I swooped down to ruffle my little brother’s hair.
“Be right back.”
Oslo seemed sad, and I knew he didn’t want this for me because it could take me away from him. Bending down, I looked him right in the eyes, holding his gaze. “If I become queen, you can come live with me at Death Mountain palace,” I told him, and his entire face lit up.
“Really?”
I nodded and he glanced away, no longer able to look into my eyes. He was the most submissive in our family and it made me want to protect him all the more.
“What if you die?” he asked, his voice small.
Cyrus reached out and roughed him up a bit, shaking his shoulders tightly and forcing Oslo to punch him to get him off. “Then she dies with honor and we will howl her name at the moon every year in remembrance,” Cyrus said.
Cyrus was right, dying during the Queen Trials was a great honor.
The contest to become queen only happened when the king needed a wife. My mother traveled to the city and saw the trials with Axil’s father, and three years ago I’d followed the one with his brother Ansel closely from here, but I never got to go see it in person. Axil took the pack from his brother the following year in a challenge fight, leaving him alive as a mercy.
Stepping out of my home, I made my way across the village square. The pack was out and about. Some of the women were skinning a fresh kill and a few men were in wolf form, sparring off to the side and practicing their hunting takedowns. A fresh hut was being built for a newly married couple and the sun was high in the sky. It was a beautiful day in our sleepy village but I knew if I did this, I would be yanked from my normal and into the bustling capital city of Death Mountain.
I knocked on the door of Dorian’s home and he called out immediately. “Come in, Zara.”
I grinned: damn, his sense of smell was second to none. I opened the door and found him eating a plate of meat and potatoes. His wife was tending a pot on the stove and nodded to me as I walked in.
Amara was the most submissive member of our pack. She rarely ever made eye contact and avoided confrontation at all costs. She was a peacemaker, which I loved about her. Any civil dispute was brought to Amara first to see if there was a more harmonious outcome possible. If that wasn’t the case, it was brought to me and I was the harsher problem solver. They called me “the punisher” because I liked to dole out penalties like those that Dorian had given to me, in order to teach wolves lessons they would never forget. Until you had felt the pangs of hunger eating your stomach inside and out, you didn’t know what it was like to want to really want to steal food, and you’d never do it out of boredom. It toughened me and taught me things I felt would serve me better than a slap on the wrist.
I pulled up a chair, dropped the summons in front of my alpha and then sat down.
“I got one too,” he said, sucking on a piece of meat and then he looked up at me and I held Dorian’s gaze. My alpha was nearly as big as a bearin. He was packed with muscle and though he was over forty winters old, he moved with the speed and grace of a trained killer. His short-cropped hair was dark brown, threaded through with gray that bled into his salt-and-pepper beard. But it was his eyes that held me now, deep brown with flecks of yellow; they felt like they pierced my very soul when I looked into them.
Dorian and I sat there for a full minute just staring at each other while Amara whistled to herself and stirred whatever was in the pot on the stove. It felt like a heavy weight had settled over my shoulders while my mind wanted me to look away, but my willpower was much stronger. Just when I thought I might go insane holding that stare, he spoke.
“You really want to do this?” he asked and I broke his gaze to look down at the summons, catching my breath after the sustained eye contact. I had to show him I was capable of this, that I was strong enough to do it.
“I do. I want to bring honor to our people and show the fancy king and his brother that a girl from Mud Flat pack can wipe the floor with any of his city wolves.”
My alpha grinned but then his smile faltered. “And competing for Axil Moon’s heart is okay with you?”
My breath hitched. Dorian had been the one to pick me up from camp that summer. After Axil had broken me, Dorian, Amara and Cyrus had been the ones to help put me back together. He knew how badly Axil’s rejection had affected me.
I met his stare, trying to hide the vulnerability I was feeling. “I have to. I need to show Axil Moon that he was wrong about me.”
Dorian nodded curtly. “Then I have one condition, Zara.”
“Name it.” I sat erect.
“My condition is that you do not forfeit,” he stated. “I want you to be queen or to die trying.”
Chills rushed down my spine and I swallowed hard. Of course I wanted that too. I’d always been taught it was dishonorable to tap out, but … if it really came down to it, could I just … allow myself to be killed to keep honor in my pack?
I had the distinct feeling this was another one of his lessons. To see how badly I wanted this, how ready I was for it.
He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly gleaming with emotion. “Zara, you have always been my favorite. But if you bend the knee to some pompous city wolf, I will have to kill you myself and I don’t want to do that.”
Amara stopped stirring and made a whining sound in her throat. But Dorian’s words gave me pride, there was a compliment layered deep somewhere in there.
“I will win or I will die trying, Alpha,” I promised him.
He reached for the paper and handed me back the summons. “Then reply yes. I assume Cyrus is training you?”
I nodded. “Yes, Alpha.”
“You only have two weeks to prepare. I’ll help train you as well. And Morgan will join us.”
My heart pinched with pride. For the alpha to take time away from all the busy dealings of running a pack of over fifty wolves was a big deal.
“Thank you, Alpha. I’ll make you proud,” I vowed and stood, grasping the summons tightly between my fingers.
He gave me a curt nod and then went back to tearing into his elkin meat. As I turned to leave, Amara streaked across the room and pulled me into a hug.
I was caught off guard at first. Dominant wolves weren’t big on displays of emotion so I wasn’t keen on hugging, but Amara was like a second mother to me. When my own mother died in childbirth with Oslo, I was only eight years old. My father, the last alpha of our pack, before Dorian, had died a few months prior in a bearin attack on a hunting trip. Our entire family was devastated with the loss of our mom and dad.
But the pack had rallied around us, to help make sure we had what we needed until we came of age and could fend for ourselves. They brought food, blankets, came to clean the house and play with us. But it was Amara, who was in her early twenties at the time, newly married to the alpha, who had come every single night for four years and sung me and Oslo to sleep. She would pat our backs and sing old songs that my mother used to when I was a young babe. She taught me how to feed Oslo from a milk bag and to change his soiled linens.
I never forgot that kindness.
“I’ll miss you.” Her voice cracked and my throat pinched.
“I’ll miss you too, Amama,” I said, and she burst into laughter.