One Night Stand With The Alpha King

Seren Friday nights at The Howling Hearth should be illegal. Not because the tavern is dangerous. Technically, it is one of the safest places in Moonhaven. The Hearth is neutral ground. No pack claims it. No kingdom owns it. No Alpha is supposed to start a fight inside unless they want every other Alpha in the room to decide that their particular brand of stupidity has become everybody else's problem. Which sounds wonderful in theory. In practice, it means every i***t in Moonhaven knows they can come here, drink too much, start shouting, and hide behind the word neutral when somebody finally asks them to behave. I am currently wiping spilled ale off a table while a wolf three seats away is loudly explaining to his friends why he could defeat a Silverpine warrior with one hand tied behind his back. I glance at his arms. He couldn't. Not unless the Silverpine warrior was asleep. Or dead. Possibly both. "Another round!" The wolf slams his empty mug onto the table. The table shakes. My patience does too. I look at him. He looks at me. His eyes travel down my plain black shirt, then back up to my face. "Did you hear me, Unclaimed?" There it is. I knew it was coming. I straighten slowly. "I heard you." "Then?" "Then I'm considering whether your next drink is worth the trouble of carrying it three feet." His friends laugh. The wolf doesn't. That's usually how I know I've done a good job. His expression darkens. "You should learn some respect." "I should learn a lot of things." I picked up his mug. "Unfortunately, respecting drunk men isn't on the list." His friends laugh harder. He growls. I walk away before he can decide that proving his masculinity requires breaking something. Preferably me. The Howling Hearth is packed tonight. Friday always is. The place smells like smoke, spilled ale, roasted meat, wet fur and whatever terrible perfume Old Maren insists on burning behind the bar when she thinks the tavern smells too much like wolves. The walls are dark wood, scarred from decades of fights. There are scratches in the floorboards. A crack in one of the tables that has been there since before I was born. And above the fireplace hangs an old iron sign with a howling wolf carved into it. Maren says the sign is older than Moonhaven. I think she's lying. Maren lies about a lot of things. Usually badly. Still, I have never managed to catch her in a lie about the important stuff. That's probably why I trust her. Which is unfortunate, because trusting people has never been my strongest skill. "Seren!" I turn. Tavi is standing at the other end of the bar with six empty mugs balanced in both hands. "Don't throw those at me." "I'm not." "Your face says otherwise." "My face always looks like this." "Exactly." He gives me a deeply offended look and disappears into the kitchen. I almost smile. Almost. Then somebody whistles. I don't look. One of the advantages of working at the Hearth for most of my life is that I've developed the ability to ignore certain noises. Whistling. Catcalling. Drunken singing. The sound of someone vomiting behind the building. Those are all background noises. The sound of someone crying isn't. That makes me look. She's sitting near the far wall. Young. Too young to be sitting alone with a group of Silverpine wolves. Actually, she's not sitting with them. They're sitting around her. There's a difference. She's Unclaimed. I know because I know most of the Unclaimed faces in Moonhaven. We recognize each other. There's a certain look you get when you grow up without a pack. You learn to keep your shoulders slightly smaller. You learn to listen before speaking. You learn which wolves are safe and which ones will decide that because nobody claims you, nobody will come looking if you disappear. The girl is trying very hard not to cry. The Silverpine wolves are enjoying that. I put down the glass in my hand. "Seren." Maren's voice comes from behind me. I don't turn. "I know." "You don't know what I was going to say." "Yes, I do." "Then you know better." I glance toward the girl. "Probably." Maren sighs. "Seren." "Still probably." I walk out from behind the bar. The nearest Silverpine wolf notices me. His ears twitch. "What do you want?" "Her." He blinks. I point at the girl. "She was here first." One of the others laughs. "Did she ask you to save her?" "No." "Then go back to your bar." I look at him. Then at the girl. Then back at him. "Okay." He smiles. I grab the girl's wrist and pull her out from between them. The smile disappears. "Hey." The girl stumbles behind me. I put myself between her and the table. "She's done for tonight." "Who made you Alpha?" "Nobody." That's the problem. The wolf stands. He is bigger than me. Obviously. Most wolves are. Being Unclaimed doesn't come with many advantages, but one thing I've learned is that people tend to assume size means intelligence. It doesn't. "You don't get to order Silverpine wolves around." "I didn't." I gesture toward the door. "I'm asking you to leave." His nostrils flare. "You think you're funny?" "No." I pause. "Actually, I think I'm exhausted." One of the wolves laughs. The standing wolf doesn't. He steps closer. I don't move. This is where I usually make a very poor decision. I have made many of them. It's almost a talent. "Seren," Maren calls again. I ignore her. The wolf's gaze drops briefly to my neck. Nothing there. No pack mark. No claiming mark. No symbol. Nothing. His mouth twists. "Unclaimed." There it is. The word lands differently when somebody says it like an insult. I've heard it my entire life. My parents were unknown. My bloodline was unknown. My pack was unknown. I had Maren. That was supposed to be enough. Most days, it was. Some days, it wasn't. "Congratulations," I say. "You know how to read." His hand moves. I see it coming. I still don't move quickly enough. He shoves me. Hard. My hip catches the edge of the table. Someone yells. A glass falls. It hits the floor. And I step backward straight into it. Pain shoots through my palm. I look down. Blood. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. "Seren!" Maren's voice changes. That gets my attention. I look at her. She's not looking at my hand. She's looking at the floor. One drop of blood falls from my palm. Then another. The second one hits the old wooden floor. And the moonlight coming through the tavern window flickers. Once. Twice. The entire room seems to dim. Then brighten. I blink. Nobody else reacts. The Silverpine wolf is still glaring at me. Someone at the bar is laughing. Tavi is swearing in the kitchen. The music continues. Everything is normal. Except Maren. Old Maren is standing perfectly still. Her hand is wrapped tightly around her cane. Her knuckles have gone white. "What?" I ask. She looks at me. For half a second, she looks afraid. I've never seen Maren afraid of anything. Not wolves. Not Alphas. Not threats. Not death. Apparently, whatever she is looking at on that floor is different. Her lips barely move. "Not yet, child." I stare at her. "What?" She looks away. Just like that. The moment disappears. And because Maren is Maren, she points her cane at the Silverpine wolves. "Out." The standing wolf turns. "Old woman—" The cane hits the floor. Once. The sound is surprisingly loud. The wolf stops. Maren's eyes narrow. "You have ten seconds to decide whether you'd like to walk out of my tavern." She lifts one finger. "Or be carried." Nobody laughs. I do. Just a little. The Silverpine wolf looks at me. I smile. "She's serious." Maren turns her cane toward me. "You're next." My smile disappears. "Of course." The wolves leave. The girl leaves with them, except she pauses beside me. "Thank you." I look at her. "Get home." She nods. Then she's gone. I look at my hand. Blood is still running into my palm. "Fantastic." Maren sighs. "Come here." "I'm working." "You're bleeding." "I noticed." "Seren." I hate that voice. It's the voice she uses when she's about to remind me that she raised me. I follow her behind the bar. She takes my hand and examines the cut. It's not terrible. It just looks worse than it is. Probably. "Glass," she mutters. "Very observant." "Hold still." "You're hurting me." "Good." "You're a terrible healer." "And you're a terrible patient." She wraps my palm with a clean cloth. I watch her. "Why did you say that?" She doesn't look up. "Say what?" "Not yet, child." Her hands stop. There. I knew it. "What did you mean?" "Nothing." "Maren." "Seren." We stare at each other. She wins. She always does. I pull my hand back. "Fine." "Good." I turn away. "You're a terrible liar." "I raised you. I don't need to lie to you." That stops me. I look over my shoulder. She is already cleaning the blood from the counter. My parents are a blank space in my memory. Not because I forgot them. Because I never knew them. I don't have stories about my mother. I don't have memories of my father. I don't even have a photograph. Maren never told me much. She found me when I was young. That's the story. That's all I got. No pack. No family. No explanation for why a woman who had already lived most of her life decided to take in a strange little girl with no name anyone could verify. She gave me one. Seren. She says it means star. I have always thought that was unnecessarily optimistic. Stars are supposed to shine. I've spent most of my life trying not to be noticed. I learned early that being different attracts questions. Questions attract attention. Attention attracts wolves who think they have a right to know what you are. And I don't know what I am. Not completely. There is something under my skin. A hum. I've felt it for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it's barely there. Sometimes it gets stronger. Usually when something strange happens. When I'm angry. When I'm frightened. When someone gets too close. I've told Maren about it. Once. When I was twelve. She told me I was imagining things. I believed her. Mostly. Until tonight. I look toward the moonlit window. Nothing. Just silver light spilling across the floor. Normal. I rub my thumb against the bandage. Maybe I'm imagining that too. Probably. I'm very good at imagining things. It's one of my better qualities. The rest of the night drags. By midnight, my feet hurt. One by one, my head hurts. By two, I have decided every wolf in Moonhaven should be banned from alcohol. By two fifteen, I remember that would put me out of a job. So I reconsider. At two thirty, I am wiping down the bar when the front door opens. I don't look up immediately. “ The kitchen’s closed." No answer. I continue wiping. "Drinks are still available, but if you're here to start a fight, there's a line outside." Nothing. That's odd. The tavern is never quiet. Not really. Even at this hour, there is always something. A laugh. A chair scraping. Someone arguing. A bottle hitting a table. But now Nothing. I slowly look up. Every wolf in the room is standing. No. Not standing. Kneeling. My clothes stop moving. "What the—" Maren is already on one knee. Tavi too. The Silverpine wolves who returned after apparently deciding they had not suffered enough humiliation tonight are kneeling. Everyone is kneeling. I look toward the door. A man stands there. Alone. Tall. Dark hair. Black coat. No crown. No guards. Nothing about him screams important. Except the fact that an entire room full of wolves is currently kneeling to him. Oh. That's probably important. He closes the door behind him. Slowly. His gaze travels through the room. Nobody speaks. Then his eyes find mine. And something happens. I don't know what else to call it. My body knows before my mind does. His scent hits me. Dark. Warm. Something like smoke after rain. Something wild underneath it. Something that makes every nerve in my body suddenly wake up. My lungs forget what they're doing. My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand. The hum beneath my skin becomes a roar. The man stops. His eyes widened. Only for a fraction of a second. But I see it. I don't know why. I just do. His eyes are amber. Not brown. Not gold. Amber. Like molten metal caught beneath a firelight. He looks at me as though he has seen a ghost. I stare back. My heart is beating too hard. This is ridiculous. I don't know this man. I've never seen him before. At least, I don't think I have. His expression changes. Whatever recognition crossed his face disappeared so quickly that I almost convinced myself I imagined it. Almost. He becomes unreadable again. Calm. Controlled. Anonymous. Except nobody kneels like this for an anonymous man. My fingers loosen. The glass slips. It hits the floor. Crash. Everyone flinches. I don't. I can't. Because he is still looking at me. And something inside me pulls. Not physically. Not exactly. It's more like an invisible thread has suddenly appeared between us and someone has yanked it tight. The hum beneath my skin pulses. Once. Hard. The moonlight through the window flickers. Again. His eyes move toward the window. Then back to me. This time, I'm certain he notices. His jaw tightens. Interesting. Very interesting. I should probably say something. Instead, I stare at him like an i***t. Great. Excellent first impression. The stranger takes one step into the tavern. Every wolf lowers their head. I don't. I can't seem to make myself do it. Maren looks at me. Her face has gone pale. Not because of him. Because of me. And suddenly I remember what she whispered earlier. Not yet, child. My stomach twists. The man takes another step. His gaze never leaves mine. I should look away. I don't. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Because I have spent my entire life feeling like there is a piece of me missing. Like there's a door somewhere inside me that nobody gave me the key to. And standing across from this stranger— I can suddenly feel that door. I can feel it shaking. Waiting. The man stops. His expression remains perfectly calm. But his eyes betray him again. That tiny widening. That flicker of recognition. He knows something. I don't know what. And worse I have the strange, terrifying feeling that whatever he knows has something to do with me. His gaze drops briefly to my bandaged hand. Then returns to my face. I swallow. "Can I help you?" My voice sounds normal. Good. At least one part of me is functioning. His eyes narrow slightly. For the first time, he speaks. "Perhaps." His voice is low. Controlled. And somehow that one word makes the strange pull inside me tighten. I grip the edge of the bar. He notices. Of course he notices. His eyes flick to my hand. Then back to my face. Something passes between us again. Invisible. Electric. Terrifying. I don't know who he is. I don't know why everyone is kneeling. I don't know why Maren looks like she already knows exactly how badly this night is about to go. And I definitely don't know why the stranger looks at me like he's trying desperately to remember where he's seen me before. But one thing becomes painfully clear. Whatever brought him into The Howling Hearth tonight It wasn't an accident. And somehow, I think I've just become part of it.