Dominic’s attention snagged on that word. Witchcraft. Disgust roiled in his gut. It had been nearly a hundred years since the Northern American packs had put the witches firmly back in their place after they had stupidly risen up against the shifters and vampires, no doubt wishing to enjoy the same power as their European and African sisters. The shifters had decimated their covens, outlawed witchcraft, and branded it the curse it truly was.
But it had come at a cost of blood.
“Keep it quiet,” he said. “If I have to make a spectacle, I will. But not without an actual crime.”
“Understood.” Julian studied him a moment longer than was polite. “You’re not sleeping.”
Dominic’s mouth twitched. “You’re not, either.”
“I do my sleeping on the road, as I always have,” Julian said. “It keeps my sins away from honest bars like this one.”
“What sins?”
Julian’s strange half-smile returned. “I’ll tell you when they’re of use to you.”
Dominic scoffed as Julian melted back into the crowd. Nobody seemed to notice him as he passed, disappearing outside into the cold Alaskan air.
More shadow than man indeed.
Julian had appeared, silent as the plague, about a month before Dominic’s rebellion against his father. He’d been skinnier then, his eyes wilder, his teeth sharper. Not uncommon amongst rogue alphas, but something about Julian was different. He came with information; information he couldn’t possibly have had, on the Volkhov, the Nordan, the Volnoye, even the Severney. His intel reached as far as the old vampire clans in Europe, as far as the hidden witch covens.
He made Dominic an offer: his service, in return for a place in the pack.
It had turned out to be one of the smartest deals Dominic had ever made.
A loud chorus of cheers went up, and Dominic looked over to see what the commotion was about. Seeing who strode into The Anchor, he scoffed and started pouring two drinks.
Arthur Wells, easily a head taller than anyone else in the crowd, grinned as he caught sight of him and started picking his way over, greeting wolves as he went. Looking at him, it was easy to see why everyone insisted on calling the wolf shifter Ice Bear. He was enormous, for one, dressed in leathers and furs with pickaxes at his sides as if he had just time-traveled from the Frontier. His long hair was tied back, his weathered face half-hidden by a thick beard. Three enormous scars ran from his crown to his jaw, the white gleaming against his tanned skin.
Nobody knew how he’d gotten them. Some said a rival in the Nordan Pack, after the role of Alpha. Some said a fight with vampires. Some said he’d fought an actual polar bear.
Dominic didn’t care. The Nordan wolf, Alpha of the other pack that inhabited Skymist, was strong and principled.
“Alpha Volkhov,” Arthur boomed, spreading out his arms as he approached. Behind him, some other Nordan wolves were shaking hands and greeting friends. Dominic pushed off the bar and clasped forearms with his fellow alpha, grip like a smith’s vice. “Five years and the roof still holds. That’s no small miracle.”
“Miracles have nothing to do with it,” Dominic said. “I run a tight ship.”
Arthur’s mouth ticked, which for him was practically a grin. “Aye, you do. Either way, congratulations are in order.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder a moment, surveying the hall like soldiers at the frontlines, the noise a cacophony of celebration. Dominic had stood beside Arthur enough times to know the male’s silences were an ocean unto themselves. He didn’t waste words and didn’t suffer fools lightly.
Arthur’s gaze tracked to the far wall where the hunt banners hung, Volkhov black threaded with gold. “You’ve madegood on what you promised,” he said, “We all wondered what sort of male you’d be. What sort of Alpha. You didn’t have the best example.”
Dominic felt the old burn at that. He kept his voice even. “My father was a lesson. Not an example. Loyalty is not the same as fear.”
“Aye,” Arthur’s eyes were flint for a heartbeat, “and you’ve lived by that. Not always an easy thing for males like us.”
Males like us. Dominic grasped the drink he had poured and downed it in one.
“Julian was just here.”
Arthur turned to him, gaze sharp. “And what has your pet snake found?”
Ignoring the jab—Arthur had always mistrusted his mysterious spymaster—Dominic handed him a drink, “Hybrids. Reports are getting worse.”
Arthur didn’t reply. His jaw worked instead, his fist clenching the glass.
Finally, he spoke. “We’ve found signs, too,” he gritted out. “We’ve been scouting as far as the glacier mouths. There are tracks where there should be none, claw marks too long for a wolf. We put down two near the water north of our border last week. Fought like they were starving. We thought them wild. Like they’ve always been.”
