Free Weregirl by Patti Larsen Page B

expressions. These ones grow old quickly.
    Oleksander barely nods to them as his mind seizes on mine. They are wrong, he sends.
    They are . I push my power at him, let him feel what I felt.
    Whoever they are , he sends, whatever their strange power, they aren’t welcome here .
    I almost hug him then and there. Agreed .
    “I have come,” Caine says, back to grinning, “to claim your granddaughter as my mate.”
    “Then you have come for naught,” Oleksander says in his same calm, icy voice.
    Caine’s eyebrows shoot up, his false shock despicable. “Is it not your order,” he says, “that every eligible male werewolf present himself for just this purpose?”
    “It is,” my grandfather says. “But it is my choice, as wereking of this nation, to decide who is worthy of my heir and this throne.” He leans forward and sniffs the air while the entire throne room goes quiet. “Nothing about you appeals to me, Caine. And I don’t like your scent.”
    In any other throne room, such behavior would be shocking. But we are werewolves and blunt speech is a way of life.
    Caine’s grin fades and he shrugs, eyes locked on me. I feel the pressure of his magic as he finally shoves it toward me. The court's wereguards, formerly contracted by the Black Souls as Mafia hitmen and strong arms, wince back from the wall of magic, hardened even as they are to conflict and as fearless as any I’ve ever known. I shiver inside, ignoring how I’m feeling, drawing on my own strength and that of my grandfather.
    “Were law states I have claim,” Caine growls. “The strongest will mate and take leadership.”
    “Were law,” Oleksander says, “has changed since the healing.” My grandfather’s hand settles over mine, a giant mitt of hot skin pressing over my fingers. “Not only must weres prove their worthiness—something you’ve failed to do with your arrogant nature and the stink of your being—but you must satisfy the desires of my heir.” He looks up at me. “And I can tell from her clear disdain she wants nothing to do with you.” Oleksander sits back, brows heavy over his eyes. “You are not welcome here, Cicero Caine, either as a pack leader or as a potential mate for my granddaughter.”
    Caine looks like he wants to protest, seems confused. Where did he get his information? I have the sudden feeling he’s not here alone, that he has a master of his own to whom he answers.
    “You weaken the werenation with such pathetic softness,” Caine says, his pack closing around him, glaring at the watching werewolves who pull further away.
    “You, young were, are the one who weakens us.” Oleksander’s soft tone draws my shoulders further back out of pride and love for him. “We are no longer slaves of the Black Souls. We have our own destiny to fulfill, a destiny not tied to the strength of our bodies, but the courage and conviction and heart of our people.” I feel the gathered weres begin to ease forward, no longer so afraid of and repelled by Caine’s people. “There will be no more forced matings, not for power and not for position. We have fought for our freedom and we have won. Every were,” my grandfather stands, raises his arms as if to embrace us all, “everyone has the right to choose.”
    They beam up at him, the gathered werewolves, all but Caine and his pack. They seem more confused than ever and I see Viveca whisper in his ear with a tilt of her head. I catch the word “healing” and see him shake his head.
    They don’t know of the healing? How could they not? It changed all werewolves—didn’t it? Or is that it? Did Syd and I somehow miss some of them? Was the taint I felt on Caine actually the remains of the sorcery left behind in him and his pack?
    Caine pushes Viveca back and opens his mouth to speak. But he doesn’t get a chance, not when a crisp and cutting voice breaks the moment into a million pieces.
    “My love,” Piers says with a grin of his own, striding past Caine and his pack and