Page 13 of Sienna Rossi: Beyond Shattered Trust

Lieutenant Ana glances up from her bowl of food, arching a brow but says nothing. She’s a werewolf; her brother and mate are both alphas of Russian packs, and yet she’s here, fighting on the front lines. She’s a strong woman in her mid-forties, but it’s obvious Uncle Alejandro didn’t even think before saying that.

As usual.

“What has got you so riled up, Lycan King?” Mikhail drawls as he steps inside, his frame filling the doorway as a blast of icy cold wind and snow enters with him. He’s the only one out here who doesn’t wear fur.

He’s the general here, with Uncle Alejandro as his second-in-command. Due to my status as the Deimos King, I have the position of captain, even though I’m younger than all the other captains and lieutenants; but seeing my capabilities, they accepted me quickly enough.

Uncle Alejandro cocks a brow. “They are sending my nephew’s wife, Delsanra, out here to see if her magic can help.”

“Ah, the demon witch; it might be good for us, no?” Mikhail says as he sits down and stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.

Uncle Alejandro frowns. “I don’t know if she can, though. I mean, even Enrique, the Rey Carmesí, couldn’t fucking do anything that wasn’t disrupted by that fucking eyesore out there.”

Mikhail cocks a brow as he reaches for one of the dark bottles on the table, ones that only the vampires will touch. Bottles of blood. He pours himself a glass. “We know demon magic is different. If she is able to put up barriers, it would help greatly. Let’s not rule it out. We will be here to protect the women of your family. So come, drink and relax; you aren’t getting any younger,” he says, smirking, his sharp teeth glistening menacingly.

Uncle Alejandro scoffs. “I’m younger than you,” he reminds him.

I don’t know how old Mikhail is exactly, but he definitely looks younger, and he clearly finds it amusing.

I frown as my mind wanders to the news. Delsanra shouldn’t be here. Sienna’s going through heat, unless she’s...

My wolf snarls in my mind, and my own stomach twists at the thought of another man fucking her. Unreasonable as it is, since I want nothing to do with her, it still makes my blood boil with white-hot rage.

In the end, it’s her only option, but the thought of it isn’t fucking pleasant.

“You’re radiating rage, Deimos King,” Mikhail remarks, his red eyes now on me.

I look up, reining in my emotions. “How long will she be here for, and who is she travelling here with?” I ask Uncle Alejandro, ignoring Mikhail’s emotionless gaze. He’s far more observant than he lets on.

Uncle Alejandro shakes his head. “These fucking transcription messages are short-as-fuck.” He turns to the messenger. “Let them know the message was received.” The man nods before he heads to the door, ready to brave the cold temperature of the Wastelands. “Eat before you go!” Uncle Alejandro calls, making him jump before nodding and looking around the large room.

The tight tables are partially filled with warriors. Others are out fighting, and some are sleeping. Sleep is on rotation, too.

The sleeping quarters are in the barracks along with the infirmary, the common room, the command room, storage, and the weapons hall. The washrooms are adjacent, just like the mess hall. The sleeping quarters are shared between four separate groups, and there’s a rota with a schedule. Each room is narrow, with six bunks per cabin and no privacy.

As a captain, I have the privilege of my own space, but it’s not that private, considering it’s partitioned only by thin timber walls. Even the private rooms are tight, holding a small bed, a weapons rack, a storage rack, and a table and chair.

“When are they arriving?” I ask, breaking some bread from the loaf in the basket; it’s dry, but we don’t waste anything out here.

“They should be here in a few days, or at least to the drop-off point,” Uncle Alejandro muses, stroking his short beard.

“She is of a prestigious family; we will need to figure out sleep arrangements,” Mikhail says.

“Yes, Your Highness, we shall make sufficient arrangements upon their arrival, once we know their number,” Helena, one of the staff members who oversees the running of the barracks and food, says, lowering her head slightly.

“Yeah, sounds fucking good.” Uncle Alejandro nods, despite not looking too pleased.

Whether he likes it or not, she’s coming. He’ll just have to deal with it.

The days passed by just like the rest, and the dome has been relatively dormant. The Indomitable are another fucking story. I look in the mirror, fixing my hair. I keep it short in the back and on the sides these days.

The cold blows in through the gaps in the wood, and I pull on a shirt. Uncle Alejandro was out at one of the other outposts and will be picking up Delsanra and whoever is with her on his way back today.

They will probably get here late at night. She’ll be an extra reminder of Sienna, a reminder I don’t need or want. Not that I can deny she’s always preying on my thoughts.

I put on some clothes, my custom Schattenblüte armour activated beneath them. Due to my Deimos artefacts and the way my power works, mine consists of pants, boots and a belt that is slightly larger than the average Schattenblüte.

“Captain, we’re ready,” Vasquez, one of my warriors, says as I step out of the washroom. He’s around my age, with dark hair and dark eyes, and he’s wearing the Packs of the USA patch on his uniform. We all have individual patches showing what country we’re from. There is a mix of wolves here from allied packs from all around the globe, as well as the vampires. The only witches here are healers since their magic doesn’t really do much, thanks to the effect of the dome.