Chapter 20 – The First Real Test

Alexei

The training yard is my new favorite place in this gods-forsaken, polished-to-hell keep.

Mostly because it’s the one place Kieran can’t reasonably tell me to put a shirt on. I know he gets short of breath and dizzy when I’m not wearing one, so I’ve taken to whipping off as much clothing as reasonable possible whenever he’s around.

He’s up on the ramparts, same as yesterday, pretending to listen to some old wolf in a robe, but his eyes are on me. I see the way his gaze lingers on the ink, the way his jaw tightens just a fraction. He’s trying to look annoyed. It’s delightful.

I’m playing the long game, sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t let him enjoy the view while I wait. And I know he’s obsessed with my body and tattoos.

“Again, Tarek!” I bark, turning back to Vorlag’s nephew. The kid is still clumsy, all brute force and no finesse, but he’s trying, and I can respect that. We had a rocky start, but he doesn’t give up and is actually listening to what I’m trying to teach him.

“Stop swinging like you’re chopping wood! You’re fighting a wolf, not a tree. Use your feet!”

He grunts and comes at me again. I disarm him in two moves, sending his blade spinning into the dirt.

“Better,” I lie, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re only mostly terrible now. Go get some water.”

He gives me a grudging, resentful nod and stomps off. The other warriors are watching me with a new, wary respect. Ever since the spar with Kieran, they’ve decided I’m less of a monster and more of a natural disaster they have to learn to live with.

I’m about to call the next pair when a guard comes sprinting into the yard, his face pale with panic. He doesn’t even stop to breathe, just makes a beeline for the ramparts where Kieran is standing.

I’m too far to hear the words, but I don’t need to. I see the way Kieran’s entire body goes rigid, his polished mask cracking into genuine alarm. He says something sharp to the guard, then turns and disappears from the parapet, clearly heading down.

A knot of unease tightens in my gut. My wolf, which has been lazily enjoying the sun, lifts its head. Ours is in trouble.

A moment later, Kieran storms into the yard, with Marcus and the pale guard at his heels. His face is tight, his deep blue eyes dark with worry. He doesn’t even glance at me, his focus entirely on the group of warriors.

That alone makes me want to kill something. He’s upset, and my first instinct is to find who did it and remove their spine.

“Alpha?” one of the older warriors asks, stepping forward.

“The southern supply shed,” Kieran says, his voice tight, but carrying. “It’s been ransacked. Grain, dried meats, medical supplies, all gone.”

A collective, ugly murmur ripples through the warriors. Important supplies have been stolen from within the keep’s walls.

And then, right on cue, Vorlag appears, shoving his way through the crowd like a ship breaking ice. He looks furious, but there’s a gleam of triumph in his eyes that makes my blood boil. He’s been waiting for something like this.

“This is what your weakness has wrought, Alpha!” Vorlag snarls, spitting the title like an insult.

He stabs a thick finger in my direction. “I warned you! You brought this... this animal... into our keep, and now our stores are gone! He’s a Redmaw spy, and he’s just signaled his pack that we are weak and undefended!”

Every eye in the yard swings to me. I don’t move. I just cross my arms, leaning back against the weapons rack, and try to look bored. Inside, my wolf is pacing, furious.

Not at the accusation, I don’t give a shit what these sheep think, but at the way Vorlag is speaking to Kieran. The way he’s publicly challenging him, trying to make him look stupid.

I see Kieran flinch. His face goes pale, his hands clenching at his sides. He’s caught, and he knows it. He’s trying to hold a fractured pack together, and this old bastard is trying to start a mutiny. I want to step in, to put my hand on Kieran’s shoulder, to tell Vorlag that if he uses that tone again, I’ll be using his teeth as dice.

But I hold back, just barely. This is Kieran's play.

“You have proof of this, Vorlag?” Kieran asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“The proof is in the empty shed!” Vorlag bellows. “He’s Redmaw! What more proof do you need? He’s been assessing our weaknesses, our warriors, our stores... and now he’s made his move! Seize him! Execute him before he brings Brannagh’s entire army down on us!”

A few of Vorlag’s cronies step forward, their hands on their blades. The rest of the yard is frozen, caught between their old loyalties and their new Alpha. And maybe the fact that they don’t think I’m a complete asshole.

Kieran is trapped. If he executes me, he proves Vorlag right and admits his own judgment was flawed. If he defends me, he looks weak, like he’s protecting his asset over the good of the pack.

I watch him struggle, his throat working. He needs an out. And I’ll be damned if I let him fail.

“Hold on, grandpa,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the silent yard. I push off the rack and saunter forward, not even bothering to look at Vorlag. My eyes are on Kieran.

“Are you always this dramatic, or is today special? You’re making the prince here all tense and that’s usually my job.”

“You dare speak, Redmaw dog!” Vorlag spits, turning his rage on me.

I ignore him completely, my gaze fixed on Kieran. I give him a slow, cocky smile. “Alpha,” I say, deliberately respectful. “Go look at the shed. I haven't seen it, but I’ll bet my next meal it’s sloppy work, done with no finesse.”

Kieran’s eyes, which were dark with panic, sharpen. He catches the lifeline I just threw him. His spine straightens. The pretty prince fades, and the politician, the Alpha, takes his place.

“Sloppy, Basov?” he asks, his voice smooth, picking up the thread.

I smirk, finally deigning to look at Vorlag. “You think I did this? Gods, you’re even dumber than you look. Where would I hide everything? And if a Redmaw team wanted your supplies, they’d have emptied all the sheds, killed the guards, and left a sigil burned into the wall so you knew exactly who’d done it.”

A gasp ripples through the crowd. Vorlag’s face goes from red to a fascinating shade of purple. He’s been outmaneuvered.

Kieran seizes the opening like the predator he’s learning to be. He turns to Vorlag, his voice cool and clear. “An excellent point, Basov. Your insight into thievery is as impressive as your insight into battle.”

He pins me with those beautiful eyes, and I see the calculation in them, the spark of his sharp mind. Gods, that’s hot.

“So,” Kieran continues, his voice ringing with newfound authority, “You’ll find the real thief for me.”

I almost laugh. He’s brilliant. He just turned Vorlag’s public attack into a brilliant political move.

“You have twenty-four hours, Basov,” Kieran commands. “And you’ll be under Marcus’s direct supervision. He’ll be with you every step you take.”

I’m impressed. Deeply. He didn’t just save me, he saved himself, asserted his authority, and integrated me into the pack in one clean stroke. Sure, Marcus will be trotting at my heels as a necessary leash, but I’ll be doing a very important job for the pack. And I have no doubt I’ll be able to track down the culprit.

I want to kiss him. Right here, in front of everyone.

Instead, I give him a low, slow, deeply inappropriate bow, my eyes never leaving his. “As you command, Alpha.”

I see the fight in his eyes to keep from blushing.

I straighten up and walk past him, deliberately letting my arm brush his. The contact is brief, just skin on fabric, but I feel the jolt that goes through him. I lean in, my voice a whisper meant only for him, “Try not to miss me too much.”

He goes rigid, his breath catching.

“Get out of my sight, Basov,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. Just the breathless shock of a man who’s realizing the game is far more interesting than he thought.

I wink at him over my shoulder. “I’ll be back by your side soon, prince.”