18 Chapter 18: Werelaw

The Californian leader is easy enough to find. And from the grin on his face, he's been waiting for me to track him down. I don't want to disappoint him. Though I do refrain from going for his throat, at least for now. I know I have no paws to stand on in this particular conversation, but I need to take my own personal measure of this wereleader and his pack. To push a little and see what surfaces. I might not have the authority to send them scurrying back to America just yet, but I want to know just who I'm dealing with, outside of my grandfather's purview.

The fact Caine is surrounded by his people, lounging in a chair in his elaborate quarters my grandfather was so gracious to supply has nothing to do with my reticence. I'll happily take out his throat no matter the risk to myself if he gives me cause. But I couldn't care less at this point.

I just want him to go away, and if I can find a chink in his armor, a reason to suggest to Oleksander for his removal, I'll do it any way I can.

Viveca and Roman attempt to block my path to Caine as I slam open his door and stalk across the room. Their arrogance I will not tolerate. The weregirl goes flying, blood gushing from her nose, the bulky Roman sagging as my fist makes an indent in his side. They try to rally, the rest of the pack watching with hungry eyes, but Caine waves them off, showing his teeth.

"The princess may approach," he says.

He is trying to shake me, to make me act without thinking. To force me to attack him instead of the other way around. I simply come to a halt and glare, hands on hips. I'm so much better than that. He has no idea who he's dealing with and what I've endured. His kind, dangerous if allowed to fester and sow discontent, are none the less pathetic compared to the horrors I've lived through to tell the tale.

He simply doesn't stand a chance against me.

"Werelaw demands you stand to salute your princess." I keep my voice low and soft, though my wolf surfaces in my eyes.

"Werelaw." Caine snorts. "Your laws."

"All of ours." He's arrogant, yes. But would he go against law? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The werenation is so young and we have very little reach to enforce laws. I feel a sudden wave of crushing doubt. Are my grandfather and I simply fooling ourselves? Can we actually band all weres together? We've been hiding away in the palace, playing at being leaders. The real world is so much bigger and full of those who would stand for other things.

I'm staring at one of them right now.

If Caine senses my shift in mood, he doesn't take advantage, simply continues with his slick egotism. "So you say. But we've been on our own for a long time. Where was your werenation, Charlotte? Where were you and your grandfather when we were slaves?"

It's an excellent question, one I don't have an answer to. "We are trying to put our past behind," I say. "To assemble the full nation into a powerful whole."

Caine sits back. "That's why we're here, isn't it?" He grins at his people who murmur assent, though they don't look all that warm and fuzzy toward the idea. "To join the mighty werenation."

He's a liar and has other intentions, I can smell it in him. "Then our laws," I say, "must be upheld. Agreed?"

"Only if we've all decided on those laws." Caine's humor vanishes, a growl escaping him. "You follow ancient rules set down centuries ago. But things have changed, the world has shifted. And we must shift with it or stagnate."

More agreement, this time authentic. The worst part is I'm leaning toward his argument myself. I wanted to get the measure of this werewolf. He's giving me what I asked for, and more.

"If you have changes to suggest," I say, "take them up with my grandfather. But there are those laws that will not be altered. Such as unequivocal obedience to your king."

Caine's eyes glitter as his grin returns. "Of course," he says. "A strong pack needs a strong alpha."

Why do I get the feeling he's not talking about Oleksander. Do I need to worry Caine has aspirations for the throne? Silly Charlotte, of course he does. Why else is he here? I can't risk threats to my grandfather. And the more I stare into Caine's eyes, the more I want him gone. I'll deal with him privately, once he's out of Oleksander's sight.

That is, if I can get Caine to leave voluntarily.

"Time to go," I say. "You and your pack can find somewhere else to be while you propose your changes to our laws from a distance."

Caine helps himself to a plate of grapes, nibbling on one as his eyes travel the length of my body. I want to shower, to wash myself clean of his hungry gaze, but I've been under such scrutiny before. Much worse, in fact. It won't kill me, but losing my temper could cause more problems than solutions. I pull the memory of my mother and her admonishments around me and show him only my cold glare of determination.

"That isn't your decision to make," Caine says, teeth crunching the soft flesh of the grape in an audible snap of its skin. "Unless our great and fearless king has decided to have us removed?"

"Preemptive suggestion," I say, though I've already lost this argument. "Leave before I make you leave."

Caine gains his feet, doing his best to intimidate with his superior size. I almost laugh in his face. I've faced this before, too. No one makes me afraid, not on my turf, not after what I've endured in my lifetime. And with every failed attempt to intimidate, with each push against me, Caine loses his battle with me, though he might not yet know it. Caine may think he's tough. He has no idea what tough really looks like.

"I'll leave," he growls at me, "when I'm dragged out of this palace and my dead body dumped in the forest." His weres echo his growl.

"That," I say, "can be arranged." But I have no paws to stand on at this point, not without Oleksander's backing. I might not be impressed with Caine's little bully act, but until my grandfather gives me the go-ahead, my hands are tied. "I'll be back with some plastic sheeting." I lean closer with a grin. "Wouldn't want to splash your blood on the décor." I turn and leave, teeth gritted, wishing my grandfather weren't so focused on the werenation and could see the danger Caine and his people pose.

I was wrong to doubt. My grandfather and I have worked so hard to pull our nation together, and to create relationships with other magical races. We can't expect to succeed over

night. It will take years to pull everyone together, years of strife and frustration. But we are stronger now than we've ever been and this is the last time I will allow anyone-especially a werewolf like Caine-to make me feel inadequate.

I also refuse to allow a rogue pack to ruin things for us, especially a pack willing to confront and challenge my grandfather.

My normally quiet feet stomp down the stairs, but my anger doesn't have further time to build. My intent to return to Oleksander and plead my case against Caine once again is curtailed by the rush of shadow on the staircase and the panting appearance of my friend, Maksym, and his vampire girlfriend, Isabelle.

Maks is in were form, his body hunched around Isabelle's slim body as though to protect her. I stare at the two, wondering why he's so nervous, considering the vampire could likely outfight my werewolf friend on power alone.

Isabelle's light brown hair ripples with gold around her, eyes of the same color filled with worry. She hurries forward and grasps my hand in her slim ones, pulling me to her, back up the stairs in a hurry. I wonder why she glances over her shoulder with a nervous expression, tugging me into the hallway and the darkness of a shadowed corner. I open my mouth, now irritated by their secrecy, but Isabelle silences me with a hissing whisper.

"You need to come quickly," she says, golden eyes full of anxiety. "There is trouble brewing in Yutsk." The local coven town is led by a pair of powerful witches. It used to be we avoided each other as best we could, the Black Souls wanting nothing to do with witch meddling. But now we are free, Oleksander has made a point of befriending the Makosky leaders and their coven.

"What's happened?" While I don't need more trouble, the distraction gives me something new to think about. Though the thought one of my weres causing trouble in the coven town stirs my anger further.

"It's not what you think," Maks says in a deep, gravel voice. "Someone is asking about you."

My brows come together, a heavy feeling in my stomach chilling my anger into worried confusion. "Who?"

"We don't know him," Isabelle says, looking up at Maks. "But he knows a lot about you, Charlotte. And he's making the witches nervous."

I nod, releasing her hand, hesitation gone. Whoever it is, they won't be asking for long. "Show me."

The shadows that carry me to Yutsk feel far different than the sorcerous tunnels I've ridden lately. Spirit magic lives in the flickering shades the vampires use to travel. When we step out into the back courtyard of the towering hotel, its shadow looming over us, I instinctively look up at the black-stained building. It's the main landmark of the town and has always given me a hint of the creeps, like a haunted house in an old horror film might. I look back in time to see Isabelle stagger slightly, Maks reverting to human to catch and support her.

"Apologies," she says in a hushed voice. "Traveling with more than Maksym over such a short time period takes the strength from me."

I squeeze her shoulder. "Thank you," I say. "I appreciate your dedication to me and the pack." I'm already turning toward the back door. "You two stay here. I'll check this out myself."

"Not likely." Maks and Isabelle are right behind me, her pale face composed whether she's recovered or not. I sigh, shaking my head, wondering if this was how Syd used to feel when I refused to let her act alone.

From my own experience, I know better than to argue with them.

I slip through the door into the dark hall, the few faint, quaint lights casting a soft yellow glow over the dark wallpaper, the elaborately woven runner lying the length of the corridor. Being inside only accentuates my feeling of walking into a stereotypical Hollywood film. Heavy, dark furniture lines the walls, the kitchen on the left, scents of boiling cabbage and some kind of roast meat making my stomach growl.

It's only a moment to the front lobby, where I pause and observe the quiet space. Visitors are rare here in Yutsk, for good reason, though the odd witch family comes to call from time to time. I glance behind the front desk, finding it empty. A few steps carry me to the guest registry, open on the black-stained counter, my fingers sliding down the column to the last name on the list.

My touch stutters over the Dumonts. They were staying here? The date is from a day ago, they must be gone by now, per my grandfather's orders. But, their situation escapes me as I falter and gape at the last name penned in crisp hand at the bottom of the row.

It can't be. He can't have found me here. And yet, there it is, his name in black ink on the yellowed sheet. Sage America, Room Six.

***

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