The Warrior King's Mate

Chapter 9

Fallon P.O.V.

“Any other business?” I asked, wearily unstopping a crystal decanter of whisky from the bar cart. The thirty-six-seater conference room was slowly emptying. It had been a revolving door of meetings, complaints, arguments and cyclical debates since the early hours of the morning. The lights had been turned on hours ago as the autumn evening crept in, and now, catching sight of my crumpled shirt and unkempt hair in the floor to ceiling windows, darkness had descended upon the world.

“A few notices of pack business,” Milo shuffled the files in front of him. The long, highly polished brass table was a mess of papers, folders, maps, laptops, coffee cups and scrunched up balls of paper. Dax yawned widely, his legs outstretched as he slumped in the silly spindly chair, his arms folded across his chest, his shoes untied. We needed to wrap this up quickly so we could all get some sleep. Looking at Milo, the skin surrounding his eyes was almost purple, and I chastised myself for keeping them this late.

Needs must, Kane’s low voice came from the back of my mind where he, too, prowled and snapped to keep himself awake.

“I had an urgent call from River Moon two days ago – Alpha John wants an investigation squad from the capital to look into the mistreatment of his niece,” Milo was still thumbing through his notes, trying to find the correct file. He was having trouble – either his eyes were so tired he couldn’t see, or his handwriting was getting so frantic and overworked that he couldn’t read it. It was irritating. Like everything was.

“His niece…” I mused. I couldn't quite find an image of Alpha John himself, never mind remembering the name of his niece.

“Tall girl? Great ass, better legs. Met her at that party we threw last year for the graduates of the University,” Dax offered, of course, remembering her assets and not her name.

“She graduated?” I asked, genuinely surprised, still searching for the names of John’s family members, before remembering his mate, Margot, had two siblings, both of whom had kids. Jacob had died and left a son, so this must be the beta of Silver Shore’s kids. It’s possible she attended university, then. Although, usually only those in line to be Alpha, Beta or Gamma did, and as memory serves, Gavin and Grace had twins, a girl and a boy – their son would have been the one to attend alongside Alpha Lawrence’s bomb scare of an heir, Logan.

“No, her mate,” Dax yawned again. “Shame, really. Really, really great legs.”

“Hailey, isn’t it?” I asked, finally catching up. “Hailey and Simon? She’s mated to the Beta of Silver Mountain. He was the graduate? What’s happening at Silver Mountain to a ­­Beta, for f**k’s sake?!”

“Not Hailey,” Milo says, having finally found the right file, reading it while Dax smiled dreamily, no doubt recounting how short Hailey’s skirt was that day. “It’s Nova, apparently.”

“Nova? There isn’t a Nova. Gavin only had twins, and Grace never remarried. Are you sure it says niece?” I ask, draining the last of my glass, watching as the final group of committee members leaves the room, leaving a pleasant quiet with the three of us.

I was running on fumes; in the days since my father’s head was displayed on my war room table, all hell had broken loose. Reconnaissance teams had left that same day for all packs in the kingdom, and a guerrilla group left to take packlands in no man’s land between the two kingdom's outposts. News had spread that King Harrold was assassinated and civil disruption was on the brink of spreading into civil disobedience. The capital was overrun with pedlars selling weapons, and trading illegally with hunters for wolf traps, wolfsbane and silver bullets. The shockwaves were flowing outwards and soon the whole kingdom would be in an uproar. Three days of meetings about how to best control the situation had landed us nowhere, except agreeing to conscript soldiers to come straight to the capitol to prepare for an all-out war.

Evenard, beside himself, had locked himself in the west wing of the castle with his family, refusing to let Kendrick, his first born, out of his sight. Or indeed, at the sight of any window or open door. Managing the king had proven to be as difficult as managing the petty crime spree that had spiked throughout the city and surrounding neighbourhoods. Having to triple patrols meant that rest and recovery time for my warriors was growing thinner and thinner. In the end, with a lack of support from Evenard, I had to send a small contingency group carrying warriors, weapons, and aid to Onyx Kingdom, left defenceless by their own cowardly King. The last of today’s meetings focused on where to house the influx of warriors who, having left their own packs, had been gathering in the largest of their neighbouring territories for the selection. Now, they were being diverted here, the resulting anger from Alphas forced to leave themselves totally unprotected was unparalleled. I didn’t have time or space in my head to think about Alpha John’s made-up niece, no matter who spoke unkindly to her. He knows our laws; he can handle a misconduct allegation by himself.

“Tell John to utilise the elders at his disposal,” getting up from my chair, thinking of only of bed. After all, there was more of this tomorrow.

“He has, Fall – it’s his elders who have put in the request,” Milo tries to hand me the file. “They say a serious crime has been committed by another pack, they want a royal investigation squad sent to them immediately to interview the girl.”

“No. No time, no resources, not the priority. Get Verity to call them in the morning and explain that there’s actually a f*****g war on and that they’re going to have to get off their asses and do the job the Crown pays them to do,” I say, swatting the file away and snatching up my phones, jacket and the pile of files Milo has organised for me to read ahead of tomorrow’s meetings.

“Who – who is Verity,” Milo calls after me as I make my way towards the door, switching the projector lights of the conference room off, plunging him and Dax into darkness.

"Your new PA, she started this afternoon. Go get some f*****g sleep.”

*********************************************************************************************

Nova P.O.V.

After three more days in the hospital, Doctor Henderson agreed to let me leave. I had to show him I could eat first, and I had to gain a little bit of weight. I also had to show him I could walk a few steps on my own unaided, and even though I was extremely wobbly, he seemed pleased with my progress. However, he kept mentioning that once I got my strength back, my wolf would too, and soon I would be bounding about and doing cartwheels again. I didn’t have the guts to tell him that, no, I wouldn’t – I’d never be bounding about like a werewolf when I wasn’t one. In fact, the old plan I had formulated at Silver Shore began to swim through my mind again. Running away from River Moon would be harder. Firstly, I didn’t know the pack outside this one hospital room. Secondly, walking was harder than it should be, the muscles fading away to tight bands after lying in bed for a week and having been so close to the brink of death before I arrived. Even getting on and off the toilet had been a disaster and I very much doubted I would be in any fit state to run, and that was before I found the boundary forest full of rogues again.

Thirdly, my grandmother, or Moira, as she introduced herself to me, was there from the moment I woke. She would sit, dressed in a perfectly pressed pantsuit or elegant pencil skirt, her hair always perfectly pinned back, her make-up subtle and complimentary, her nails expertly manicured. She brought me magazines, pajamas and a soft purple blanket made from some slippery, fluffy material that warmed my chittering, bony self as I napped. Napping was happening a lot, which made any sense of time passing confusing enough without the constant presence of my grandmother. While I was awake, she would gently ask me questions about myself – what sort of things I did with my friends, what my favourite food was, what were my favourite colours – I couldn’t answer them. I had no friends, I had no idea what proper food tasted like (although the nurses brought me a creamy smoothie drink for breakfast every morning that was DELICIOUS) and colours had never mattered to me. Although, I did grow to like the deep purple of my blanket. I wasn’t sure why she wanted to know these things. Maybe the omegas here were allowed some sort of meal plan?

Moira was excellent and didn’t seem to mind too much about doing the wolf’s share of the work. While she never mentioned anything about my mother, father, brother, sister – or any other family members for that matter – she told me each morning that “everyone was sending their well wishes” and that “we are all delighted about getting to know you”, which did nothing to relax my anxieties. While my grandmother appeared to be a kind, pleasant, welcoming woman, I had never heard of nor seen her before the last two weeks. Why had she never visited us, or us her? Sure, I’d understand mother not allowing me to attend visits, but Hailey and Simon? I was nineteen years old, and never did I nor my siblings (at least to my knowledge) have any interaction with this “everyone”. I didn’t know anything about them. Were they ranked members? Sure, Moira was always spectacularly turned out, but that made even less sense; ranked members all knew each other, didn’t they? They attended parties, balls, meetings, tournaments together. River Moon was a large pack with a huge territory, and I knew for a fact that Alpha Lawrence and Logan had visited it a number of times – surely, at some point there would be family reunions?

And now, Moira was on her way here to collect me, her poor, frail granddaughter. I came here on the understanding that she was sick, that she was almost dead, not the other way around. If there were other family members at River Moon, why was I sent her at all?

Mother just wanted you gone, the little voice in the back of my brain told me and I knew, on some level, it was right.

Less than an hour later, I was sitting in a wheelchair, wearing black leggings and a cosy, burnt orange jumper that my grandmother had brought me. Not knowing my size, she guessed I’d be extra small, but even then, the jumper hung very loose around me, and the sleeves needed to be rolled several inches back so I could use my hands. She’d also brought me some comfortable trainers to replace my running shoes. I’d ripped the soles from them that day in the forest and they had been thrown away for me.

My grandmother walked into the room, carrying a bag of nutritional supplements in one arm and a small bouquet of purple and blue flowers in another, her smile wide but tight, her eyes more worried than excited. Maybe she was as unsure about me as I was her.

Afterall, I'd hardly said more than five words to the woman.

“I hope you don’t mind, dear, but the plans have changed,” she sounded hesitant.

I knew it. I was being thrown out.

“Originally, I was going to have you come and live in my cottage with me but, well, Luna Margot insisted – and I agree – that you should have a room made up for you in the packhouse.”

I just stared at her.

So that’s why I’m here. River Moon needed a slave. There was another crawlspace in my future, I was sure of it.

I nodded at her, embarrassed. When the clothes came for me to wear today…I should have known it was too nice of a gesture. These were comfy clothes because they were working clothes.

“So, I’ll take you up and show you your room and then, if you’re feeling up to it, there has been a lunch planned?” Moira asked me and again I nodded at my mother’s mother. I didn’t feel up to it. Who knows how many pack members eat at River Moon’s packhouse? I’d imagine it was more than double the amount at Silver Shore. I’d be scrubbing, washing, stirring, chopping, stewing, frying and then serving for hours, maybe even longer if the lunch was a fancy lunch for guests. I could barely walk as it was!

“Great! Let’s go get you settled in!”

The nurses gave me cheerful smiles as I was wheeled out of their sight and I tried to smile back – but the truth is I wasn’t capable of mustering up as much as a grimace. I wasn’t grateful they’d saved me. I wasn’t relieved they’d helped me back on my feet, if it was all just to put me to work. The only hope I had left was that they wouldn’t be as cruel as the wolves at home, that one day I might still be able to escape…

For once, Moira didn’t attempt to make small talk. She pushed me through a white glazed brick archway that led from the hospital to a great, glass building. A domed glass and stone ceiling created the feeling of being inside a giant, clear igloo where people were coming and going at a leisurely pace. Many of them stared at me as I was wheeled past, and so, blushing violently, I looked down at the highly polished white marble floor as it swished underneath my wheels. Moira, I noticed, seemed to command a great level of respect, for almost everyone in this giant glass dome bowed their heads to her as she passed, some waving politely and everyone moving gently out of our path.

The glass walls gave way seamlessly to the glazed bricks of a solid wall, a set of colourful glass doors showing the image of a moonlit lake surrounded by dense forest straight ahead of us. As we neared them, two wolves wearing black suits opened the doors to admit us to the packhouse.

Despite myself, I felt my eyes widen as I took in the large, sweeping marble staircase that spilled from the upper floors to the entrance hall, a highly polished silver banister encasing it, ending in glittering opal balustrades. The walls were painted as black as the night sky, and on each wall, impressive antique mirrors were hung to reflect the light pouring down the grand staircase from an impressive-looking skylight.

“The first floor is where you’ll find the alpha and luna offices, as well as a communal social space,” Moira told me, pushing me towards a set of double doors to the right of the staircase.

“Here on the ground floor, you’ll find the dining room, access to the kitchens and laundry rooms. There’s also – just through these doors – the Luna’s Tearoom, where lunch will be served today. It's normally reserved for just the Luna and her guests from visiting packs, but we thought we could eat there today as a treat. Would you like to see it, or would you prefer to head straight to your bedroom?”

I considered for a moment. It was nearly lunch time and I was sure there was a lot to be done. The faster this tour ended, the better. I knew better than to keep a lead omega waiting, and I had a remodelled fracture on that x-ray somewhere to prove it.

“Bedroom, please,” I all but whispered. Without saying a word, Moira wheeled me behind the staircase, to reveal a hidden elevator with glass doors which opened with a cheerful ‘ding!’ Inside, I peeked through my hair to see her push the ‘4’ button. As we passed each floor, I caught a glimpse of long corridors and large windows. The packhouse at Silver Shore was nowhere near this grand. It was a newer, less opulent building, with black exposed metal supports and polished parquet floors. The wraparound porch outside was constructed of driftwood, which was also used in the interior designs. The windows were made of sea glass and so the light inside was duller, colder. Nothing at Silver Shore glittered and shone like at River Moon, and as the elevator was gliding upwards, my eyes moved rapidly from pillar to post, trying to take it all in. It was so beautiful.

And so much work to keep it that way, I thought to myself. Polishing those windows alone would take an entire day.

As we reached the fourth floor, the doors opened with a ‘ding!’ and my grandmother pulled me backwards on to another brightly lit

hallway. This one had a long, very thick, creamy white carpet runner that stretched from the large bay window at one end of the long corridor, all the way to a set of bifold doors at the other end, which opened up on to what looked like a large roof terrace. The walls here were panelled and white, while the ceiling was a deep, midnight blue. Large glittering crystal lamp shades hung from the very high ceiling. I could see the large round skylight I had noticed from the ground floor, shining the autumn sun directly above the stairwell. Around the frame, the phases of the moon were painted in silver. This was the top floor, I realised. The top floor was usually reserved for the alpha’s family and visiting royalty. A small pit began to sink into my stomach. What was I doing up here?

“We’ve popped you into this room, just here…” Moira’s voice trailed off as she guided the wheelchair down the hallway towards the bay window. The room right at the end was opened using a plastic card she had pulled from her pocket, and she opened the door before wheeling me inside and propping the door open with the bag of supplement drinks.

The room was large. Far too large. A slightly raised platform in the middle of the room showcased a glorious king-sized four-poster bed, with silky silver curtains draped elegantly from the ash-coloured wooden posts. The bed was covered with white and silver sheets, and a variety of decorative cushions all in varying shades of purple – lilac, lavender, violet. On the bedside, small balls of crystal filled with dozens of fairy lights cast a delicate glow on the creamy walls. The bed was flanked by two floor to ceiling windows, while the adjacent wall was essentially an entire window itself, all dressed in purple and silver curtains. A small white sofa sat at the foot of the bed, facing a fireplace big enough for me to stand up in, where a generous amount of firewood had been piled ahead of the approaching winter. On the wall opposite the bed, an ash vanity with a round mirror and a velvety lilac chair caught my eye. The bedroom was the same size – if not bigger – than Alpha Lawrence’s at home. All sense of reality momentarily forgotten, I looked around the room in absolute awe, my eyes lingering on the softness of the sheets, the delicacy of the furnishings and the obvious luxury of it all. I felt my eyes prick tightly with tears.

“Whatever is the matter dear, do you not like it?” she moved around to sit on the sofa, looking at my face with unnerving levels of eye contact. “We just thought – well, it’s closer to the hospital if you needed anything, and the view is the best in the packhouse, you’d be able to, to get your bearings and – well you know, the cottage is very old, the stairs are very steep and the rooms are much smaller – you’d have your own bathroom here and well…”

A horrifying realisation swept over me – she thought I was upset with the room, like I was Hailey, throwing a tantrum for no reason. I was mortified and my eyes filled with tears instantly – why were we in this room? My confusion and embarrassment must have been evident on my face because, nodding as if suddenly understanding something herself, my grandmother handed me a handkerchief (she must have a supply of them).

“This isn’t the type of bedroom you had at Silver Shore? That packhouse is smaller, I realise. Is this too much, Nova?”

I nodded at her, not meeting her gaze. Using the handkerchief to hide my face, I also let my hair fall forwards slightly, covering myself as best I could. I took a deep shuddering breath. I needed to speak now or risk offending the woman.

“Please, I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand. Who are you?” Goddess, I was pathetic.

“I - ” the old woman started, blinking in confusion. “I am your grandmother, Nova. Your mother, before becoming Grace Sanderson, was Grace Alderman – my youngest daughter. This, well, this is the bedroom in which she grew up. I…I just thought it would be – nice.” She finished, rather flatly, but it didn’t matter, my brain was ringing slightly. Mother grew up on the Alpha floor?

“Oh dear,” said my grandmother. “I knew we would have a large amount of – reconnection – to do but…Nova, Nova please - I know you don’t want to talk about…. Well, about how you came to us, but please, I have to know, you have to tell me – why did you come River Moon? All these years with not a word from Grace and then…you decide to visit?” She wasn’t accusing me, but guilt came anyway.

‘Why was I here? Because I was so hated at home that they told me you were dying and needed to be babysat until you died, I didn’t decide to visit!­ I didn’t even know there was a you to visit!’ I thought.

“I…I was told to,” I answered her, lamely. Still with my mouth covered by her handkerchief, I was hoping she wouldn’t hear me.

“Told to…by Grace? By your mother? Does – does she know what happened to you? We’ve tried to reach her but- ” Moira was cut off by the horrified gasp that escaped me and she retracted, possibly frightened by the sudden loud startle, and only then did I realise that we had been whispering to each other in this impossibly large room.

“D-d-don’t c-c-c-call her!” I spluttered out, almost managing to rise myself out of the wheelchair before she gently pushed me back in to a sitting position. “PLEASE don’t call her!” I practically yelled at her, rocking back and forth frantically, trying to dispel the growing panic in my stomach as the small pit in my stomach became a huge, gaping crater, threatening to swallow me hole.

My eyes frantically flicked over the old woman’s face, searching for something that told me I could trust her, anything that meant she wouldn’t tell my mother – or worse – Alpha Lawrence that I was making a nuisance of myself. Her eyes moved from shock to fear to anger and primal, dark, wolf eyes all in succession before clouding over – she was mind-linking someone.

Then it happened.

I don’t know how long we sat in silence for – my mind had left me sitting in this luxurious bedroom with my estranged grandmother and had flown over the sea and into the laundry room of Silver Shore. I was ironing sheets and kept burning my fingers, crying out, while the lead omega tutted at each crease I’d left.

“Do them again,” she barked, indicating the missed corners. The iron was hot and far too heavy, making my entire arm shake every time I lifted it, forcing me on to my tiptoes as I used my whole body weight to help it glide over each section of the sheet. It was hot and sweaty in the laundry room at the best of times, and my tiny hands kept slipping from the slim handle and catching the white-hot metal underneath. I could hear the other eight-year-olds outside, playing a game with bubbles and fairy wands. My mind followed their delighted shrieks and –

“AAAHH!” I’d run over my own fingers with the iron, the skin sizzling angrily as it stuck to the underside of the heavy thing. I let it go entirely, nursing my hand in the other, crying and yelling in pain. Before she could reach it, the iron had scorched the blood dripping from my hand in to the white linen bedsheet, much to Omega Julie’s horror.

“You little-” she yelled, grabbing the iron and setting it down away from the board. “These sheets were for the guest wing! You did that on purpose, you rat!” and she pushed me, backwards. My back and tail bone connected painfully with the heavy driftwood shelves storing the cleaning products and extra towels. “You’re going to sleep the week without sheets, you’ll soon learn the value of luxuries like bedding, my girl!” and – true to her word – I didn’t sleep in a bed that entire week, making do with the almost-empty pillow and the softest spot on the floor I could find.

“Okay.” My grandmother said. “Would it be okay if Margot, John and Malcolm brought lunch here? It means you can go for a rest afterwards if you would like?”

Still staring at my fingertips where they’d been burned, expecting to see a scar, I nodded.

I barely blinked while I came round again, letting myself return to my body slowly.

This happened, sometimes. I’d get sucked so suddenly back into my own head, remembering something so vividly that I could almost touch, taste, smell, see…. feel…everything, as if it were brand new. It always took me a few moments to fill myself back up again, like filling a bathtub. It was busy work.

Though I was aware of movement in the background, I didn’t even have the energy to feel afraid. I could hear voices, see movements, some lithe and quick, some bulky and slow, I could smell food but couldn't tell if it was meat or if it was cake. I felt hands, gentle and warm, clasp mine every now and again and – when I felt the room go still and quiet – I looked up, blinking hard, as I registered my grandmother softly saying my name and the words "panic attack," "gentle," and "overwhelmed."

In front of me was a little table covered in a thick, white tablecloth. Atop the table was a spread of breads, meats, cheeses, fruits, little chopped up vegetables like carrots, celery, and cucumbers. Each place had been set with simple white porcelain plates, with silver cutlery and crystal goblets. My stomach gave a horrible churning grunt as I looked at the food and I felt sickeningly ravenous. Embarrassed, I looked up to see if my grandmother had heard me and was mortified to see not one but four sets of grey eyes looking back at me.

“Nova,” my grandmother spoke to me softly, “this is my oldest daughter, her mate, and their son, Malcolm.” She pointed to each of them in turn, with Malcolm giving me a beaming smile as she did so. He looked like Simon, tall, well-muscled with a sharp jaw and long eyelashes. His hair was longer though, and curlier, swooped back effortlessly from his face. When he smiled, his entire face lit up as if he were genuinely happy to see me. He looked around my age, maybe older, with the trace of light blonde stubble around his cheeks. The older man was also tall and strong looking – but with shaggy brown hair and large, bright blue eyes and the same, sharp jaw as his son.

The woman – she made my blood run cold, for without knowing better, I would have thought I was sitting across from my mother, dressed very strangely. This woman had let her swish of blonde waves fall gracefully down her back. She wore a comfortable beige sweatshirt, hanging off of one shoulder, and what looked like (she was sitting down) black jeans. Her eyes were framed by long, curled lashes and her lips a warm shade of peach, making her look like she was always smiling. Her eyes, identical to my mother's, were full of ease. She looked like a much younger, more relaxed version of the woman who had been by my sickbed in the hospital, and less like the straight-backed, tight-bunned, formal one I was tortured by. When she spoke, her voice was refined, musical and full of a sweetness that my mother's lacked.

“Hi, Nova,” she smiled warmly at me. “It’s such a wonderful surprise to meet you – I’m your aunt Margot, Luna of River Moon.”