A Warrior’s Fate (Wolves of Morai #1)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

A s their transport vehicle curved into the outskirts of the Imperial City, Isla caught sight of the iconic golden gates that surrounded Io’s Pack Hall, stretching high into the air, near-blinding in the brutal sunlight. A beautiful behemoth of a structure—the building was at least three times the size of Callisto’s. Pack members were buzzing outside the gates as they approached, reporters and gossips, too, as usual.

The boys had since woken up and found themselves looking out the windows at the gathered crowd who wanted to catch sight of the Imperial Heir, mostly. Adrien lifted his hand to wave to them, drawing more of a commotion and sending those reporters and gossips scribbling in their notepads. They’d take anything to record, Isla figured. Even the most professional of journalists were itching to get the inside scoop about what had truly happened between their prince and the woman who was set to be their future queen.

Some parts of the story were even still a mystery to Isla despite having been so close to Adrien and Corinne.

The gates of the hall were nothing like that of the Wilds. They drew open easily, and the vehicle rumbled up the extensive drive and by the long pool of water, sprouted with golden fountains and glittering with sunlight that Isla wished it would be acceptable to jump into.

She leaped to her feet before the van had even come to a stop, her body releasing groans and cracks in celebration of finally being stretched out again. Her head spun from exhaustion, but despite it, she practically raced down the row of seats, eager to feel the earth beneath her feet, to maybe find a breeze in the open air.

She’d gotten one of the two.

“Shit, it’s hot,” Sebastian cursed, wiping the sweat off his brow as he joined at her side. His shirt, soaked again, was slung around his neck.

“It’s home.” Isla smiled, tying her shirt around her waist.

As Adrien came to stand at her other side, Isla’s eyes directed up the many stairs to the opening of the hall’s grand doors. Out of it strode a familiar gangly man, a clipboard tucked under his arm. Of course. Isla’s grin grew as she observed their pack’s liaison walking down the stairs towards them.

Bags under Winslow’s eyes were typical, as was the slight jitteriness he exhibited from drinking too much brew, but the veins spider-webbing his temples told her he’d been more stressed than usual. It didn’t take much thought to figure out why.

“Welcome back,” he greeted the three, a tiredness in his voice saved just for them, residual from the years he’d dealt with them as they grew up “ complete animals ”.

“Good to be back, Winsy.” Sebastian beamed in a way that made the liaison arch an eyebrow in suspicion. He’d given up trying to deter them from using the nickname.

Winslow simply blinked with boredom at him before he rattled off to each of them in succession. To Adrien . “The Imperial Luna is inside waiting for you.” Back to Sebastian. “Delta Cairn is waiting to speak with you.” And to Isla, “And I need to speak with you.”

Isla jerked back while Sebastian mocked that she was in trouble.

Adrien didn’t join in the taunting, only slapped his friend on the back. “Just got back and already being put to work.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he moved to head inside.

Sebastian grumbled something in response that Isla hadn’t caught before he followed.

Her eyes snapped back to the liaison. “Is something wrong?” Was she in trouble?

Winslow shook his head. “The high general is here and would like to speak with you in the hall. ”

Isla’s heart skipped. “The Warrior High General?”

“That is the only high general in Morai, I believe.”

Isla pursed her lips at the sarcasm. “What about?”

“That’s for you two to discuss,” the liaison said, and then, wasting no time, turned on his heel to head up the stairs.

Isla took a deep breath, almost choking on the thickness of the air.

This was…sudden. But it had to be good news, right? Why else would the high general go out of his way to travel to Io from the Warrior Base in Ganymede?

Her insides bubbled with nerves and anticipation as she followed, the numerous steps to the door working the muscles in her tired legs.

She sighed at the coolness that greeted her once inside the foyer, the establishment having as opulent an interior, drenched in burgundies and golds, as outside. Isla wished she’d been wearing something more put together than a wrinkled shirt that she untied from her waist and haphazardly threw back on and her, simply coated head to toe in sweat.

As she contemplated if there was anything else she had to change into—trying to remember where the bathrooms were in this place to freshen up—her blood iced over.

She was still holding her damn bag. She had the marker, book, and dagger here in Io’s Pack Hall—a place ridden with the highest officials and, likely lingering somewhere, the Imperial Alpha himself.

Her steps balked at the thought, and she nearly fell over when Winslow came to a sudden stop. He turned to her, explaining something Isla could only half-listen to because she needed an excuse to leave. But when he continued forward upstairs to the second level, she did, too. Because this was the Warrior High General, and skipping this conference would be a blatant show of disrespect that could cost her in her career or any position she wanted to hold.

Her grip on the strap of the bag tightened. Focused and calm, she repeated her mantras. Focused and calm. It’ll all be fine.

“Wait here,” Winslow said, stopping once they’d opened into a new hallway on the hall’s second floor. “Let me make sure he’s ready for you. ”

Isla muttered her thanksas the liaison went a few paces down the corridor to one of many looming mahogany doors and disappeared behind it.

Once alone, Isla released a long breath. “Shit.” Her bag felt so heavy on her shoulder. “Shit, shit, shit.”

But it was all going to be fine. It would all. Be. Fine.

After a few more moments that felt like centuries, Winslow finally reappeared in the hallway.

“He’s ready,” he said, and Isla clocked the slightest tremor in his voice.

Isla nodded and then went to him, noting, as she got closer, that the spiderwebs at his temples had seemed more pronounced, his skin paler, and…was his heartbeat accelerated? His eyes lingered on hers a bit longer than expected, and she couldn’t help but notice the unspoken warning in them.

What was he pushing her into?

But Isla had heeded the warning too late, already stepping forward and breaking the threshold of the room.

And then, she was ready for the ground to swallow her whole because she wasn’t faced with the high general—but with Imperial Alpha Cassius.

Shit.

Adrien was the spitting image of his father—the only difference was, instead of the eyes her friend had inherited from the Imperial Luna, Cassius’s were endless depths of dark brown, nearly black, especially when swathed in the dim lighting of the corner of the sitting room. The darkness accentuated the hard lines of his face and made the grin he flashed seem more feral. Isla wondered if he could sense her heartbeat, if he could hear it.

Alpha Cassius tipped his head to the liaison. “Thank you, Winslow. We won’t be long.” He strode into the center of the room. Into some light. It didn’t do much to soften his features or make him any less intimidating. “Ten minutes, and you can escort her out.”

Winslow bowed in response, and Isla, shaking out of her terrified stupor, followed suit, eyes lingering on the ground a second longer than necessary while she continued the internal tirade. But there had also been something that struck her as curious.

It was more than likely that Isla was being guided out of the premises due to the several halls they’d taken to get here. Halls that she’d need a map to track again. But she couldn’t fight the gnawing feeling that the Alpha didn’t want her freely moving about this floor.

The hard sound of the door closing behind her as Winslow left made Isla jump, and the high click of the latch may as well have been the snapping of a trap made for a mouse. Her body went stiff under the Imperial Alpha’s slightly narrowed and always calculating stare. And though it shouldn’t have been her instinct before her leader, for a moment, all Isla wanted to do was match it.

But that air of defiance was squashed before it could manifest into anything she’d regret. She shifted her gaze to meet his before quickly diverting it, remembering well the lessons of her childhood.

Never look an alpha—especially the Alpha—directly in the eye.

She carefully adjusted her bag on her arm, hoping there was no scrape of metal against wood or ruffling of papers. “I apologize, Alpha, for my appearance. It was a long ride back, and it’s quite hot outside.”

At her tone, Alpha Cassius chuckled, and Isla risked a glance again.

“Please, Isla, you’re like family.” He took a few steps closer, resting his hands on the back of the long leather couch facing her. “We don’t need the formality.” He gestured to the dry bar against the wall beside them, a generous spread of liquor, spirits, and wines. “Can I offer you anything?”

Isla sized up the array, mouth almost salivating at the idea of the burn of wine down her throat and the blissful fog it would bring her into. But it was far too early to be drinking in front of the Alpha. Though it was also rude to refuse his offer. “I’ll take some water if you have it.”

The slightest look of amusement took to the Alpha’s face as he walked to the table and grabbed a pitcher. He placed her filled glass on one of the coasters atop the small table set in the middle of the seating area, both pieces etched with the Imperial crest.

Isla caught the hint and battled away the panic that rose in her chest.

The Imperial Alpha had taken time out of his day to sit and share a drink with her? To talk with her? She could count the number of one-on-one conversations they’d had in her twenty-one years of life on one hand, and most of those had been at times of convenience for no longer than a minute or two when her father or Adrien had stepped away. Never like this. Never direct and intentional.

She swallowed before slowly dropping her bag to the floor. Focused and calm. She walked to the chair and sat, taking hold of her glass. Calm. “Thank you.”

Alpha Cassius prepared himself a small glass of whiskey. “If you don’t mind…long day.”

It was only a little past noon.

As Isla chanced a small laugh, the Alpha lowered himself to the couch across from her and lifted his glass. “Cheers to you, Warrior.”

Isla stilled, blinking at the praise. At the unease that had come with it rather than pride.

She raised hers, too. “Thank you, Alpha.”

At the formality, Cassius chuckled again before lifting his beverage a bit higher and tipping it back. Isla mirrored the action, grateful for the clean, cool liquid on her tongue.

Cassius sighed against the burn of his liquor. “You’re the only member of our pack I cleared for this year’s running, and you didn’t disappoint. You made us all very proud. I’m looking forward to having you in my ranks.”

The words weren’t missed on Isla. His ranks.

But the warriors weren’t meant to only serve the Imperial Alpha.

Wanting to make that point, Isla grinned and said with ease, “I’m eager to do my part in helping the continent.”

The corner of Cassius’s lips twitched up as if he’d clocked the precision she’d chosen, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he sat back. “There may be action sooner than you think. I’m afraid our times of peace may be coming to an end. Rogues have been a problem on some subjacent borders recently—Rhea, Charon, and Deimos. They’re overwhelming the guard, getting into villages and towns, terrorizing the citizens. I’ll likely be deploying some warrior units to assist in the eradication efforts.” Cassius downed the rest of his drink, then stared at his empty glass. “It’s hard when people forget their place.” He met Isla’s eyes again, and she straightened. He’d been talking about the rogues, yet still, the words stirred something in her. “It’s important to deal with the issue quickly and efficiently before too much damage is done or panic is incited.”

Isla’s grip on her glass constricted.

Quickly and efficiently. As he’d wanted everything with Lukas to be dealt with. The fewer people in the know about the divergence from order, the better.

There was so much she wanted to say—to counter, to question—but knew their “informality” had its limits. She didn’t have a death wish.

“It will likely be a while before I’m allowed out in the field, I believe.” She settled for instead, hating the gnawing of something like cowardice in her gut. “I haven’t even received my lumerosi yet.”

“That’ll be in a few weeks. And you’re one of the most promising new recruits we have—slaying two beasts—I’m sure you’ll be out there before you know it,” he said. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend, but it should be a wonderful rite, even with its host.”

Isla’s jaw tightened, missing the opportunity to extend gratitude for the compliment, too distracted by his last words.

Cassius continued, offhandedly, “I was asked if I would overrule the tradition so the ceremony could be held elsewhere. Some believe Deimos is unsafe with the rogue threat. Others believe it disrespectful given how close to the tragic events.”

The murders, Isla specified but didn’t say. She was somehow shocked and yet understood the aversions to attend a ceremony within the pack.

“But after speaking with Alpha Kai, he believes holding the ceremony would be an honor and lift his people’s spirits,” Cassius finished.

Isla schooled her features. Hearing Kai’s name made her stomach flip, and hearing it from the Imperial Alpha’s mouth, spoken as if her mate were a peer, not a lowly subject, had Isla becoming hyper-aware of the exact high-standing Kai held. As if she’d never truly gauged it all before.

Of course, Cassius would’ve spoken to him at some point after his victory in the Hunt. Though, Kai had never mentioned it.

“How do you feel? ”

Isla blinked at Cassius’s question. “How do I feel?”

“Yes.” Cassius angled his head like a predator observing prey. “How do you feel about going to Deimos?”

Again, Isla fought to keep her expression neutral. “Well, I’ve never been, and I hear Mavec is beautiful. It will be nice to see.” She cleared her throat. “Part of why I wanted to become a warrior is to see the other packs, to meet different people.”

That answer seemed to tickle him. “Your mother, Apolla, held the same sentiments. Had the same natural curiosity. Jumped at every mission I could offer that required her to go exploring.”

Isla’s heart sunk, her throat burning.

His gaze drifted off as he got lost in thought. “She was always one of the cleverest people in a room; I wonder what she would think of what’s happening now. If she would have a veritable hypothesis for what occurred beyond the Wall.” He looked back at her. “It’s awful what happened out there.”

Her features faltered.

Was he actually… acknowledging what had happened?

The Alpha’s eyes flashed with a slight challenge, and Isla paused.

This was a test.

One to see if she’d speak freely about the incident or obey, keeping it all under wraps as he wished.

She could just give him what he wanted, all of them, this hierarchy. Lie and tell them she’d leave everything forgotten. That, or she could actually do it. Toss her bag with the marker, the dagger, the book, even her gown that still smelled of Kai into the Barit Sea. Let all of it sink to the depths of nothing and move on with her life. That would be the smart thing to do.

She looked down at her water as she swirled it around her glass and braced herself for the line she was about to toe. “They came out of nowhere. We’re lucky we got out alive.”

The Alpha threw an arm out to the side to drum his fingers along the back of the couch and rested his ankle on his knee. “Yes. It’s a good thing Alpha Kai was out there with you.”

At Kai’s name again, her eyes shifted briefly to the map at her side, a clear view of the masses of Io and Deimos with Oberon’s territory set between them .

She tracked over the sketches of Deimos’s mountain ranges, over the long stretch of river that led out to the ocean, cutting between Mimas and Tethys. In its heart, denoted with a large black eight-pointed star and a sketch of a palace that she assumed was the Pack Hall, was Mavec.

Her lips threatened to twitch downwards, and her gaze returned to her glass. “He saved my life.”

The Alpha was quiet long enough to make Isla meet his eyes again. “Saved your life and killed four bak. One of the highest counts in our history. The‘ hero of the Hunt’. ” Isla’s grip tightened. There was something about the tone the Alpha had used that she wasn’t keen on. “Your father and all of us are very grateful.”

Her father. Still back in Callisto. “Taking care” of things.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, a bite to her tone that she hadn’t intended. “I haven’t been able to see my father much since I emerged. With all the meetings and whatnot. I had thought he’d be returning with us, but it seems he stayed back.”

The Alpha’s eyes narrowed briefly before they softened, and he threw on a grin to match. It was more unnerving than anything. He rose to his feet and walked back over to the dry bar to pour himself more whiskey, letting the silence gather in a way that was almost suffocating. “That’s my fault, I apologize. Reporting fatalities from the Hunt is typically my responsibility, but I have too much to tend to here.”

The words clattered around Isla’s skull as she watched the translucent brown liquid splash and pool into the glass. It felt like a lead ball had been dropped in her stomach.

Fatalities.

Fatalities.

“What do you mean?” Isla felt like her heart was in her throat again.

The Alpha gave a solemn shake of his head. “Unfortunately, the hunter from Tethys succumbed to his injuries.”

She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe.

He had to be lying.

Calm.

She battled to keep the bile rising in her throat at bay. She couldn’t sound like it had affected her. “When? ”

Cassius put the bottle down and picked up his glass. “I received the report early this morning. It’s a shame. I really thought he’d pull through.”

The room had started spinning.

She was going to vomit.

He had to be lying .

But why would he?

Isla didn’t know what to say. What to ask.

Because Lukas was very alive—in a sense—when she’d last seen him. When she’d pressed her hands to the bleeding wounds at his side that she’d inflicted herself with her own claws.

Her own claws.

She killed him.

Goddess, she’d killed him.

She was going to be sick.

She had to get out.

Out, out, out.

Shakily, she rose from her seat, nearly tipping over her water as she put it on the table. “I’m sorry. Would you excuse me for a second?”

The Alpha sipped from his whiskey. “I think we’re done, actually.” He lifted his glass to her, smiling. “Congratulations again, Warrior.”

Isla barely heard his words as she turned and gathered her bag as quickly as possible.

Winslow was already waiting outside for her.