Shifting Shadows

Bran nodded. “That’s him. He hasn’t left Alaska since the 1880s. I’ve let him be, and until now he has given me no reason to complain.”

“Dominant wolves who do not live under your thumb forget why they swore obedience to you,” Asil said. “They become arrogant. And most of them do not like that you have brought us out into the eye of the public. They are stuck in old habits, and change frightens them.”

Bran smiled—a flash, then gone. “They?”

“I’m beyond that,” Asil said aloofly. “Now I’m just bored. He thinks that being Marrok is like being Alpha. If he can just knock you off your pedestal, make you look weak, it will reduce your support. Weaken your magic.” He snorted. “Idiot.”

Kara gave him an anxious whine.

“It will be okay,” he told her, his voice confident. Bran would hear the lie, but she wouldn’t—and that was all he cared about. To Bran he said, “I will stand with her.”

“Then go find Charles—he’ll be in the center of the floor with the three Alaskan wolves. I will come in when everyone is here.”

Kara beside him, Asil pushed his way through a group of people talking just outside the doorway. One of them turned to snarl, saw who it was, and shut up with gratifying suddenness.

The interior of the pole barn was set up with hay bales set around three sides in a horseshoe shape for seating, leaving the center as a stage. Bran hadn’t called the whole pack, but a casual glance told Asil that all of the wolves Asil would have considered stable—excepting himself—were there. The Marrok’s pack had more than its fair share of unstable wolves. Sage was seated near the far wall, but she caught his eyes and raised her eyebrows in a “do you know what’s going on?” He gravely nodded to her, though he could not conceive that his knowing anything helped her in the slightest. The three men he’d captured were on their knees in the center of the room, with Charles standing beside them.

He could hear the whispers of speculation; apparently Bran had not told anyone what he was doing. As Asil and Kara passed through the invisible ring imposed by Charles’s impassive regard, they became the subject of attention so thick Asil could taste it. When their audience noticed the blood on Kara’s side and digested what that meant in conjunction with the strangers on their knees in disgrace, Asil felt the pack bonds flash with the eager anger of the collected pack. Kara belonged to them, too.

Kara growled when the emotion hit her—and Asil put his hand on her head. “Shh,” he said.

Charles gave him a stiff nod, looked at Kara, and flinched almost imperceptibly. If Bran decided Kara must die, Asil would have to defeat Charles before Bran in order to save Kara. And even if he managed it, that would leave him in charge, not just of a pack, but of all the packs in this part of the world.

Not acceptable. Asil was done with responsibility.

Kara would have to change on her own.

He looked around the barn, where strangers gathered. His eyes lingered on a group of wolves whose leader was staring at Kara with a little too much anger. This would be the wolf who would challenge Kara’s fitness, and the unwitting tool for Hatchard Cole who had once been Conrad Hatch. This wolf’s face was familiar; eventually his name would work its way out of Asil’s memories.

Perhaps Asil could take him out before he opened his mouth.

The outer doors shut with a hollow boom, and Bran let his power flush through the building, bringing with it absolute silence. His pack, well used to his ways, knew it was a sign that the show was on—the strangers, unused to the sheer enormity of the Marrok’s effect on their wolves, were silenced by the display.

“Take a seat, please,” Bran asked them simply.

The milling crowd resolved itself into an orderly audience. There were more people than the hay bales could seat. The wolves who couldn’t find seating on the hay simply sat on the wooden-plank floor. Even knowing that Bran did not mean him, Asil had to lock his knees to stay upright. Kara sat, then leaned harder against his leg as she craned her neck to look at Bran as he walked soberly into the center of the room, facing his audience.

“Today, I come before you to render justice,” he said. “For this reason, I have asked you and your candidates to gather here today. So that those who wish to be wolves can see what that truly means. These gentlemen were found hunting as wolves in my territory without my permission.” He paused to let them think about that, leaving the silence for exactly long enough.

Bran’s timing was almost as good as Asil’s.

“The penalty for hunting without invitation upon my lands is one thing,” he said. “That their prey was one of mine upon my lands is another.”

He strolled past the three kneeling men without looking at them. He turned like any good actor, into the audience rather than away from them. He took time to let his eyes meet, however briefly, the gaze of all the wolves in the room. Asil watched Bran’s attention drive the eyes of everyone—human or not—to the ground. The effect was almost eerie.

Then he turned his focus to the trespassers. “Eric,” he said. “Were you under orders?”

The werewolf addressed bit his lip until it bled in an effort not to speak.

“Eric?” Bran’s voice was gentle, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t compelling.

“Yes.”

“Cole’s orders?”

Eric’s skin flushed down his cheekbones as he ground his teeth. “Yes.”

“Hatchard Cole is their Alpha,” Bran said. “He chose to stay in Alaska and sent these three with Eric’s brother, who is a candidate.” He paused. “Eric’s wife is in Alaska under the protection of Hatchard Cole.”

Asil did not point out that, hostage or not, Eric had been quite willing to hunt down a thirteen-year-old girl and hurt her. He was pretty certain that if he had not heard her, Kara would have been hurt worse, even if they had not killed her.

But he trusted Bran. Really. The bastard wouldn’t get away with anything.

Eric opened his mouth to say something, but Bran beat him to it. “He was sent here originally to tell me that Cole is taking over all of Alaska, and I could give my permission, or he’d just take it. When Cole wasn’t happy with my reply, he told his wolves to make trouble.”

Bran smiled. “What he doesn’t know is that there are eight packs in Alaska, not three.” He checked his watch. “Excuse me. What he did not know until right about now—is that there are eight packs in Alaska. It is a big state. Silver Pete and the rest of the Alphas are reminding him that he is due so much of it, and no more.”