Chapter 42
Darion
The dining hall roared with life. Wolfkin, dressed in their finest tunics, leathers, and gowns, laughed with their whole bodies, their heads thrown back with wild abandon as ale spilled from sloshing cups. They were celebrating the union of two clans and the end to the warring between them.
The tables groaned beneath platters of roasted fish, venison swimming in berry sauce, black bread smothered with butter, and wheels of sharp-smelling cheese, while torches burned hot against the stone walls, their smoke curling up into the rafters so high the light could not reach them.
Darion sat at the head table, enduring endless cups pressed into his hands and congratulations barked in his direction.
And yet all he could think about was the omega waiting for his return, resting in her makeshift nest.
She should have had a proper one, the one he’d watched her build and scent marked for her. But the she-wolf next to him had destroyed it, then convinced him she’d been right to do so.
Kyntha’s fingers trembled around her goblet, silver bells chiming softly whenever she moved. Earlier, the sound had been lyrical, a call to follow his blushing mate wherever she would lead him.
Now it grated on his ears, and drove him further away.
A dark shape moved across the back of the room, and he squinted to see it more clearly, now recognizing the red hair and missing hand.
It was the she-wolf who had attacked his omega and stolen Kyntha’s earring to plant it in Fern’s pocket. The new Ashpaw.
Guilt he’d tried to avoid hit him anyway as he remembered the sound of Fern’s scream when he’d beaten the only wolfkin in his clan who had rightfully defended her honor, letting her attacker go free and unpunished.
He’d even suggested Fern deserved to die, all because Kyntha had given a pretty speech that named her a dangerous tail-tease.
His memory then pulled him to the night he’d grabbed her wrist and taken a sword to remove her hand. He had almost mutilated her, because Kyntha had insisted her attendant was telling the truth.
Gods… it had even been Kyntha to suggest he name her the Ashpaw.
“She cannot shift, and if rumors are to be believed, she will not entertain a petition from the betas because she is waiting for someone better. An alpha! You must teach her a lesson, or she will use her wiles to tear your clan apart.”
Darion cut a piece of venison, stabbing it on the end of his knife and bringing it to his mouth.
“Tell me.”
Kyntha stiffened.
“How long did you suspect Fern may be an omega?”
He slid the piece of meat off with his teeth, raising his cup and smiling when a group of wolfkin walked past and toasted him.
“Well?
She flinched at his harsh tone. “Since I first met her,” she answered quietly.
Darion nodded, spearing a potato next. Every word against Fern had been a lie, whispered in his ear by a jealous she-wolf who wanted to see her rival tortured.
He could feel the bond between him and Kyntha now, and it was a dark, ugly, twisted thing.
He would never trust her again.
“I think some time alone in your room will do you some good. Starting tonight.”
Kyntha turned quickly, mouth open. “On our mating day? But—”
“You are tired,” Darion cut in. He couldn’t even look at her. “It is understandable. I will give you the space you need to recover. It’s for the best. Wouldn’t you agree?”
At the other end of the table, Eidan sat in silence, staring at his plate with his arms crossed over his chest. Reinn was beside him, whispering quickly, his expression tight.
Eidan closed his eyes and nodded, and Darion’s earlier annoyance toward his brother melted.
Once Fern’s heat was over, he would apologize to him.
Eidan had seen Fern for what she was this whole time, and had done his best to protect her. He was a true alpha, and should be rewarded as such for protecting the clan’s most precious asset.
After tonight, his father was stepping down, and Darion would take his place as Head Alpha of the Sabletail Clan, which meant Eidan, Darion now decided, should take over his position as leader of their armies.
And once his own son was old enough to replace him, he’d let Eidan leave the castle for whichever estate he preferred with a mate of his choosing.
It was the least he could do to thank him for curbing his worst impulses. For keeping Fern safe until he was finally free from the quagmire of deception Kyntha had trapped him in.
“Well?” he said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Kyntha’s hand suddenly clamped around his wrist hard enough to hurt. He looked at her in surprise, her face pale as she glanced up and towards the outer walls.
And then the windows exploded inward, glass shattering across the hall in a deafening crash as dark figures poured through the openings.
The doors burst open a heartbeat later, slamming hard enough against the walls to crack.
Bloodmoons.
Red paint streaked across their faces from brow to throat, their leather armor studded with iron teeth and bone charms. They brandished their weapons—axes, blades, and hooked spears, gleaming in the firelight as they closed in, the slaughter beginning before anyone had a chance to scream.
A Bloodmoon ax buried itself in an Ironcoat’s skull, while another swiped across the chest of a Sabletail.
Tables and benches overturned, ale and blood spilling together across the floor.
Darion surged to his feet, his wolf exploding awake beneath his skin.
Kyntha clung to him desperately. “Darion!”
A Bloodmoon leapt onto the table, snarling, and Darion ripped a carving knife from the feast spread and hurled it straight into the male’s throat.
The wolfkin collapsed, choking just as another charged.
Darion seized the attacker by the jaw and smashed his face into the table hard enough to splinter wood.
Chaos swallowed the hall, but there was only one thought running through his mind.
Fern…
She was alone, still in heat. She could already be carrying his pup.
And if the Bloodmoons got even a whiff of her…
His head snapped toward the staircase.
Kyntha grabbed his arm again. “Don’t leave me!”
Darion looked at her, his mate, and a cold certainty settled over him.
Kyntha could run and hide, and her family was here to protect her, while Fern was drugged and half delirious with but a single wolfkin at her door.
And if Kyntha died…
There were other daughters of Head Alphas to choose from.
But there was only one omega.
He tore his arm free.
“Stay behind the guards,” he ordered.
And then he ran.
He shoved through the crowd, catching sight of his father ripping a Bloodmoon’s throat out near the hearth while his Uncle Norden dragged one of the Ironcoat she-wolves behind cover.
A Bloodmoon lunged from the side corridor.
Darion barely ducked in time, the ax head smashing sparks from the stone wall.
He slammed his shoulder into the attacker’s chest, driving him backward before wrenching a fallen spear from a corpse and ramming it through the male’s stomach.
The Bloodmoon spat blood in his face and laughed.
Darion snarled and snapped the spear upward through his jaw.
Another came. And another.
There were too many for this part of the castle if everyone was in the dining hall.
Not everyone, his wolf reminded him.
Panic clawed through him as Darion tore free from the melee and sprinted for Fern’s room.
The halls seemed endless, and every second stretched into agony as his worst fears appeared in his mind.
Fern cornered, screaming… mounted by bloody animals, dragged away by filthy hands…
His son torn from her belly…
No.
No no no—
He reached her corridor and froze.
There was no one, not even her loyal guard, and her door was closed.
He stepped up quickly, his ragged breath echoing in the still air. He checked the handle.
Locked.
“Fern?”
No answer.
She might have still been sleeping. He pulled the chain that held her key out from under his shirt, shaking hands turning it through the lock.
The door opened on squeaking hinges, her fireplace dark.
His wolf pressed forward again, and his eyes quickly adjusted to the low light.
Her nest was still on the floor, but…
It was empty, a blanket dragged towards the door.
“Fern?” he called again.
Her original nest, still destroyed, was also empty.
Her bathing room—empty.
His heartbeat stopped.
“Fern?”
Still nothing.
He took a deep breath. Her scent was thick, but underneath the floral perfume was a fresh thread of fear.
He stumbled back to her nest, falling to his knees. His hand brushed against a pillow, and he picked it up, bringing it to his face.
Her scent overwhelmed him.
He pushed it in further, his chest cracking open as he screamed.
His omega was gone.