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“Be gentle with him, Evander. He’s hurting for his mate.” As Lumira lay a delicate hand on the Alpha’s thickly muscled arm, he noticeably calmed. Tucking a silver strand of hair behind her angular ears, he paused to examine the blood that still dampened the tips. “Did you feed?”
“I did.” He brushed a thumb under her lip, and she playfully bit at his finger. “But I’m far from satisfied, my love. Come. Finish what Darius started.”
It had been several days since Darius voiced his concerns for his mate when Evander minimized any sense of urgency and postponed his plans of finding and claiming her. After that explosive confrontation, Darius entertained the idea of breaking from the pack, a thought that earned him the thrashing of a lifetime when his brothers discovered his intentions.
They were one. As such, their thoughts, as well as other things, were often shared regardless of intention. The weight of their broken trust shrouded them now, and Evander watched him with a shrewd, distrustful glare.
“You will have your mate when the time is right, Darius. I look forward to taking my time with her as she learns the ways of our pack.”
Darius inwardly seethed. The intended threat left him panting with territorial rage, but he could not challenge the Alpha.
Yes, his mate would essentially belong to all of them. His brothers would know her intimately. It was their way. More than a custom. Deeper than tradition. Their magick, which traced back to the first gods, relied on keeping their endangered line alive. But he was experiencing difficulty accepting such traditions when he had yet to have her.
She was, after all, his.
“It’s not a threat,” Evander said, easily reading his displeasure. “It’s a promise—one made to the gods, one you will uphold.”
Evander’s forefathers’ ascension had been stolen from the powerful ancestors of the first boy, the son maimed by his father and saved by the spelled red leaf brought by the raven. The sacred pelts, divined of the strongest sorcery, still existed today and were the pack’s greatest treasure. They were duty-bound to themagick, for it was the root of all their power, and without it, their line would die.
Those who challenged the pack in prior generations lost their lives for such treason. Evander’s ancient line could be traced back to 800 AD, to a time when feudalism reigned and upheaval was greatly monitored by the emerging role of the church. But his family was not the first to rule. Authority had come to their pack through force, but power was a boon he would never voluntarily surrender. Therefore, obedience was required when it came to tradition, and Evander would never see it otherwise.
The first boy’s rule lasted nearly two thousand years and was then passed down to his heirs for several generations. His line ruled long before the coming of Christ, the patriarch of Abraham, or the birth of the Buddha. And while power had shifted hands, those sacred vows could never be undone—not without great consequence.
Only during the blood moon could the spell be lifted enough for power to exchange lines, and only at the exact moment when the Earth passed directly between the sun and the moon, causing a brief but total lunar eclipse. In those passing moments, when the blood moon falls under the planet’s darkest shadow and celestial bodies align, astronomical power is at its strongest.
An eclipse was coming. Darius sensed Evander’s grip tightening on the reigns as a precaution to hold onto his power. These were dangerous thoughts Darius should not entertain, no matter how true.
While their rich and detailed history was important, obsession over such matters often triggered suspicions of power shifts. Which was why there could be no secrets among the pack. Evander ensured he understood that last week when he beat him for the mere thought of disobedience.
There was no separating. Survival of their line depended on tribalism that went far deeper than brotherhood. Their power required symbioticharmony and disunity would not be tolerated.
Just as the Luna was required to take each of Evander’s brothers into her bed, Darius’s mate would be expected to do the same. Such pack loyalty could not be broken. The blood moon was the only way a brother could separate from the clan—but it was more likely for the pack to thin by death.
Should Evander suspect straying or treason, he would not hesitate to end Darius’s life to ensure his reign was secure. Therefore, if Darius wanted to find his mate, he needed Evander’s approval, which was not forthcoming.
“You may go now, Darius. But do not go far.”
Lumira stripped Evander of his leather and weapons, then lowered to her knees, seeing to the Alpha’s pleasure. Unlike the rest of them, Evander was permitted to touch the Luna however he pleased. Her body belonged to him, whereas the rest of the pack was duty-bound to serve the Luna.
Adherence to the Alpha’s command wasn’t necessarily a choice or matter of will. The link of brothers was wound tight at birth. It grew with them, the way tree roots interlocked into one co-dependent system underground.
Darius’s obedience was written into his bones, his soul sewn to the one and only Alpha.
Only when the shadow passed, and he could clearly see his way to his mate, would he be able to go to her. He needed his brothers’ trackingskills to find her, which was why they needed to move in harmony, together, as a pack, regardless of his impatience to leave without them.
Evander cocked his head, and the Luna stilled, her attention shifting from her duties as she looked back at Darius in fear. His unconscious thoughts were going to get him beat again.
“I don’t trust you,” Evander admitted, his sharp gaze penetrating deep into his mind.
Darius couldn’t challenge the Alpha’s intuition because, at the moment, he was having a hard time trusting himself. Rather than respond with empty reassurance, Darius stole one last glimpse of Lumira. “Goodnight, sweet Luna.”
“Goodnight, Darius.” Her gaze softened as she turned her attention back to the alpha.
As he left the cavernous bedroom, the wind whistled against the stone walls. Ancient ironwork sealed every cut window pane in the gaping hall, but this high up in the Scandinavian Alps, the cold could be vicious. The metallic bite in the air promised they would see snow soon.
Winters in the north were treacherous. Those long, cold months were often passed in the castle once the doors became buried by snow and the hinges encased by ice.
The locals knew the folklore, and while some assumed what they were, very few believed the truth. To most, they were a wealthy band of brothers with eccentric tastes for old-world charm.
