Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Wolf
Ten years earlier…
I do not like stag shifters well, but occasionally, when necessary, I can abide by them enough to work together. Today, I rally with high-ranking warriors and enforcers from mine and many shifter packs to take down the bear bastards who have been encroaching on our collective lands.
Deer shifters live in herds extending beyond this realm and through the portal, each with a leader under the sovereignty of the King, or Master Stag as he is known, which is more than can be said for wolves. In our distant past, we had a royal bloodline, but that was obliterated more than a century ago. We are not agreeable by nature, so I seek a reason to take exception to the stag’s agreeableness. Further, they are pompous and full of their own importance. The only race they truly get along with are the centaurs, and they are all up in each other’s business and are best fucking friends.
So, it is fair to say that I have mixed feelings about our alliance as we gather in a tent on the eve of a battle.
My tolerance of the stag shifters does not extend to the Master Stag’s son, Seven. Which is a stupid fucking name if you ask me. Shouldn’t it be something more… antlery?
“Our main forces will attack from the east,” Seven says.
He is eighteen and barely a man… stag… whatever.
I am ten years older than him and have been the Blackrock enforcer for all those years. While I can admit to having no particular mastery of battle strategy, I cannot see how a damn pup—or whatever the fuck deers call their young males—can be making these decisions for all.
“That’s a good idea,” Tobias, my pack leader says.
“It is?” I scowl at the map.
“Do not flex your limited intellect over this complex matter, enforcer,” Seven says. “I am Seven. It is a given that this is my forte.”
“The actual fuck,” I growl.
Tobias’ lips twitch. “Do not let the stag bait you, Jude. And he is Seven.”
“Seven?” I grunt. I consider my intellect to be perfectly adequate for what I am. No one has questioned it before today. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Yes, Seven,” Cranston, Seven’s father, and the Master Stag of all the stag herds (a much more stag-like name, in my opinion) says like that adds enlightenment.
“Why are we attacking from the east?” I ask, parking the ‘Seven’ question for now. “It does not seem like a good idea to me at all. Won’t they move to flank us from the south?”
“I am likewise confused,” Travis says. He is the pack leader of the Oberian Pack. Nobody likes him well, and that he sides with me makes my wolf growl under my skin.
Seven looks down his nose at me. He is a big bastard, a good half a foot taller than me, although of a leaner build. I see shimmering at his hairline where his antlers are threatening to sprout.
He arches one golden brow. “See here?” He stabs one imperious finger toward the map. “The terrain is steep, prone to brambles and briar. Attacking from that direction would hamper their charge. While their fur is thick, the brambles are deep and dense. They know the centaurs hold the north—there is bad blood between them, which will make them cautious. The bears will come for us, the stags, thinking to cow us with a charge.”
“It is a fine plan,” his father says.
“I agree,” Tobias says.
“Fine. It is a reasonable plan,” I admit, annoyed that no one had explained about the terrain before now. “Also, I was not aware of the fucking brambles.” I feel like I’ve been set up. Like he was withholding that information purely to make me ask the stupid question.
“You are a wolf,” Seven says, but in a magnanimous way that is very confusing. “The lands are nearest to ours. It is acceptable for you not to know.”
“The fuck?!” Now the fucker is patronizing me, somehow managing to make a concession sound like an insult, all in the space of a few words.
My wolf curls his lips back and snarls. As an enforcer, I am sometimes called to put both pups and mature shifters in their place…
I catch Tobais’ smirk. “As we have pointed out, he is Seven.”
“The seventh coming of Cernunnos,” his father, the Master Stag, says, a note of pride in his voice.
“Huh?” I sound like a fucking idiot for sure now, but I cannot help myself. Tobias is definitely amused. I wish he had clued me about the deer shifters being fucking delusional. “As in the god of nature?”
I sound skeptical, which is probably not advisable when we are on the eve of a battle—better that I humor their crazy.
“That would be ridiculous,” Seven says, arching one brow. “Clearly, I am not a god.”
“Well, alright then.” That has made everything crystal fucking clear.
“The lineage can skip many generations,” Cranston explains. “Seven is not a god, merely the bearer of our ancestor’s battle knowledge all the way back to Cernunnos, our forefather. Their experiences are his experiences.” He clears his throat. “Although, in this case, most young deer in our herd would know about bears and their aversion to brambles.”
We battle the bears and return to the camp victorious. But it is a bitter victory for my pack leader, Tobias falls, as do many wolves, stags, and centaurs.
As we drink and send out fallen to the Goddess and find myself in the company of the seventh coming of Cernunnos, I decide that he is not all that bad. That I might even like him.
Seven
Present day…
I cannot say that I like wolves well. But there are occasions when our paths cross, and I can tolerate them, unlike the bear shifters, who I do not find agreeable at any time and who bring out the worst in me. Centaurs, on the other hand, are regal creatures, and I like them well.
Still, I would not go to a wolf pack by choice nor spend longer in their presence than absolutely necessary. The thought of one of ours living among them makes me shudder… It also takes my mind back to an encounter long ago when I was a young stag on my coming-of-age quest.
It was not this pack, but another pack far to the north… The chances seem infinitesimal, yet there can be no doubt in my mind—this is the Goddess’s will at work.
The letter, which had been delayed a full year due to the messenger’s injury and subsequent turn in the weather, arrived exactly a week ago.
My initial hope was to collect my ward without unnecessary discourse with any wolves, but alas, the letter was worse for wear. The map, which was drawn at the bottom to indicate the placement of my new ward’s cottage, was smudged and impossible to decipher. This despite my best scholars examining it with a great deal of squinting and twisting the paper this way and that under lighting of various kinds.
Likely, the wolves would have noticed the moment I entered their territory anyway, but now I cannot even delude myself that this will be swift in and out.
Resigned to the conversation I will need to have, and the strain of maintaining decorum and diplomacy, I make good time, arriving midmorning exactly seven days after the letter arrived.
As soon as I enter the territory, I am met by two wolves who block my path, doubtless intending to be intimidating.
I consider charging past for the thrill of it… but I resist. I do not want to get anyone here offside before I know where my future mate resides, so I slow to a trot and then stop.
They shift to their human form.
I follow suit.
“What is your business here?” the man on the right demands.
He is curt but more congenial than that other pack who ran me off their land without bothering to ask.
“I would have words with your pack leader,” I say, offering a tepid smile. Their prior pack leader, Tobias, fell during a battle with the bears some ten years ago, and the last time I crossed paths with anyone from this pack. The two shifters before me are likewise unfamiliar.
They scan the surroundings. They have probably already called pack members to search for more of my kind.
“I come alone,” I say. “With no intention of starting a war.” But if needs must… “I have merely come to collect my ward.”
“Ward?” The one on the right shares a look with his companion before adding unnecessarily, “You are a deer shifter.”
“King Seven or Master Stag,” I say with no small amount of irritation. “Are the correct term for the leader of the herds. Or you have permission to use my given name, Seven. And yes, I am very much aware of what I am.”
They are clearly creatures with limited mental capacity, and this conversation is already becoming tedious. The pack leader is yet to be conversed with, and I can only hope he has a greater intellect than these two.
They fold their arms in unison like that might persuade me to turn around.
“Clay,” the one on the left says, still eyeballing me.
“Glen,” the one of the right offers with a scowl.
“We are a wolf pack,” Clay says slowly like he is grappling with a complex puzzle.
“I am likewise aware of this. You were both in wolf form when you blocked my path, and my memory, both long and short term, is exemplary.”
Nostrils flare.
I should not bait them. It would be very bothersome and counterproductive to battle them before I have a chance to speak to the pack leader.
“My ward is not a wolf,” I say.
“We don’t have any deer shifters here,” Glen says
Oh, now he is baiting me, it would seem. My smile is predatory, I fear. “I rescind my earlier permission. You may address me as Master Stag. And clearly, you would not be aware of a doe shifter among you. At the risk of a confused wolf eating her, she has hidden her nature.”
Clay looks like he’s about to charge.
I square my shoulders and prepare.
Glen thrusts an arm out to ward Clay off. “We don’t eat shifters, asshole. No matter what they look like.”
“Anyway.” I search for my best reasonable tone. “This entire conversation is all very academic. Please guide me to your pack leader. And I will converse with him directly.”
“Aca-what? Gods, you’re a presumptuous bastard,” Clay mutters.
“The letter I received was delayed a year. Do not delay me further.”
They share a look.
“Follow us,” Glen says, his lips curling into a smirk. “Do not wander lest our short-term memory fail us, and we get peckish and confused.”
A short snort of laughter escapes me. “Touche.”
Clay rolls his eyes. They shift as one. I follow suit.
I follow them up the twisting, turning pathways until we arrive in the pack village. Most wolf shifters live in dens, but this community appears to be entirely above ground and presents a quaint, if rustic, setting.
My senses are in riot with so many wolf shifters around me. I am already searching, seeking any evidence, even a faint tendril, of my ward.
Nothing. If she has been here, it has not been recently.
The poor doe must be terrified living among all these predators. No mind, she shall never experience fear again. I shall see to that.
In the center of the village is a substantial structure with a large alpha standing at the entrance—the pack house and pack leader, I presume.
I have already gathered quite a crowd as nosy pack members poke their heads from doorways and follow after us.
I shift to human as I reach the base of the steps and bow my head in deference. “Pack leader. I am King Seven or Master Stag. I have come to collect my ward.”
“So my lieutenants informed me,” he says, giving me a speculative look. “Why don’t we step inside.”
No further words are spoken, but the crowd disperses in a sudden and obvious way, and his two lieutenants take up positions on either side of the pack house door.
Inside, it follows the same rustic theme with a long wooden table with benches on either side, unlit stone hearths, and bright woven rugs upon the walls.
“Now,” he says, turning to face me. “I admit to being in the dark regarding your business here. What is the name of this mysterious doe you claim is living in my pack?”
Before I can answer him, he glances at something over my shoulder and toward the open door.
I sense a presence behind me even before I turn and size up the male who is radiating menace.
He brings with him a distinct scent… that of sweet, young, fertile doe.