Help me find the children. Help me understand what’s happening. Tell me how to make things better, and I’ll do it myself. I’ll do everything I can.
When I open my eyes and turn around, I find Stark studying me with inscrutable intensity.
“Are you ready now?” Stark’s words are clipped, but they don’t hold the annoyance I expected to hear. I nod, turning to face Anassa. For a moment I think I see something in her eyes, sense something in the bond, but then it’s gone, whatever it was.
Back at the doors to the inn, a worker appears to lead our wolves away to the nearest stable. Stark hands him a few coins and says, “Fresh meat for both. Make sure it was killed today.”
Inside, the inn is bursting with people driven off the roads by the storm. The main room is large, filled with rows of rough wooden tables and benches where dozens of travelers are seated, eating and drinking. The space is oppressively hot after the frigid outdoors, damp with body heat and smelling of woodsmoke. I shuck off my outer layers, bundling them under one arm.
Stark pushes through the crowd to the innkeeper’s counter.
“Two,” he says to the craggy-faced man standing behind it.
“Alpha Stark! We weren’t expecting you,” the man says with a grimace. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve only got one room left, and it’s… well it’s not to the usual standard that… I can see if one of the patrons can find another accommodation, if you just give me a moment?—”
“No need,” Stark says, turning a glare on me for just a moment. “We don’t want to put you out. We’ll take the room you have.”
Great, I think darkly, everything inside me sinking with dread.As if things weren’t bad enough. Maybe he’ll kill me in my sleep and it’ll be painless…
I briefly consider heading back outside to brave the frostbite instead.
But Stark is already pushing money across the counter, then clasping the man’s hand. The innkeeper leads him across the crowded room and I trail behind, uncertain, but hopeful that whatever is happening is about to involve food.
“You lot, clear out,” the innkeeper shouts gruffly at a group of men huddled together at a booth in a prime spot—near the fireplace, but not so close that smoke or ash might drift our way. They look up, clearly about to protest, and then the words die on their lips.
“It’s Alpha Stark,” one of them murmurs to another, “leader of the Daemos pack…”
“Of course,” the men all mumble, one of them even wiping up some spilled ale from the table before he leaves.
I look at Stark sidelong. Is this how he’s treated by commoners everywhere? No wonder he’s a complete asshole. They’re all scared stiff of him, as if he’s some kind of vengeful god.
Our asses have barely touched our seats when a busty barmaid comes around with two tankards of ale and an overflowing basket of bread.
“Alpha Stark!” she says breathlessly, her chest heaving lewdly out of her dress. “We didn’t know you’d be coming through today. I’m sorry to say that all we have left in the kitchen is some mutton pie; it’s not fancy, but it’s hot, or it will be once I heat it up for you and…” Her eyes move to me, and she leans against the table. I think it’s not an accident that her position puts her chest on full view forAlpha Stark.
“This is the new Strategos Alpha,” Stark says tersely as I roll my eyes. The sounds around us hush, and I hear the scraping of chairs as people all around the inn turn to get a look at me.
Awkward.
I keep my head up defiantly, looking straight forward, refusing to give them the pleasure of seeing how embarrassed I am.
“Of… of course,” the woman says, and inclines her head to me slightly. “Alpha.”
I can tell she wishes Stark weren’t traveling with a female, and for some reason, it annoys me.
“That pie sounds good,” I interject. “We’ll take two big portions. And anything else back there you can rustle up.”
The woman hurries away, though I notice she’s not in too much of a hurry to swish her backside alluringly as she leaves.
“Bit of a cliche, don’t you think?” I say sardonically, turning to Stark. “The barmaid who wants to get in the big bad warrior’s pants?”
Stark raises one eyebrow at me. “Alisa? She owns this place, and another inn down the street besides.”
A flush rises in my face. You’d think I of all people would know not to underestimate a woman, no matter what she looks like.
I bury my face in my ale. The chatter has started up around me again, so I’m safe enough to glance around, reasonably confident that I’m no longer the center of attention.
A few tables are still watching us, but most have turned back toward a stage in the corner where a musician is getting set up. He tunes his instrument for a few minutes and then launches into a song, his gaze seeming to land on me and Stark more often than not. Curious about the strange new Strategos Alpha, no doubt, like the rest of them.
