Chapter 8 Stark
STARK
If someone told me I’d one day lose sleep to keep a Siphon safe from harm, I’d have laughed in their face. And then probably snapped their neck for good measure because they were too stupid to live.
Yet, here I am, seated on the uncomfortable stone tile of the hallway, doing exactly that.
It’s only been a quarter of an hour or so since I relieved Grigore of his guard duty, taking his place outside Meryn’s chambers to ensure that nobody unwelcome goes in… and that Saela doesn’t come out for a midnight snack.
Cratos is curled up next to me, his pose lazy but his green eyes sharp and ready for action. He and I have been mentally reviewing the day’s events, talking through what must be done in the morning—specifically, the things we’ll be expected to help out with before the coronation.
With the newly Bonded finally departed for the front, it will be quiet around here tomorrow.
It was strange, watching them leave and not going with them. I’ve been away from the front—and from the rest of the Daemos pack—for far too long. Thankfully, my Beta is seasoned and stays in constant communication.
But somehow, even though I spent the past four months waiting impatiently for Meryn to get it the fuck together and reclaim her crown, I always assumed I’d head back to active duty.
Hanging my head, I take a deep breath, then crack my neck. An itchiness builds inside me. I don’t do well with sitting around or with feeling like I’m not in charge, and the past few months have been too much of both.
It’s enough to make a man lose control.
A soft, feminine cough comes from somewhere inside the room behind me, and I clench my jaw. If she’s not careful, I just might lose control on her.
Last night, when she had that dream, Cratos opened himself back up to me, that asshole. I felt her agony as if it were happening to me, too, and I’ve never moved through the halls so fast, desperate to just make it end.
And then there she was.
In a fucking silk nightgown hitched up to her hips, her nipples hard through the thin fabric, and that horrible mate bond on full blast. I slid a hand down her arm to wake her up and so nearly lost it, marveling in the sensation of her soft skin.
She let out a mewling moan at my touch, and it took every inch of my control to not keep going, to see what other sounds I could strum out of her with my hands.
Thankfully, she opened her eyes and lied to my face. Whatever was happening, it was far more than some bad dream, and I could tell. The lie was a splash of ice water on a freezing day.
By the time Cratos brought the shield back down, I got a good hard look at the utter pigpen she created out of her room in a matter of hours.
Who lives like that?
My disgust shook me out of any last lingering, insensible attraction.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about Meryn Sturmfrost. But since ripping her clothes off and bending her over the breakfast table isn’t a viable option, I might throw her irritating ass out a window the next time she tries my patience.
My head snaps up at the click of boots approaching from down the hall. The hour is late enough that anyone not on duty should be in bed. Cratos jumps to his paws, ready for anything.
Then the person turns the corner and comes into view. I groan internally as her face comes into focus—the Sovereign Alpha. Siegrid.
My mother.
Their traveling party must have just arrived.
She’s as immaculately turned out as always, her graying brown hair pulled back tightly into a knot at the top of her neck that’s both elegant and practical. She wears her formal uniform, and her ornate leathers are polished and gleaming from the pads at her shoulders down to the tips of her boots.
Siegrid’s skin is nearly the same shade of brown as mine, a light chestnut color, and only the slightest touch of worry lines creases her forehead despite her many years in command, as if she can order even her own skin to stay in fine form.
Her eyes light in recognition as she approaches. “Alpha,” she says coolly, setting her bags down in the hall. Her towering, sleek black direwolf, Genicos, approaches Cratos, and the two of them sniff each other in greeting.
I nod back. “Sovereign Alpha.”
“Careful now, all this tenderness is going to make you soft,” quips Cratos, and I try not to scowl.
“Get out of my head, and shut the fuck up,” I retort irritably, and I hear the wolf version of a snickering laugh.
Siegrid lifts a hand to gesture at the door behind me. “Is there a reason you’re camped out in front of my rooms at this hour? Something you needed to tell me in person?”
Of course—she’s only just arrived and doesn’t know about the change in sleeping arrangements.
“Queen Meryn sleeps in this suite now,” I say shortly, then grudgingly add some explanation: “She was uncomfortable taking over King Cyril’s quarters, given all that passed between her and his family. I’m sure you understand.”
“Hmm,” Siegrid replies, her neutral tone as good as a loud condemnation. “The queen should be in chambers fit for a queen. It sends a message for her to assume her rightful place. But no matter. If Meryn doesn’t want those rooms, I’ll take them.”
Siegrid grabs her bags and spins on her heel, heading toward the king’s old suite with Genicos at her heel before I have a chance to reply.
Watching her walk away, there’s a tightness in my chest. She might be right. It may have been a better move for Meryn to take over the king’s rooms, comfort or no.
Either way, I immediately wish we’d thought of another place for Siegrid to go, rather than installing the Sovereign Alpha in such a powerful position.
She’s powerful enough as it is.
Before she rounds the corner, Siegrid turns back and looks at me expectantly. “Alpha? You may as well come along. I’ll hear your report on the events of the past week. Since you’re here anyway.”
She’s higher ranked than I am. She’s always been higher ranked than I am. It still sets my teeth on edge the way she expects immediate obedience from everyone around her—but especially from me.
“Is there anything more heartwarming than a mother’s love?” Cratos’s amusement tips my annoyance over into resigned acceptance. He settles back down in front of the door.
“No, I should stay on guard with you here.”
“I think I can handle a rogue baby bloodsucker on my own. Go.”
Sighing, I stand and take off down the hall after Siegrid.
Thanks for the backup, Cratos.
Siegrid paces around the king’s lush chambers as I give her the rundown on events since Cyril’s death. She’s pulling portraits off the walls and piling them in a heap on the floor, rearranging the furniture to her liking.
It’s typical, Siegrid acting like she owns the place, and a familiar old resentment toward her starts to build in my chest. The world is not hers to control.
“Servants can deal with that in the morning,” she notes about the pile of dead king paintings as I wrap up my report.
She’s clearly assuming I’ll make the necessary arrangements. My teeth start to grind.
“What is your personal perspective on our new queen, since you’ve spent time training her?
” Siegrid settles into a deep red armchair by the fireplace, finally coming to rest. She set one of her traveling bags on the chair directly across from her and makes no motion to move it so I can sit down, too.
Somehow I manage not to growl in frustration.
Classic Siegrid move, making me hunt for a way to put us on the same footing. I drag one of the spindly wooden chairs from the dining area over to sit across from her.
She’s tactical at all times. Often, I get the sense that she sees other people—me, especially—as nothing more than pieces to move around a strategy board. She would’ve made an excellent Strategos, if her astounding ruthlessness didn’t so clearly mark her as Daemos.
“Queen Meryn…” I consider what to share. I need to be honest, but I don’t want to give her too much, either. Siegrid is hard to trust. “She’s rough, vicious. She has a sharp tongue and only a bare minimum of self-control.”
And despite that, she has the potential to be a just and fair ruler, if I can keep her away from you.
Siegrid narrows her eyes, tipping her head back. “I know the type.”
If I’m vicious and rough, it’s only because that’s what she made me. But I ignore the cheap jab.
She reaches her arms above her head, knuckles cracking as she leans into the stretch. “Hmm. I suppose she’s young. Still…”
She pauses, thinking through something. It looks like she’s communicating with Genicos, although he’s seated in front of the fire, his eyes closed.
“Perhaps it’d be better to dispose of her and train the younger sister instead?
We could do that if we wanted. The younger they are, the more you can mold them.
Plus, the younger one’s been less in the public eye.
We’d be more likely to create a persona from scratch, something that would go over well with the populace. ”
Dispose of her? Violence tears through me at the suggestion, and I stand so quickly that my chair clatters to the floor. Before I can take so much as a step in her direction, though, the door to her chambers bursts open, wood splintering across the floor.
Cratos is crouched in an attack position, his fangs bared and dripping saliva. He lets out a fierce growling bark at Siegrid, who steps back, startled. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this surprised before.
Good.
Genicos leaps to his paws, growls back, and lunges toward Cratos. The two start to wrestle, black fur flying as they nip at each other. They knock into a tea table, snapping it into pieces. Genicos is taller than Cratos, but my direwolf is thicker, more muscular.
Cratos pins Genicos, eyes wild, and clamps his jaw around the other wolf’s neck. Then he looks to Siegrid and lets out another low warning growl.
“What is the meaning of this?” Siegrid shouts shrilly. “Cratos, what are you doing!”