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The enforcer named Sal, who had been driving, acknowledged Fletcher’s orders and then climbed out. They all watched with bated breath as he approached the gate and explained the reason for their visit.
Thankfully, it went smoothly, with the gates being parted by the guards and Sal returning to the front seat, soaked from head to toe.
“They agreed to let us speak to him. He’s in the center hut, but we have to go on foot,” Sal said.
Fletcher grunted, shaking the floor below. Sal and Gary pulled out ponchos for Madison and Fletcher to wear, and all four of them sauntered through the hammering rain.
The community was all huts, with only one old-looking building left standing. It all gave Madison a sinister feeling, but she buried it, moving into the building, passing the tent folds that served as a door.
It had old-world aesthetics that Madison marveled at. The walls were painted in the old language her father had taught her, while a throne built out of bones sat in the center. A lean-looking man wearing only a loincloth rested on it.
There was a beat of peculiar silence that made Madison feel like they were walking into an open mouth. Fletcher took the lead while the enforcers stood back with her, shirts dripping into a puddle on the cold, dead earth.
“You know who I am,” Fletcher said, approaching the throne and pulling his hood down. “And I know who you are. So let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?”
Madison felt the silence fall over them like a thick fog. She thought the king’s words were slightly confrontational, especially so early on, but she had to trust him. He was drawing a line in the sand instantly, making sure Alaric knew where he stood.
The alpha chuckled, sounding erratic and childlike. When he stood from the throne, Madison noticed how lanky he was, but he was still wiry and intimidating. Thunder cracked above as she observed a raven’s long, sleek, black feather threaded into a braid cast over his shoulder. His eyes were a raging, burning teal and sapphire sea blue. Her hands shook, but she concealed them beneath the shield of the poncho.
“You are looking for one of mine, no?” Alaric said, his voice fractured like he had been screaming. “You are looking for Turk?”
Fletcher stood his ground, nodding. He knew when to speak and when words were nothing but gasoline thrown on fire.
“And what sin did my wolf commit?” Alaric asked, flashing some ragged fangs.
“He destroyed noble property along with a few other men. It would be prudent to reveal his location as soon as possible to avoid wasting the king’s time.”
Alaric was still smiling, unfazed by Fletcher’s threat.
“You would surely charge me with treason, no?”
Fletcher nodded again. Madison’s heartbeat thudded so loudly that the sound rang in her ears. “Treason would be the first charge.”
Alaric let the statement hang, then laboriously strolled back to the throne. He plopped down and returned to his state of utter indifference.
“You aren’t going to find Turk here. He lives on the other side of the kingdom at an outpost, I’ve been told. Don’t waste any more of your time, my dear nobleman.”
Fletcher thanked the alpha, then moved past Madison, taking her by the wrist promptly. He didn’t have to say anything for Madison to know that the king was livid.
FOURTEEN
FLETCHER
The thoughts about Colt and Alaric remained in the king’s mind as renovations in the store began. It had been a few days since he had punched information out of the traitor, then subsequently met up with the strange character, Alaric.
He had heard of shifters like that before, ones who had “gone back to the earth.” He found the packs often had an aura of arrogance to them. And he had been proven right after meeting the enigmatic leader.
Days had drifted by with a quiet reverence since the attack, with Madison sinking into a kind of melancholy he hadn’t yet observed in her personality. It was having contagious effects on the king despite the constant updates he was relaying to his future queen. On the third day of her moody countenance, Fletcher decided that he’d had enough of the moping around.
Madison was in bed reading, in a mid-afternoon slump, still wearing her nightclothes, while a stream of gray light filtered through the sheen of the curtains. She always looked remarkably delicious to the king, even though the bags under her eyes were deepening. They hadn’t made love for a few days despite the reprieve he knew it offered her. She simply couldn’t be bothered.
He came into their shared chambers, the door shoved open and slammed against the wall behind it. Madison gazed up from her book. Her pretty eyes were unmoved and indifferent.
“What was that about?”
They’d had breakfast together, but Madison returned to bed. Her T-shirt was loose, and her chestnut hair poured down one side of her shoulders. Her eyes were muted but still sparkled at him like the sea at dawn.
It broke his heart to see her so downtrodden. He had to do something about it.
