Chapter 7
T he clock on the wall had just crept past three thirty, and Clara hoped her internal timepiece wasn’t lying to her, though she couldn’t blame it if it was. Good Lord, her head hurt. If every hunger headache she’d ever experienced had all been rolled into a cumulative ball and squatted on her frontal lobe, it might come close to the pain she was feeling now.
Thank goodness the lights were dim. The even dullness of the glow was a bit unnerving, however. She knew humans had other means of illuminating their buildings than the fire lamps she was used to, but did the light have to be so flat and uniform? Never in a million years did she think she’d miss the sway and temperament of a simple flame.
Please still be night. Please still be night.
If it was night, that meant her chances of returning before her father noticed her absence were significantly slimmer. Oh, who was she kidding? The only reason he would notice her missing was if one of the wealthy males vying for her hand—and her father’s power—inquired after her whereabouts and she was nowhere to be found. Her father had only ever expressed as much interest in her well-being insofar as her ability to breed and how her unique pedigree would benefit him in gaining more players on his political chess board.
Pedigree. If she had to hear that word one more time, she was liable to shave the hair off her head and hang herself with the length of it. It was a stark reminder of just how dire her desperation had been of late and what had driven her into the woods in the first place.
Driven her to the human lands. To that male . . .
Wondering whether he’d return to her, Clara inched herself higher against the pillow and frowned. What on earth was she wearing? A pale blue dotted gown of some sort covered her from shoulders to shins. When she lifted the blanket on top of her to inspect further, she gasped.
Holy mother, she was naked beneath that gown! Just who had changed her into this? And where were her clothes? Oh God, the relic!
Clara pushed through her throbbing temples and tried to extricate herself from the linens. By the time her bare feet hit the cold floor, the door to her room swung open.
As before, Bronze was the first one to greet her, followed by Rhode and another female in a white coat who had blonde hair that seemed almost as long as hers, though the braid made it difficult to discern in the low light. Damn, where the heck were her clothes? Was she really to meet a stranger—another woman of the same class as these guardians, no less—wearing what amounted to little more than a sheet? Her wolf’s low rumble echoed her worry.
Then she remembered that these were not humans.
Bronze stepped forward, his presence every bit as commanding despite the jovial nature she’d caught glimpses of here and there. She didn’t quite know how she knew it, but his casual manner, especially how he’d acted with her, suggested an innate comfort with more lighthearted tactics. Oh, yes, he was no stranger to laughter. Quite often, too, if the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes were any indication. The prospect certainly made her original proposal to him more appealing.
If a male made room for joy in his life, then, surely, there was less room for the darker urges of cruelty.
Clara let some of the anxiety ease from her body. Yes, I was right. He will do. He has to.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” Bronze said. “How are you feeling?”
“I have a bit of a headache, but I am otherwise myself.”
The blonde female stepped forward and checked the remnants of a clear plastic bag that hung from a metal pole near Clara’s bed. “If you didn’t have a headache, I’d say you weren’t human. That head injury must have been ugly when it happened, especially after being pulled out of the river.”
A heavy weight of anticipation filled the room, and Bronze looked at Clara with an almost rapt sort of hunger, as if he was on the verge of uncovering a secret but was being forced to quell his suspicions. Oh, he doesn’t like that one bit.
The female, seemingly unconcerned, continued, “The gash on your forehead healed up nicely, and this IV bag is good and empty. Perfect. Fluids are definitely your friend. You’re looking much better.”
“Fluids?”
“Yeah, in your arm. I have to say, I don’t know many people who can suck down saline so quickly and bounce back after only a few hours. Most humans would take twenty-four hours, at least. I’m Drea, by the way. I was the one who got you all cleaned up.”
The female had gone and said that word again . Humans.
Wait . . .
Clara tracked the clear tube that extended from the metal pole straight into?—
“Oh my God, get it out! Get it out now!” Clara’s wolf snarled as she clawed at the plastic tubing that was fastened into the crook of her elbow and extended inside her.
“Whoa! Easy! Hang on, I’ll get the IV out, just sit tight for a moment.” Drea quickly plucked the plastic out of her, and Clara shivered at the foreign matter’s removal.
“What did you put inside me? And where are my clothes?”
“Here. All your effects are in this bag.” Rhode placed her belongings at the edge of her bed where her feet had been, making sure she knew he was careful not to touch her. Again, she cursed her skittish ways and wished that particular flaw wasn’t so obvious in her demeanor. “You were severely dehydrated when you arrived,” he added. “We had to administer fluids intravenously. That is all we did, I swear. Now, we’ll leave the room while you get dressed. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
“And we do as well,” Bronze tacked on pointedly, though still with a kind understanding. “Back in five.”
Once the door closed and Clara was again alone with her thoughts, her wolf managed to calm down also.
Deep breaths. You can do this. You made the decision, and now you must follow through with the plan.
A few minutes later, dressed in her own clothes and with the relic safely tucked against her chest, she heard a soft rap at the door. Wow. Five minutes exactly. “You may enter.”
Bronze, again, was the first to push through the door, followed by Rhode. The female—Drea, was it?—was noticeably absent. It was also obvious that whatever unassuming hospitality these males had extended toward her had quickly come to an end. Her hosts’ rigid stances and stiff shoulders set the tone for how the line of questioning would go. They would ask the questions, and she would be expected to answer them. Business had clearly replaced altruism.
Right, then. If that’s the case, it’s best to cut them off at the pass. You have your own business here as well.
She wiped her palms on her leather trousers and cringed when a shiny streak of sweat winked back at her. Wonderful . “My name is Clara,” she said clearly, with her chin raised so she might address each of them equally. “Clara Ander. I?—”
“Nice to meet you, Clara Ander.” Bronze pegged her with a smirk that belied his tough appearance. Folded arms and a tense frame or no, he still attempted to put her at some modicum of ease. “Officially, that is.”
Not knowing what to make of that, she returned his greeting with a small nod. “I?—”
He stepped to the side, revealing the wide open door to the hallway. Strange how she hadn’t noticed before, but neither of these males had shut her in, and the subtle shift in Bronze’s position had been a way to let her know that. She wasn’t a prisoner, nor were they her jailors. She could go. At any time, she imagined she could rise from the bed, walk out that door, and she’d be free to do so.
This was nothing more than a simple conversation, something she’d done countless times with numerous strangers. Yes, she could do this.
“I have come seeking a male from the human lands, but as you said, I have mistakenly arrived elsewhere.” There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?
“Plenty of humans walking this earth, Clara. They’re not hard to find. Shit, there are so damn many of them, you can hardly sneeze without goobering at least a couple.”
“Bronze,” Rhode warned.
The male cleared his throat. “I simply meant to convey the scope of the species. What I’d like to know is how the hell a female lycan makes it to however many years you have and not encountered any humans before. This is the mortal realm, after all. The mortal realm . ”
Well, that certainly caught her off guard. Oh boy. How to respond. Clara was not at all prepared for Bronze to identify her species so casually, nor for her worldly ignorance to be spotlighted so fully, and in front of an audience, no less.
Honesty would have to be the best policy for now.
“Yes, I am a lycan and the daughter of King Halpin.” Clara stared at the floor and waited for the recognition to flood the room. When no further comments were made, she looked up. Both males simply stared at her with expectant expressions, as if she hadn’t just revealed herself to be of royal blood. As if they had no interest in her lineage or understanding of her father’s holdings.
And then it dawned on her. They truly don’t know who I am.
“You are a princess, then?” Rhode asked.
She blinked, then stammered a moment, never having been asked the question in her life. Gosh, how did she even answer that? “Yes, I am. And that is the reason why I have come searching outside my father’s lands.”
“Searching for what?” Bronze asked.
“A, uh . . . a male who is willing to compete for my hand in marriage.” Clara cringed. Just saying her plight out loud cast a heavy shroud of desperation over her shoulders. What if it didn’t work? What if this male said no? What if?—
“I’ll admit, none of us even knew lycans existed until a few months ago, and even then, it wasn’t through witnessed events. We’ve no knowledge of your father, of any royal lycan lines, where you live, how you’re governed, or even your physiology,” Rhode clarified. “But it’s clear you know something about humans. I take it your people are good at staying hidden?”
“Yes, quite so. My father’s stronghold is located a couple of hours from where Bronze found me.”
“How is that possible? We would have known about you,” Bronze replied.
Clara shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t have. Our lands are protected and well hidden.”
The scoff that echoed through the tiny room was loud enough to rattle the glass jars on the counter, as well as her nerves. “We’ve been stuck in the mortal realm since before the White Mountains were pimples on the butt of Pangea. You expect us to believe a secret race of lycans managed to just sprout up, establish a whole civilization, and stay tucked in the corner out of sight like a clump of dust bunnies?”
“And yet, your friend admits you had not heard of my kind before a few months ago. I assure you, we are well hidden and have always been.” Clara’s quiet rebuff sucked the air right out of the room, leaving her flailing behind to figure out how to cover her gaffe.
Oh, precious Moon Mother. Had those words really just tumbled out of her stupid mouth? “Uh, that is to say, we?—”
Rhode chuckled softly. “You don’t need to apologize. In fact, you’ve presented the perfect opportunity for my kin here to share our own nature with you. You must be just as curious, I imagine.”
Embarrassed, she nodded.
“Bronze?”
The male leered at Rhode before acquiescing to the request. “We’re angels. Warrior sentinels of the Empyrean, Heaven’s highest realm. We’ve been living among the mortals for, as I said, a good long while.”
It was Clara’s turn to eye them suspiciously, which would have been a heck of a lot easier to do if she could remember to blink. “Angels? With wings and such?”
Bronze smiled, clearly enjoying her renewed sense of discomfort. “And such.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to state the obvious, but no, she couldn’t. Could she?
Well, since they had established an open level of honesty, surely she could ask?—
“The wings come and go,” Bronze cut in. “Can’t have ‘em out all the time. Huge nightmare to keep clean. Air pollution doesn’t just affect the lungs. The tarnish and buildup from that stuff is killer. Besides, they get annoying to maneuver with when you’re trying to eat a meal or go for a swim. Hell of a way to get around, though.”
Many questions popped into Clara’s mind and fought for first place. Angels? Real angels? And she was sitting a few feet away from them?
As if sensing her mind spinning out of control, Rhode lifted his hand. “Forgive me. I’m sure you have a multitude of questions about our kind, and we’ll be happy to answer them, but I find your own story quite interesting as well. Why are you looking for a mate to compete for your hand? Do you not have eligible lycan males to choose from in your lands?”
Hesitation gripped her, jarring her back to the matter in front of her. “I do. No, that’s not correct. My father does, and he has already made his choice.”
Clara risked a glance at Bronze and was bolstered by the sharpened heat in his hazel eyes. “The male I have been promised to is, for lack of a more appropriate descriptor, a tyrant. He would be better off mating my father directly and leaving me out of the whole business altogether,” she griped, “but that is not possible.”
“So you ran away,” Bronze stated.
“Yes.”
“Because the guy your father wants you to marry is an asshole.”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
It sounded so silly when spoken aloud, especially when distilled down to the sum of its parts by such a formidable male. She needed to make him see the severity of what would pass should her union come to fruition.
“You must understand, my father is not himself a good ruler. There is no kindness left in him. Fear is his most commanding motivator, as well as his power. He is the leader of the northeastern lycan territories and is liable to either destroy all that remains of our monarchy and people or expand his holdings through an advantageous match with a neighboring territory’s warlord. He craves legacy, and the only way he seeks to gain that is through unabashed might. My people suffer as a result. More and more are fleeing the lycan lands, but there’s nowhere for them to go. Some assimilate into human culture, but that is not easy or desirable long term. The warlord to the west, the one my father has chosen for me, has been moving closer, and if a deal is struck between my father and that brute for my hand in marriage, there will be no stopping the empire that will result. The prospect of that empire,” she added for emphasis, “is what I believe keeps my father rising each morning. It’s certainly not his love for me, if it ever existed. He . . . he wishes to see lycans live beyond our confines and has come to believe, corruptly so, that humans should no longer be allowed to have the run of the lands. He believes that their time as the dominant species is closely coming to an end.”
Clara lifted her hands to her chest. Through her mantle, she pressed the relic’s warm weight closer against her breastbone, right above her heart. Bronze tracked the movement but didn’t speak. Slowly, she lifted the moonstone fang free of its confines and held it gently in her hands. Though the weight was slight for its size, it may as well have been the moon itself. Such was the burden she carried.
“This is my people’s moonstone relic. It is the symbol of our lycan monarchy.” Clara held it out expectantly, feeling not a whit lighter despite hefting the thing off her neck. When neither male took what she offered and merely exchanged indiscernible glances, she lowered the relic, and her heart sank right along with it.
They didn’t recognize it at all. Not even a flicker of awareness had flashed in either of their intent gazes. And then an extremely humbling realization dawned on her. Of course they didn’t recognize it. Her people had done far too good of a job remaining hidden all these centuries, passing for humans when they needed to, but living largely apart from them. So, why would these males—no, angels —know the significance of what she offered them?
Shame crept up her cheeks. God, she was such a fool, wasn’t she? To think she’d thought herself clever, daring even, for stealing the relic in the first place, thinking it would be the one thing to prove her story. The one thing that would identify her as who she was. And what was she, exactly? A princess in title only, to be doled out as a broodmare in a game of land ownership and power moves. A foolish, foolish female who hadn’t the cunning or brutality to maneuver through the world in the way that would garner her half the benefits it would her father.
At a loss for not only words but a plan of action, Clara floundered for how to proceed. She knew nothing of where she found herself, and the males before her clearly knew nothing of her. If she returned home now, it would still be night. Perhaps she could convince her father she had been kidnapped or maybe there was an intrusion in the keep? A threat? Or possibly?—
Bronze’s gruff voice broke the silence. “You said ‘compete.’”
Clara’s worried frenzy ground to a halt by the tether of his tone. “Forgive me. What?”
“When you spoke to me near the river, the first lucid words out of your mouth were, ‘Compete for me.’”
A strange clarity filled up the holes of the sieve in her mind, redirecting her focus to the male before her, who had taken a step closer but still did not crowd her. “I did. Yes.”
“You asked me to compete for your hand in marriage. I’ve gotta confess, dragging a nearly drowned woman out of the river and getting a marriage proposal for my troubles isn’t the oddest thing that’s happened to me, but I haven’t had time to examine that list in a while. Care to elaborate?”
Clara fiddled with the leather strap around her neck. Oh, gosh. Where to begin? “I do not wish to marry just to further propel my father’s machinations into motion. The warlord he has chosen is, well, not one I wish to be tied to for the rest of my life. I do not agree with my father’s view of the world, and though I may not have as many avenues available to stop what’s coming, as the sole lycan princess in our monarchy, I do have one. Among my people, it is known as the Betrothal Games. In essence, if I object to the male my father has chosen for me, a series of games may be enacted wherein several competitors engage in events that advance them through a tournament. The winner shall earn my hand in marriage and all that comes with it.”
Bronze’s eyes narrowed. “And when you say ‘all that comes with it,’ you mean any connections to your father’s holdings, alliances, money . . .”
“Yes. Traditionally, and for my father, it is a power play that would allow him to unite with the strongest proven male competitor in lieu of his own original choice. For me, I fled hoping to find a competitor unlike those my father would choose. Someone not of my world who is kind and just. Powerful in strength, yes, but also a warrior in his own mind. One who would champion far more than just the desire for a land grab or legacy.” She lifted her eyes to his and was momentarily stunned by the earnestness there. She studied him further and detected no hint of the craving for power she was so accustomed to being around. There was something else instead, something far more intriguing and just . . . old. Ancient. Mature, even. It sent hopeful urges fluttering around her heart that he would help her, or at the very least, once they were mated, she could work to convince him of what she needed him to do to help her people. He would be malleable, dependable.
Yes. He’s the one. He has to be.
“I suppose I had hoped to find someone,” she continued, quietly stressing her words, “who would pull a nearly drowned princess out of a river and offer her aid without ever knowing one thing about her.”
Her final words were a challenge, and she watched the angel intently to see whether he would engage. Again, that pressing silence made the air in their small room nearly unbearable, but she wouldn’t look away, no matter how devastating his hazel stare became. She was a lycan princess, an heir, a leader to her people.
And he was the warrior angel who’d rescued her. The one she believed the Moon Mother had sent her to find.
More of those meaningful looks were exchanged between the two males, and Clara had the feeling entire conversations were taking place in the span of their silent thoughts. Were they reading each other’s minds? Could angels do that?
Oh, boy, she had a lot to learn, and the pounding in her head was doing its level best to make holding herself together a near impossibility. God, she was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. If this angel rejected her, she wasn’t sure there was much left in her that could withstand the hit.
Then Bronze looked at her and sealed her fate with two simple words. “I accept.”