Chapter 19
The warehouse was alive with howls and laughter. Music rang against the walls, underlined by cheers, moans, and occasional screams. Lit barrels spilled light onto the concrete floor, enveloping the celebrating pack in a warm, fiery glow.
Kieran watched the revelry from his throne, made from stacked pallets covered in fur and leather. Not an impressive sight, but still the seat of a King. The seat of an Alpha.
St. Louis had never seen one. Had never housed a Regent, of any kind. The triumph he had claimed less than a week before would go down in history, with his pack being the first to control a city of such strategic importance.
He had yet to establish an actual seat in the city. Its neutral status meant there wasn’t any infrastructure from which to govern, which was why they were here. In an old forest mill, just south of St. Louis. Until they could find a better alternative, this was the house of his rule.
Therian packs usually stuck to townships and wilderness. A consequence of their need for hunts and small size, but he had solutions for both. He shared a station with his most trusted soldiers, and when they started cleaning the streets, they would have an ample supply of prey.
As for numbers, Jackie’s pack was still bigger, but the gap was closing. People were realizing that her hatred of the Chains was performative at best, while Kieran’s was both active and bloody. People wanted to fight. He’d given them a way to do so.
He’d won. But even though the warehouse was vibrant with celebration, it still felt empty.
Since she wasn’t present.
“The Chains are being quiet,” Booker said, pacing next to Kieran’s seat. “They haven’t responded yet, but that could change. If they decide to come after us, we’re fucked.”
“If they do, we’ll deal with it.”
“How? We can’t handle their demons or that bloody daywalker of theirs. What if they’re planning something? Or start an alliance with another Court?”
Kieran scoffed. Enemy alliances weren’t a concern.
The Courts followed traditions too opposing for them to agree on anything.
Their laws were too self-focused; their members too homogeneous.
The Chains were the only Court that stood out there, and no one gave a fuck about their inclusivity-based bullshit.
He closed his hand into a fist. They had Harper, too. Had taken her beyond his grasp, and if the bastard pacing next to his throne had done what he was told, then she would be right where she belonged. A witness to his victory.
Why did she have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t she understand that he only wanted to protect her? If he could just talk to her and explain, she would see that. See that she was made for him. Take the role she was meant to have.
She would need a bit of breaking in, sure. But she would get there. Once he had her again, he would make sure of it.
Sudden hooting sounded from the door, and a small group rushed inside. A young, fair-skinned man with a dark buzz cut was at their center, holding a bloody bag.
“I got one!” he yelled as he ran up to Kieran’s throne.
He had a wild look in his eyes, shaking with adrenaline, which might explain why he forgot protocol. One sharp look and the man immediately dropped to one knee, head lowered.
“I’ve slain one of your enemies, Alpha,” he said. “I wish to show you. That way you may judge it yourself. May find me—it a worthy price for the Wolf.”
The celebrations quieted as people turned their attention towards Kieran and the prospect kneeling before him.
He recognized the man. Had worked with him for a few weeks now. Owen Kline, fresh out of the police academy and brimming with ambition.
A tough kid. He was still at the lowest rung of the pack hierarchy, on account of him being human. But that might change now.
Usually, more precautions were taken when adding a wolf to your pack. More safe measures. But neither precaution nor safety were concepts a predator should be shackled by.
“Show me,” Kieran said.
Owen opened the bloody bag, hands shaking as he rummaged for the contents.
And brought out a bloody, severed head.
Kieran darted forward in his seat. The head belonged to a woman. A woman with dark brown hair, pale skin, and black eyes.
Pure black eyes. A normal vampire. A feral one, most likely, since neutral cities were hotspots for Courtless creatures.
Her eyes didn’t possess the gold of that unnatural freak he’d made bleed just a few days before.
He’d expected her reputation to be all lies, but he’d seen her survive sunlight himself.
Had seen her pull a silver blade from her hand and smile as her blood dripped onto the ground.
As a weapon, she was even more powerful than that greater fiend the Chains had subjugated themselves to. Fiends couldn’t create more of their type.
He leaned back with a growl. He knew she had slinked back to Chicago after killing a few of his best people. She’d intercepted them when they went to rescue Harper, sneaking up on them like a coward.
Or a ghost. Booker had spouted stories of how she’d ripped through them like a wind made of knives. Everyone was on edge.
Kieran stood, approaching the kneeling man.
Though he was disappointed, he needed manpower more than a staked daywalker.
According to traditional customs, the Wolf could only be granted through battle.
You either survived an attack from one of its chosen or you killed an enemy of the pack you sought to join.
Kieran had done neither. The only reason he’d received the greatest gift a mortal could hope for was because Jackie needed muscle and, after observing him for over a year, thought he would be a valuable addition to her ranks.
Jackie was too fucking soft.
“Stand.”
Owen obeyed, dropping the head at Kieran’s feet. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“Whose pack do you belong to?” Kieran asked. Owen swallowed.
“Yours, Alpha.”
“In whose name do you hunt and kill?”
“Yours, Alpha.”
Kieran pushed up Owen’s jacket sleeve. “Whose spirit will you be linked to?”
Owen took a shaky breath. “Yours, Alpha.”
Kieran rumbled out a low snarl. A sound coming from deep in his chest, summoned by the animal within.
That was the only needed evidence to his legitimacy. Joining a Court came with benefits, and the Court of the Wolf was no exception.
Therianthropes were not only among the most numerous of supernatural creatures but also the most likely to join together. The Courts granted a unique ability to their members, with pack-bound therians gaining elected shifting. They could control how much they shifted. When they shifted.
It was a balancing act, one made harder if you were overcome with either pain or rage, or outright impossible if the full moon was present. He could freely call on the Wolf, but if he let it out completely, the beast would take over, and it didn’t differentiate between friend or foe.
Right now, he didn’t need such a complete change. He only needed fangs.
With a primal growl, Kieran sank his now wolfish teeth into Owen’s bare arm. Bloody flesh filled his mouth, and the young man gasped. Then screamed.
But he didn’t move away. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and accepted this pain like the gift it was.
“You slew a foe of mine.” Kieran grabbed the back of Owen’s head and pressed their foreheads together. “You proved loyal. Proved strong. Proved worthy of the Wolf.”
Howls and cheers roared through the building. Owen laughed, the noise wavering with emotion, and he raised his bloodied arm into the air.
His transformation wouldn’t be complete until a few days from then, during the full moon, but he was one of them now. One of many who’d recently joined their ranks. Wanderers looking for a home, defectors seeking conflict, uniformed officers tired of playing by weak rules.
People who wanted to let the beast loose without being condemned for it.
“You’ve turned a lot of people lately,” Booker said as Kieran returned to his seat. “Not all of them will stay, you know that, right? We’re riding on a victory, but you don’t know these people. They might run when it gets tough.”
Kieran spat blood onto the floor. “You sound like Jackie.”
“Jackie still has the largest pack anyone’s seen in centuries. If you want to achieve the same status, then—”
“I did not ask for your opinion,” Kieran snarled. “You had my mate in your hands, and you still lost her. Your advice is unwanted, just like your presence.”
Booker tensed and lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“Your existence is disrespectful. These prospects you’re so hesitant about have more of a spine than you. Until you bring me evidence that you’re fit to be anywhere near my right hand, you are worthless to me.”
Booker cringed and touched the scar running around his wrist. When he’d fled, he hadn’t been so scared that he hadn’t brought his hand with him. A hunt and a shifting had fused the flesh that was severed.
He was a clever sort, when he wanted to be, which was the main reason Kieran had kept him around.
Kieran had thought Booker’s main flaw was women, since he fancied them to the point where he forgot everything else.
Especially when the women in question didn’t fancy him back.
He’d gotten written up for it a few times at the station, only quitting his fondling tendencies when Kieran told him to stop attracting needless attention.
He was loyal. Had decent ideas occasionally. But he ran. It was weak. Offering forgiveness for that would make Kieran even worse than him.
The wind howled, snow whirling through the broken windows. A scent followed. Something sharp and cold.
The cheers died. Even under the smell of sweat and smoke, that scent cut through it all. Like a knife slicing through frozen flesh.
The door to the warehouse blew open, and a woman stepped inside. Her appearance summoned harsh snarls, only growing in volume as she walked through the packed building—back straight and heels clicking against the stone floor.