a dragon. Dragons and wolves have always mated as one, packs and hordes.”
Gunnar seems to think that over, leaning against the armrest of my chair. “Why does that matter? Do dragons help awaken omega wolves?” He looks at me, his grin sheepish. “I don’t get it.”
Randi doesn’t stop watching the fire, her expression carefully blank as she explains, but I see the pain she’s trying to hide. “During the Thunder, wolves go into rut and omegas answer with their heat. Alphas and omegas were made to balance one another. Their bodies work together, drawing from one another what they need. A give and take.
“Wolves don’t need a dragon specifically. They need omegas. None of us technically need the Thunder to find mates or to have a successful rut or heat. But a Thunder—all the combined hormones and magic of the wolves and the dragons—helps to create a frenzy that awakens the mating bonds and draws people together. At the club, we mimic that, but it isn’t big enough to service everyone, and in the end, there are no omegas left to bond.”
“And dragons are omegas?” he asks, snapping his gaze back to her in surprise.
Either Gunnar is a great actor, or the Council has told him nothing. Maybe Brooks and my wolf are right to trust him.
The slightest puff of smoke billows from Randi’s nose, her jaw grinding out the words. “Awakened dragons are. I’m not awakened.” On the final word she whips her head toward me, molten eyes blazing with some emotion I can’t name.
Gunnar looks at me, then back at her.“Okay. So, you’re saying alpha wolves are turning feral because they need Thunder-omega-rut hash, and without it, shifters are dying. Is that connected to my…” His voice trembles and cuts out as he pats his chest.
I try to explain, to give at least one of us some answers. “Is that why you don’t fully shift? We think so. We’ve seen a few young wolves who are unable to. It’s like our magic is unbalanced… dying.” I place a steadying hand on his back, unable to keep from trying to comfort him.
The room is quiet except for the crackling of the fire. Randi takes another sip of her drink. My wolf wants me to bring them to my lap or take this conversation to the bed, get comfortable, and lie together until both feel less hopeless. But we are a mess of complications, the three of us, so I sit and do nothing.
Gunnar looks at me over his shoulder. “Does the Council know about the Thunder?”
“Yes.” I nod simply.
He shakes his head, looking between the two of us. “Then why not host them?”
Randi drains her glass, sets it on the mantel, and walks toward the door. At the last moment, she glances over her shoulder at the two of us, her cheeks streaked with tears.
“Stay,” I mouth. My chest tightens. My wolf itches to go to her, to force her into my arms, to make her finally explain why she keeps us both in misery.
She shakes her head, throat bobbing, and turns away.
My wolf howls, my insides aching. I force myself to take a deep breath and turn to Gunnar.
He stares at me wide-eyed.
“For safety, pup. With so few omegas left, it became a blood bath. We lost many wolves. That was before we combined Randi’s magic with Vandera’s. The council doesn’t have the power to do what they do, not safely.”
One of those early Thunders turned into a massacre, and we lost almost everyone at the club that night. That was the night I lost Randi too. She closed herself off from me, and for two decades since, I’ve been chasing and getting close, only for her to push me away again and again.
He opens his mouth to ask another question, but I shake my head.I’d like to forget that night, to rewind time to before, when she was almost mine. But that isn’t possible.
“I think that’s enough for now.” I signal for him to get up and follow me.
The personal guards’ rooms are opposite her personal lair. I weave through the living room and take the stairs to the back of the house, eyeing the pup over my shoulder as he takes it in.
“Last question.” Gunnar follows me, feet slow. “Does anyone know why omegas stopped being born?”
“No one knows,” I answer. “We only know that it happened around the same time as the wolves stopped receiving mating runes and began turning feral.”
“Those tattoos the elders sometimes have?” Gunnar asks.
“Yes, pup. The mating runes appear—well, they used to—when wolves find their fated mate.” I stop outside my room, nodding toward the other doors in the hallway. “Take your pick. They’re all open. The housekeeper will help you get settled tomorrow. We’ll meet in my office at two.”
He looks around, running his hand through his shaggy hair. “Does this mean I’m keeping my job?”
“I’ve already answered two ‘last questions,’” I say with a raised brow, teasing him.
His sheepish grin appears again.
I continue goading him, though I can’t help but let a smile slip. “No. You’re not keeping the job.”
His face falls.
“You’re moving to Randi’s personal guard.”
“Fuck yeah!” Gunnar lets out a whoop and jumps, stumbling again in his blankets but catching himself. “What does that mean?”
“We can talk about that tomorrow. To bed now, pup,” I say, trying for stern but failing.
Gunnar really is adorable. Maybe what Randi needs more than an extra protector is someone who can bring out her softness.I slip into my room, hoping that I can make sense of the complications between the three of us.