Page 1 of A Warrior's Fate

PART I

THE TROUBLE WITH FATE

CHAPTER 1

As Isla listened to the man standing beside her droning on about the natural dangers that lay on the outskirts of their homeland, the only thought running through her mind was how in the world, Goddess forgive her, could she possibly have almost let this imbecile become her mate?

One could claim the citizens of their home, the Pack Kingdom of Io, had a superiority complex. Callan, however, took the notion to a whole other level.

The humanoid form of egocentrism had come out of nowhere, butting his way into Isla’s conversation with a fellow trainee from the Pack of Tethys. The trainee, whose name she hadn't gotten to, was decently attractive and as their conversation flowed, showed promise of being intriguing as he could talk about things other than fighting. And the bonus—besides the fact he’d gazed down at her breasts just once—he was also unmated as she was.

Though she may have given up seeking her forever, that did not mean she was opposed to the temporary.

Isla knew Callan’s interruption was for no reason other than to make her aware of his presence at this exclusive Hunter’s Feast. That and so she could bear witness to his newly acquired mark: a symbol of his recent bond with his chosen mate.

As if that would make her regret ending things with him.

Callan, the master story-stringer, kept the trainee hanging on his every word, discussing Io’s “City of Fallen Embers”, otherwise known formally as the Imperial City. What was surely one of their continent’s most glorious landmarks, the city had taken on the moniker following the momentous volcanic eruption—that Callan was nowhere near involved in—centuries ago.

While he continued with his grandstanding, Isla let her narrowed ice-blue eyes scan his features from his coppery hair to his amber eyes and his nose tweaked from battle. Over his lips that had long ago caressed her skin and the stubble that had accompanied it.

When one caught him at the right moment, Callan was easy-on-the-eyes, though a little generic and plain, and aside from a few selfish rendezvous, he wasn’t too bad when the season rolled around. But what he had in mediocre looks and being the occasional decent lover, he destroyed with his undeservedly garish personality.

“May I step in?”

Isla jolted when she felt a hand on the bare skin of her back that was exposed by her low, sweeping, crimson gown. Instinctually, she swung her arm in the assailant’s direction before she came to her senses and realized she recognized the voice. She stiffened her limb and dropped it to her side, for this was not the ideal time to be descended upon by the Imperial Guard. Not on the eve of one of the biggest nights of her life.

“I hate when you do that,” she muttered, just loud enough for Adrien to hear, and with a glower, she turned to meet the golden-green stare of her longest friend. Whether the bond was formed by default or choice, it was too hard to judge now.

As Callan, to Isla’s bliss, fell silent, Adrien took another step, his detectable scent and aura of power no longer masked as an element of surprise. His hands were behind his back as he stood at Isla’s side, and though his posture was tall and regal, his grin held a reckless charm.

Callisto, the region where the Gate to the Wilds lay, had a tempered climate. Nothing compared to the heat Io had been experiencing following the recent summer solstice. So, instead of his customary home attire, the Heir donned more modest cloths, crafted richly and finely, cut in a way that made it hard to miss the magnificence of his form beneath the fabric. The sash across the front of his intricately stitched tunic bared the blood-red jewels and gold mined long before his time from the land of the ancient packs. It was the appearance expected of royalty, despite Adrien’s occasional indifference to it.

“Goddess…”

Isla spun to find the trainee’s eyes blown wider than they had been while tuned into the stories of catastrophic death and molten rock. He nearly snapped his neck, bowing his head to the ground. “Alpha…Heir…Your Imperialness…Highness…sir.”

With every fumbled word, any attraction Isla had previously felt to the man dwindled, likely visible in the gradual frowning of her face.

Adrien’s eyes flashed with amusement as he nodded in recognition of the paid respect. “At ease.”

The trainee lifted his head, still in awe, like a child meeting their hero, though Adrien was not much his senior.

And although he claimed he wasn’t always for the grandeur of being at the top of the wolves' hierarchy, being the future Alpha of all Alphas, the King of Kings, Isla knew the Heir relished the fanfare. His hubris—which typically drove her mad—was enough to quell even the biggest of egos; even one as big as Callan’s.

Isla watched, the inside of her cheek between her teeth, as Adrien turned his head slowly and expectantly to the grimacing man beside him. She knew she wasn’t the only one amused by this.

Despite lacking a notable bloodline, Callan was a formidable fighter, deemed a warrior through a victory in the Hunt a few years ago, and was a worthy sparring partner for Adrien in their early days, training and learning the strength they possessed as shifters. That was until the alpha-blooded wolf rocketed to his own seemingly limitless potential.

“Warrior,” Adrien greeted his former training mate, unable to mask the smug grin on his face.

Callan begrudged a bow of his head, envy laced with defeat in his eyes. “Your Highness.”

“I never had a chance to formally extend my congratulations.” Adrien, still in the business of being cordial as a leader, gestured to the mark visible on Callan’s neck beneath his collar.

Callan stiffened, as did they all, and his eyes flicked briefly to Isla. But it wasn’t to gloat. No, it was a cry for help. It was the most unsure she’d seen him in a while, maybe ever.

Would he say just the right “wrong” thing to piss off one of the most powerful wolves in the continent? Would an incorrect slip of his tongue serve as a reminder to his future Alpha of the sacrifice he’d made at his own expense for the she-wolf he’d once loved? That Isla wondered sometimes if Adrien still loved.

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