Shattered - Completed

14 - Master

"Pocket," she whispers.

Her once-pretty dress is in tatters, but still hanging on her frame. I reach in, idly noting how healthy this female is compared to the thinness of my princess. In her skirt pocket, I find a small bit of paper.

It's a runaway note from Salvatore. Simple, straightforward. He's going to live in the woods so he never has to attend lessons again. He doesn't mention me or his mother. It's in his handwriting and despite being tucked into the nanny's pocket, it still smells faintly of my pup. My wolf whines, furious and frightened for his pup.

"Why did you not immediately inform his guards that he was missing?" I ask her.

"Gone before," she croaks. "Always comes back."

"My six-year-old pup has run away before?" I ask her silkily. My wolf crouches, snarling, begging to be set free. I hold him back, just barely.

She just whimpers.

"You're going to die here," I tell her quietly. My wolf growls, but I ignore him. "Hanging there, starving. It'll be slow and agonizing. Your arms will go numb if they haven't already. For now, you can touch the floor with your toes, but you can't maintain that for days. Your legs will give out, then the weight of your body will be forced to your shoulders, then your wrists. Your body weight will shift from your arms to your chest, applying pressure to your lungs. You may suffocate before dying of thirst."

She starts to weep. Ignoring her pitiful cries, I leave the cell. "No one enters," I tell the guard. He nods, his eyes glaring scornfully into the dungeon at the nanny.

I exit the dungeon, the castle at my back. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and inhale. A tantalizingly sweet scent drifts into my nose. CeCe and my pup. My wolf howls, demanding asshole. I run my tongue along the back of my teeth, feeling the prick of my canines, sharp and ready.

Peeling my pants down and kicking off my boots, I stand naked in the hidden doorway to the dungeon. I take another breath, my wolf salivating, pacing, and shift. My elite pace with me, some of them already on paws, some waiting on feet.

The forest mutes into shades of dull color and grey, but the stream of scent drifting through the trees lights our way like a beacon in the night.

We run swiftly. The forest floor cracks and trembles under our paws. The scent, that pure honey scent, grows stronger with every stride. Our heart pounds in anticipation. Our mate has been out here for hours. She is with our heir. Betrayal tastes bitter on our tongue. If my mate has killed my son she will owe me a life and I will take all I can from her. More than she knows she can give me.

We slow our ground-eating strides near the mountain brook. They are nearby. Our skin crawls with anticipation under bristling fur. There is no scent of blood or pain. The only fragrance is cooked rabbit, candied goodness, and home.

Livid, we silently stalk our prey to the entrance of their little den. Steps away, we can hear our mate's honeyed voice speaking to our heir. Slow and soothing like molasses dripping down her dulcet throat. This is how she speaks to another? She does not speak to us that way.

"...the beautiful vixen ran through the woods, dashing over fields of violets bursting in purple and white. Every step released a cloud of yellow in her wake..."

Jealousy spears our heart and sours our stomach. When we are a step from the den, we deliberately step on a twig. The crack silences the sweet voice. Our ears twitch as we hear a soft inhale, a breath caught in lungs. A small, tremulous pup-voice asks, "is it the fox? Because of the rabbit?"

"Salvatore get behind me," our mate's voice is terror-filled now, instead of filled with syrupy goodness. It enrages us. We growl a low command. Come to me. We hear a breathy, helpless moan in response. Our growl grows in volume, but our prey is tucked tight in her little nest, our heir sequestered away with her.