Alpha warrior novel Chapter 1

As Isla watched the man beside her droning on about the natural dangers that lie on the outskirts of their homeland, the only thought running through her mind—a question, really—was how in the world, Goddess forgive her, could she possibly have almost let this imbecile become her mate?

One could claim that the members of their Pack—Io, for which their location was named—had a superiority complex. Callan, however, took the notion to a whole other level.

The humanoid form of egocentrism had come out of nowhere, butting his way into Isla’s conversation with a fellow Trainee who was from the Pack of Tethys. The man, whose name she’d never gotten to, was decently attractive, and as their conversation flowed, showed promise of being intriguing, up to talk about things other than fighting. And the bonus? Besides the fact he’d gazed down at her breasts just once, he was also unmated, as was she. Though she may had given up seeking her forever, that did not mean she was opposed to the temporary.

Isla knew that the brute’s interruption was for no reason other than to make her aware of his exclusive invitation to and presence at this Hunter’s Feast. That, and bear her witness to his newly acquired mark. A symbol of his recent bond with his Chosen mate.

As if that would make her regret ending things with him.

The master story-stringer kept the Trainee hanging on his every last word, discussing Io’s “City of Fallen Embers”, otherwise known formally as the Imperial City. What was surely one of their Realm’s most glorious landmarks, the City had taken on the fiery moniker following the momentous volcanic eruption—that Callan was nowhere near involved in—centuries ago.

While he continued on with his grandstanding, Isla trained her narrowed ice-blue gaze along his face. From his coppery hair to his amber eyes and his nose tweaked from battle. Over his lips that had long ago caressed her skin, and the stubble that had accompanied it.

When one caught him at the right moment, Callan was easy-on-the-eyes, though a little generic and plain, and aside from a few selfish rendezvous, he wasn’t too bad when the Season rolled around. But what he had in mediocre looks and being the occasional decent lover, he destroyed with his undeservedly garish personality.

“May I step in?”

Isla jolted when she felt a hand on the bare skin of her back that had been exposed by her low sweeping gown. Instinctually, she began to swing her arm in the assailant’s direction, before she came to her senses and realized she recognized the voice. She stiffened her limb and dropped it to her side, for this was not the time to be descended upon by the Imperial Guard. Not on the Eve of one of the biggest nights of her life.

With a preparative glower—because she hated when he masked his scent in order to sneak up on her—Isla turned to meet the golden-green stare of her longest friend. The bond formed by default or by choice, it would be too hard to judge now.

As Callan, to Isla’s bliss, fell into silence, Adrien took another step, standing at her side. His hands were behind his back, his posture tall and regal, but his grin held a reckless charm that only he could truly possess.

Callisto, the region where the Gate lay to the Wilds, had a tempered climate. Nothing compared to the heat Io had been experiencing following the recent Summers’ Solstice. So instead of his customary home attire, the Heir donned more modest cloths, crafted richly and finely, cut in a way that made it hard to miss the magnificence of his form beneath the fabric. The sash across the front of his intricately stitched tunic bared the blood red jewels and gold mined long before his time from the land of the ancient Packs. It was the way royalty called for, despite Adrien’s own occasional indifference to it.

“Goddess. . .”

Isla spun to find the Trainee’s eyes blown wider than they had been while tuned into the stories of catastrophic death and molten rock. He nearly snapped his neck, bowing his head to the ground. “Alpha. . . Heir. . . Your Imperial-ness. . . Highness. . . sir.”

With every fumbled word, any attraction Isla had previously felt to the man dwindled, likely visible in the gradual frowning of her face.

Adrien’s eyes flashed with amusement as he nodded his head in recognition of the paid respect. “At ease.”

The Trainee lifted his head, still in awe, like a child meeting their hero, though Adrien was not much their senior.

And although he claimed he wasn’t always for the grandeur of being at the top of the Realm’s Hierarchy, being the future “Alpha of all Alphas”, Isla knew the Heir relished in the fanfare. His hubris—which typically drove her mad—was enough to quell even the biggest of egos. Including one as big as Callan’s.

Isla watched, the inside of her cheek between her teeth, as Adrien turned his head, slowly and expectantly, to the grimacing man beside him. She knew she wasn’t the only one getting a kick out of this. Despite lacking a superior bloodline, Callan was a formidable fighter, deemed a Warrior through victory in the Hunt a few years ago, and a good challenger for Adrien in their earlier days. That was, until the Alpha-blooded wolf began rocketing to his own, seemingly limitless, potential.

“Warrior,” Adrien greeted his former training-mate and competitor, smug.

Callan begrudged a bow of his head, envy laced with defeat in his eyes. “Your Highness.”

“I never had a chance to formally extend my congratulations.” Adrien, still in the business of being cordial as a leader, gestured to the mark visible on Callan’s neck beneath his collar.

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