Page 7 of Devoted to the Dragon

“Orders?” I scoff.

Randi has an alliance with the wolves, but she isn’t their lap dragon. She is commanded by no wolf, no matter how much they want that.

“We’re planning to order around an ancient dragon and a powerful witch?” It seems like a desperate plea from a dying man. But then, I guess that’s not far off.

“Order is a strong word.” Jesup chuckles, but it’s humorless. “Think of it like asking them to play nice. If they can teach us how they manage the ruts at Frenzy and train the rut companions, maybe we can replicate it across the territories.”

That isn’t an option. What Randi and Vandera have made at Frenzy takes both their magic. No one else is powerful enough. Jesup and the Alpha King know this.

“They’re already playing nice,” I growl.

Jesup’s easy manner is traded for the hard-ass wolf that got him the second seat, his voice low and commanding. “I know you have a hard-on for the dragon, but your loyalty is to the Council. Or have you forgotten that after all these years of being leashed?”

My wolf bristles, eager to show him claw. I manage to grit out the words between clenched teeth. “I have never forgotten where my loyalties lie.” They will always be in the interest of my mate.

Jesup takes my truth for his own, believing he’s won. The wolf recedes from his voice. “Good. Bring the dragon and the witch.”

“And if they refuse?” I ask, wondering how far the Alpha King expects me to push.

“Then I suggest you start thinking of ways to subdue a dragon.” The beep of the ended call sounds just in time not to catch my bellowed curse.

I debate pulling off on the side of the road and taking my wolf’s skin before the arrival of the newest guards, but the clock tells me I’m out of time.

The drive through the main strip of town feels different this morning. The quaint village from decades ago has been replaced by cheerful brick storefronts and houses on tree-lined streets. Randi's estate is at the farthest end, butting up against the river bank and a section of the Eastern Forest. It’s a modern Viking fortress of sharp-edged towers pointing toward the sky and encircled by wide river-rock decks for landing. The massive structure also houses Frenzy, Vandera’s workshop, and the guard.

The town is nestled in the valley between the five wolf territories of the mountain range. Whereas for centuries the North Pass, home of the Wolf Council, has been the center of shifter life, Moon Lake Valley now rivals it in size and numbers.

Of the dwindling population, almost a third now call our valley home. We are not an official pack, and our numbers are transient, but Frenzy brings wolves from all territories. Most wolves that ride out their cycle here can manage only needing to visit once every few years. Still, that requires lodging, staff, and a host of small businesses to keep it afloat. It requires a pack.

That means the Council sees Randi and what she’s built here as a threat to their power as well as a solution to the feral crisis.

Mulling it over, I park in the guard annex and weave through the training area toward where Brooks is gathering the arriving wolves. When the Council signed its alliance with Randi, it included maintaining a guard force. The Council selects them, though only Randi has control of her personal guard.

I listen as Brooks walks the wolves through their introduction. “Welcome to Moon Lake Valley. As you may have heard, the guard at Moon Lake Valley is responsible for maintaining order within Frenzy’s rut bar and the surrounding territory. In order to do so, we must assess your wolves’ abilities for control. You can’t keep wolves from going feral if you can’t keep your own knot from popping at the first whiff of omega.

“The training you receive forces you to think with the right head so you can keep the rut companions and visiting wolves safe. This will prove the strength of your wolf. And your ability to suffer through blue balls.”

The crowd of wolves snickers at his explanation, but they won’t be laughing later tonight. I study them, looking for tells and listening to their side chatter. Their jokes always reveal more about their loyalties than anything else.

Brooks draws their attention again. “Training begins here this afternoon at two. We work twelves, from two to two. Rooms are assigned through Jen, so when we head inside, make your way to the house manager’s office off the kitchen on the ground floor.

“Clean up after yourself. Don’t be a dick. This isn’t your pack house. Until this grumpy wolf here”—Brooks points at me—“signs off that you’ve got your wolf under control, you’ll only train. I don’t care who your daddy is, nor do I care what rank you were before you came here. At the first sniff of feral, you’re out. I suggest you get some rest before roll call.”

The crowd of alphas consists of young wolves —men no older than twenty-five with too much bravado and stupid mouths. They snicker amongst themselves, nudging one another and whispering about the rumors of the dragoness's training. All but one are eager. In the back, standing off a little from the group, the man silently watches, a single duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

On the surface, he looks like any alpha his age, with a tall build and a muscular frame. His sun-streaked brown hair is wavy and long but unkempt, like his scraggly beard. His jeans and flannel are worn in, and his skin is tanned from time in the sun. Something about him is different from the usual wolves the Council sends. Guard spots are highly sought after, and only the elite from a pack are sent. But that doesn’t appear to be the case here.

I join Brooks, leaning in to speak quietly. “Who is that wolf in the back?”

Before he can answer, a man steps out from one of the Council’s vehicles, a rolled piece of parchment in hand.

The messenger has arrived.

I wonder if the Council plans to unseat Randi and take Frenzy for themselves while they have called her away. They’ve never asked her to come to them. The wolves have always traveled when needed as she rarely leaves her lair. When she signed her alliance with the Council, her territory had been closed for many lifetimes to all but a few—except during the mating Thunder. The fact that they demand her presence at the same time as the training of the new guard sniffs of trouble. My wolf rumbles a growl of warning from my chest.

Brooks raises his brow in question.

“Later. Keep eyes on that one,” I say, nodding subtly to the odd wolf.

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