★AZRAEL★
Noah followed close on my heels as I entered the council chamber, situated at the very heart of Pack territory. It was a wide room built of stone and timber, worn down from years of ancestral use. Firelight flickered along the walls, casting subtle shadows across the floor. At the centre, my throne overlooked the space where wolves stood to speak — not elevated by much, but positioned so that no one who entered could forget who ruled the room. It was neither grand nor comfortable; it was solid and watchful, possessed of the kind of quiet authority that made even seasoned wolves choose their words with care.
The chamber was already loud when I took my seat, two mid-ranking wolves arguing as though they had not noticed my arrival at all.
"They crossed first!" Rurik, one of my strongest fighters, snapped at the man standing opposite him. "Everyone knows the eastern ridge belongs to the Ashbourne line. My father hunted there — my grandfather before him."
Kellan, who could be considered Rurik's equal in standing if not in temperament, scoffed beneath his breath. "Your father does not own the forest, nor does your grandfather. The boundary shifted after the last flood. You simply dislike that you are no longer feeding as well as you once did."
My eyebrows climbed at the audacity of it. My gaze moved to Rurik, and he was, quite plainly, livid.
"I dare you to repeat that."
"Enough." I cut through the noise at last. The very last thing I required on a Tuesday morning was a migraine born of grown wolves behaving like quarrelsome pups.
Both men turned to face me, their expressions still tight with anger.
"You followed Kellan's scent into the ridge?" I asked Rurik.
"Yes, my king. I did."
"And you challenged him?"
Rurik's brows drew together. "I did not challenge him. I issued a warning."
Kellan scoffed. "My king, he bared his teeth and rushed me. That can hardly be characterised as a warning."
They returned immediately to warring with their glares.
"Did you hunt past the marker stone, Kellan?"
Kellan lowered his gaze, though he raised it again promptly. "Yes. But I did not cross to provoke him."
"Then enlighten me as to what your purpose was." Rurik's lips twitched.
I watched them in silence, my fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the arm of my chair. Then, with a measured exhale, I spoke.
"The land belongs to no bloodline. It belongs to the Pack, and the Pack has no use for two wolves tearing at one another over wounded pride."
Rurik clenched his jaw. "So what is to be done?"
"You will both patrol the eastern ridge together for the next two weeks," I said. "You will hunt together. Mark together. Should either of you provoke another altercation, neither of you shall set foot there again."
Kellan's frown deepened. "That is your solution?"
My gaze hardened. "Consider yourselves fortunate that it is."
Neither wolf spoke further. They dipped their heads in submission, and the tension in the room eased only once I motioned for the next matter to be brought forward — though in truth, my attention had already drifted entirely. My mind was not on whatever the elder was saying. It was on the small, warm presence I had left sleeping in my chambers that morning.
I found myself thinking of her form curled against the sheets, of the quiet ease of her company the previous evening, of the way she had rested her hand in mine as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She had not yet touched me — not in the way I sometimes permitted myself to think about — and yet even that small contact left me more settled than I had any right to be.
I ought not to have entertained the thought further, because the thirst came for me without warning, clawing at my throat and hazing the edges of my vision in an instant.
I rose abruptly, cutting off the elder mid-sentence. "Excuse me," I said, and left the chamber with Noah at my back. I took the stairs quickly to my private room and pulled one of the stored blood vials from the cabinet. I uncapped it and drained it in a single motion. It was insufficient, so I took two more. The thirst did not leave entirely, but it receded enough to breathe.
I composed myself and returned to the council chamber. Noah fell into step beside me, speaking in a low voice about vague intelligence he had received — rumours of rogue vampires stirring near the eastern border.
★
The mid-morning training session was nothing short of brutal. I had deliberately paired Rurik and Kellan with separate wolves; had I allowed them to spar with one another, there was every chance at least one of them would not have walked away.
The young wolf I was paired with was good. Considerably better than I had anticipated — well enough that I found myself asking who had trained him. He named Rurik without hesitation. We sparred at length, until the boy managed a shallow cut across my lower abdomen.
He was not sorry for it. If anything, the injury seemed to delight him, and something in me simply snapped. I came at him with a force that bore no proportion to the offence, and it was only when Noah pulled me back by the shoulder that I registered I had pressed the boy to the ground with my sword at his throat. Fear had replaced the triumph in his eyes entirely.
I released him, stepped back, and left the armory without a word.
I returned home for lunch, bathing first. I did not find my wife in the bedroom nor the library, which narrowed her whereabouts considerably.
After dressing, I went to the garden. I found her seated beside my grandmother among the herbs, the two of them laughing together over something I had not heard. A surge of protectiveness moved through me — swift and unbidden — and I was not entirely certain what to do with it.
I walked toward them. My wife noticed me first and smiled.
"You are home," she said, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked me over.
"I am." I held her gaze.
"Grandmother Isolde was telling me about your fondness for antiquated things." She laughed softly. I spared a glance at my grandmother and offered a brief nod in her direction.
"Was she indeed." My wife laughed again. "Lunch ought to be ready by now."
She brushed off her skirts and rose. "I believe so." She glanced down at my grandmother. "Grandmother, will you join us?"
"No, no. You two go ahead — I have somewhere I must be."
I narrowed my eyes. I sincerely hoped she was not referring to the Prophet.
I escorted my wife back into the main house and through to the dining room. She took her place at my right, and we began our meal.
"The wine tasting event has been cancelled," I said. "For undisclosed reasons, apparently."
"Has it?" She could not conceal her relief. She must harbour a particular aversion to human gatherings.
"Mm." I paused. "A young trainer managed to injure me this morning."
She set her cutlery down at once, her eyes coming up to mine. "Where?" she asked quietly.
"My lower abdomen. It has already healed." As swiftly as the wound had appeared, it had closed. "He is a rigorous fighter. I cannot fault him for it — I was much the same at his age."
"Were you?" Curiosity softened her expression.
"Yes. My father ensured I learned to fight with rather less mercy than most." The memory surfaced briefly — cold, relentless, without a single word of encouragement — and I set it aside just as quickly.
"Ohh." Her eyes narrowed faintly, as though she were filing the information away for later.
★
After lunch, I excused myself to my study to attend to a accumulation of paperwork. I had not been at it long when the cough rose without warning. I pressed the handkerchief to my mouth and waited for it to pass.
When I drew it away and looked down, the blood was darker than the last time. Heavier too.