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“How do I feel…about…eating human flesh?” His stomach roiled at the thought.
“It’s your favorite delicacy.” He took a piece of human meat and chewed it, then smiled. “Your tastes will return in time. Agrippa, your mate, eats nothing but human for breakfast.”
No way in hell would he have pups with a she-wolf cannibal. “I’m done.”
“Shall we meet in say an hour to roam as wolves?”
He pushed his plate back. “Yes. Can someone show me to my den?”
Wolfstrom signaled to one of the betas. “Take him to his apartment.” He smiled. “Sleep well, my son.”
“Yes, Father.”
After a restless night, Slade woke in his master bedroom at Wolf Lair and sat. The den looked familiar, but devoid of emotion. Empty. Soulless. The room’s sterile smells failed to illicit memories. He rubbed his brow, got up, and entered the bathroom. He washed his face and then stared in the mirror. Who am I?
Yesterday, the prince spent hours reviewing many of his lost memories with Henrik, a friend he didn’t remember. He’d studied dozens of photos on a big screen. The two of them together at a rally, calling for the enemies of mankind to rise and take their place as supreme rulers of the earth. Watching his father, King Wolfstrom eating the flesh of a human male captured in their territory. He cringed with disgust rather than blood lust. Funny, he hated the thought of hurting humans. The pictures of his men, powerful betas, loyal to him since before the change drew a blank.
Visually all the photos made sense, but the smells in the entire castle were wrong.
Most disturbing, he remembered his buxom mate, Agrippa. Beautiful, but with a smile that hinted at evil or betrayal. A stranger. An enemy, not a mate. Odd. In human form, his amnesia was excusable, but one's wolf never forgot a true mate. Not even in death.
He showered and dressed. When he returned to the living room, he caught a whiff of a familiar scent, savoring the aroma. Had his mate returned?
He inhaled and closed his eyes. Syrupy honey. Rose petals. Spring blossoms. Warmth.
Images and the scent of the woods. Running with a small wolf. Fear for her life. A dead bear.
Mounting the little wolf. Her sweet moans.
Mine. Abella.
Slade grimaced as his head raged in agony, and he crumbled to the floor. The more he thought about her, the greater the throbbing. Fuck! Pain provided a barrier against remembering. Must fight the pain.
Her sweet voice echoed in his mind. Slade, don’t forget me.
Cricket.
A bolt of light blinded him with a sharp stab of pain, and he groaned. The torment passed.
Memories flooded his mind. Parents, siblings, dead. His eyes prickled with tears. Yukon territory. Prince Slade.
Missing werewolves. Mission. Abella. Capture.
Fuck. He stood; his heart pounding and his hackles up.
Find her. Protect.
His fangs emerged, his fur surged on his arms, preparing to shift. To kill.
A knock on the door interrupted his shift. “Sir, is everything okay?” Outside his room, a beta stood guard, for his protection Wolfstrom had said. The oath breaker dared to claim him as his son.
Slade stiffened and narrowed his eyes toward the door. Save Cricket. Complete the mission. Against hundreds following the evil commands of a tyrant? Not possible. Not as Slade, but as Bain. Now I have the advantage. He took a long breath and slowly exhaled. “Come in.”
The beta entered and bowed. “Prince Bain, is everything okay?”
He rubbed his fingers on the corner of his brow. “I just had a throbbing headache.”
“I’ll send for some pain medication.”
