Beat of my Heart Read online

  Though there was one pack he’d yet to come across.

  Could this finally be it?

  This strange intensity might make sense if he’d found the pack.

  Either way, the idea of joining others like him for a little while, instead of subjecting himself to the cloying scent of humans in their artificial world, was a good enough reason to press on.

  Zeveride found a well-traveled deer trail and left the asphalt for the forest. He began to climb, following his nose, taking a different path when it veered off until he came to a tiny clearing with a few large boulders.

  He stopped.

  This was as far as he could go. The territory in front of him was scent-marked. Zeveride pulled a sandwich he’d picked up in the city from his backpack, then set all his worldly goods on the ground. He unwrapped the food and then took a bite, leaning against one of the craggy rocks.

  Again, a faint current of air carried the smell of pack, followed by that of a much more powerful creature. One who was quickly making his way to Zeveride.

  It wasn’t one of the guards either. Zeveride couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there and was glad they were. It meant this pack was protected.

  But whoever was nearing him was something—someone else. Someone extremely dangerous.

  Zeveride shivered as he sensed the aggression headed his way. If he was right and this was the pack he thought it was, then this might be the pack’s enforcer.

  Not that he was afraid. There wasn’t much Zeveride couldn’t handle. He was a large wolf and thanks to fighting for survival all his life, he’d grown tough.

  He hadn’t had a choice if he wanted to continue living.

  Still, he wasn’t looking to get into any altercations today.

  It would be nice to have a friendly place to lay his head for a short while. Short being the keyword. He generally left before he wore out his welcome.

  But not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to finally belong. To stay in one place and not have to move all the time.

  He didn’t see that happening in the foreseeable future.

  Zeveride slid the empty sandwich wrap into his backpack and sat down beside it.

  He didn’t wait long.

  The air thickened and the fine hair on the back of his neck prickled, urging him to shift. He fought the compulsion and kept his human form. The other wolf was close.

  Despite telling himself to stay calm, Zeveride tensed even more and kept his hands by his sides. “I intend no harm to you or your pack.” He spoke quietly and without challenge to the wolf whose presence felt like a barely contained thunderstorm behind him.

  Silence met his words, then a brutal wave of power—needlelike prickles—flowed over and around him.

  He couldn’t move.

  Zeveride fought his wolf’s panic, but it wasn’t easy. His beast didn’t like what was happening. However, if he gave in and changed form, no doubt he’d not live to see another sunrise.

  Sharp as razor blades, the dark energy entered him. His beast fought harder as it sizzled, hot daggers of lightning, piercing as it sought the truth of his words.

  Zeveride drew in slow, even breaths, willing his wolf to remain calm. The old bastard was testing him, waiting to see what he’d do. Would he show fear, shift, maybe draw on his power in retaliation?

  Most wolves would have found it impossible not to react.

  Zeveride wasn’t most wolves.

  The enforcer—for there was no longer any doubt in Zeveride’s mind as to who this was—had no reason to hurt him. At least, that was what he told his own beast. Except we’re close to the male’s pack, his other half reminded him.

  That was true, and not all wolves were completely sane either. But he pushed that thought away, relieved that his beast seemed content to let him take the lead.

  Zeveride closed his eyes and lifted his face to bare his throat, letting the other male know he was willing to accept whatever was to happen.

  Then the perusal was gone.

  Zeveride blinked as the biggest wolf he had ever encountered moved to stand in front of him.

  The male’s coat was as black as Zeveride’s, though this creature had streaks of red in his.

  He’d found the Okami king’s pack.

  It was never a good idea to challenge a more dominant wolf, but Zeveride was also a dominant. And now, something told him that if he cowered before this male, he’d be headed back to the city. That is, if he were allowed to live.

  He met the deadliest pair of red eyes he’d ever seen.

  A rage so dark, so deep it was seared into the soul of the other wolf, made Zeveride flinch inside.

  This was sheer folly, and to hold the other’s gaze for more than a split second?—likely suicide. But then no one had ever claimed he was smart.

  Out of respect, Zeveride had submitted to the enforcer’s brutal evaluation, even though he wasn’t a submissive. The other wolf needed to know that, in the off chance he allowed Zeveride to join the pack for any length of time.

  “Honesty. What an interesting concept,” the large breast said telepathically.

  Zeveride reinforced his mental shields. “I have nothing to hide and don’t believe in wasting time.” It wasn’t easy, but he held back his snarl. He didn’t like anyone in his mind. Nor was it custom for one to dive in without being invited. However, this male didn’t strike Zeveride as one who cared about what was custom or good manners.

  Not a small wolf himself, Zeveride appreciated the size of this foe and knew he’d more than met his match.

  The eyes studying him were fiercely intelligent, but at his words, Zeveride swore he saw a flicker of humor. Then it was gone. Maybe he’d just imagined it?

  Another blast of energy charged the air and the wolf became a huge black-haired male with turquoise eyes who looked just as ferocious in human form.

  Zeveride remained seated. “I’m Zeveride.”

  The enforcer narrowed his eyes. “You’re a lone wolf. I smell it on you. What are you doing here?”

  “I was … drawn … here. I’d like to seek hospitality if you’ll have me.” It was the same thing he said to every pack he came across, well, the hospitality bit. He didn’t usually let anyone know that some kind of supernatural force made him go places he’d rather not. Yet for some reason the truth spilled from his mouth. Zeveride mentally shook his head, avoiding the question in the other male’s eyes. “I’ll keep to myself, but I can fight—help protect—and take my turn at patrolling.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as I’m welcome. Then I’ll take my leave and move on.” Hopefully, in the meantime, he’d figure out why he’d been directed here.

  “You look familiar. Who are your parents?”

  “Vortag—” he began, the name lodging in his throat like bile, “was my father.” The images of blood and violence, along with anger and hatred, were harder to push aside.

  “Your mother?”

  “Mesina.” It had been years since he’s spoken her name, years since she died, yet the pain of her death still hurt.

  “I never met your mother, but I did meet your father once. How is he?”

  Zeveride drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Again with the tests. “The Ilyium murdered him, my mother, and the rest of my pack when I was ten. But you know that, don’t you?”

  “I did, just making sure you are who you claim.”

  Zeveride didn’t respond.

  The enforcer turned away. “I’m Soroyan. Come meet my brother Kyrian, your king. He’s been waiting for you.”

  Zeveride’s heartbeat picked up. He’d genuinely done it. He’d found the pack. Wait, what? The king was waiting for him?

  “Your father was … a good male,” Soroyan said when Zeveride caught up.

  Zeveride bit back a growl and didn’t answer—not ready to spill his soul to a stranger. But as they ascended the mountain, he could feel the other wolf contemplating him.

  He shrugged it
off—some of the older ones were a bit eccentric, and this one seemed to fit that bill to a tee.

  3

  The King

  After a few miles of following the enforcer along the trail, Zeveride sensed they were being watched and homed in on a pack sentinel who stood atop an outcropping of rocks and brush. He melded into the scenery so well that if Zeveride hadn’t been a supe with enhanced senses, he’d never have known anyone was there.

  The pack sentry didn’t move or make a sound as they walked by below him.

  Zeveride’s sense of anticipation, which had been driving him here, grew stronger as they finally came to where Soroyan’s pack—or if the guy was right, the king’s pack—had set up camp. A massive ledge that jutted out from the mountainside formed a natural shelter.

  Young played, some in human form and others in wolf form, but all tumbling in the snow and dirt while their mothers watched. Pregnant females rested while others made quick work of preparing dinner as another bunch sat around the campfire talking and laughing.

  One by one, curious gazes, all different ages and sex, glanced first at Soroyan before settling upon Zeveride.

  But that wasn’t the reason why his heart beat a tad faster.

  Was he this excited to meet the king? Sure, he’d always wanted to, but right now Zeveride honestly didn’t think that was the cause of the reaction.

  Usually, he’d be stopped with questions about why he was here and who he was. But as they passed through camp, everyone grew silent, and he figured they trusted the big guy to have checked him out.

  Yeah, that had to be it, because everyone seemed intimidated by Soroyan and quickly hurried out of his way or lowered their eyes.

  Except, maybe not all. One brave soul in human form with close-trimmed brown hair, an eagle tattoo on his chest—indicating he’d spent time in the human military—and sparkling brown eyes, spoke. “Brother, I see you’ve collected a stray.”

  Good-natured laughter followed the comment.

  Soroyan didn’t even pause. “Not your brother, Ransom.”

  A pretty female with long white hair slid onto Ransom’s lap. “Better watch your mouth, my love. Soroyan’s liable to eat you for a snack.”

  Tattoo guy grunted, but no one else said another word to the enforcer.

  By the time Soroyan stopped in front of a tall male with long silvery-blond hair, Zeveride wanted to climb out of his skin.

  To calm himself, he took a breath and focused on the male in front of him. “Regal” was the word that came to Zeveride’s mind as he met a pair of pale silver eyes. Eyes in which Zeveride thought he could see the weight of the world. Ah, yes. The Okami king.

  Zeveride had often wondered about their leader. Other packs claimed that King Kyrian existed, though he himself used to have his doubts.

  Which were now laid to rest.

  “Zeveride.” King Kyrian’s silver eyes assessed him. Soroyan must have mentally alerted his brother about who he was bringing back to camp. “I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.”

  His words startled Zeveride. Unsure how to respond, he glanced at Soroyan. The other wolf didn’t so much as look at him as he walked away.

  Zeveride had earned a reputation as a skilled fighter, but he honestly never imagined that the king would have heard of him. Or cared if he had. “It’s very good to meet you as well, King Kyrian.”

  “Just call me Kyrian. Will you walk with me?”

  Zeveride nodded as he glanced around, trying to calm the strange reaction coursing through him.

  “I knew your parents. Your mother was a kind female, and your father …” Kyrian’s sentence trailed off as they made their way to the top of the ledge overlooking the camp. “I know it was long ago, but I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Zeveride responded. “Though I don’t remember much anymore.”

  Kyrian shot him a look.

  Zeveride hated talking about his past. It was painful and easier to say he didn’t remember, but— “Sorry, it’s just … my father was an asshole.”

  Kyrian nodded. “He was. But you, you’ve turned into a fine warrior.”

  To Zeveride’s surprise, Kyrian chuckled. “I’ve heard things about you, and they’ve been very good things.” Then he switched topics. “Soroyan told me you seek hospitality.”

  “Yes, if you’ll have me.” Hospitality meant that he had a place to stay, and in return he’d help hunt and bring in food. Take his turn on patrol, and even fight to defend the pack, but they owed him nothing. Then when asked to leave, he’d do so without protest, which was never a problem.

  Kyrian looked at him somberly. “When I heard you survived all those years ago, I sent someone to bring you back to us. But by the time they arrived, you were long gone, and so was any trace of your scent.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “To bring you into the pack, of course. No young should be left alone to fend for themselves.” Kyrian’s steely voice held an intensity that took Zeveride aback. This male, the king of the Okami wolves, had tried to give him—a kid he hadn’t even known—a home? “I was fighting for survival long before my pack was slaughtered.”

  A tic started in Kyrian’s jaw. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know until much later. If I had, I’d have put a stop to your father’s practices.”

  “Maybe you would have, maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know, but either way, it was a long time ago.” Zeveride shrugged.

  Kyrian stopped moving.

  Zeveride gazed down the hill at the camp below, overwhelmed and a bit stunned that he was actually here.

  “Zeveride?” Kyrian waited until Zeveride met his gaze. “You don’t know me, so I understand your doubt, but I’m hopeful that can be changed and you’ll come to trust me.”

  Zeveride blinked, unsure what to say. Trust wasn’t something that came easy and never had, not since the day his father changed his whole outlook on life.

  “Stories of your bravery defending other packs proceeds you,” Kyrian said. “You’ve been around, haven’t you?”

  “Uh, I guess.”

  “I’ve also heard you don’t like talking much.” Kyrian smiled.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “No need to apologize.” Kyrian glanced down at Soroyan. The male had changed back to his wolf and was headed back out of camp. “I have a brother who is the same way.”

  Zeveride’s tendency to keep his thoughts to himself had been another reason he wasn’t often welcomed long in a pack. They always wanted to know his life story, and he hated talking or answering questions about himself.

  Now, once again, words he didn’t usually speak spilled from his mouth. “After the attack, I wandered until I stumbled upon a pack of wild wolves.” He’d been in shock, and joining the wolves had seemed like a good idea. It hadn’t even bothered him that he’d started to lose his humanity. His mother, the last person who’d cared about him, was dead and he hadn’t been able to stop it. “I stayed with them until I came upon a human family camping in the woods. Their three-year-old daughter had wandered off and they were frantic to find her.”

  “So you tracked her.” Kyrian gave an appreciative nod.

  “I did.” Zeveride had found the girl scared and sobbing. She’d lost a shoe and was covered in mud and dirt. For the first time in a year he changed into his human body, picked her up, and returned the girl to her family.

  “Is that how you ended up living in the human world?” Kyrian asked.

  How did he know? “They were nice. They fed me, then took me back to the city with them when I told them I had no family. I ended up in human foster care.” His first time in the human world had been rough. From the moment he’d been born, he was taught to keep what they were secret from the humans.

  “That must’ve been hard. I truly regret that we weren’t able to locate you.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Zeveride said. “I don’t blame you. You had your own pack to worry over. But I am curious, how did you know I li
ved in the human world?” He’d lived and worked there many times over the years when it suited his needs, though he never stayed long. If the humans’ greed and pettiness didn’t drive him away, the concrete and stench always did.

  “We’ve got a few pack members who live with the humans, and thanks to them, we now have cell phones to keep the packs connected, among other things that make life out here easier. Well, some of the packs, I should say. Others prefer to continue the old ways with no human contact or advancements. But the ones that have evolved do talk,” Kyrian said as they turned and headed back to camp. “And I listen. You’ve made a name among the Okami as a strong, honest fighter, an excellent tracker, and a good, dependable male.”

  Zeveride hadn’t known he’d made any sort of impression over the years.

  “I offer you hospitality and am hoping you’ll decide to make our pack your permanent home. We can use a skilled warrior, if you’ll have us.”

  No pack had ever offered Zeveride such a thing. “You don’t even know me. Why would you make this offer?”

  “I know enough.” Kyrian took in his people, then faced Zeveride, worry in his gaze. “Plus, I have visions of sorts, though they’re not always clear. I saw your arrival.”

  “So that’s what Soroyan meant.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m honored you’d entrust me to help protect your pack.” Zeveride meant every word too.

  “So you accept?”

  Zeveride hesitated. “For now.” This way they both had a way out if things didn’t work, though he couldn’t help but hope that maybe his luck was changing.

  “You must be hungry.” Kyrian nodded to where the meal was being prepared. “Go eat, then get some rest. Someone will wake you when it’s your turn to stand watch.”

  Zeveride finally met the gazes of the curious. Yet it was a set of intense blue eyes that caught his attention and made his heart skip a beat. Or three.

  This was it—the root of the anticipation that had been nagging at him.