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Slipping further into the shadows, I turn toward the tress but then stop. Her voice carries over the breeze, and hearing that sweet little tone is a gift.
“I, Isabella Moore, accept your position.”
2
XADIEL
A YEAR AGO...
“Fuck, that last shot hurt,” I hiss out a second before the sound of metal clashing fills the air. The brute force vibrates up my arms, shaking my chest, but I keep my stance and push forward with my shoulder. My father grunts as I do, meeting my resistance just as hard, but then a sharp scream rends the air.
Sweat and raindrops roll down my face, the quickly forming bruises from the blunt end of the handle meeting my side during our sparring throb, but I’m quick to turn and listen.
For a few beats there’s silence. No one calls for help, and no guard reports a problem.
Not so much as the rustle of leaves, but the moment I retake my fighting position with my chosen weapon, a large sword in my tight grip, another cry rips through the rainy afternoon air, forcing every muscle in my body to tense.
Everyone does.
The sound is full of horror—laced heavily with fear—and the steel drops with a sharp thud against the wet ground. There are a few seconds between the second and next yell, louder and more harrowing, but the person it belongs to is now unmistakable.
Mum, where are you? I ask through the mind link but get nothing. There’s a dull static between our communication. It’s as if something’s preventing her from responding, and for the first time in my life, my heart clenches in fear. Are you safe?
Again, I get no response. Nothing.
The one thing shifters in a pack have is the ability to talk through a mental connection, this invisible cord that ties us together and no amount of distance can interrupt. It helps when it comes to protecting the pack or giving out orders, but right now, it’s failing me.
It’s malfunctioning for my father as well. His worry is palpable and his wolf rises to the surface, eyes becoming black while mine are sure to mimic with their golden tone.
At once, we take off across the training grounds, not wasting another second while every guard on the field begins to shift, the loud cracking of bones following us. Our footfalls sound like thunder snapping against the forest, the horde right behind their leaders while my father’s body morphs mid-sprint, his large black wolf snarling as we draw closer to his mate and my mother.
“She’s strong and fights better than you, old man.” Hearing me, my father’s wolf nods to tell me he agrees, but I sense his emotions. His fears. “Our lands are safe. Have faith.”
Those words are as much for him as they are for me.
Mum needs us. I can feel it.
And while the bond is different between mother and son, his fury is near choking.
Mates are sacred in our world, and I understand his unease. I’d react the same way if it were mine, and had I found her already, we wouldn’t be apart. Ever. That possessiveness and all-consuming need is magnified by the beast within me tenfold.
I grew up watching the love between my parents and the elders all around me. So much of our history and origins start and end with the twining of two souls, the basis of who we are because your other half is both a strength and weakness. Your moral compass and destruction.
One does not function without the other.
We split. Come from both sides. Dad’s command comes just as we cross the edge of the field, stepping now into the small patch of untouched forest that separates the royal manor and the training area. This is my kill. Just get her to safety.
“No mercy,” I say out loud, gaining another nod seconds before he breaks away from the group, taking half our guards with him. Anyone close to the queen’s garden, rush over. Something is wrong.
I’m patrolling and heard the screams. Heading over, my best friend, Cain, responds quickly. When he came back from picking up his mate, a she-wolf he met and courted two weeks before completing the bond and moving her to the royal pack from a smaller, northern one? I have no clue, but right now I’m grateful.
He’s a top warrior. Trustworthy. Almost as ruthless as I am and will someday take the position of my beta.
My ears twitch after closing the connection, straining to hear any more screams. Instead, I’m met with the heavy steps of wolves running behind me. Their snouts are low to the ground while trying to find a disturbance; a disruption that comes from the direction of my mother’s flower garden near the west side of the castle a minute later.
A female figure turns the corner before we do. She’s drenched in blood and crying hysterically while looking over her shoulder every few seconds. “Help!”
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, reaching her in a few strides. My hands grip her arms, pulling Aunt Theresa into a hug, trying to calm her enough to talk, but the scent of roses overwhelms me. The blood on her is my mother’s. So much of it. “Where is she?”
