Chapter Nine
Sierra
For the rest of the day, I’m so wound up and on such high alert that I get my daily tasks done in a fraction of the time. That leaves room for me to focus on my painting for a few hours—a novelty I usually only experience late at night.
At six that evening, three knocks sound on my front door. This time they’re not booming or invasive—they sound as though a human made them.
Assuming that Mariketa’s dropping by, which isn’t entirely uncommon, I wipe my paint-stained hands on a rag, walk through the house, and open the door without much forethought.
The pleasant mood that was built in me throughout the last several hours as I painted and spent time with Leisel dissipates. The man standing in my doorway is very clearly a mythic—a shifter from the Rockwell Pack, no doubt.
I feel my jaw clench as I regard him. He’s dressed in semi-casual clothing—as the rest of the pack members have been the few times I’ve glimpsed them—simple beige trousers and a blue shirt with buttons running down the front. I’m sure shifters all dress much differentlywhen they’re in their home territories, likely draping themselves in regal, expensive clothes, the prices of which could feed a human family for a month.
Having no interest in conversing with a shifter—neither Leisel nor I owe them anything—I slam the door in his face.
Or try to. He stops it with a big hand braced in the center of the wood.
“Get off my property,” I say between gritted teeth.
He doesn’t appear angry at my hostility, which is somewhat of a surprise, since shifters are known for short tempers and low tolerance of humans. Then I recall Aspen’s words;I have no wish to harm my future queen.At the time, I was too distracted by the upcoming duel to focus much on them. Now, I recognize the undercurrent of what she said—a loyalty of sorts.
Even though I have no intention of accepting Camden, it looks like being his mate automatically puts me at the top of their hierarchy—right next to him. Which means that the pack members just might automatically afford me some measure of respect.
I don’t like getting things automatically. I prefer earning what I have. I work my ass off to earn a livable, somewhat comfortable life for Leisel and me. I’ve worked for hundreds of hours to hone my painting abilities over the years, making myself a decent artist and enabling me to sell some pieces for extra cash when they’re completed. I bend overbackwardto make nice with all the villagers to ensure a safe and pleasant environment for Leisel to grow up in.
I haven’t earned, nor do I want respect or loyalty from any mythics—certainly not from shifters and especially not The Rockwell Pack. Being the soulmate to Camden Kent is the epitome of a joke from the fates, not something I want to dwell on.
The shifter polluting my porch hands an envelope to me, wearing a smile. “The King Alpha and Prince Beta request the presence of their mates at dinner in two hours. It’d be an honor if you would dine with the pack.”
I don’t take it and instead let out a snort. “I’d rather starve, thanks for the offer.” My words aren’t even a lie—I’d rather go hungry than sit amongst the creatures that have ruined humanity with their presence on our planet. Besides, I’m more than capable of making dinner for Leisel and me.
His smile falters slightly. “I’m not sure you have a choice.”
A cold niggle of fear moves through my chest. “I’m not sure I give a shit. I won my duel. Leisel’s underage. Neither of us has an obligation to be near you.”
He clears his throat, shifting his weight. “From my understanding, if you don’t come willingly, you’ll be forced to attend.” Then, pasting on his bright smile again, “The warriors guarding your house will escort you. I look forward to seeing you there.” With that, he thrusts the envelope into my hands and walks off my porch—his stride the same confident and self-assured one I presume all mythics have.
I close the door and resist the urge to bang my head against it. The fact of the matter is that shifters can easily force Leisel and me to join them. I’d rather avoid stressing Leisel out even more than she recently has been. Although dinner with shifters will be an overload of anxiety for both of us, it would be better to go without chains.
If the mutts have any expectation of me acting pleasant, cordial, or even putting effort into my appearance, they’re in for a rude awakening. Even if I wanted to dress up for dinner—which I don’t because I have no intention of giving the impression I care what they think about me—I’d have nothing suitable to wear. I only have clothesdesignated for hunting, farming, mucking out the stables, going into the village, and sleeping.
Walking over to the dinner table with resignation, I tear open the envelope—uncaring that some smudges of paint end up on the expensive-looking paper—and read over the letter.
It’s the same thing the shifter just told me, the only difference being it’s printed in pretty formal script.
“Leisel,” I call out, knowing she’s in her room reading and playing with Chip. She appears in the doorway, looking me up and down with her eyebrows raised in question. I give her a grim smile. “Get dressed, sweet girl. We’re dining with mutts tonight.”
***
Leisel’s hand trembles in mine as I help her off Duchess. Two shifters who were sent to “escort” us—in other words, to ensure we attended—dismount their horses ten feet away.
We stand in front of the mansion where shifters rest when traveling through Aesara—a gothic-looking structure, four stories high, as imposing as it is beautiful. It’s comprised entirely of old stone and has an eerie way of holding one’s attention.
I assume that the shifters want to impress us—as evidenced by the deferential treatment we received from our escorts, the polite way they greeted us, and the small talk they attempted to make. Small talk that was met with one-word answers and then silence. I have no interest in speaking with the creatures that have forced humans to the bottom of the proverbial food chain.
Leisel and I are both dressed in the clothes we wear when going into town—worn-down pants and a shirt that’s a few washes away from falling apart for me, and a newer version of a similar getup for Leisel. Since she’s still growing, her clothes are newer and in a better state thanmine—I buy her new outfits several times a year, whereas the last time I bought myself clothes was when I was eighteen and stopped growing.
One of our escorts, the same man who extended the command for us to join the pack for dinner, walks up to Leisel and me before gesturing towards the open wooden door of the mansion with a smile. “Please, follow me.”
