Page 3 of A Warrior's Fate

Not in the mood to tear up her dress, Isla kept her voice quiet. “He really came?”

Adrien matched her volume. “He is an alpha, and this is the Hunt.”

“But his father and brother just died like a month ago. An—and his mother, she…”

“Probably doesn’t have much time either. Not that she’d want it.”

Horrible. Isla looked towards the ground, reminded of the realities and weaknesses of their kind. Having a soulmate, one’s perfect “other half” or as some felt, an extension of themselves was considered one of the greatest gifts from the goddesses. A bond so sacred, so special, and yet—fragile.

It made them fragile.

The soul-splitting, crushing pain that came with losing a mate was one Isla never wished upon anyone—or ever wanted to deal with herself. At least, not any time in the near future.

The bartender brought over their next round, and she and Adrien fell silent, mulling over the recent tragedy with alcohol on their tongues.

Isla tried to picture the Alpha of Deimos, the new alpha. The boy, or man, who’d just lost everything and gained a throne. She’d never met him before, she realized. She couldn’t even remember ever learning his name. All she knew was of his existence; that he was the former alpha’s second son.

Second.

He was never meant to take control. The eldest child inherited alpha.

Isla thought back to all the training, all the lessons, lectures, and talks Adrien had endured in their youth. Goddess, that Adrien continued to endure now after they’d grown. Prepped to become the Imperial Alpha since he was a child, so young that he barely knew how to shift. Every move he made, every step he took was down the path of what everyone knew was his future. Or thought it was—because, apparently, Fate was a fickle bitch.

The new Alpha of Deimos likely had none of that.

Isla scoffed. How could it have even happened? People, wolves, they didn’t just…die.

“Has your father heard anything about it? Any reports?” she asked Adrien who had his gin to his mouth.

“No.” Adrien finished the drink, put his empty glass on the counter, and waved for another in what seemed like one fluid motion. “No one’s claiming a kill. No one’s come to the Council requesting a challenge. No one’s trying to take over that pack. It doesn’t make sense.”

“So, he’s just alpha now? His father and brother die, and he’s alpha.” Isla couldn’t wrap her mind around it either.

“That’s the Code. It’s a birthright until someone steals it for their own bloodline.”

“But it wasn’t his birthright.” Isla echoed her previous thought and chose her next words carefully. A million questions with the same notion bore heavily on her mind. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Do I think he’s responsible?” Adrien asked plainly, receiving his third glass. Isla’s silence was enough of an affirmation. “We don’t have the grounds to think so. I hope not.” He drained the drink once again and rose with a whispered curse. The Beta of Charon, the pack’s second in command, had spotted him and was calling him over.

“Deimos has already had enough to deal with being next to the Wall,” he offered, taking a few steps away. “They don’t need a family-slaying alpha as their leader, too.”

And with those inspiring words, her dear friend was off.

Isla followed his confident stride with a deadpan stare. Maybe Winslow needed to give him some more lectures on sensitivity.

With a purse of her lips, Isla swirled the wine in her glass and settled against the bar. Her mind, the curious spirit and unyielding inquisitor that it was, ran wild with possibilities. Trying to find an answer no one had…except maybe the Alpha of Deimos.

Now alone, Isla’s gaze swept the room from left to right, scoping the crowd. She spotted the trainee and Callan who’d returned to their state of being complete strangers, but she didn’t necessarily want to converse with either of them again. No one really looked interesting enough to talk to.

She definitely needed more companions that weren’t Adrien and her brother.

Sighing, she lifted her glass to sip on her wine and let her mind wander. A carnal desire reared its head in her tedium seemingly out of nowhere. Warmth spread through her body, and there was a tugging at her gut. A stirring that made it a bit harder to breathe, impossible to stand still. Like a strange kind of drunkenness. She inspected her wine with furrowed brows.

Though the sense had eventually faded and her mind cleared, she felt the strong urge to just…get away.

Isla set her glass down on the counter with a hollow clank, and against the grain of the party, she traveled away from the congregating bodies until she found a dimly lit, empty hallway with a long stretch of statues and art pieces showcasing Callisto’s history and the three sisters they worshipped—the Goddess, Fate, and Eternity. The corridor ended at a glass door leading to a terrace. She pushed it open, the old metal of it creaking as it gave way.

Her steps echoed off the platform’s stones as she walked out into the tepid night air. The only source of light was the full moon; it was all she needed.

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