Luna's Heir

5

The hushed murmurings and furtive glances from the other werewolves in the entrance hall only intensified the sudden need to get out—to be anywhere else but here.

“Sorry, I’ll explain everything later,” I said over my shoulder, already making a beeline for the exit.

I stormed through the double doors of Paladin HQ, and some of the pedestrians passing by outside it gasped and jumped back.Ignoring their stares, I descended the steps to the cobblestone street, and just started walking, though I felt like running.

Even while the sun was bright and warm on my face, my heart was enveloped by a cold darkness as hollow and spiritless as the dead’s embrace.

“My name is Marius,” was the very first thing the rogue Alpha had said to me last night.

I then had to suffer through a series of lies and blasphemies spewed by him after that. It hardly mattered I didn’t believe a word Marius had said. The question remained: of all werewolves, why take me?

I was a Paladin Commander, sure, but so were about a dozen others who had been out there last night. And all they seemed to have wanted was to convince me our whole society had been built on lies. It was absurd.

What difference would it possibly have made, in any case, if one Paladin believed them and turned against his city and Prime Alpha?

This was my second concern. If I’d revealed the whole truth of what had happened, especially with Ace listening in, it would have raised these sorts of questions in everyone else’s minds, too. Even Archer and Dexter would start looking at me differently.

No, this was my mess to figure out for myself.

“Find Doxon if you want to know more,” had been the Outsider Alpha’s final words to me before he’d left me shackled to that iron chair to wait out the paralyzer injected into me. “Ask him about your father. He’s an herbalist inside your city.”

As it so happened, I was in need of one—and a healing concoction wasn’t the only thing I was after. I needed answers, and conveniently, I was in the sort of mood to wring every single last one from this rogue spy if need be.

Chapter 3 Kiera

I

mpatience and disgust lined every furrow and crease of the grizzled taskmaster’s face as he studied the crowd of slaves gathering in the courtyard of the enclosure.

While the announcer’s voice called out work divisions and their tasks for the day, Ephrim’s one meaty hand hovered within easy reach above the handle of his stun baton strapped to his thigh.

I watched as his fingers twitched every now and again, as if he wanted nothing else than to reach for his favorite torture instrument—one I was very much acquainted with. My bruised ribs and stiff jaw shuddered in response, and my tummy grumbled its own hollowed resentment at me as well.

“Arryl’s work division, you’re cleaning the bottom floor of Keep Affect,” Bak called monotonously from the front, reading from a piece of paper, as he did every morning. “Marko, the second and third floors.”

His voice quickly faded into the background again as I recalled yesterday’s dizzying blur of hits and snarls. Suffice it to say our bulky taskmaster’s baton had its fair share of action to last him a while.

I’d called him a foul word behind his back, effectively redirecting his cruel paws away from my kid brother.

After my beating, I’d been forbidden from collecting the meager food portion a slave was permitted once a day. The rules were simple: if we didn’t work that day, we didn’t eat. And if our taskmasters wished it, we didn’t eat that day either.

The void in my stomach glared and folded its arms at me. I know it’s hard, but try to be a bit less stupid today, it seemed to say.

As if he could feel my attention, soulless beady eyes shifted to me before I could look away, or at least wipe the scowl from my face. The gloating curl to his lip stretched, and his twitches became more animated as he slid his gaze over my body. Most likely wondering where he’d best like to aim the end of his stun baton next.

If I’d still had some fight left in me, I might have lengthened my defiant stare and deepened my frown, just to show him he didn’t scare me. Instead, I quickly tore my gaze away before he could glimpse the rising dread in them.

“Hey, sis,” Ralph whispered in my ear from behind, almost making me yelp. “Why didn’t you eat the loaf I left by your cot?”

Since I hadn’t been allowed to enter the eating area last night, he’d sneaked a stale slice of bread for me from his own portion. He always did that, but no matter how hungry I was, I never ate anything he brought me, hoping he would stop taking such risks. But he was stubborn—like me. Like our mother had been.

“I told you, I won’t accept anything you risk your life for,” I said flatly, turning to look at my brother.

His cropped russet hair, though somewhat dirty, had a golden hue to them in the morning sun. But his hazel eyes were cast in shadows of disapproval as he said, “As long as you keep trying to get yourself killed whenever Ephrim throws as much as a dirty look at me, I will keep ignoring what you tell me not to do, too.”

We silently glowered at each other for a moment, seeing who would break first. But Ralph must have sensed the defeat emanating from me because his gaze softened with concern almost instantly.

“Kiera,” he sighed, lifting his long, skinny fingers and softly brushing them along my jawline, where a dark bruise stained it. “I’m all grown up now and tougher than you think.”

I pushed down the wetness stinging my eyes. “I would hardly call fifteen all grown up,” I said, letting a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth despite myself.

Ralph loosed a breathy laugh. “Well, if you were able to look after me when you were barely eight, since…you know—I think it’s only fair that you should let me do the protecting from now on.”