Defying the Lycan King

The great hall of the Lycan Alliance had been built to hold six hundred men, but this morning it held perhaps ninety, and it still felt too small for the noise inside it.

Kings from the four cardinal regions — East, West, North and South — sat at four thrones along the raised platform at the head of the room. Below them, arranged in tiers of long benches, sat the alphas, one from every pack in every region, some in suits, some in plain clothes, all of them talking over one another.

Derek sat at the head of the Western section, looking nothing like the cold, controlled King most of them knew. His hair was a mess from constant running of his hands through it, and dark shadows sat under his eyes.

It was the second day since Nana and Kira had been taken by the Umbras, and he hadn’t come up with anything, or any sign. Two days without the most important women in his life—he was on the brink of running crazy.

"With respect," an alpha from the eastern packs was saying, on his feet with one hand raised, "nobody in this room is questioning the seriousness of what happened at the council hearing, or the threat looming against us."

"Then say what you mean," someone called from the benches.

"Fine." The eastern alpha turned. "What I mean is that we are being asked to march every fighter we have into a war none of us can measure, in defence of one woman. One. And I understand that woman is a queen, and I understand whose queen she is, but I have eight hundred people in my pack who did not choose this."

A murmur of agreement rolled through the eastern and southern benches.

"She isn’t just one woman." Declan had risen from his seat behind Derek’s shoulder, and his voice cut clean through the noise. "She’s the reason they attacked at all. You think if we hand her over quietly, the Umbras pack up and go home? They came through your borders too. They’ll come again."

"They came through our borders chasing her."

"They came through your borders because they could."

"Sit down, Dravengard."

"Make me."

"Enough." The Northern King raised one hand, and the room settled a little. He was the oldest of the four kings in the different regions. "One at a time. Alpha Corrin, you had the floor."

An older alpha from the south stood, leaning heavily on the bench in front of him.

"I’ll say the thing nobody wants to," he said. "Maurice Wolfe cleared the Umbras out of these lands. My father fought under him. He bound Tyron’s power and gave four regions so many years of quiet, and every man in this hall has slept easier for it whether he admits it or not." He looked around slowly. "Now his son stands in front of us asking for help, and we’re haggling. Should be ashamed, the lot of us."

Applause broke out from the southern benches and scattered pockets of the west.

"That’s a lovely speech," another voice called out, dry as bone. A northern alpha stayed seated as he spoke, arms folded. "But if King Maurice truly bound the Shadow King, would somebody care to explain why I’ve seen more Umbras in the last six months than my grandfather saw in his entire life?"

"They’ve been breeding," Braxton said flatly. "Quietly. Probably for decades. Building numbers and building a stronghold while we all rested, thinking they were extinct."

"Then how many are there?" another Alpha said.

Braxton didn’t answer.

"How many?" the northern alpha pressed, standing now. "That’s not rhetoric, Alpha; that’s the entire question. You want us to commit our fighters. Fine. Against what? A thousand? Ten thousand? You don’t know, do you?"

"No," Braxton admitted.

"There it is."

"And there’s the other matter," said another voice, an alpha from the east. "We’re not talking about fighting the living. My warriors can face a wolf. They can face a Lycan. Ask them to put a blade through something that walks around wearing their dead brother’s face and tell me how that goes."

The hall broke into noise again, dozens of voices rose at once, and the Northern King let it run for a moment before raising his hand.

Derek still hadn’t spoken. He was aware, distantly, that he ought to. That every eye in the room kept flicking towards the western throne waiting for the King to make his case, and that his silence was costing him something.

But all that kept ringing in his head was the note. If you’re reading this, I’ve probably already been taken. He had sworn to scold her mercilessly when next he set eyes on her.

And Nana. Nana, who’d sat opposite him in his study some nights ago, asking him to find some mercy for a boy who didn’t deserve it. Nana who was only still recovering.

"There is one possibility," said the Eastern King, "that nobody in this room has been brave enough to raise."

Something in his tone dragged Derek’s eyes up.

The Eastern King was a lean man, maybe forty, with mischievous eyes. He rose from his throne and turned to address the hall rather than the platform.

"We are told the Western Queen was taken, and we all know what happens to Nexuses once the Shadow King takes them." He paused. "They stop recognising anyone or anything except their twisted darkness and desire to destroy everything."

The hall went very quiet. Derek glared at the man, Leo growling inside him. He had been looking for where to dispose of his frustration for two days, and the Eastern King seemed to be asking for it.

"So I would like somebody to explain to me," the Eastern King continued, "why we are being asked to bleed for a woman who walked into the Shadow King’s arms of her own free will. Because from where I’m standing, that doesn’t look like a kidnapping."

He turned, finally, to face the western throne. "It looks like she’s been working with him all along."

Derek moved before the last word finished. He came out of the chair so fast that the men beside him didn’t so much as twitch until he was already across the platform, and the sound that came out of him wasn’t a word in any language.

He hit the Eastern King square in the face and both of them went down hard onto the stone, Derek’s hand fisting in the man’s collar, his eyes gone full amber, his fangs already down.

Chaos erupted in the hall, and it took six of them to separate the fighting kings.

Declan had one arm, Connor had the other, and three western alphas piled in around Derek’s shoulders while the Southern King and two of his men dragged the Eastern King back out of reach.

Derek fought all of them, snarling, hauling forward inch by inch.

"Say it again," he roared. "Say it again to my face! How dare you suggest my wife is a traitor while she is being held by those monsters?"

"Derek." Declan appeared in front of him, both hands flat on his king’s chest, pushing back with everything he had. "Derek, look at me. Not here. This is exactly what they want to see."

The Eastern King straightened his jacket with shaking hands, his face white.

"You see?" he said to the room, breathless. "You all see it. He cannot be reasoned with."

"ENOUGH."

The Northern King’s voice finally rose, and everyone stopped, turning to look at him.

The old man stood in front of his throne and looked around the room with an expression of genuine disgust.

"Four regions," he said. "Four regions, and this is what we’ve become. Grown men howling at each other like pups over a bone."

He shook his head slowly. "This meeting is adjourned. We reconvene when tempers have cooled, and heads are clear. I’ll set a date and send word."

"No."

The word landed in the silence like a stone in still water.

Derek shrugged off the hands holding him, one at a time, and stood on his own. He straightened, dragged a sleeve across his mouth, and for the first time all morning, he looked directly at every man in that hall.

"You’ll set a date?" he asked, incredulous.

Nobody spoke.

"My wife has been in that stronghold for two days. My grandmother, a woman most of you have eaten at the table of, has been in it just as long."

His voice stayed level, despite the anger boiling inside him. "You all think there’s more time left?"

He came down off the platform, and his men fell in behind him.

"I’m not going to stand here and wait for you to make up your minds. If none of you will move, then Dravengard moves alone. And if no one in Dravengard wants to move with me, I will move alone."

He turned and strode toward the doors without another word. Declan, Connor and several of his gammas followed immediately.

The hall exploded behind him. Voices climbing over voices.

If that thing merges with her, we’re all finished, do you understand that?

He’s too arrogant to be helped. Let him go and die on his own, since he’s so determined.

Even if we’re to fight the Shadow King, we need time to prepare!

The doors swung shut, and the noise became a distant hum.

Outside, the morning had turned grey and cold, and Derek stopped by the side of the building and punched the wall repeatedly until his knuckles bled. He hated this feeling of helplessness.

At this point, he felt like strangling Kira for putting them all in this position. He was so mad at her, that he feared what he would do if he ever set eyes on her again.

His men just stood aside, watching him silently. They were all used to his outbursts now.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving. When he was calm enough to move, he crossed the wide stone steps towards the cars without slowing. The driver had the door open before he reached it.

Kai was already inside, laptop in hand, three separate windows open on the screen.

"Anything?" Derek asked, dropping into the seat.

Kai looked up, and Derek knew before he said a word.

"Not yet." Kai shook his head. "I’ve had every contact I own working since Thursday night, still nothing solid. The trail keeps going cold. Whoever is shielding them knows what they are doing."

"Keep going."

"I haven’t stopped."

Derek let his head fall back against the seat and closed his eyes, and for a moment the exhaustion came up over him like water.

The doors of the grand hall opened again behind them, and the alphas began filing out in twos and threes, still arguing, gesturing, some of them glancing towards the western cars and looking quickly away again.

Derek opened his eyes and watched them through the window. And then he saw Braxton.

He came down the steps at an unhurried pace with two of his own men, saying something over his shoulder to one of the southern alphas.

Derek watched as Braxton adjusted his cuff, stopped at the bottom of the steps, checked his watch, and stood there for a moment scrolling through his phone before continuing towards his car.

Derek’s eyes narrowed at the man.

"Is it me," he said quietly, "or does that man not look like someone whose twin sister has been missing for two days?"