RANULF
Our pack leader, Torric, has been a moody bastard since he took a mate. Calmer in some ways, worse in every other.
His audience chamber lies deep in the heart of the den, carved straight from the mountain. Veins of fool’s gold glint faintly in the stone, catching the flicker of torchlight and the dull red glow of the braziers.
Torric sits upon a throne carved into the rock, its high back draped in thick furs that have grown more luxurious since he acquired his little mate. The coal-fed braziers throughout the chamber are new and for her comfort.
The shadows play over his bare torso—broad-shouldered, muscles shifting beneath tanned skin, his dark hair shaggy, and his close-cropped beard streaked with silver. He doesn’t look so different from me, save that he is five years my senior.
“Brother,” I say in greeting, bowing deeply. At my flanks, Alden and Beric follow my lead.
When I glance up, Torric arches a thick, dark brow, managing to look regal and savage all at once. His mate, Elenor, sits curled upon his lap, tiny compared to him, wrapped in one of his furs. He strokes her hair absently.
She darts a glance at us; he growls, low, and she buries her face against his chest.
His two lieutenants—and Elenor’s other two mates—lounge in wolf form to either side of the throne. I have known them all my life, but both curl their lips and growl as if I’m to blame for their mate’s wandering gaze.
“So,” Torric says, voice carrying through the chamber. “You finally built up the courage to come before me and ask.”
A growl rumbles in my chest before I can think better of it.
He smirks. His younger self, before he mated, would have taken me by the throat for such insolence and reminded me of my place. But now, with his tiny mate on his lap, he is far more restrained.
Still, the bastard insulted me first, implying I needed courage to approach him. I did not. It was simply a matter of preparing our chamber for our mate, for whom, I admit, I need his permission to claim.
He trails his clawed finger down his mate’s bare shoulder. She shivers and presses closer. It is a becoming sight, and I struggle not to stare. There are some advantages to the human form, I’ll admit—hands make it far easier to touch and explore a mate.
“An orc patrol has been sighted near the northern border,” he says. “You will remove them.”
“All of them?” There are typically six orcs to a patrol, sometimes with human soldiers under their command.
Amusement curls his lips. “Yes. All of them.”
The imaginary fur along my neck rises in agitation. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“It is the price of privilege,” he says, stroking his mate’s hair again. “Only the worthiest may take a human as a cherished mate.” His gaze softens as he looks down at Elenor, then sharpens again when it returns to me. “Do this, and you will have my leave to claim your desire.”
The nearest brazier crackles, sending up a thin column of smoke.
“We are not like the other packs,” Torric says. “Our bloodline is the oldest, our pack the most feared. There’s a reason that orcs skirt past our borders, and other shifters don’t cross us. That reason is the power of our wolves.”
He leans forward slightly, eyes glowing with a faint luminescence. He is a powerful male and worthy of his place as our alpha. “As is our way, you will complete this challenge. Then, and only then, may you claim your mate before the Goddess, blooded from your kill and in your werebeast forms.”
My wolf’s ears prick, saliva pooling as he imagines tasting her, fucking her, filling her with our seed.
“How you claim her afterward is between you and your mate,” Torric continues. “But the first time, as written in the old laws, belongs to your beast. Will you do this? Will you honor our pack and your wolves?”
“I will,” I say.
Alden and Beric echo, “We will.”
“Good.” Torric’s smiles, pleased. “Then I give you permission, brother, for your triad to claim your wolf tithe.”
My chest heaves. Another of the brazier flares, and sparks spiral upward toward the ceiling.
I bow low, the weight of his command and approval stirring my hunger—for blood, for the hunt, and for the claiming that will follow.
EVANTHE
