Free Weregirl by Patti Larsen Page A

confidence making my stomach tighten, my bile rise.
    The others catch up before I can attack him, the desire to silence him forever a primal need. I’ve never felt so much hatred, not even for those who once owned me when I was a girl. Caine just stares at me, muzzle open, tongue hanging out as though he’s laughing at me.
    I turn and run for the palace, the wolf pack fading back into the trees as my suitors follow me, Caine’s people fanning out, flanking us. They seem as fast as him, as powerful and I wonder where their strength comes from even as I worry getting rid of them won’t be as simple as I first thought. If Oleksander admires their ability and the other packs bow to their dominance, I could be forced to stand against my people in rejecting this werewolf as my mate.
    No, I can’t believe it will come to that. Surely the other weres will sense the wrongness in them and back my rejection of their entire pack.
    My history of shattered hope and trust tells me I need to prepare for the worst.
     
    ***
     

Chapter Fourteen
     
    I retrieve my clothing, well in the lead of the California pack and my suitors, and hurry to the palace. I’m still pulling on my shirt, settling it over my shoulders before swinging on my leather jacket as I cross the threshold into the main foyer. I feel the other weres following me, wondering why Caine doesn’t barge his way in past me.
    Oleksander is on his throne, as usual, when I stride up the aisle with my heart hammering in my chest. At times, I think my grandfather must sleep there, since it’s the only place he ever seems to be. I let him feel my distress and see him sit up straighter as I hurry to his side, coming to a halt on his right, one hand on his shoulder.
    Grandfather , I send. Caution .
    I understand Caine’s slowed pace as he and his pack enter the throne room. One of them must have been carrying the group’s clothing, because they have somehow acquired some. Caine takes the lead, in full human form. My pulse thuds uncomfortably in my ears as I observe the gathered werewolves—all from other packs—fall back from him and his people.
    I’m not the only one who feels it, then. That truth offers me some relief. Oleksander stiffens under my hand, his power pulsing around us as he calls on the magic of the werenation.
    Caine comes to a halt at the base of the dais, grinning, dressed in black leather pants and an open vest, showing off his tattoos. Two of his pack flank him, a hulking brute of a were with long scar down his face and a thick, black braid over one shoulder, paired with a tall, whip-like woman with the same features, feminized, and the same black braid. Both are as tattooed as their leader and the female seems intent on murdering me with her furious black eyes.
    Jealousy, I can only guess. Well, she can have Cicero Caine, if that’s her issue.
    “Your Majesty.” Caine attempts a bow, manages to nod his head, still smirking. The weres guarding the throne frown at the weak attempt at respect, but my grandfather waves them off.
    “And you are?” I can only one day hope to master the combination of boredom and utter disregard Oleksander embeds in every single word he speaks to Caine. I watch the visiting leader show a moment of fury, know my grandfather’s tone is exactly the right one, and curse myself for allowing my temper to show.
    Weakness. I can’t show him any further weakness.
    Caine’s anger disappears behind that crap-eating grin. “I am Cicero Caine,” he says before half-turning to his right. “My beta, Roman Knox.” The hulking were doesn’t bother to acknowledge the introduction, his eyes as dark as his female counterpart’s. He reminds me of an animal, much more feral than any other werewolf I’ve ever met. We are, as a race, a balance of wolf and human. Roman has no balance I can feel.
    “And this,” Caine turns to his left, “is his sister and my third, Viveca.”
    More silent, dangerous staring. I wonder if they have other