Chapter 2
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Chapter 2
Warlord and Arden stayed on the phone for most of the night, talking until the sky began to bleed into gray. Arden carefully avoided revealing the specific stipulations regarding physical intimacy; she wanted to keep Warlord on his toes, and he didn’t mind one bit. He liked the mystery. She wasn't easy to read, and he appreciated that she was guarded—it meant no one could take advantage of her.
“Why are you so happy this morning?” Fury grumbled as they gathered to head to morning training.
“Arden and I were on the phone most of the night,” Warlord replied, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.
“Must be nice,” Fury muttered begrudgingly.
“Dude, I get that you’re upset about Margot rejecting you, but that doesn’t give you the right to rain on my parade,” Warlord snapped.
Fury closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I really am happy for you, Wes. I am,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on Warlord’s shoulder.
“So, when is she coming?” Poseidon asked, clattering down the stairs to join them.
“Six months.” The answer Poseidon and Fury freeze. They looked at each other, then back at Warlord in coordinated confusion.
“She has six months left on the Fairy Guard,” Warlord explained, his jaw tight. “She signed a contract, and the Fairy King’s law requires her to complete her duties before she can be discharged.”
“Damn, that sucks,” Poseidon responded, leaning against the doorframe.
“Six months is better than never, at least,” Fury said quietly before turning to walk away. Warlord opened his mouth to retort, but Poseidon stopped him with a sharp shake of his head.
“Cut him some slack. He’s heartbroken,” Poseidon reasoned. “With both you and Carter having found your mates, he’s feeling sour. You can’t really blame him.”
“Whatever. I’ll give him a little more time, but he needs to accept the rejection and move on. It’s been weeks already,” Warlord replied, heading for the door.
Poseidon rolled his eyes, letting his head drop back in exasperation. “If it were that easy, Wes, he would have done it already,” he grumbled to the empty room before following his roommates out into the morning chill.
Morning training proceeded as usual, with the rhythmic exertion and familiar drills offering a brief sense of normalcy. Once the session ended, the team split up; the bounty hunters headed back toward their shared townhouse, while Carter broke away to his own home. For Carter, every day was a chance to be with Sarah—not just as her mate, but as her protector while she navigated the relentless drama of her family and a messy, impending divorce.
Warlord, however, wasn't in a social mood. He showered and left the townhouse before Fury, and Poseidon could even settle in. He had no desire to eat in a room thick with the heavy atmosphere of Fury’s endless moping, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to endure Poseidon’s endless questions about Arden.
He needed space to think about the six-month hurdle ahead. Deciding that a quiet breakfast was better than a tense one, he figured he would grab something to eat at the office cafeteria once he arrived at work, which is what he did.
After pulling into the employee parking garage, Warlord bypassed the elevators and made a beeline for the cafeteria. The hollow ache of the morning’s training, combined with the restless energy from his late-night talk with Arden, had left him starving.
He headed straight for the grilling station and ordered five pancakes and a sausage-and-cheese omelet. The grill master on duty was a fellow pack member, so he didn't blink at the request; he nodded and got to work, knowing exactly what it took to fuel a werewolf of Warlord's stature. As the smell of sizzling sausage filled the air, Warlord leaned against the counter, his mind already drifting back to the angelic sound of Arden’s voice and the six-month countdown that felt like a prison sentence.
“Hi, Westley,” a female voice sounded behind him. Warlord instantly rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“Good morning, Kendall,” Warlord replied politely, but his tone was anything but kind.
“So, when are we going to go out again?” Kendalla brazenly asked.
“Kendall, I’ve told you a dozen times that it wasn’t a date. We were out for a department team-building event, and you and I just happened to sit next to each other. Can you please stop harassing me about this?” Warlord firmly said. It was evident by his standoffish demeanor that this had been an ongoing issue with this woman. The pack member at the grill shook his head, feeling sorry for Warlord.
“You can deny it all you want, Westley, but we have chemistry,” Kendall pressed, stepping into his personal space as he waited for his food.
Warlord didn't even look up from the counter, his jaw tightening. “No, Kendall, we don’t. I’ve been patient about this for a while now, but you seriously need to stop. I’m in a committed relationship with someone, and I don’t appreciate you coming onto me.” He finally turned his gaze toward her, his eyes cold and devoid of the warmth he had shared with Arden over the phone just hours ago. “I was flattered, and I allowed it before because I was single. But that is no longer the case. So, I’m going to ask you nicely, one last time: leave me alone. Because we work on the same team, I have no choice but to be cordial, but that's as far as it goes.”
“Ugh!” Kendall stomped her foot like a child and stormed off with her food. Warlord pinched the space between his brows just as the grill master brought over his food.
“Brother, that’s what happens when you give these women an inch. They want to take a mile,” he said as she passed the plastic container to Warlord.
“I know. It’s annoying,” Warlord grumbled as he took the container.
“What’s this about your being in a relationship? Did you find—?” The grill master nodded, not wanting to say the word ‘mate.’ Warlord smiled and nodded back. “Congrats, brother! I’m sure everyone is happy for you,” he said with excitement.
“Everyone except for Odin. He’s still salty about his own misfortune.”
“Ah, well, that is to be expected after what he’s been through.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the food. Catch you later,” Warlord said, dismissing the conversation as he walked away with his steaming meal.
He headed over to the condiment station, where he drowned his pancakes and omelet in sugar-free syrup. At the topping station, he added a dollop of butter, a sprinkle of chocolate chips, and a handful of fresh fruit to his pancakes before finally paying for the spread.
Balancing his breakfast in a to-go container, he made his way to his cubicle on the third floor of Dorian’s company headquarters. It was a strange contrast to his life in the field; even though Warlord was a formidable and lethal bounty hunter, before he had ever tracked a target or drawn blood, he was a math whiz in school, more so than Allie. He used his analytical training to work in Dorian’s accounting department for the last few years.
Warlord’s true forte was data analytics. He could be handed a spreadsheet of numbers that looked like a calculator had exploded, and within a few hours, he would have it entirely sorted and organized. He served as a senior analyst on his team, but there was a significant drawback to his position: Kendall was a junior analyst on that same team.
Because Warlord wasn't a manager, Kendall was using the company’s hierarchy to her advantage. The only rules regarding fraternization among coworkers stated that relationships were permitted as long as they didn't involve a manager and their direct subordinate. Since they were technically peers, Kendall felt emboldened to ignore his rejections, preying on the fact that no formal policy was being broken, even if his heart was now miles away and belonged to a specific Fairy Guard.
Warlord sat down at his desk and began to chow down on his massive breakfast. He still had about forty minutes before he officially needed to start his day. As a senior analyst, he was a salaried employee and didn't have to clock in per se, but that didn’t mean he could afford to slack off.
A digital mountain of data was already waiting for him in the form of spreadsheets and reports that needed to be examined, organized, and sent up the chain of command. He stared at the glowing monitor, his mind drifting toward the memory of Arden’s voice. As much as he wanted to spend the morning daydreaming about his mate and the life they would eventually share, he knew he couldn't afford the distraction. In the world of high-level analytics, a single misplaced decimal point was as dangerous as a missed step on a hunt.
Somewhere in Utah
Arden woke with the dawn, stretching her arms and legs until she felt the satisfying pop of her joints. Finally, she unfurled her wings, the delicate membranes shimmering in the morning light.
Her wings were a stark departure from what most expected of a fairy. Instead of the typical, airy pastel hues, Arden’s wings were a deep, molten red. The intensity of the color often threw off other fairies, but no one ever truly questioned it. Many in the Royal Guard possessed bold, saturated colors, so her fiery red didn't raise too many eyebrows, even if it did hint at a temperament far more volatile than the average sprite.
As she fluttered them to shake off the remnants of sleep, her mind immediately went to Warlord. The vibrant red of her wings felt like a reflection of the heat his voice had stirred in her during their late-night call. Six months seemed like an impossibly long time to keep those wings grounded in her service to the Royal Fairy Guard.
Arden glided from her bed, landing gracefully on her feet as her wings retracted seamlessly into her back. She made her way to her ensuite bathroom to prepare for the day, her movements fueled by a new sense of purpose.
It just so happened to be her day off, but she had no intention of lounging. She needed to speak with the Fairy King about submitting her discharge papers immediately. The bureaucracy of the Royal Court was notoriously slow, and she wanted to ensure the paperwork was processed well in advance. She couldn't afford any hiccups, not when her future with Warlord hung in the balance. Every day spent in the service of the Fairy Guard now felt like a day stolen from her mate, and she was determined that once her six months were up, nothing would stand in her way.
After finishing her morning routine and dressing in her formal attire, Arden submitted a request for an audience with the Fairy King. To her surprise, it was accepted immediately, and she was summoned to his private chambers.
“Good morning, King Duncan,” Arden said, bowing her head in a deep, practiced show of respect.
“Good morning, Arden,” replied Duncan Collier. As the father of Evelyn and Eileen and the Fairy King of America, he carried an air of weary but kind authority. “I was told you requested an urgent audience with me.”
“Yes, sire.”
“What can I do for you?”
Arden took a steadying breath. “I’m not sure if the news has reached you yet, but something significant occurred last night during the mission.”
“I’ve heard whispers,” Duncan replied, leaning back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “But I was waiting for you to tell me yourself.”
“I found my mate, sire,” Arden stated. She stood with her posture erect, hands clasped firmly behind her back. “A werewolf by the name of Westley, though he is known to most as Warlord.”
“I’ve heard of him from my son-in-law. Warlord is a bounty hunter from the Desert Moon pack, yes?” Duncan asked, and Arden nodded. “Interesting to see another fairy mated to a werewolf.”
“I am just as surprised, Your Grace.”
“I take it that your request for an audience to submit your discharge papers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Arden, if memory serves, you still have a few months left with the guard, yes?” Arden nodded. “And your request to submit the papers now is to what? Be discharged early?”
“No, sir. I just want to get the process started. I still plan to finish my duties as intended.”
“And is your mate aware of this?”
“Yes, he is. I told him last night.”
“And he’s okay with it?”
“No, he’s not. But he also knows he has no choice but to accept it. As do I,” Arden stated.
“Very well. I will get with Commander Magnus and get the paperwork started.”
“Thank you, sire,” Arden bowed her head, turned sharply, and started to walk away.
“Arden.”
“Sir?” Arden turned back around.
“I’m genuinely happy for you,” Duncan said with the utmost sincerity.
“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you, sire.”
“Though I don’t have to tell you who this will rub the wrong way,” Duncan said, his voice dropping to a warning tone.
“No, sir. You don’t. But I can handle Douglas.”
“If you run into problems, let me know.”
“I will. Thank you.”
- ผู้เขียน
