4. The Messenger
The Messenger
S triding toward the packhouse, Geralt released a sigh, his muscles complaining with each step. Damp grass brushed the soles of his bare feet, sweat trickled down his body, and the sun shone weakly upon him. The morning was still young, and he’d had the brilliant idea of running himself ragged before dealing with the day’s task. Physically, he appeared no older than 25 thanks to Lycan genetics. But, mentally, the years ate at him, weighing on his bones. He was quickly approaching his second quarter of a century.
Reaching the back of the packhouse butted up against the surrounding woods, he slipped into the habit of scenting the air. Stilling, he sorted through the scents of packmates passing through the house. Tension tightened his limbs when he recognized Ella’s scent. He broke into a sprint, rounding the front of the old log cabin and the steps leading to the wrap-around porch. He took them two at a time, careless of the image he painted to any Lycans witnessing his hurried scramble.
With an impatient snarl, he hurled the door open, honing his nose on Ella’s scent, seeking her location with his senses since she didn’t share a pack mindlink with him. Helen gaped at him from the open doorway of the kitchen, hand poised mid-slice with a butcher knife. A dead deer took up the entire island. He momentarily forgot his urgency at the sight of a carcass dirtying up his home.
“What the hell, Helen? You couldn’t get someone to do that for you outside?” he snapped, regretting his words as soon as they flew out of his mouth. Ryker’s glee flowed down the bond. The beast knew Geralt fucked up. She strode toward him with a glare, knife held at her side. Fortunately, she’d pointed the sharpened tip at the ground.
Helen leveled him with a stare, speaking volumes without uttering a word, one brow raised and lips pinched with displeasure. Bowing his head, he mumbled an apology. Urgency returned, but the she-wolf raised him as her own pup. His disrespect was undeserved.
Helen harrumphed and turned on a heel, marching back to her position behind the marble island. Wincing, he forced his feet forward, bypassing the mess, aiming for the stairs leading to his office. Ella’s scent rested heavily in the air. Anxiety and nervousness soured the smell. Ryker’s hackles rose, and he prowled Geralt’s mind fiercely. An unspoken foreboding twisted his heart, riling his beast.
Stopping outside the wood panel door, his ears picked up Gabriel’s familiar breathing pattern. Ella’s essence clouded the air so heavily he’d missed his Beta’s calming aroma. The earthy smell reminded him of sunflowers, tanning in the sun, and summer days without worries. His shoulders relaxed their stiff position the more he inhaled his friend’s bouquet.
Do you mind grabbing a pair of clothes for me? He sent to Gabriel through the mindlink. Soft footfalls seeped through the door before the male opened it, sliding past him without a comment or a glance at his nakedness. The male was truly Selene’s blessing. He’d have killed Paul several years past if he’d kept him on as Beta .
His cousin, Ella, squeaked on the other side of the door, tan face flushed with a blush after glancing in his direction. Lips twitching in humor, he sauntered into the room. He lacked the desire to make his cousin uncomfortable, but he found no pleasure standing bare ass in the hall outside his office. Walking briskly toward his desk, hands cupped around the family jewels, he slid into the office chair, shielding his lower body from view behind the heavy oak-wood.
Planting his elbows on the wood surface, he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Ella remained seated on one settee facing the desk, brown eyes shifting around the room, eagerly avoiding looking at him. Ryker pressed against his skin, shifting their eyes from the normal forest green to a crimson red. His cousin flinched when her eyes drifted to him, heart rate picking up under his silent scrutiny.
“How are you, cousin?” he asked, breaking the silence. He gnashed his teeth against wasting time with pleasantries when he wanted to ask about his daughter’s well-being. But Alphas and Betas had different wiring. He couldn’t ignore her stiff posture, back pressed so far into the settee as if she wanted to physically escape him by shrinking. If he didn’t put her at ease, he’d get very little information out of her.
“I’m okay. I just thought I’d stop by for a visit. Gabriel told me you went for a run and Auntie Helen is getting dinner ready for tonight.” Prey, Ryker growled in his head. Blunt fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her white flowy blouse, drawing his eye like any other predator. Doe eyes constantly bounced around the room, possibly plotting escapes in her head. Claws scraped against wood, and he couldn’t get Ryker to settle.
“How’s Abbigail?” he blurted. He wanted her gone, her prey like behavior driving Ryker into salivating. The beast filled his head with images of her soft flesh tearing between his teeth, or the short chase before his claws dug into pliable skin. Hunt.
Damn it . Between running the pack and running to ease the tension in his body, he’d forgotten how long it’s been since his last hunt. Ella stilled, gaze fixed on his claw tips, scraping the surface of his desk. She brought wide, fearful eyes up to his.
He grunted, shifting in his chair and praying Gabriel returned quickly. For an Alpha, the male held an aura of tranquility. He could talk the hottest Lycan down from a temper, Geralt being one of them.
“I will not hurt you, Ella. You can relax.” He doubted his gruff tone complemented the words. Her stillness reminded him of deer, right before the kill.
“S-she’s fine, Alpha.” Rising to her feet, she kept her gaze averted. “I’ll go help Auntie Helen.” Her words were barely above a whisper. Sliding to his feet, he pushed the desk a couple of feet forward in his rush.
Releasing a growl, he stalked toward the fearful Beta, claws elongating and fur sprouting in small tufts along his bare body. The stench of her lie abused his nostrils and enraged Ryker . Kill , it urged him. As Helen’s niece, they shared zero blood relation. Saliva filled his mouth, but he fought back. An out-of-control Lycan was a dead male walking.
“Tell me the truth.” The words filled the air as a guttural growl layered with a second voice. Ryker wanted blood. He ran a tongue along one sharp canine, clenching his fist and resisting the urge to rush forward and tear into the pulse throbbing in her neck, calling to his predatory nature.
Ella visibly shrunk further into herself, brown waves rushing forward and shielding her face.
“Alpha,” Gabriel called authoritatively from the doorway. Turning a red glare on his Beta, he warned, “Interfere if you wish to share my father’s fate.” He let the words flavor the air, settling like fairy dust. Gabriel visibly stiffened, but the intelligent male aimed his eyes at the ground. The crumpled clothing clenched in one hand belied his subservience.
Geralt returned his attention to his cousin. Fear cloaked her scent entirely. Crinkling his nose, he gently pushed at her hunched shoulders. Shooting him a shocked look, she fell backwards, landing gracelessly on the settee behind her.
“Talk,” he demanded. Warnings rung in his head, drowning out Ryker . He knew in his bones Abbigail needed him. Killing the female in front of him meant nothing if he didn’t learn more about his daughter’s fate.
Ella bit into a plump bottom lip, face flushed red and tears brimming in her eyes. Gabriel bravely stepped forward, drawing Geralt’s eye. He cocked a brow at his Beta.
“Perhaps Ella would be more comfortable if I ask the questions. If that is alright with you, Alpha.” Gabriel didn’t phrase it as a question. Despite his temper, Geralt trusted the male. Giving a curt nod, he motioned for the clothes in his hand. Gabriel gave him a small, grateful smile when exchanging them over.
Geralt walked away, stopping near the door, back turned toward the couple and pulling on the clothes provided for him. His ears twitched constantly, picking up their whispered conversation. A frown twisted his lips upon hearing about Ella’s travels to Crescent Moon pack with the princess. The Lycan king’s sister, Princess Natasha, visiting a pack established by rogues niggled at him.
The pack was too close, and communication with Abbigail was nonexistent. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Frustrated, he turned a menacing glare back on Ella.
Her eyes darted to him before quickly returning to Gabriel’s stoic brown eyes, a similar shade as her own. A soft smile curled thin lips, and he gripped her hands gently in his large hands. Ryker snarled , kill them both.
He ignored the animal. But his patience ran out the moment he scented her in his home. Her reluctance to tell the truth scraped against his raw nerves.
“Just tell us about Abbigail,” he bit out, not bothering to gentle his tone. Gabriel shot him a reproachful look, but he ignored that as well. Only his pup mattered at the moment.
Ella sucked hung lungfuls of air, trembles traveling to slender fingers. Gabriel rubbed soothing caresses across her knuckles with his thumb. Motioning with his head, his Beta encouraged Ella to speak up. I tire of this, Ryker spoke up in his mind. Ella should speak fast if she didn’t want to become acquainted with Geralt’s wolf, held in check by a thread. They’d lost a mate. Losing a young wasn’t an option for them.
Ella kept nibbling on her lip, but swiveled her head in Geralt’s direction. “She needs you but—” Fear thickened the air.
“You’re safe here,” Gabriel soothed the Beta.
Perhaps feeling reassured, she exhaled a breath, wiping at a lone tear. Geralt watched without comment as she linked her fingers in her lap, stalling the trembling, and straightened her back. Scooting closer to Gabriel, she no longer shrunk into the cushions of the brown settee.
Her eyes fixated on Gabriel, her lips let loose the last thing he wanted to hear. “Abbigail is pregnant by the king. He keeps her sequestered, with only a select few people allowed near her.”
“Is she and the pup healthy?” Geralt’s voice cracked on the words.
Ella stared down at her twisted fingers. “No,” she whispered. Geralt barely suppressed the urge to walk over and shake the rest of the tale out of her. Grinding his teeth and clenching his fist, he breathed through his nostrils. Hues of orange and red still bathed the room from Ryker’s presence.
“Tell us, Ella. The sooner we know, the quicker we can do something about it,” his Beta soothed. Geralt resisted turning his ire on the male for placating the she-wolf. His pup and grand pup needed him. Ella held the information he needed.
Ella tightened her grip on Gabriel’s hands. Whispering in a rush, she confessed, “The king keeps her locked up. But the last time I saw her in passing, she had claw marks along her neck and arms?—”
Geralt’s roar broke off Ella’s words, torn from his chest. His skin ruptured as Ryker fought to the surface. Growls and bones snapping were the only sounds heard in the small space. Geralt saw red. Inch long talons curved inward, his wolf’s muzzle scented the air, searching for easy prey. Ella curled up in a ball on the sofa, cowering from the beast in the room.
Gabriel slowly rose to his full height, both hands held up in front of him, neck titled in submission. Ryker roared at the male. The pain of losing a mate and the fear of losing their young shrouded their minds in a need for action, for blood. He envisioned the king’s throat torn from him, while he gasped and pleaded for mercy.
Geralt’s entire body shuddered. I failed her, Angel . Those words reverberating through his mind broke the spell of blood lust. Crashing to his knees, chest tight with a whirlwind of emotions, he tried putting himself back together, shoving Ryker aside in his mind. Ripples of aftershock tightened his skin. The pain was a drop in the bucket.
“My daughter,” he whispered, over and over. His imagination took over, creating the worst abuses she endured at the king’s hand. Warm hands brushed his shoulders, snapping him into the present. He looked up into Gabriel’s determined eyes.
“I’ve got you, Alpha. And we’ll get Abbigail. I promise you that, on my life.”