Come for Me, page 3
“Barf,” Taya says.
I fucking love her.
Chapter Four
Alaina
Standing in the Hunter’s Quarters, the alpha and this year’s bachelors prepare for their journey to the royal castle for the Hunt. It’s the morning of, and I can’t stop picking at my cuticles. Am I making the right decision?
Alpha Jack stands in front of Caleb and shifts. Alpha Jack’s wolf—with deeper reddish-brown fur than Caleb’s—is graying. Caleb and the rest of the male suitors in the pack follow. Caleb’s wolf is larger than the others, his size intimidating.
His wolf looks at me and mindlinks, “I’ll see you soon.”
I nod at him.
My pulse quickens in anxious anticipation of the Hunt. Mating Caleb solidifies my future, erases the unknown, and opens the door to unravel the mystery of who I am. I take a breath, squaring my shoulders, nearly imperceivable, as I hold the gaze of Caleb’s wolf.
He notices the correction of stance with a flicker of a brighter gold in his eyes.
Alpha Jack howls and races off in the direction of the Crescent pack.
Caleb takes off after his father, his bounding strides creating distance between us. The other males follow him close.
Luna Kathy clears her throat and claps. “Everyone, while we wait for the men to reach the Crescent pack and get set up, please eat and enjoy yourselves. I will let you know when it’s time for the ladies to start their journey.”
A few she-wolves indulge in the feast before us, gathering energy for their mating. Others graze, giddy with the prospect of a new life and adventure.
“Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have become,” Jemma says to me through the mindlink.
Her attempt to comfort me only solidifies my decision.
Caleb will be my mate.
* * *
The castle oozes with authority when we arrive in the Crescent pack’s territory. The grounds vibrate with energy. Its powerful aura emphasizes the medieval structure before us—thick stone walls defending the pack. The fortress warns any passerby with a silent threat of danger to any who dream of attacking.
The stone was carved from massive boulders that lay throughout the grounds. It was forged from the land and, therefore, appeared as if it arose from the whisper of the Goddess’s command to be centered beneath Her in the night sky. The strength and will needed to create such a masterpiece are evident in its masonry. Though built centuries ago, the building adorns lights, which illuminates the windows and torches guiding our path to our fated mates. My gaze travels up the castle walls and finds an arched balcony with French double doors I imagine overlooks the kingdom.
Our luna leads us through the castle gate to the front entrance, toward the oak doors adorned with iron sigils for protection and carved with wolf emblems. As we enter, she instructs us to line up, to parade past the caged wolves like lambs presented to the wolves for their devouring and through the royal courtyard before we’re released into the forest.
The witch, a tall and slender woman, floats into the courtyard. She carries wisdom, her forty-some years on this earth having carved lines above her brows and softened her smile. Her long, silver hair twists around her shoulders with such a design only achieved by enchantment. It moves as she greets and ushers each pack’s unmated she-wolves through the doors.
As is custom, our packs wait in anticipation. It’s our turn to be greeted by the witch. She approaches Luna Kathy with a smile, grasping her hand.
I stare into her piercing, electric eyes as they reach mine, their depths seeming to know unspoken truths.
The witch grasps my arm but jerks her hand away and rubs her palm, wide-eyed. “You burned me.”
What?
“I didn’t even touch you.”
Why bother defending myself? I shouldn’t be surprised; witches are quirky due to their lack of socialization. Although overall good-natured, dabbling in healing and balancing the elements, they’re more in-tune with their spiritual wellness than their social wellness. Witches also make up a small population compared to the vampire and werewolf kingdoms, so it isn’t often you run into one.
The witch holds her hand out, flipping it over to expose a raw pink patch on her brown complexion.
With my mouth open, I gape at her, not sure what to say.
She smiles wide and squeals with glee.
Oh, she’s messing with me.
I shake my head, pointing at her. “You got me.”
“Bloodhound pack, it’s time for the Moon Goddess’s blessings.”
The witch soothes us with enchantments, stripping our abilities to sense our mates.
She leads Luna Kathy to the doors. “This way, ladies.”
One by one, we file into a line again. As I walk over the threshold, the scent of leather and spice wafts in my direction. My wolf feels restless and calm at the aroma.
Only for panic to burrow deep as I register what this means . . .
Mate!
All the male wolves’ scents are covered . . . Then how is my wolf sensing our mate? Unless the witch missed the enchantment of one lone male. Unlikely.
Whoever I’m smelling must be someone who isn’t participating in the Hunt but was here recently, which would explain why their scent is so strong. My guess is, it’s someone from the Crescent pack who’s been inside the castle walls before. The smell makes my wolf want to roll over and spread her legs.
I lose myself basking in his pure dominance, finding empowerment in his strength, until my anxiety ruins the moment.
If I can smell him, can he smell me?
My breathing hitches as I think of what I could lose if my mate finds me: home. Taya. Jemma. Mom. Me.
My mind fogs over from the overwhelmingly delicious scent, and I picture what he must look like. Who is he?
As I follow my luna and fellow she-wolves through the castle, I try to distract myself with its interior. The grand staircase before us rise to the floors above, winding toward a stained glass ceiling.
Did my mate caress the banister when he left for the ceremony?
I shake my head of its thoughts and shift my focus to the corridor. Great care and skill went into the castle’s construction. Each detail appears purposeful, designed to celebrate the royal pack. Near the ceremonial hall, the craftsmanship of the crown moulding showcases the delicate intricacies of wolves running through the forest.
My mate’s scent has become more potent, making my wolf drunk off the full-bodied essence.
My wolf urges me to find him and make him ours. I imagine basking in his aroma as he fills me with his seed, sinking his teeth into my neck. In excitement, my body buzzes, the promise of my mate’s claim pooling delicious heat between my thighs. The thought of his tongue tasting me and his scent on mine.
Focus, I bark at myself.
The bond is already clouding my judgment and getting in the way of my future. It’s a threat to my plan, holding onto who I am and everything I’ve known and loved my entire life. It dissolves the sheer tether to my mother and severs my chance at finding my origin. Despite what I’m feeling, I can’t want him. But the ache and need settling in my pussy has claimed otherwise.
Caleb will just have to kill him.
Immediate pain and rage boils inside me. I try to shake the feeling by reasoning with logic. My mate could be an awful person who kills without purpose and commits heinous crimes.
I try to hold my breath to avoid inhaling his heady incense.
Turning the corner, I startle at an eruption of growls and shouting as bodies slam against cage walls.
The wolves sense we’re approaching and can hear our heartbeats quicken at the sounds of their fever echoing in the corridor. Snarls and gnashing teeth interweave with the howls and desperate threats of wolves separated from their fated.
If not for the silver and steel surrounding the wolves, strewn across the space would be a bloody mess of fur and bone as they tear apart their competition. Restraints madden the wolves and propel their desire to hunt their prey. They are beasts demanding freedom, demanding their mates.
The instinct to mark and claim fated mates is heightened by the presence of other viable males who threatened their bond and, therefore, their existence.
The white marble floor and silver-coated steel bars of the wolves’ cages are a striking shift from the medieval interior from before.
We are led through the large white hallway with multiple steel doors on each side where the male wolves are. As we walk down the hall, the word mate echoes through the mindlink of my pack along with threats to destroy if they’re not let out of the cell soon.
I try to listen for Caleb, but too many members are talking through the link. My heart races as I think about what might happen if Caleb finds his mate and my mate finds me. Everything I could lose.
Home. Taya. Jemma. Mom. Me.
The words repeat like a mantra.
Each echoing clip of my heels on the marble floor takes me farther away from them and toward the unknown.
I push away the thought.
Pure sounds of chaos surge. Snarling, growling, howling, and whimpering permeates the room.
Over to my left is the redhead from last night, who is biting on her nails and staring straight ahead, clearly trying to dissociate.
Gasps from other she-wolves emit as wolves thrash against the steel doors. The ethereal shimmer, caused by the witch’s glamour on the castle interior, illuminates the white hallway and dances around our feet on our passage to the royal grounds.
My wolf’s fur threatens to burst through my skin with each step.
The witch stops, looks at us, and says foreign words. Our group of she-wolves sniff around.
“Mate” bursts from the females in our pack. A sudden need to shift and run vibrates within us, likely the witch messing with the elements, enhancing our instinctual urges.
Giving in, I dash into the woods when Caleb mindlinks, “I’m coming for you, mate.”
Chapter Five
Dax
“That’s the last of them, boss,” my beta, Sam, informs me as he drops the last of the vampires.
At his feet lies the corpse, bruised and bloody where he’d slain it.
Bodies of rogues and vampires alike lie in the area surrounding my men. These attacks have become increasingly frequent. Our strength and training are tested as the vampires and rogues become more brazen, pushing closer toward our territory.
What did they want?
I rack my brain for the thousandth time. They kill anyone and everyone who crosses their path. And it’s fucking frustrating.
None of my warriors are seriously injured, but that isn’t a surprise. Our bodies will fully heal by the time we reach pack grounds, as if the gruesome scene never happened.
Glancing down at the forest floor, I examine the ringed hand beneath my foot.
Iron burns my nose.
I’ll sever the heads and carve out the hearts of every vampire and rogue if it uncovers their intentions. What’s the point of having a Goddess-given power if it doesn’t lead me to answers? Now more than ever, I need the answer.
My men are depending on me to know. Their lives are my responsibility, and I’m failing to maintain the upper hand.
Never in the history of werewolves have rogues teamed up with new vampires, and it doesn’t make sense why they would start now. We’ve dealt with rogues before, but for the most part, they keep to themselves, not wanting trouble.
My men have been training specifically to combat these new attacks—to protect and destroy our enemies at my command with precision and without hesitation. My warriors are trained assassins, instructed to kill without emotion or regard.
The eyes of the rogues who had fought against their own kind were glazed over and lifeless.
No, soulless.
One had to be soulless to fight against fellow werewolves. We’re meant to be a civilized species; we have evolved. But those massacred at my feet are a sign of the true nature of rogues and vampires, preferring to perish than parlay.
Being in a clan is important for a vampire’s survival and easier access to human blood. This hardship brings uncertainty and instability, not to mention hunger. Like anyone, when hungry, it can be impossible to focus, but for vampires, it’s deadly. It makes them crazed, their careless mistakes inevitable. This detriment leads to their quick beheading under my pack’s canines.
Let tonight serve as a reminder.
“Let’s move out,” I instruct my men.
Any warrior mated will join me tonight except for Sam. Sam and I participated in the Hunt ourselves after we turned twenty-one, hoping to find our mate. Neither of us had, and the constant disappointment was exhausting. Other alphas and betas could take a mate, but being king came with different rules.
I told Sam he had my permission to choose a mate. He wasn’t held to the royal council’s same standards, but Sam didn’t mind not being tied down, allowing him to sleep around. It’d probably take finding his fated mate for him to stop.
Between the increasing rogue attacks and the pressure the council has put on me to find a mate, I’ve never been more stressed. Ever since my parents died and I became king, the privy council has been pushing me more.
Up until now, I’ve dodged their matchmaking efforts and refused to mate if she wasn’t my fated. But at twenty-eight, I’m the oldest alpha without a luna, and my strength has been dwindling. If I want to be strong for my pack, I must take a chosen mate, or we’ll all suffer.
That’s why a marriage has been arranged for me—to a vampire who has a claim to the vampire throne. The intention is to join forces against a common enemy, in hopes the attacks will subside.
Once I mark her as mine and bond myself to her, our combined species will be lethal. Aside from this, mating with a living corpse is comical and far from something I want.
The trek back to my pack is tiring. Normally, I’m relieved to return, but my home is currently overrun by the festivities of the Hunt. I can’t wait until it’s over. The idea of horny males and she-wolves overrunning my castle doesn’t appeal to me.
It’s the same thing every season, yet the futile attempts of unmated she-wolves throwing themselves at me become more obnoxious and pathetic. It never fails. Bitches stray from the Hunt to try and capture my eye. Hoping this would be the year I grow tired of waiting for my mate and choose them, in a desperate effort, they would hand their pussy to me on a platter.
Sometimes, I indulge in their desires to serve their king, but no bitch could fuck me into oblivion and make me stupid enough to mark a chosen over a fated. If only they knew just how patient I can be.
If it weren’t for the council, I’d wait forever for her. But they’re right; my kingdom can’t afford to hold out for their queen much longer.
I’m irritated and exhausted. I don’t have the patience to be a “good host” to greedy she-wolves who await me. They aren’t the release I need. I’ve failed my people by not getting answers.
I don’t want their pleasure. I want their pain.
Normally, when I feel this way, I break in new prisoners to take the tension off. But with attacks happening almost every day, my collection of captives have grown at an impressive rate.
Unfortunately, I’ve broken them all into submission. They’re conditioned to quiver when my boots thump past their cells. When my laughter booms through the dark corners of my dungeon, panic sets in, and they can’t tell from the echoes where I’m coming from or who I’m coming for. The stench of centuries-old piss and sweat follows in response to the terror I instill.
Long gone is the bravery they encompassed when they first entered my lair. The smart mouths I enjoyed smacking learned not to speak unless spoken to and never questioned whether I made good on my threats. I always follow through—an innocent’s life means nothing if my kingdom is at stake.
I can’t relieve myself by breaking in new prisoners. Now I have no choice but to find solace in a naive she-wolf with the first one stupid enough to rub themselves against me.
I won’t just test their limits. I’ll break them.
Unlike the Hunt, I won’t have to chase my prey. They’ll come to me. My power and ability to command will lure them to me, like a moth drawn to a flame.
“Oh, King Dax, I’ll do whatever you want.”
Of course she will, and I always grin. What can I say? I like it when my prey steps into their own trap. It makes for a sweeter kill knowing they did this to themselves.
They don’t make me work for it, but I damn sure make them work for me. They tell themselves they crave my torturous ways to justify not using their safe word. Of course, they always consent to this—I’m sadistic, not a rapist. They’re told they can stop. They have the power to end their suffering. They just never do.
And that’s what makes their willful sacrifice so fucking savory. The chance to be at my side isn’t something they want to forfeit, and in the end, I always chuckle, impressed with how far the next is willing to go. The last one, I had lick my cum off the floor with a leash in hand. Their desperation to climb the social ladder is astounding.
With my attention on them and a smile, they’re caught with no chance of escaping. My facade as a pleasure lord elicits moans and promises to do whatever I want. The man behind the smile is revealed when my true sadistic, defiant nature sets in.
“Whatever I want?” I coo.
In truth, I count on their determination to please their king. I know they will—that’s what makes this game so fun. By the time my canines break their skin enough to have blood trickling down their neck, they’re won over by false promises of pleasure.
They think I’m going to mark them, claim them as mine with my bite.
It gets them every time. I never say I’ll please them, but their fear pleases me.
“Yes, whatever you want!”
Oh, this part’s good, too. Because, by this point, they’re clawing at me, begging for their pleasure god, and I’ve barely touched them. From the moment they tempt me, their soul no longer belongs to a god but the devil himself.
When the test of their willingness begins, I drink in their fear and regret like a lifeline. I enjoy seeing how far they go to make excuses as to why there are tears running down their face. I ask them sweetly if they want me to stop, patronizing them, followed by taunts about how my future queen should handle adventure. Petting their messed-up hair, I tell them it’s okay, that we can stop after all, that not everyone is fit for a king.
