Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eldrick
“Heave!” Eldrick called.
His alpha baritone buzzed through his body as he led the rebuilding efforts after Riven’s attack.
Sweat matted his brow as he lifted a wooden stake to repair the palisade wall.
Bétar stood on the other side while ahead, other pack members pulled a rope to help hoist it into the air.
They worked as a team—a pack—to ease the last stake left of the southern gate.
It sank with a triumphant thunk.
A few cheers resounded behind them, and Bétar grasped his shoulder. “That’ll do, alpha.”
The title conjured an array of feelings, too many for Eldrick to count, but a hollowness spread in the pit of his belly.
He’d leaned into the infectious energy these last days, grasping onto the sense of purpose pulsing around him and ignoring the creeping sensation that he’d misplaced something but couldn’t pinpoint what.
Without the rest of the Gray Fenris, his parents, or brothers, an emptiness swallowed the village, and of course, Tovi had left, too.
She was the last thought Eldrick had before he fell asleep and the first when he woke, but then the day’s tasks occupied his mind, and he busied himself in his new title.
He had an Earl vote to win, but he couldn’t leave to hold a council with the other alphas until Drengr Village was equipped to face another attack if vampyrs or demons returned.
“What of the new posts?” Eldrick asked.
He instructed a crew to build two hidden tree houses outside the village, doubling the watch so no one would ambush them again. He’d also order pack members to only leave the village in groups of three, and scouting parties had grown from three to five.
“They’re well underway—done by the week’s end,” Bétar said.
“Good.” Eldrick nodded. He grabbed Lucy as she passed and dropped a heavy pouch into her muddy hand. “Feed those who worked today. That should cover it.”
Lucy weighed the coin. “Moons, it more than does, Eldrick.”
“Throw in a pint or two, then.”
The Shield-maiden’s owner winked. “Ah, that I’ll do.”
Eldrick turned to thanking his pack mates for their efforts.
He strategized with a few warriors on additions to the Wall and tidied the remaining mess.
Soon, everyone parted ways for the night with plans in place to return at sunrise the next morning.
Bétar headed home, and Eldrick headed towards Lār, intent on washing before he met with his friend.
They planned to discuss his next course of action to secure the Earl vote.
He’d have to meet with the alphas, one by one, and he witnessed his village come alive as he mulled over ideas.
Cottages glowed onto the streets. Between the dark indigo and warm orange, the sights and colors of home did wonders for Eldrick’s tired muscles.
The smithy’s hearth roared, and his hammer clanged.
The butcher handed out rations from the latest hunt.
The baker’s doors were closed and the chimney stack lifeless, but warm wheat still hung in the air.
Children, some shifted into pups, giggled as their parents tried to wrangle them inside.
Hoots and hollers echoed in the warrior’s barracks, song and games adding to the chorus of cheer.
Hope was on the rise in Eldrick’s home.
He turned a corner, and the hair on the back of his neck rose.
His wolf rose to the surface—Eldrick was being followed.
He sniffed and detected a werewolf, but not one from his pack.
Lār’s stairs ascended ten yards away, but Eldrick’s curiosity got the best of him.
He quickened his gait—the boots behind him quickened—and turned a corner last-minute.
He fell flush against a building, holding his breath, and as the werewolf turned the corner, too, he launched.
Eldrick grasped a fistful of the werewolf’s tunic and shoved him up against the adjacent wall.
“Stars above, wait!” Sam Johannes threw up his hands in surrender, panting.
Eldrick loosened his hold, but didn’t let go. “Why are you following me?”
The young werewolf’s eyes darted down the village streets, apprehension falling off him in waves.
“Did your father put you up to this?” he growled.
Sam’s eyes widened. “No. I wasn’t following following you but seeking you out to . . . talk.”
Eldrick narrowed his gaze, releasing Sam with a slight shove. “Talk then.”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Because if my sister or father discover I’m talking with you, I’m fucked.”
Sam straightened out his tunic, and Eldrick stiffened. Bruises on the werewolf’s chest, neck, and wrists.
“How the hel—“
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Sam hissed. “Please.”
Eldrick’s jaw pulsed. He knew Bjorn was an ass, but the implication that he beat his son made his character far worse than he thought. But he wouldn’t let his frustration out on Sam, and said nothing, respecting his privacy.
“Alright. Follow me. I have somewhere we can go.”
Bétar and Yennifer’s home sat at the center of the residential street, clay front wedged between two wooden cottages. Whitewashed with a fresh set of shingles, the door had been painted a glacier blue, like my mate’s eyes, Bétar had said.
Eldrick knocked, and moments later, the door burst open. Bétar stood there with not a single leather or strap of armor on him, and the burly werewolf appeared relaxed in a simple set of britches and tunic, freshly showered and beard trimmed.
“Wasn’t expecting you for another hour—“ Bétar paused at the sight of Sam, eyes narrowing.
“He needs to talk. Somewhere private,” Eldrick said.
“I see.” Bétar opened the door wider. “Come in.”
A hearth crackled in the kitchen, and a skillet popover steamed on the counter. Glazed short rib surrounded by roasted rutabaga rested next to it.
“Is there any chance Sam can join us for dinner?” Eldrick asked, giving Bétar a pointed look.
“Aye, of course.” Bétar didn’t miss a beat, setting the table for three. “Conversations are better over a meal.”
Eldrick ushered Sam into a chair and sat across from him. “Excuse the two-against-one. Honestly, I’m not sure I can trust you yet.”
Sam laughed. “I don’t blame you. My father’s a prick.”
Eldrick crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, assessing any signs of a lie in Sam, but found his words truthful and body language relaxed.
“For what it’s worth”—Sam paused—“I didn’t agree with the decree, but I’m glad you ascended. It gives the Drengrs a fighting chance at the Earl vote. No offense to your father, of course.”
Eldrick’s lips twitched into a smile. “I doubt he’d take any. He knew where he stood among the other alphas. What did you want to discuss?”
Bétar joined them and pushed the food towards Sam, gesturing for him to start. The young werewolf plated his food, but barely touched it as he spoke.
“My father hates vampyrs,” he said.
Bétar snorted. “That’s a revelation.”
Sam’s expression turned serious. “But he hates the Drengr name more.”
Eldrick dished himself the meat and vegetables, releasing a heavy breath. “Hate is a strong word.”
“It’s the truth. Finton was his brother, you know.
He was Earl during the first third born union and continued to lead vampyrs a century after my uncle’s death.
He’s never forgotten the day when your father, a werewolf a fraction of his age, took the title from him.
This isn’t about vampyrs versus werewolves or defeating the darkness, though he’ll easily spin it as such.
It’s about power. There’s no way in hel he’s going to let you, an alpha even younger, win.
He’ll fight dirty, and you need to be prepared. ”
Eldrick’s wolf wrestled inside his blood. He sat back in his chair, appetite gone. Aramis had led with fairness and had taught Eldrick that lesson in leadership. He wasn’t sure how to fight dirty and was equally certain he didn’t care to.
“There are seven votes, and you must have four to win,” Sam said. “You’ll vote for yourself, as will my father, which leaves five alphas to convince. Skau is a lost cause.”
Eldrick grunted, shifting in his seat. He’d met the alpha from the pack farthest north, a male hardened from his time so close to the Void.
“Skau should want the curse broken more than anyone,” Eldrick said.
“My father doesn’t have friends, but Skau is the closest thing. More than an ally. For three centuries. The Johannes have also helped the Skau pack the most in the last years, and they owe my father their vote. Thorn is tricky, but most likely a no. My father has had his eye on Thorn’s land—“
“Werewolves haven’t fought for land in centuries,” Eldrick said. “Pack land is pack land.”
Bétar nodded his agreement.
Sam sighed. “I told you: My father will fight dirty. He threatened Thorn over the land to sign the decree, and he’ll hold Thorn’s vote over his head at the Earl vote, too.”
Eldrick reared straighter. “But then there’s a chance I can sway him, if he didn’t want to sign it.”
“Even if there’s a chance you’ll win, he can’t afford to piss my father off.”
“But if I become Earl, Bjorn will answer to me, and I’ll protect Thorn.”
“Would you take that chance and jeopardize your pack’s territory on a whim that a thirty-year-old recently ascended will win the vote against Alpha Johannes?”
Frustration leaked from Eldrick, and his knuckles popped as he tightened his hand.
Bétar whistled. “Way to put it lightly, Sam. Nicely done.”
Eldrick cursed. “But he’s right. On paper, Bjorn is the better vote, and as it stands, he has three votes—his own, Thorn, and Skau.”
Sam nodded. “Exactly.”
Bétar crossed his arms and leaned on the table and eyed Sam, both wary and impressed. “How do you know all of this?”
Sam shrugged. “My father drags me to his meetings, and while he thinks I tune out and don’t care, I listen. You have one advantage—the southern packs. Alland and Lindstrom will vote together, and Drabek has their ear. She was the loudest voice against my father for the decree.”