Marked Mate: Treason ©️

Chapter Ten

Writers Note:
To all who enjoy The Marked Mate, I thank you in your feedback, likes, comments, and reads on my work. You are all wonderful, and I do hope you enjoy my new release "The Mistress' Order" as well as the re-release of Marked Mates side story: "King's Mate."

Cheers.

The Lands were quiet. Too quiet... even for King's liking. As he paced back and forth through along the narrow stream of water, the only source through the Lands, he watched the line of shrub with such intense sight. He made the others nervous by his movement, they all stared with him or watched him stride by side to side with his massive, long clawed paws, as if an impending doom was upon us.

The more pressing matter is the fact that he did not speak while he's pacing. Every time he turned around, nothing. Not even a look of assurance at us. King's massive head was picked up high, mane flowing like seaweed in the oceans' underwater currents. His mouth agate, baring his near-yellowed teeth lightly stained with blood from a recent kill a few yards away from the Pride.

The lioness' went about their day, human and lion form, tending to the cubs, cooking, crafting, sharpening tools, making clothes from the prey's skin and fur. Not daring to waste any part of the animal not because it is a rule, but because the Pride is taught that nothing is of no use to us.

'Nothing is of no use to the Pride and it's members.' King had embedded that phrase into our heads since we were cubs. Even the other male lions always come back from trek's with some type of item, whether it was from the human city miles away, or the wolves that had abandoned, threw away, or forgot of certain things, mostly scraps of clothing. Of course, to the older generation lions, anything from the wolves must be boiled in watered down elk's blood, which by itself is enough of a process since elk is a more or less a three to four hour track and hunt.

We must be ready, King spoke mentally as he turned to us, a scorn like mug on his muzzle, whiskers up and wrinkles present, The Wolves, they are preparing for us.

You're just paranoid, Your Majesty, A lioness who goes by the name Janiee spoke up. She is one of the Prides best crafters, making majority of what our home has, deer skulls for bowls, skins that make up our tents. Give her the bones, dried grass piles, skins, a few long pieces of bark and you'll have the best looking crafted bed in the Land, much like King's massive bed in the cave underneath the plateau.

In response to Jainee, he gave a snort through his leather like nose, I am not. I sense something, the ancestors are giving me a sign, a warning through the breeze. I know they are plotting something.

"Or maybe," Hunter spoke, one of the second oldest, next to King, male lions , "you're just looking for a reason  attack the wolves. We understand the feud Your Highness, but attacking the wolves faction with no source or back up of evidence that includes them in our territory? You're asking for a war against them."

Our leader snarled at Hunter, giving him a defying, deathly stare as the protector lion bowed his head down in respect to him and walked away. Hunter merely walked to the edge of the water, phasing back to his human form while a lioness handed him a pair of gazelle skinned shorts. Fur retracting into his tanned skin, while his mane gradually formed back to his own black dreads that swayed to his right side and over his temple and ear. He stayed quiet after his remark to the King, and simply washed his upper body and face with his hands from the flowing, crystal liquid.

In the midst of all the conversation, I sat at the edge of a slate boulder, looking back and forth of those who spoke up in the royalties conversation. Even though everyone was dismissed from King, he stayed in his pacing movement for a few more minutes before speaking again, Hunter, let's go.