Chapter Two
Prince Blackfire, Heir of the Crone Pack.
It began with a song that should never have been sung in the Crone pack lands. The orchestra played the forbidden song as if it were a song that marked them with death and this was their last performance. They sang the song of the shifters of ancient times, of the long-lost world that once thrived under the leadership of the lost god—the lover of the three goddesses, who betrayed them. They sang of a forgotten world, once mostly inhabited by humans until the goddesses appeared and changed everything. They sang of the forbidden fourth pack lands, where creatures of darkness and pain ran the world until war shook the continents and the world blew apart. The song lasted all of twenty minutes, every lyric held close in the hearts of all the twohundred people who watched, and when it was done, a cloud of smoke washed away the orchestra like they never existed.
The song vanished with them.
For it was a song of the truth, and the truth? The truth is more dangerous than anything this world has to show. No one walked away from the theatre that night except for me. I was five years old, and I crawled out from under the chair where my father had hidden me and protected me with his power—and his life. I remember darkness and blood and nothing else. That night took everyone from me—my mother, father and brother, and all the nobles who fought for the Crone Pack and its wolves. All the good in the world was gone, and it left me…a child born wrong.
I don’t know why the goddesses decided to make me different—cursed, as my uncle calls me. Every other wolf in the Crone Pack is blessed with vibrant red flames, and I got stuck with flames that feel like ice, that are pitch black and unnatural. If I weren’t the heir to the Crone Pack, I would have been killed as a baby when my powers first developed.
I never forgot that song of the creatures of old, even as the world forgot they ever existed. I stare at the burnt-down theatre in the distance as I lean against the arched window. The rest of the inner city is crested with red brick towers, lush with trees and plants, but that theatre is untouched. A warning.
Turning my head side to side, I crack my neck before turning back to the room, focusing once more on my uncle. I should feel some loyalty to the uncle who found me starving and wandering in the streets three weeks after my parents’ death. He became alpha of the Crone pack lands, and I became his ward, but then he began to teach me what it meant to be an heir. He branded me with fire and made sure I could never kill him. That was just the beginning. His beatings shaped the relationship we have now…and I want the fucker dead.
My uncle looks nothing like my father did, and I know it pisses him off that I am built like my father. My father was everything an alpha wolf should be—a tall, massive man that people respected if not feared when he walked into a room. My uncle Vargoth is…smaller.Weak.He has the height, but his frame is thin, and it would be so easy to knock him out with one punch.
I’ve fantasized about doing it over and over, and every time I do, the mark on my neck fucking burns like it can sense my betrayal. My uncle has never needed the bulk of a normal wolf shifter, not when he has old magic in his veins. Everyone in his court, including me, is marked by his magic and forced to be loyal to him. Anyone who didn’t obey found themselves dead or worse. Vargoth is vicious and nasty when he shifts too.
His eyes turn to me, and I quickly keep my features blank. The red burning fire flickering inside his eyes is the only part of them that makes me remember he is related to me. His eyes are exactly the same as my father’s were. I can tell that he’s getting annoyed with the beta advisor, the twelfth one this year—and it’s only April—because the idiot is still rambling on. He began this discussion two hours ago with taxes, fights, and other shit the alpha is meant to care about. My uncle does not. Finally, he says something interesting.
“We caught the Maiden Pack’s spy and quickly eliminated him.” The dumb beta puffs out his chest like he should be proud of that. He is dead.
My uncle’s hand lashes out, and pure red flames erupt around the beta advisor. There goes number twelve. “Why am I surrounded by useless wolves who know nothing?” The beta is screaming now, the sound rocketing off the walls. My uncle lectures him like he isn’t burning the wolf alive. Been there, done that; I’ve seen this too many times. “How do we find out ifthere’re more spies if you’ve killed the one that you managed to find? They’re no use to me if they’re dead.”
The beta is nothing but ash on the floor within seconds. Vargoth steps through the ash, marking his shiny shoes, and snaps at me. “Blackfire, we’re going to need a new advisor.”
“I can see.” I drawl. “Unsurprisingly, not many volunteer for the job as you keep killing them.”
“Careful, boy,” he growls at me. I push down my wolf’s immediate reaction.Kill him. Destroy him. Rip him apart.My wolf doesn’t understand that the brand on my neck is laced with magic and that, if I did any of that, I’d die too.
I bite down on my tongue as he goes back to his desk—my father’s desk—and sits down behind it. “We keep finding more of their spies within the castle, but they must be getting in somehow. Someone in our court must be letting them in.” He rubs his smooth, sharp chin that juts out of his face. “It’s almost like the Maiden Pack wants a war. Stupid fools.”
“Water and fire clash often,” I carefully respond. I can’t let him know that I’m the one who lets in the spies.
His teeth snap. “I have my spies in their districts too, in their lands, and maybe it’s time I used them. Show the Maiden Pack’s weak alpha that we are not to be fooled with.”
“Yes, Alpha,” I manage to push out. “I have a message for you from ‘them.’” I look him in the eye to make sure he knows I’m no longer talking about the Maiden Pack.
He looks away for a second before hiding his reaction when he faces me again. “And?”
“They sent back your message and claimed they do not wish for a meeting. The last visit, twelve years ago, will be the final visit to our shores and packs,” I answer, remembering the letter that came from the sky. I don’t know who they are—no one but the alphas do—and yet my uncle is desperate to have them visit. He calls them oblivion.
“Fine. It was expected and they will change their minds in the end.” Vargoth links his fingers and leans back, watching me for a long moment. I tense, like I always do when his attention is on me for a moment too long. The kid I used to be as he held me down and beat me senseless flashes into my head. “The Folkland is days away, Blackfire. This is everything I have prepared you for.”
I frown. Prepared for? I will be forced to marry whichever wolf manages to win the Folkland for the Crone Pack. Male or female, my uncle won’t care. The laws of our country do not care, and as far as Vargoth is concerned, he would be happy if it were a male. I wouldn’t have any heirs, and his children would take my position in time. I’ve no interest in this barbaric shitshow that is about to happen, and marrying someone is fucking dreadful. I’ve been alive for all of two hundred years now, and marriage has been easy to avoid. I like women for a week or so, and that is it. I always make sure they know what they are getting with me.
My dark flames dance around my arms under my shirt, like they do when they sense my discomfort. One of them shapes into a will-o’-the-wisp, a beautiful little creature made of black flames, and peeks out my cuff for a second before disappearing. “I know my duty is to marry.”
“That is not what I speak of,” he cryptically answers.
I go to question him, but the door opens, and we both look over as my uncle’s mate walks in, straight through the ashes of the dead beta. Her hips sway on purpose, her long red hair falling down to her ankles, and she always wears practically nothing. My uncle, I presume, likes that. If I were blessed with a mate, there is no fucking way I’d let other males see what is mine.
She looks at me for a second, lust flickering in her eyes, and it makes my stomach turn. She is like most of the women here, who hang around the castle, hoping and praying that one of uswill look their way. My uncle sleeps with most of them, and Sidia is often there to join in. But, as far as I know, she isn’t touched by other males unless my uncle wants something from them in exchange.
I have no interest in the women inside this place. All of them are weak and useless. My uncle’s mate is not weak; she is a rare omega, with the power to heal her mate. It’s another reason my uncle is not dead. Between his magic, her healing, and his branding marks…he is practically unstoppable. I’m sure that’s the reason he chose her as his mate. They aren’t fated mates as far as I am aware, but they share a mate mark and a marriage mark. Mate marks are the third most powerful mark, second is the marriage mark and the most powerful is a true mark for fated mates. Fated mates are becoming a myth and a forgotten gift from the goddesses. I know I will never find mine; I was told she was dead. Both the mate mark and marriage mark are glowing on Sidia’s breasts, which are on show at all times. I cross my arms tight. “What do you mean, Vargoth?”
“You’ll be chosen,” he simply answers. My head shoots back to my uncle. Sidia slides onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and begins peppering kisses against his pale skin. His hair is orange and looks burnt under the lights of the office. “Don’t be concerned; killing is easy for you, Blackfire. I made you into a weapon, and there is no better place for you than the Folkland.”
