Desires of the Otherworld 2: Darkest Hunger (20 page)

Micah cracked a grin. “Big ticket, short ride.”

Trace took to the sky as Bridon and Micah walked cautiously toward the castle. Multiple groans and grunts carried to their ears, indicating the mating heat was in full swing. They reached the massive entrance and searched for guards. Two were standing nearby, on opposite sides of the entrance.

“Trace?” Bridon waited for confirmation before he made his move. This was something he and Trace had done in the past, a fast and easy way to dispose of enemies. His vow to lay down arms against the Lycae was no longer on the table. His Fated waited for him, and he’d kill every single obstacle in his path to get to her.

“Go,”
Trace answered him telepathically.
“I’m coming to you.”

“What are you planning?” Micah asked, and Bridon smiled.

“Just watch. This is the advantage to having a Draigen on your side.”

Bridon teleported to the first guard, grasped him around the chest, and returned to Micah before the other watchman noticed. The werewolf, disoriented and confused, didn’t have an opportunity to move as Trace landed, opened his jaws, chomped him between his teeth, and swallowed.

“Fates be damned,” Micah muttered, watching as Trace turned his head and belched a small cloud of fire.

“Be right back.” Bridon grinned and teleported to the other guard. Trace was ready when he returned, and he shoved the guard in the dragon’s direction to be consumed whole.

“You ate them.” Micah frowned, appearing mortified.

“Do you want to enter undetected or not?” Bridon asked.

Micah considered it and shuddered. “You didn’t have to eat them.” He glanced at Trace. “Doesn’t that give you one hell of an upset stomach?”

Trace snorted and shook his triangle-shaped head.

“You hunt live game all the time; I don’t see how it’s any different,” Bridon answered and gave Micah a comforting pat on the shoulder. “When Trace shifts back, he’ll burn the meal off. It’s a part of what he is.”

“Stop fucking around and discussing my eating habits.”
Trace’s thought had a hard edge to it as he took to the sky.
“We need to move.”

“Lead on, Micah,” Bridon instructed.

Bridon followed as Micah strode into the inner ward of the castle. He tried to reach out to Willow but came up with nothing. When they came upon a circle with a blazing fire in the center, he learned why his Fated was unreachable.

She was nude, chained at the throat to a large pole near the fire. There was blood on her face and body, and she was unconscious. Rage unlike any he had ever known overtook him. He started forward when Micah stopped him.

“Wait until I issue challenge before you go to her. The pack will be distracted, and you won’t have to fight anyone off.”

Micah released him and strode toward the circle before Bridon could respond. He tried to contain his fury, knowing it wouldn’t do Willow any favors. Fates, she looked so helpless, so small and fragile.

“Dane Miloradovic, King of Norvallen,” Micah yelled for all to hear as he walked into the circle. Wolves and nude men and women appeared. “I, Micah Miloradovic, challenge you as alpha of the Norvallen pack, as is my blood right.”

Bridon rushed to Willow, just as a gust of air caused the fire nearby to dwindle and then grow. He heard Trace land behind him as the ground shifted to bear his weight. He made it to his Fated and wanted to kill the man responsible for her injuries. From a distance, he couldn’t see the damage to her arms and legs. Up close, he knew they had been broken. He was grateful she hadn’t been awake to hear his mental calls. She must have been in anguish.

He found the lock at the back of the collar and pried it open with his fingers. She started to stir, and he cursed. He didn’t want her to wake when he was unable to do anything to alleviate her pain. As he lifted her into his arms, she moaned, and her eyes flickered open.

“Bridon?”

“I’m here, love.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded close to tears. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have told you what I wanted to do.”

“We’ll discuss this later.” He brought her closer to his chest and started to teleport her home.

“Don’t.” She cried out as she realized his intent and tried to lift her arm. “Micah?”

He considered lying, but knew it would only result in more anger from his Fated. “He’s here, challenging your father for the throne.”

“We can’t leave him alone.”

“He’s not.” Bridon turned slowly so Willow could see Trace at his back.

“Stay,” she whispered into his chest. “Please. If the pack turns on him, he’ll need us.”

“Fucking hell,”
Trace grumbled in Bridon’s mind.
“If she wants to stay after what they’ve done to her, she deserves to. Get out of the way. I’ll clear a path.”

Bridon moved aside as Trace’s enormous bulk stomped past. The men, women, and wolves in the circle backed up when they saw him, growling and baring their teeth. Trace swiped his spiked tail in their direction, which sent them scattering. When there was plenty of room, Bridon started walking. He could hear the raised voices and knew they weren’t far off.

“You’ve no right to the throne. You deserted the pack for a vampire bitch and a half-breed whelp.”

“I’m not surprised to hear you say that, since you couldn’t care less about your own children. My challenge stands. Unless the pack turns from me, you have to acknowledge and accept it.”

The moon still held some of the pack members in its grip. They fucked on the ground, completely oblivious to what was taking place. Those cognizant enough to watch the altercation shifted their feet as if unsure what to do.

Micah rotated in a circle, speaking to the growing ring of Lycae around him. “I never betrayed you. I did not leave the pack willingly. I was forced to do so to protect my Fated and our child. Your alpha wants you to believe that vampires are the threat. The truth is he is the one responsible for the threat to the future heir to the throne.” He stopped and pointed at Willow. “She was never responsible for the downfall of the pack. Her mating was a danger because it represented new leadership to the throne. He”—Micah turned and pointed at his father—“never wanted that to happen. He would have killed off his son, daughter, and grandchild to retain power that he gained through fear and brutality.”

The Lycae began to whisper, and Dane Miloradovic snarled, “Everything I do is for the good of the pack. We remain strong because of my decisions. My son would fool you with lies.”

“He’s not lying.” A dark form shouldered through the bodies in his path, followed by a large group, causing more whispers and confusion. “Micah is telling you the truth. He fled Norvallen when he learned that his child would be murdered the moment it was born.”

“Dom,” Micah said with a smile and stepped toward the leader who emerged from the Lycae in his path. They embraced, clapping each other on the back.

“The pack won’t turn their back on you.” Dom pulled away as those who followed him strode to the circle and faced the crowd. “If they try to, we’ll take them down one by one.”

“This is mutiny!” Dane roared. “I won’t tolerate it in my pack.”

Micah grasped his shirt and pulled it over his head, flexing his muscles. “Then it’s a good thing it’s not going to be your pack for much longer.”

“You want to challenge me, pup? Make sure it’s the right decision.” Dane stood, revealing his nude, muscular body, and pointed at the sky—toward the glowing sphere tinged with red. “A killing moon is upon us. This will only end in death.”

“Your death,” Micah said quietly, his voice laced with intent. “Not mine.”

“So be it. When I’m finished with you, I’ll be paying your Fated and child a visit.”

The Lycae forming the circle spread out as Dane walked down the stairs. Micah waited, watching as his father and foe came to him. They sized each other up as they sidestepped. More of the pack appeared, no longer in the grips of the moon, watching as a monumental moment in their history transpired.

Tonight, things could change for the better. Or they could crumble for the worse.

“If Micah fails, everything will fall apart,”
Bridon thought to Trace.

“The old man will lose,”
Trace said quietly in Bridon’s mind.

“How can you be certain?”

“He is fighting for his pride. Micah is fighting for the future of his family.”

Dane struck out, and Micah pivoted, bringing his fist around. Micah’s punch connected with Dane’s jaw, sending him several steps back. Dane shook head, spit blood on the ground, and laughed.

“You still hit like a pussy.”

They circled each other again. When Dane tried to slash at his opponent with his claws, Micah spun around and launched himself at the much larger man. They fell on the ground with Micah on top. The old man rotated his hips, gained balance, and flipped them over. The moment Dane had an opening, be pummeled his son with fists.

Willow whimpered, and Bridon lowered his head, whispering soft nothings in her ear to soothe her. He wished there was more he could do, but this wasn’t his fight. If Micah wanted the respect of the pack, he had to earn it.

Micah grasped his father by the throat and wrapped his fingers under the elder Lycae’s jaw. Dane continued hitting him, landing blows to Micah’s face, and reached for Micah’s fingers. Micah bucked his pelvis, trying to dislodge his father, and kept a firm hold on Dane’s throat. They rocked—Micah the horse and Dane the rider—until Dane staggered to the side and Micah reversed their positions.

The younger Lycae straddled his father and peered down into his face. “This ends now.”

Then he started to shift.

Bridon watched, awestruck, as Micah’s body reformed with the exception of his arm. Fur appeared on his skin as his bones shifted and reshaped. The pants he’d kept intact ripped apart as his hindquarters became larger, shredding the expensive clothing. His facial features changed as his nose and mouth became a snout, complete with a lethal set of teeth. It was fast, taking seconds. The moment his body was changed, he released Dane and moved back, snarling. His arm changed into a leg, complete with a large paw and claws.

“You should have fought me as a man.” Dane rolled onto his hands and knees. “At least you stood a chance.”

Dane’s transformation was even faster, and to Bridon’s dismay, his wolf form was much, much larger. Micah waited until his father’s change was complete before he charged. They came together in a flurry of fur and fangs. Blood flew through the air as their claws broke skin and raked into muscle. There were no howls of pain, only paired growls and snarls.

Micah went for his father’s throat and was driven off course as the larger wolf barreled into his chest. When Micah tried to find his footing, Dane bit into the scruff of his neck and slashed at his son’s sides with his claws. Flaps of loose skin revealed portions of torn muscle and bone. Micah buried his back feet in the earth and lurched forward. It was enough to break his father’s hold on his neck and separate them.

They stood off again—Dane practically untouched and Micah torn open in several places. No one had to say this would be the last volley. If Micah didn’t kill his father on this pass, he would lose.

Dane charged his son, and Micah waited, sides heaving. When his father was nearly on him, he dropped to his chest, lifted his head, and latched on to the underside of Dane’s throat. Everyone heard the loud
crack
as bone snapped in two. Dane thrashed, yelping as his blood poured over his son’s snout. Micah didn’t let go, maintaining pressure until his father fell to his side. The gurgling sounds coming from the Lycae who was facing his death were made more horrific when Micah buried his claws in his father’s chest.

“Turn away, Bridon.”
Trace’s voice was a whisper in his head.
“Your Chosen doesn’t need to see the rest.”

Willow didn’t protest when he turned from the carnage, and Bridon was grateful for Trace’s foresight. Because just as he took his first step, he heard the ripping sound that indicated Micah was doing one of the only things you could to kill an immortal creature.

He was removing his father’s head.

Chapter Nineteen

Bridon looked up as someone approached. Willow had wanted to stay until she knew Micah was safe, despite his argument that she was in pain and needed to see a healer. So when he finally saw Micah walking toward them, it felt as if a lifetime had passed.

“Micah,” Willow said softly. “Are you all right?”

He smiled. “Nothing a shift didn’t take care of.”

“Now that you see he’s fine, can I take you home and summon a healer?” Bridon shifted Willow in his arms as carefully as he could, afraid to cause her more pain.

“Willow…” Micah arched a brow at her and clucked his tongue.

She winced as she moved. “I couldn’t shift until the fight was over and I talked to you.”

“So you didn’t tell your mate that you could have healed yourself if you wanted?”

Bridon’s eyes went wide before he lowered his gaze and glowered at his Chosen. “I assumed you could only heal wounds if you were harmed in wolf form.”

“You know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass out of—” Willow laughed, grimaced, and bit her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She’s stubborn,” Micah answered for her, shaking his head. “The pain allowed her to keep the mating heat at bay. If she changed, she wouldn’t have been able to watch the fight.”

Bridon gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to throttle his Fated. She’d known it had killed him to watch her in so much misery when she could have ended it all. Taking a deep breath, he lowered her to the ground.

“Don’t make me tell you what I expect. You’re in enough trouble.”

She shook her head, bowed her back, and started to change. It wasn’t as fast or painless as her brother’s shift. Instead, she panted and whined as her bones mended and reformed. Angry as he was, he hated seeing her like this. He started to crouch next to her when Micah stopped him.

“Don’t. She’s a big girl who brought this on herself. Pacifying her would only rub salt in her wounds.”