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Chapter 30 - Augustus

As the Alpha king of the Northern pack, I inhabit the Kault Castle at the center of the territory. The castle has its own greenhouse, private woods, access to the city, and enough security to keep an army at bay.

It’s medieval and has been inhabited by my grandfather’s grandfathers. The place is all grandeur and ancient architecture, with efforts to maintain the old stones throughout the years. As the coldest part of the Kault territory, we need the thick walls. The endless chimneys and fireplaces.

All four of the pack holdings used to be like that—old buildings passed down through the lineage. At one time, the alpha king’s home was undoubtedly the oldest in the area.

But that isn’t the case with the Southern pack. Denvil’s place is a little different than mine.

Upon taking over from his father, Denvil’s father decided their ancestral home was no longer the right move for the king. He demolished the old Southern keep—which was less like a castle and more like a palace—and built a state-of-the-art, modern, high-tech base for the ruling family to inhabit.

Where the Kault Castle is all gray stone, murals on the ceiling, dripping with gold and jewels, the Southern Pack Center is all white squares, sharp right angles. Like it was built from a Lego set using only white blocks.

It’s a little jarring to go from the Northern territory’s domed ceilings, crown molding, fine wooden carvings, and frequent art to this blank white slate. It’s just as big—and likely even more expensive, or at least expensive in a different way—with cavernous rooms that echo when you walk through them. Though you can’t actually see the technology baked into the place, it’s not hard to imagine it scanning you when you walk in, doorways that could slide shut in a heartbeat.

It’s what one might imagine the afterlife to be like—white. Plain. Endless.

And we walk through the place now, footsteps echoing through the main hall as we follow Denvil to the meeting room; I try not to let the eerie look of his home get to me. I try not to think about Mylah, back at home.

I try not to think about touching her, holding her body in mine. What she must be thinking right now, since I haven’t been to see her.

Well, in a way, I have. Lingering outside her door, breathing her in. Thinking that I might just come in. Explain everything.

For the past few days, I’ve been thinking.

I am going to move her to a Kault outpost. I am going to explain to her why I cannot claim her, why I can’t be with her at all. I can’t expect Noemi to tolerate that. I’ve already decided my children won’t see that behavior in their parents.

I’ll tell Mylah that she can have everything she wants. That she will be kept safe and cared for during her heats.

But that I can’t be with her.My wedding is quickly approaching, Kellen and the other counselors making a big deal about holding the date—the same date that my mother and father got married. And my grandmother and grandfather before that. A pack tradition, apparently.

I couldn’t go to Mylah and renew her scent on me, only to see Noemi again for our planning meetings—asinine conversations about flowers and tableware that Kellen insists are important.

When I tried to bring up our discussion before, the fact that Noemi clearly scented Mylah on me, she shut me down just as swiftly.

“I’m just happy to be here with you, Your Majesty,” she’d said quietly, staring at the flower arrangements, moving a winter rose slightly to the left. “I am happy that our union will proceed exactly as planned.”

And it will.

Noemi is a political marriage, not just because she’s in the Southern pack—my bond with Denvil is close enough that I wouldn’t need that. It’s her ties to outside packs, and specifically the Oceanic one nearest us, that makes her far more useful. To call on distant cousins for help is always more successful than asking strangers.

And Gavyn is a threat right now—the last thing I need to do is jeopardize the trust of my packmates. I worry they have already been falsely perceiving me as weak. I might be the alpha king, but that title doesn’t come without challenge.

I am a stronger and better fighter than every alpha in my pack, but facing challenges from pack mates is not something I want to deal with at present. We may need to fight Gavyn’s forces, or something even bigger. The last thing we need is our best fighters turning against me, instead of the enemy.

Besides, it’s not just challenges to me that would be a problem, should I make it clear that Mylah is my fated mate. She’s already in danger, just living as an omega. But claiming her publicly would increase that danger ten-fold. Capturing her would mean threatening me.

I can’t do it.

For her sake, for the sake of the pack.

What I want is the least of my concerns.

“Augustus.”

I blink out of my thoughts for the hundredth time and focus on my three friends, who are all staring at me with concerned expressions. Denvil’s holds a hint of murder, but I know that’s not for me—it’s the fact that we’re finally meeting with Gavyn, and the Southern pack leader believes without a shadow of a doubt that Gavyn and Gavyn’s men murdered those shifters.

We’re in the large meeting room in the Southern pack center, tall white ceilings and glowing LED lights making me feel like we’re in a spaceship. We’re on a raised platform at the front of the room, Denvil sitting at the center, Zade and me on one side, Brack on his other.