Chapter 5
MY LIFE IS YOURS
Ziara
My pack lived in a hole in the ground.
Like, literally, a hole in the ground. As pups, we all learned that back in the late eighteen hundreds, an enraged fire sprite destroyed the original Pioneer Square.
The Mondeine didn’t know about our kind back then, so they blamed a negligent woodworker and his boiling glue, but that pissed-off sprite took out over twenty-five blocks of businesses.
Since the district had been built on filled-in tidelands that frequently flooded, city officials decided to regrade the streets and raise them to a higher elevation.
But that would take some time, and Seattle was experiencing an economic boom that wouldn’t wait.
Merchants kept their storefronts right where they were, and the streets were regraded around the buildings, turning first-floor display windows into basements and sidewalks into tunnels.
Known as the Underground, the tunnels became home to hookers and shady business dealings until the bubonic plague came along and shut it down for good.
Then, more than a century and a half later, the pack seized the Pioneer district from the Mondeine, who retaliated by dropping ballistic missiles bursting with explosives and silver dust on the district.
They would have exterminated my people, and I would never have been born had Dad not been away with a team on a supply run.
He returned to ruin: dead pack, toppled buildings, toxic silver dust polluting the air.
He needed somewhere safe for the survivors to lie low while they grieved, and bombs had left a crater-sized hole where Pier 46 used to be, exposing the entrance to the long-forgotten Underground.
The pack made camp in the basement-level tunnels and waited for the silver to settle.
We’ve been here ever since.
Now, strategically placed ruins hid the den’s entrance, and traps kept unwanted visitors out. Rust and I navigated the route we knew by heart with ease, slipping through the real door and scurrying down a wide concrete ramp lit with LED string lights.
It was nearing three a.m., and everyone not on duty should have been in bed, but a surprising number of voices met my ears.
As the commons came into view, old-fashioned streetlights rewired for electricity illuminated the crowded space where most of the adults huddled around pool tables, dartboards, card tables, and the bar.
Conversations halted, and all eyes turned to watch us as news of our return rolled over the room like a wave.
Whispers of my role in my old babysitter, Jillian’s, death assaulted me like stones thrown but that was nothing new.
Almost two decades later, and her specter still haunted me, overshadowing every accomplishment like an eclipse as I fought desperately to earn forgiveness for something I couldn’t even remember.
Before we reached the bottom of the ramp, the door to the administration building—the first building beyond the commons—flew open and Dad emerged.
When he spotted us, his expression was stoic as ever, but the added burst of speed to his stride belied his excitement.
The pack parted, opening a path for him to meet us halfway.
The reek of Drifter’s homemade hooch threatened to burn my nostrils as I made my way to Dad, hanging behind Rust since he was my commanding officer. Dad’s gaze swept over us both before settling on me. He nodded, silently signaling me to approach.
My heart skipped a beat, and I lunged forward, thanking my lucky stars I had escaped with my prize and returned victorious.
Tilting my head back and to the side, I bared my throat in submission and repeated the first vow I’d ever made, the words we all lived by, declaring my allegiance in his native tongue.
“Is leatsa mo shaol, Alpha.” My life is yours.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow in a rare show of anxiety as he met my gaze. “Did you succeed?”
In answer, I slid my backpack down my arms and unzipped the correct pocket.
Magic tickled my fingers and surged up my arm as I grabbed the rock and offered it to him, bowing my head in deference.
The glimpse of pride shining in his eyes made my chest swell as he took the stone from me and thrust it into the air.
Our people howled and cheered, overwhelming me with emotion. I kept my head down, blinking rapidly until I got myself under control. Tears were a weakness—a vulnerability—and I would not shed them here. Not in front of witnesses. Regardless, this was the best moment of my life.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “Well done, Ziara.”
I made a conscious effort not to lean into his touch. This rare show of his acceptance made me ravenous for more.
If he could only pull me into a hug….
But that would be too much. Dad wasn’t the affectionate type and had never embraced me. He wasn’t about to start now.
“For the pack!” someone shouted.
Mugs of the rancid brew were raised all around as our people repeated the mantra. “For the pack!”
Dad waited until the cry died out before adding his voice. “For the pack. Celebrate, my warriors. Soon, we will have our revenge!”
A cheer went up, near deafening in its vehemence. We were a bloodthirsty people, and the Mondeine wouldn’t know what hit them.
Everyone went back to their revelry as Dad gestured for me and Rust to follow him. Rust’s mate had pressed in to stand next to him with their toddler—who was currently a fluffy white wolf—cradled in her arms. Rust kissed the adorable pup on the forehead and joined us.
The wolves on duty called out in congratulations as we entered the administration building and strode past the surveillance room and the beta’s office to the alpha’s headquarters. Dad ushered us in, and we were joined by his beta, Hitch, who closed the door behind him.
The space was everything one would expect of an Army general’s office; clean and tidy without a single paper out of place.
Two framed war prints hung on the walls, one depicting the Battle of the Boyne, the other the March to Valley Forge.
Like so many other battles, they were won by the magic and might of the Tricari long before the Mondeine knew of our existence.
A massive wooden desk was situated in one corner, enabling the alpha to watch both the door and the large south-facing window that overlooked the commons and the ramp leading out of the den.
A bookshelf of research material, organized within an inch of its life, sat against the western wall, and a three-foot-tall clay pot in the far corner held rolled-up maps.
A round rug designed to look like a compass covered a good portion of the floor.
The alpha leaned a hip against his desk and leveled his stare at me, wrinkling his nose. “I smell blood. Are you injured?”
I dipped my head. “No, Alpha. It’s not mine.”
His gaze shot to the slash across my sleeve.
“That’s just a scratch.” I pulled up the fabric to show him that the skin had already knitted back together and scabbed over.
He nodded, flipped the bloodstone over in his hand, and dropped his focus to it. “Report.”
Curious, I kept one eye on the artifact, wondering what role it would play in the upcoming war as I recounted my first proper mission, fielding questions along the way.
At the mention of the tech malfunction, he directed me to leave my gear, promising to have someone look it over.
His eyes lit up as I detailed the fight, but his brow furrowed when I mentioned stabbing the man in the chest to escape.
“You mean in the heart?” he asked.
“No, sir.” I dropped my gaze. “I… missed.”
A beat of uncomfortable silence stretched between us before he asked, “And you didn’t remove his head?”
“No, sir.”
His displeasure thickened the air, making me feel like I was trudging through mud. “Why not?”
“The gargoyles were closing in, and I…” I swallowed, trying to work through my response. I couldn’t lie to the alpha, but the truth was too damn embarrassing. “He wasn’t what I expected.”
His eyes burned into me. “You hesitated.”
It was all I could do not to lower my head, since I had no tail to drop between my legs. “Yessir. And then the gargoyles were coming, and I didn’t have time.”
My skin was on fire. I was skating on the edge of the truth, and the alpha knew it, but how was I supposed to tell my father that the sight of a silver-eyed, bare-chested god of a man had tripped me up?
We had a war to win, and I was perfectly happy with my boyfriend.
Whatever malfunction my brain had suffered wouldn’t happen again. I’d make sure of it.
Annoyance furrowed Dad’s brow. “You’ve killed before.”
Unintentionally, but I couldn't remember that murder, so it didn't count. Choosing not to acknowledge it at all, I said, “Prey, yes, but he was a… a person. I didn’t expect to be facing a man.”
A man with vertical pupils. Like a cat. A man who could have killed me—several times—but who’d let me live.
“He’s not a man, Ziara. He’s a dragon.”
I blinked, resisting the urge to knuckle my ears again. “Come again?”
Dad’s eyes were still fixed on me. “You stole the bloodstone from a dragon.”
“A… dragon?” The word squeaked out of my throat, which was suddenly bone dry. “You sent me to face a dragon?”
I knew better than to question him, but the accusation was out before I could stop it. Snapping my jaw shut, I managed to swallow my next question.
Without telling me?
Even unvoiced, the accusation hung between us for a beat that felt just shy of an eternity, as waves of displeasure rolled off the alpha. He lowered the bloodstone to his desk, scooped up his whiskey flask, and calmly took a sip.
The tic in his jaw encouraged me to adjust my tone. I bared my throat again in apology, trying to ignore the betrayal squeezing my insides. The alpha protected the pack, and whatever he’d done had been out of necessity.