Chapter Two #2
I have no interest in the women inside this place.
All of them are weak and useless. My uncle’s mate is not weak; she is a rare omega, with the power to heal her mate.
It’s another reason my uncle is not dead.
Between his magic, her healing, and his branding marks…
he is practically unstoppable. I’m sure that’s the reason he chose her as his mate.
They aren’t fated mates as far as I am aware, but they share a mate mark and a marriage mark.
Mate marks are the third most powerful mark, second is the marriage mark and the most powerful is a true mark for fated mates.
Fated mates are becoming a myth and a forgotten gift from the goddesses.
I know I will never find mine; I was told she was dead.
Both the mate mark and marriage mark are glowing on Sidia’s breasts, which are on show at all times.
I cross my arms tight. “What do you mean, Vargoth?”
“You’ll be chosen,” he simply answers. My head shoots back to my uncle.
Sidia slides onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and begins peppering kisses against his pale skin.
His hair is orange and looks burnt under the lights of the office.
“Don’t be concerned; killing is easy for you, Blackfire.
I made you into a weapon, and there is no better place for you than the Folkland. ”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shake my head in disbelief. Even my uncle can’t believe he controls the will of the triple goddesses. They choose the poor shits that go to the massacre. I can’t remember ever studying about a royal being in the Folkland. Has it happened before?
“You will be chosen. It’s been decided.” He waves at the door. “You are dismissed for now. To prepare. We will go over my plan for you in the Folkland when it is time. I have called your cousin back from his studying, and he will help me rule in your absence.”
At least I won’t have to see my cousin, the vile fucker.
I open my mouth and then close it again, unsure what to say. He is more insane than I thought. “How could you know this?”
He leans back and pulls Sidia further up onto his lap, spreading her thighs. “You can leave now, nephew.”
Clenching my jaw, I stomp out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.
Heading straight across the castle, I go into the private royal rooms. The minute I open the door, a bundle of red hair slams into me and nearly knocks me off my feet.
I grunt, looking down at her. She’s my youngest cousin—Lunara.
A tiny little thing that’s only been born recently to my uncle and Sidia.
I don’t like children, but I don’t want her to be beaten like I was, so this one is used to keep me in line.
They don’t hurt her as long as I do what they ask.
I don’t understand why she likes hugging me, though.
Surely, she should be terrified. I’m Blackfire, the legendary killer for the Crone Pack.
I could swim in a sea of blood I have drawn in the wars and in my uncle’s name.
But no. She continues hugging my leg, as she only comes up to my thigh, like it’s the best thing in the world.
She has no survival instincts. Poor thing.
I just walk forward as Lunara clings to my leg like a monkey and squeals with joy.
This day is not going well. First, one of the spies was caught, and I need to sort out a replacement.
Second, my uncle has officially lost the plot more than usual.
I go straight over to the bar, pouring myself a stiff drink, and I’m happy as I throw it back, the burn in my throat pleasant.
I’m almost tempted to offer Lunara one, but then I remember that kids don’t drink alcohol, according to the human servants. Shame. Might make them quieter.
“Firey! You’re here!”
“Please don’t call me Firey. We’ve talked about this,” I gently growl at her.
“Yes, Firey.” She nods, grinning at me, with her orange burning eyes. She leans forward and goes to bite me.
Fucking hell. This kid is always biting my legs even though she hasn’t shifted yet. I lift her by the back of her top and hold her in the air. “No biting. We have also talked about this.”
“Yes, Firey.” She laughs and waves her thin arms. No survival instincts at all—it’s pitiful.
I put her down on the floor, and she spins in circles. Maybe there is something wrong with her. “Where is your nanny or the human servants?”
“They went to get food. You can sit and eat with me.” Lunara waves over to a little pink table and ten chairs, most of which have a creepy doll sitting on them. I groan, wondering why the triple goddesses have set me up with this life.
I pour myself another drink as Lunara rambles on about something, and my thoughts drift to the conversation with Vargoth.
My uncle must be wrong. There’s no way I could be chosen.
I don’t know how I find myself sitting down and having tea with the little monkey that’s still staring lovingly up at me, like I’m not a monstrous killer that shifts into a wolf that is at least eight times as big as her.
I glance out of the window, the sky descending into darkness, and something tells me I need to be prepared for anything.
One thing about my uncle—he doesn’t often lie, to me anyway.
My plans to bring down my uncle cannot be changed.
The Folkland will be the perfect distraction, and the parties after will include all the enemies, inviting them into the pack lands for my plan to go ahead. Nothing and no one can change this.
I will ensure the alpha is killed, and I will rule before this year ends.