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  The wulfkin shrank beneath Father’s iron grip.

  I seized Father’s arm. “Let’s focus on the topic at hand.”

  He tore free from my grasp and released the young wulfkin, who cowered and retreated into the crowd.

  Across from us, Enre rubbed his wrists. When he looked my way, his hooded gaze and arched eyebrow yelled confusion.

  Enre cut our staring match and turned his attention to Father. “You said the council would give us consent for Daciana”—he glanced at the dark-haired female next to him and back—“to hand over her pack and land to me. You agreed that Daciana and I would come here of our own free will to present our case to the council. Not to be sentenced.” His voice deepened. “I should have expected you wouldn’t hold true to your word.”

  So, that was Daciana? She was also a pack member from Transylvania. I’d heard many tales about her warrior-like skills along with her beauty. Well, the stories hadn’t been lying about her attractiveness, so I suspected she could hold her own in a battle. But I had no idea Daciana had taken over the Transylvanian pack from their now ex-alpha, Sandulf.

  I glanced at Enre, but his glare locked onto Father. A transfer of pack and land was acceptable under our rules as long as both alphas were of sound mind. So what was the issue?

  “Before the council can review such a request, you and Daciana must prostrate yourselves and beg forgiveness for the rules you have broken. My rules.”

  I cringed and glanced across at Father on his throne, smirking. I’d been born to the devil. Father would twist anything to serve his own purpose, but what exactly did he need from Enre?

  “What are you talking about?” Daciana’s posture stiffened, and a snarl hung off her last word.

  Father’s harsh voice bounced around the room. “Daciana, you are held accused of the creation of a dracwulf.”

  Dracwulves were banned for a good reason—they were unstoppable berserker-like wolves that killed everything in their path. Why would anyone willingly breed one?

  “That was Sandulf, not me.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” Father wiggled a finger at the brunette. “You know the rules. You took over the pack, and that includes your previous alpha’s burdens and responsibilities. Sandulf is dead, so you will now face the council on his behalf.”

  A few murmurs rolled out from the crowd.

  I crouched next to Father and whispered, “We already spoke about eliminating this law.”

  He waved me away as if I were no more than a gnat and leaned forward in his seat, a smile creeping across his mouth.

  “Enre, with your recent acquisition of the Bulgarian pack, you will now face charges for the dead humans found at every location their pack had traveled. If found guilty, you’ll both face death.”

  The audience broke into a clamor, and the horrific reality of the situation curdled my insides.

  Enre’s face paled. He never said a word but took the accusation as he used to take Father’s punches and strikes—without emotion or reaction.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. Wulfkin had to obey their leader; it was inbred in us and came with deadly consequences if we refused. But to hold someone accountable for his or her alpha’s actions was ludicrous.

  “Your accusations are barbaric.” Daciana’s voice was strong and piercing. “Blaming us will prove nothing.”

  “Release Daciana and punish me.” Enre’s deep voice sliced through the room. “That’s what this is about. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? And to get your grubby fingers on Transylvania for Marcin.”

  Why would he think that? “That’s not true. I don’t—”

  “Shut the hell up, both of you,” Father said. “These are my rules, and both Enre and Daciana will face the council for their alpha’s actions. End of story.”

  My blood congealed to ice. Going against Father would only push him into finding Enre guilty. Father’s insistence to punish him and Daciana meant one thing—he wanted Enre dead.

  I leaned closer to his ear. “Too much emotion is being thrown around here. Don’t let the council be unfairly influenced. Let’s regroup in a few days, after everyone has cooled down.”

  “No! We do this now.” Father faced the crowd. “I call the council.” One good thing I’d instigated was getting Father to agree to setting up a council who had to give their approval on all major rules and decisions, alongside him.

  The pulsing urgency made my head spin. I had to shut Father down this very second. He couldn’t keep getting his way.

  Tibor, the eldest of the council, emerged from the crowd. We exchanged glances, my stare imploring him to fight the proposal.

  “Emperor Levin.” Tibor crept toward Father, his gaze lowered. “Perhaps there are other ways to conduct such a hearing.”

  Father’s face reddened. His lips parted, but his words were stolen by the loud creak of the doors opening to the great hall.

  A servant rushed into the room, directly to Father, and whispered a message in his ear. The only word I overheard was arrived. Whom was he referring to?

  “Now? Already?” Father asked.

  The servant nodded.

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  The young wulfkin darted from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  “Well, seems a break is being forced upon us after all. I have a small distraction to attend to. Nobody leave until I return.” Father glanced my way. “Marcin, you’re with me.”

  I didn’t move at first. “What’s going on?”

  He gave no response but glanced at the guards. “Tie them back up.” Father took long strides toward the exit. Around me, the crowd’s voices escalated and two guards approached Enre and Daciana. I jogged out of the room after Father, curiosity burning a hole through my gut.

  “We need to talk,” I said. “You’ve been gone for over a week and never left a word with anyone as to what you were doing, and then you return, acting like a madman. Enre is your son!”

  Without stopping his wild rush around a corner, his response was swift. “The only reason I’m ignoring your insolence is because today is a special day. Quickly, now.” He picked up his pace.

  For 137 years old, he showed no sign of slowing down. For the sake of all packs, I prayed to the moon he would soon, especially since a few wulfkin have been known to live to 180.

  And his version of a special day was probably a twisted, demented new torture device he’d ordered to use on Enre.

  Maybe I should have visited Enre before now and made peace with him, but the time had never seemed right. Today, it looked like I would never get that chance.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Patience.” Father smiled as he marched.

  He pushed through another entrance that led us past the marble staircase curling upward. Sunlight from the window on the second floor reflected off its black banisters. The bronze wolf statues on the newel posts at the base of the stairs seemed to watch us rush past.

  We headed directly to the welcoming room, reserved only for guests.

  “Who’s here?” I asked. Father’s secrecy meant it was most likely someone I didn’t want anywhere near our home.

  He halted a few steps in front of me and swung around just as the winter gale rattled the tall windows around us and snow fell at an angle outside. “I hadn’t intended for him to arrive this early. I had planned to tell you about it, but it’s—”

  “Him?” Father had made an enemy of everyone he crossed, and he had no close friends, so who got him this worked up?

  “The Varlac sultan has arrived.” Father’s eyes creased at the corners, the complete opposite reaction he’d ever worn when speaking of the Turkish Varlac leader we considered the enemy.

  “What the fuck for?” A month earlier, we’d received a warning from the sultan, who’d insisted we killed two of their kind. I had nothing to do with the murders, but last week, I’d scouted the sultan’s territory without Father’s orders. I had to uncover what kind of army we were dealing wit
h before the situation escalated. I was convinced no one had spotted me, but my trespassing could be considered an act of war and confirmation of the recent killings.

  Maybe they were here for payback. Except, why the hell was Father grinning wildly?

  “Your language is so vulgar sometimes. You don’t need to always swear.” Father shook his head as if that annoyed him more than the bullshit going on in the great hall.

  “The Turkish clan has threatened to attack in the past,” I said, trying to convince myself more than Father. “Is the sultan here for a final warning?”

  “Quit your worrying. You sound like a female.” Father placed a hand on my arm, his cold leeching through my clothes. “We have never seen eye to eye with the Turks, but their alpha negotiated a resolution to stop our constant fighting. Neither side will lose any additional wulfkin.”

  “Where is my real father, and what have you done with him?”

  “It will now end,” he continued. “But it all lies with you, son. Make me proud.”

  The world spun beneath me. “What are you talking about?” Father must be sending me off with them as a prisoner of war. It wouldn’t be unlike him.

  “Quickly, we can’t keep our guests waiting.” He whirled around and hurried down the corridor.

  Guests? What had he gotten me into?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Selena

  My family and I had been shoved into this waiting room from the moment we arrived at the oldest castle in the Őrség region of Hungary. Stone walls, dark wooden cabinets, soaring windows, tall ceilings, and wrought iron candelabras. Smells of coffee and jasmine wafted through the place, with a hint of earthy soil and wolf. Even the cobblestone fireplace, its mantel carved with wolves howling at a moon, screamed medieval times. At home, we had flat screen televisions in every room. Only so many reruns one can watch.

  I fidgeted in my frozen, unforgiving seat. Even my inner wolf trembled inside. Bad enough the snow had iced my toes and fingers the moment we arrived in the country, but—

  “Selena, if you’ve changed your mind—”

  I offered Father a short smile and ironed out my posture as he paced from the arched window to the semicircle of empty chairs in front of me.

  “No, I’m fine.” Yeah, change and it would be my younger sister thrown into this pit of bloodthirsty wolves. Not happening.

  Before coming here, I had two options: be sold to a mad alpha in Turkey whose last two wives had mysteriously vanished, or mate into the wulfkin family who had tried to have me killed. I was convinced assassins were more likely to negotiate than a demented alpha, so I chose the latter. The small fact that I knew Marcin would be my arranged mate in Hungary factored into my decision. How could it not when we had a history? I fell for him big time when I was sixteen. Back then, I believed he was my true mate, so we ran away from our families to start a new life, leaving behind the rules, drama, and constant threat of war. But we were discovered, and after a targeted arrow struck my shoulder, Father accused Levin. The Hungarian alpha insisted the arrow was meant for his son and blamed my family. I had seen a Hungarian archer release the arrow, but Marcin never leapt to my defense or supported my argument. Either way, Marcin and I were torn apart. I didn’t want to believe he’d side with his father, but then again, he never returned to Turkey to whisk me away like he’d promised. For years, I hated him, and I still had no idea if I would ever get over his deceit.

  I glanced up to watch Father pacing. “Baba, if you don’t stop, you’ll wear out that rug. What is that on the rug anyway?” I leaned forward for a better look. “Animals ripping each other apart? Charming. Anyway, I doubt Levin would be happy.”

  Rumors about the great Varlac Emperor of Europe depicted him as a wulfkin short on patience. Wrong him and he’d kill you before asking questions. I had every reason to believe the stories. All the Varlac leaders around the world might be painted with the same stroke, but none were feared as much as Levin. “Those poor creatures on the carpet might end up being us.” The knot in my stomach coiled at the idea.

  The captain of our guards, Zeki, cleared his throat and set his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  A few paces away, Father reprimanded me with an intrusive glare. “Don’t shame me by calling the emperor by his first name.”

  I squared my shoulders but swallowed my complaint. The time for protesting had been back in Turkey, along with my dignity and whatever life I’d created for myself. Aside from sparing my sister from a forced mating, the union of our clans would stop the imminent war. Our packs had been feuding for generations, but lately the situation had escalated threefold. Two of our pack members were murdered last month, and Father insisted it was the Hungarians. Except, a week later, three of Levin’s pack members were found butchered near the Turkish border, and we were blamed. Without listening to reason, Levin declared that he’d flatten our pack and rip out the hearts of every last family member. The waiting was over. War was happening. My father swore he had never issued a killings order and suspected Levin lied, but there was no way to prove it. Father panicked. Our pack wasn’t big enough to fight Levin’s, so he struck a deal. Mate me to his son and offer Levin a patch of Turkish land as a dowry to mend the troubles between our packs. Yeah, I was a bargaining chip for peace, and it sucked big time.

  On my feet, I patted down my dress. This black velvet kaftan was useless in a freezing cold medieval castle. My wide belt had shifted sideways, and I tugged down on the wide sleeves that kept riding up for the millionth time. The seamstress who’d sewn this dress specifically for today should’ve spent a day in it to see it needed more layers. A chill crept up my spine, and I blew warmth into my cupped hands while sidling next to the fireplace. Father’s attire appeared warmer than mine with his long red coat with fox fur lining along the edging.

  “I can hear you all the way from the toilets.” Aisha’s footsteps ricocheted behind me, and I turned to find my younger sister hurrying in from a corridor dimly lit by chandeliers, her focus on her cell phone, her fingers tapping away. Her Bohemian-style white with floral prints kaftan fluttered around her legs.

  My sister radiated childhood innocence. She believed in the goodness of wulfkin and enjoyed each day as if it were her first. At sixteen, Aisha had her life ahead of her. Apparently, it was too late for me. At twenty-five, any well-respected wulfkin female should have been mated by now, or so Father kept reminding me. What was so great about being well respected anyway? Zilch.

  “Aisha.” Father pointed at her phone. “I’ve told you before. No more chirping—”

  “It’s called tweeting, and I’m not. This castle is in a black vortex where Internet connection is nonexistent.” She dropped a hand to her side, still clutching the cell, and smiled at Father.

  Aisha should have gone into acting, or espionage, since she lied so convincingly. When I’d glanced at her phone this morning, she’d had reception. Her insistence on sharing photos of her henna body art was bordering on an obsession, despite Father’s fits of rage each time he caught her in the act. But damn, the girl had close to a hundred thousand followers, and I guessed her fans expected footage of her art. My hands and legs might have made the occasional appearance.

  “See, why can’t you smile a bit too?” Father stared at me with eyebrows pulled together into a flat line.

  “Just because I agreed to this arrangement, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I dragged myself to the icy chair, my hip stiffening. I rubbed the old injury that didn’t agree with the cold.

  Father attempted to laugh, but it came across forced. “I never thought that after finding out you ran away with Marcin, we'd be arranging this reunion.”

  Yeah, the irony of it all.

  Father’s servant Ela rushed across the room, her breath racing, her pregnancy weighing on her every move. She handed Father a drink. He gulped it down and pushed the empty goblet back into her hands. “Get my clothes ironed and hung in my closet immediately.”

  She nodded, one hand pressed t
o her lower back as she retreated. I couldn’t help myself. “Surely you can ask someone else to do that. Ela’s been sick from our travel.”

  Father’s narrow gaze might have scared off his guards, but I stood my ground.

  “She’ll be more productive after resting.”

  He shook his head and looked away, flicking a hand at his servant. “Fine.”

  Ela, a woman in her late twenties, offered me a tiny nod of appreciation before leaving.

  Then the doors at the rear of the room scraped open. I fell in alongside Father, with Aisha by my side, just as we’d been instructed.

  Levin, the Hungarian Varlac emperor, stepped inside. The hefty wulfkin whisked closer, his chest puffed out and pride oozing from every inch of his austere posture. I’d seen Father wear the same mask all too often.

  “Sultan Boran, you’re early.” Levin took Father’s hands into his. “Welcome, welcome. My home is yours.”

  Father pulled back, his voice loud and sharp. “You are most gracious, Emperor.”

  Then another wulfkin entered the room behind him. Solid, tall, and all shoulders.

  And suddenly my heart hammered so hard the walls seemed to be thumping too.

  Marcin.

  Windblown hair draped over his shoulders, tawny brown strands reaching halfway down his chest. His shirt was torn across his shoulder. Blood stained the fabric, worn as a badge of honor for whatever heroic deeds he’d accomplished.

  Our gazes locked, and he stopped midstride. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. All the air left my lungs, leaving me light-headed.

  Sea-spray blue eyes, darker than I remembered them, searched my face. Shock crammed behind his gaze as his cheeks blanched. He’d had no idea I was coming here—it was written all over his frozen expression, the way his mouth fell open, his breath hitched.