He glanced around — then sniffed in the way of wolves who spent far too much time hiding what they were from humans: covertly with barely a flare of his nostrils.“Where’s the Feral King?”
“Do not call him that.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. Though, the reason had less to do with respect for a fellow king and more with my ongoing battle with the mutinous wolf fighting me for control of my body.
“Is Wild still alright to call him?” The Dublin King's tone was a tad — but only a tad — more respectful.“Or is there an Irish pagan title he prefers these days?”
“Wild is fine.”
“Alright then, where’s the Wild King?” he asked.
"Not sure," I admitted, scanning the road for the king who I’d only ever seen travel by foot. But there was no sign of him coming from any direction. “We’ll wait inside the fating stones for him then.”
However, we soon discovered that a wait wasn’t required. As it turned out, I wasn’t the first to arrive.
Upon walking up the stone-covered hill, we found the Wild King crouched in front of one of the standing stones with one arm slightly in front of the other in the wet grass as if he fully intended to pounce on any prey that dared to cross his path — the hunter position, as my Viking ancestors used to call it back when they were still in the habit of running down their meat.
Upon our entry into the circle of standing stones, he rose to his feet — shorter than either of his fellow kings, yet somehow as imposing as one of his druid ancestors.
“Welcome toClocha na Cinniúna.” His eyes glowed bright blue in Ireland’s relentless gray, and he gave us a deep bow that was one part tradition and two parts mocking.“It’s been too long.”
Nearly two decades, actually. The last time we were all together, we’d been confused boys, standing by as Dublin’s father negotiated the peace treaty that merged the Belfast and Dublin wolves into a two-city kingdom and introduced the new Heat Laws. After the Terrible Belfast Mess.
However, Dublin barely nodded at Wild’s mocking formalities before turning his sharp gaze back to me. "Why did you call this meeting? If this is about the pitiful population numbers after our latest zero birth year, I've already got feelers out. I’m in contact with other kingdoms across the world, trying to work out a discreet exchange program."
"According to the Tríbéirríthe, the Scottish Wolves have beaten you to the punch," I said, sweeping my gaze over them. "They’ve already worked out an exchange with a Canadian pack with the opposite problem. Too many she-wolves."
I paused, letting that sink in — the idea of a pack actually havingtoo manyshe-wolves. Then I dropped the rest of it on them. "And those surplus females arrived in the Scottish kingdom town not long ago." Once again, my heart jerked at the possibilities.
Switching to the auld language, I added,“They came from across the sea.”
The Dublin King stilled, like a wolf that had caught the scent of something bigger and deadlier than himself. True, Dublin didn’t speak the auld language — like his father and every Norman king before him. His line, descended from conquerors, had refused to learn it from the start. At this point, it was more than ignorance; it was tradition, a deliberate signal that the Norman Wolves — as they were originally called before a major city grew up around them — were superior to the likes of us.
But this particular bit of Gaelic was different. We had all been made to memorize the prophecy as princes, and forced to recite it before we could claim our thrones, each one of us inheriting the additional title: Keeper of the Prophecy.
Wild, who had tipped his face to the sky, said, "It’s exactly as the Draganclocha Prophecy foretold."
His voice was a mere breath above the wind, and when he slashed his gaze at us, the usual mocking gleam wasgone. "No wonder our numbers have fallen so low. Yer father was right, Sea. It’s time —"
"No." Dublin shook his head, cutting Wild off. "We can’t."
"Wemust," Wild insisted. "The Second Reaping must happen as prophesied."
My wolf thrashed in agreement, ready to claim our queen. However, I kept an eye on Dublin, the king who ruled over the largest population of shifters in Ireland. We were all wolf walkers, but the City Wolves didn’t hold the same cultural beliefs as theshifters who belonged to the Wild and Sea packs — especially when it came to sharing. Also, his family had a spotty history when it came to respecting my family’s long held title of The True King.
“No,” the Dublin King said again. “We cannot engage in a Second Reaping. Our relationship with the Scottish Wolves is still completely banjaxed after the first one. And that was over five hundred years ago!”
"You should know," I said, "that the Tríbéirríthe has also put in an extraction request for a specific female. They believe she’s a potential match. This will take resources — far more than the First Reaping. But they’re willing to fund the whole thing if we deliver her."
"Then it’s settled." Wild pounded a fist to his chest, his electric blue eyes blazing even brighter. "Ye’ve only to say the word, True King, and the Wild Contingent will be ready."
"Right, I’ve a dead serious question for you that’s in desperate need of an answer before we go any further.” Instead of pounding his chest in fidelity, Dublin raised both hands, a sneer curving his mouth. “Are the two of you actually mental?”
Wild let out a frustrated huff and my wolf slammed into my chest in its effort to tear out of my body and rip the voice box from the City King’s sarcastic throat.
Somehow I managed to keep the beast down, and calmly reply, “Dublin, listen, mate…”
“No,youlisten. It’s not the 1500s anymore. This ‘Second Reaping’ — as you two so poetically call yourkidnappingscheme — will land us in deep shite with the Scots and the North Americans this time."
"Only the Scottish Wolves will have reason to complain," I replied as patiently as I could with the beast snarling inside of me. My skinprickled, the urge to shift pulsing through me as my wolf clawed at my control. "These she-wolves belong to a special, mostly Canadian sect. They don’t even acknowledge the North American Lupine Federation, let alone vote in their elections."
