Page 7 of Crowned By The Blood Alphas

The gems and gold could be used to better the kingdom. First, Tovik and I would order the purchase of grain from Keldmoor Island, which would fill our sorely lacking harvest vaults to the brim. Our people are exceptional warriors and hunters, but enthusiastic farmers, they are not.

That alone would have been worth it, but King Corwin is throwing enough treasure at us to turn the poorest peasant in Varkhar into a rich Aurevale merchant. How could I say no?

I should have.

Or, at least I should have done my due diligence and patrolled the wall. I was out there a few days ago, running along the border in my wolf form, and I saw all of the damage with my own eyes. It will take a decade at least to repair that cursed, crumbling wall.

We will run our wolves ragged trying to keep up.

Those damn humans and their ceaseless arrogance. Leave it to those soft creatures to roll around in their luxuries while neglecting the one thing standing between them and a horde of venom-clawed monsters. And then to turn to us wolves to clean up their century-long mess… So typically human.

The door bursts open and I don’t need to raise my head to know that it’s Tovik stomping in. I know this man so well, I can recognize the sound of his gait, but if that wasn’t enough, his pungent scent fills the room. After a night of patrolling the borders, there is a lot to smell.

“Eventful night?” I ask as my nose scrunches up. The scent of Hollowborn venom tickles my nostrils with that unpleasant sour tang.

“Althorn got injured,” Tovik grunts in his deep voice.

“Really?” I say, looking up at him curiously. He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing only those old tattered tunic pants he can’t seem to take off long enough to get them washed. He looks like anything but royalty, covered in mud, sweat, blood, and streaks of green venom across his barrel of a chest.

His giant right hand is wrapped around a cup—his usual glass of bloodberry wine. It’s much too sweet for me, but this beast can’t get enough of it.

“So, I’m assuming you stumbled into some action?” I ask as he drops into a chair and sips his wine.

“You remain the master strategist, Cassius,” he grunts. “How did you ever piece that together?”

“How bad is he hurt?”

Tovik lets out a long exhale as he stares at nothing. “Three claw marks on his hind leg. I carried him home on my shoulders. His wolf was howling up a storm, I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

“How long will he be out?”

“Three nights. Maybe four. They were deep. The venom got in.”

I curse under my breath as I turn back to my map with all of the carved wolf and Hollowborn figurines along the river. We’re already tight in numbers and once that princess arrives, we’ll be on the hook for double the territory. The moment Aurevale’s royal blood crosses into Varkhar, our obligation begins.

“The recruits?” Tovik asks.

“On their way.”

We sent the word through the kingdom that Varkhar needed more blood warriors to defend the realm. They began trickling in yesterday. Hopefully, many more will arrive in the upcoming days. We need as many as we can get.

“Once you finish your sweet swill,” I say with a huff of frustration, “come show me on the map where you had your encounter.”

Tovik downs the rest of his bloodberry wine, stands up with a growl, and slams his finger onto the Blood River—in an unusual spot by the Beranger Cliffs.

“Interesting,” I whisper as I ponder what that could mean. Are the Hollowborn trying to divert us, spread us thin, or perhaps, they’re trying to move us away from Aurevale, so they can attack?

But I know none of that is true. The Hollowborn are ruthless and vicious killers, but smart and strategic, they are not.

It almost saddens me that I do not have an enemy playing on my level. One to challenge my wits and my strategic ability. One that keeps me guessing and on my toes.

No, the Hollowborn are not that kind of enemy. They are more suited to Tovik’s preferred form of negotiation. Brute force. Pure power. An abundance of violence and little to no conversation.

They are vicious creatures. Sent by the dark Gods themselves. Taller than a man when standing on two legs and larger than even Tovik’s wolf when they drop onto all fours. They feel little pain and can fight all night even with the most grievous of injuries. Their long deadly claws carry a venom made for torturing wolf shifters. The bright green liquid slows our healing ability and can temporarily prevent shifting, which poor Althorn is discovering as we speak. Most likely, his wolf is writhing in pain, ruing the day he was born.

Oh well, at least Tovik can have his fun out there. And it’s not like running the kingdom does not give me any chance to use my intelligence and strategic thinking. There are supply runs to be organized, schedules to be constructed, budgets to be balanced, recruits to train, and an endless list of other tasks to keep my mind occupied.

“What about the girl?” Tovik says as I run my finger along the Blood River, wondering why the Hollowborn are suddenly attacking at the Beranger Cliffs. The Hollowborn cannot see worth a damn, but they can smell blood across a valley, feel a footstep through stone, and hear a terrified heart beating in the dark. They travel in packs and somehow share sensory information amongst themselves, so the greater their numbers, the more capable each individual creature becomes. But still, they usually avoid the cliffs since even the most adept Hollowborn can still tumble off one in the dark. I wonder if we can use this to our advantage…