The Second Mark

The first sign that something was wrong was when Vaelbor Dracai’s wolf began to howl inside his head. Run. Vaelbor tightened his fingers around his silver goblet. Across the hall, three hundred wolves raised their glasses as Alpha Rhaevon Therys concluded his speech. “To peace between our packs!” The crowd cheered. Vaelbor didn't drink. Something is wrong. “I can feel that,” he muttered. The woman beside him turned. “What did you say?” Zylara Miklun’s crimson necklace glittered against her black gown. She followed his gaze toward Rhaevon, the Alpha of Oryndai. “Has he offended you again?” “Not yet.” “Give him time.” Vaelbor almost smiled. Rhaevon had spent the evening praising unity while reminding everyone that his pack possessed less territory, fewer warriors, and little influence over the northern trade routes. His polished smile did nothing to disguise his resentment. Vaelbor placed his goblet on a passing tray. “Stay here.” Zylara caught his wrist. “Must you spend every gathering looking for a fight?” “I’m not looking for one.” “No. You simply find them.” He kissed her forehead before leaving. “Come back before the next dance,” she reminded him. “You promised.” “I remember.” The mark beneath Vaelbor’s left collarbone warmed as he passed her. A dark crescent shaped like wolf’s teeth, it had appeared years ago, confirming what neither of them had questioned since. Zylara was his mate. One soul. One bond. One mate. There were no exceptions. Vaelbor crossed the hall, and wolves stepped aside. His attention remained fixed on the eastern doors. “Any disturbances?” he asked a nearby guard. “None, Alpha.” “Double the courtyard patrol. Quietly.” The guard bowed. When Vaelbor turned, he noticed a young woman standing beside a pillar. Her dark-green dress hung loosely around her shoulders, and several strands of brown hair clung to her cheek. She held a glass of water in both hands. A servant stumbled nearby, scattering spoons across the floor. While others stepped around him, the girl bent to help. Vaelbor watched her return the spoons. Then she looked up. Their eyes met. She immediately looked away. Something pulled beneath Vaelbor’s ribs. His wolf stopped pacing. Mate. The word struck with such force that Vaelbor went still. Impossible. He already had a mate. He had felt the bond awaken with Zylara, had watched the mark appear beneath his skin. There was no mistaking it. Yet his wolf lowered its head toward the girl. Ours. “Vaelbor?” Zylara approached, studying his face. “You look as though someone has threatened to burn down your kingdom.” “Have they?” “Not that I know of.” He glanced over her shoulder. The girl’s expression had changed. A broad-shouldered man wearing Oryndai’s insignia had approached her and seized her upper arm. Rhaevon. The girl stiffened. “What’s her name?” Vaelbor asked. Zylara followed his gaze. “One of Rhaevon’s attendants, perhaps. Why?” “Find out.” Before she could question him, a sharp c***k echoed from the eastern doors. A guard staggered into the hall, clutching his chest. Behind him, another man lay motionless, blood spreading across the pale stone. The music stopped. Someone screamed. “Lock the doors!” Vaelbor ordered. Guards rushed into position as guests scrambled away from the entrance. Vaelbor reached the wounded guard and dropped to one knee. “Who did this?” The man’s lips trembled. “Courtyard…” He coughed blood and went limp. Vaelbor checked his pulse. Nothing. “Beta!” His second-in-command hurried over. “Seal every gate. Search the grounds. Nobody leaves until we find the attacker.” “Yes, Alpha.” “Bring them to me alive.” As the Beta departed, Vaelbor scanned the hall. Rhaevon was shouting orders from the musicians’ platform. The young woman stood several steps away, her abandoned glass lying beside her feet. She looked at Vaelbor. This time, she didn't look away. The pull beneath his ribs tightened. His hand flew to his chest. Pain erupted beneath his collarbone. Vaelbor sucked in a breath as the mark beneath his skin burned like molten silver. His wolf slammed against his mind, its howl drowning out the voices around him. Mate. MATE! He staggered. Zylara seized his shoulders. “Look at me!” He tried, but her face blurred before his eyes. Then, abruptly, the pain stopped. Silence swallowed his wolf. Vaelbor lowered his hand. Every wolf nearby stared at him. His jacket had split near the collarbone. Beneath the original crescent, another mark glowed against his skin: two interlocking crescents, silver-black and unmistakably new. A second mate mark. Impossible. He touched it. It pulsed beneath his fingertips. Across the hall, the young woman dropped her glass. It shattered at her feet. She clutched her chest as the same silver-black pattern appeared beneath the neckline of her dress. Whispers spread through the crowd. Wolves backed away from her. Rhaevon grabbed her wrist. “What have you done?” “I don't know!” she gasped, pressing her palm against the burning mark. Vaelbor couldn't look away. His wolf rose inside him, no longer uncertain. Ours. Zylara released his shoulders. “No,” she whispered. Vaelbor turned toward her, but no words came. He could feel the girl's racing heartbeat from across the hall. He could feel her trembling fingers against her chest. And his wolf recognized her as surely as it recognized Zylara. Rhaevon dragged the girl toward him. Vaelbor stepped forward. “Release her.” Rhaevon lifted his chin. “She belongs to Oryndai.” The second mark pulsed. Vaelbor's wolf bared its teeth. “Not anymore.” A whisper rose from the crowd, spreading until every wolf heard it. “Two mates.”