Chapter 8 - I’ve created a monster

(Alicia)

I frown. What was he on about? I just wanted to go on with my anonymous little life among the humans. That’s what I want, what I’ve always wanted.

He leans forward eagerly, a glint in his eyes.

“Alicia. You are a stunningly beautiful Elven princess who had been doubly blessed by the gods. No one, not even your perfect sister, is that lucky. You are the best warrior that no one knows about or will see coming, and the key to every sensual or fertility dream in this realm. That’s more than one weapon in your arsenal. And handing that over to the enemy, to the one group of supernaturals most hated by the father who had always shunned you... Isn’t that an opportunity?”

I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“You could be hung for less! Shh! And besides, how exactly do you weaponize that?”

He scoffs at me, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Sometimes I can’t believe that you were blessed by both the goddesses of love and of war. Think, Alicia! You have a tactical war brain like none other . Use it!”

I huff as I lean back into my chair and fold my arms over my chest defensively. He has a point. Why have I been unable to apply my big tactical brain powers to this situation and come up with a perfectly masterful solution? Are my father’s manipulative powers somehow overpowering my own abilities?

That’s very likely. It is, after all, the only one of my powers that he is aware of. And that’s why he must be countering it somehow. What I need is distance. More than the four-hour drive I currently maintain between myself and the palace. But with the threat to Luka and the constant wedding appointments with the Devil, I’m not likely to find that distance anytime soon. I will find it when I’m deep in werewolf territory though.

I mull over Darren's very traitorous idea that this marriage farce might just be exactly what I need to free myself from the clutches of dearest daddy and his blessings from Loki. But I would have to sacrifice a lot in the process. Who am I kidding, I’m going to have to make sacrifices regardless, so I might as well put my gifts to work in the process and orchestrate something worthwhile.

Darren leans in, voice low. “Screw your father and whatever plans he has. Don’t die. Scheme. Use that blessing, that brain, that body. Make them fall for you. Gain power. Flip the script.”

I blink at him. “You want me to… seduce the enemy into obedience?”

“I want you to survive, Alicia. And maybe... win.”

I lean back slowly, staring up at the ceiling. A bitter laugh escapes me.

“Fine,” I say. “If I’m the sacrificial lamb, I might as well sharpen my horns.”

Darren watches me with that look he gets when he’s equal parts proud and terrified. “I’ve created a monster,” he mutters.

“No,” I correct him. “You’ve reminded one who the hell she is.”

I reach for my drink again, but Darren snatches it before I can get to it. “That’s enough strategic intoxication for now. You’re starting to sound like a Marvel villain.”

“Good,” I smirk. “Maybe they’ll write a movie about me. ‘Elven Bastard Turned Weapon of Mass Seduction.’”

He cackles and nearly knocks over his glass. “Now that’s a tagline.”

The humor fades again, as it always does. That edge of grief never really leaves.

The very thought of the sacrifices lying await in my near future put my mind on another train of thought.

“What do you know of this werewolf king I’m supposed to hate-fuck into submission ?” I ask, and Darren's eyes light up.

“Well, honey, not a great deal. Only that he’s quite the catch, apparently.” At the lift of my eyebrows Darren starts elaborating.

“He’s in his late twenties, built like every woman’s wet dream and handsome as sin. And you know how the hierarchical werewolf system works. The strongest leads. So he’s physically as powerful as he is politically. Word has it that he’s a fair leader, loved by most. But just like in any kingdom, there are factions internally and pressures externally that plays a part in how he governs his people.”

I groan. “So he’s not even going to be an incompetent slob I can mentally check out on?”

“Nope,” Darren says, far too cheerily. “He’s probably going to be a highly competent, muscular nightmare with excellent cheekbones and the ability to throw you over his shoulder.”

Well, at least I won’t be marrying an unfit, middle-aged slob… thank the goddess for small mercies. But that does beg the question. Why would he put himself up for this marriage rather than subjecting one of his high-ranking subordinates to it? Every other kingdom seems to be doing exactly that and are getting away with it.

My mind drifts to horror stories we told each other as children, the kind that keeps you up at night at the mere thought that you may find yourself alone in the territory of another supernatural species. Everyone was always grossed out by the idea of a vampire sucking your blood, or a witch putting some horrible spell on you that makes your skin burst out in boils. But the scariest was about the werewolves. How they’ll rip your flesh from your body while you’re still alive and feed you to their pups.

I shudder. Of course I know these are all just stories, but when this kind of stuff has been fed to you along with mother’s milk, it’s hard to let go of the prejudices. Here in the city, among the humans, I’ve come across practically every other supernatural race and we’ve all got along just fine. Except for werewolves. I’v yet to meet one in person.

“What’s his name?” I ask, musing that it only occurred to me to ask now.

“Alpha Rocco Silvermane, King of the werewolves and Alpha of the Stormclaw pack.”