The Leopard King (30 page)

Dom restrained a growl at how happy that comment made Pru. If her happiness hadn’t filled him up like a fizzy drink, the blush in her freckled cheeks would’ve given it away. Plus, he hadn’t even known that Eamon was an artist, so he focused on that. “Would you let us hang some of your work in the admin center once we finish the repairs?”

Elbowing him, Pru whispered, “He never shows me anything, don’t be rude.”

To his mate’s evident astonishment, the other man nodded. “When the work is done, ask again. I’ll have a piece ready for you.”

“I can’t wait.” Pru seemed as if she’d like to rush at the painter and hug him in a fit of enthusiasm, but Eamon might as well have posted
DO NOT TOUCH THE ARTIST
signs. In this hideaway, it was quiet, giving no sign of the chaos in the wider world.

“Joss told me we’re up against the Golgoth. I wish I could fight them,” Eamon said.

“Nobody expects you to.” Dom meant his words to be comforting, but it was hard to tell if he’d succeeded.

An ocean of sadness Dom could scarcely cross in a boat flickered in Eamon’s eyes. “That’s exactly why I wish I could.”

P
ru made herself
presentable as soon as possible and accompanied her mate to greet Princess Thalia. Part of her couldn’t stop obsessing over exactly
why
Dom had dragged her off, another part glowed endlessly over the sweet things he’d said followed by amazing sex, and the rest knew she had to focus because with Lord Talfayen dead, if they didn’t secure an alliance with Princess Thalia, relations with the Eldritch could break down completely.

Magda had the situation under control, fortunately. She’d quickly gotten the park decorated and set up portable heaters. With the band playing in the pergola and a sky full of stars overhead, the disorder of the reconstruction effort became charming rather than chaotic. Certainly the princess seemed to be having a good time when Pru made her bow beside Dom.

“Our apologies for the delay,” she said.

The princess offered an amused, knowing smile. “No harm done. Though I’ve yet to be swept off like that, I certainly daydream about it.”

“Who would dare?” Gavriel demanded.

The royal waved him to silence. “This isn’t the moment to speak of serious matters, and I thank you for welcoming me with such sincerity.”

“I take it you’re willing to work with us?” Dom asked.

Thalia nodded. “I’ve had a full report from Gavriel, and I’m sorry our alliance had such a rocky start. I take full responsibility for the tragic outcome.”

“The failure is mine,” the Noxblade said.

Pru couldn’t help but notice the intensity with which he studied the princess, but the intimate workings of their relationship weren’t her business. “This is likely to be the eye of the storm, so we should enjoy it while we can.”

Thalia nodded. “That wasn’t the majority of the Golgoth army, just an exploratory force. Now that we’ve all gathered at Ash Valley, chances are good that the bulk of the offensive will occur near here.”

“An excellent analysis,” Dom commended.

“Are you well situated for a siege?”

Mentally Pru took stock of the remaining supplies, factored against the influx of fresh bodies. “I don’t think we could hold out long, if they disrupt shipments and highjack supplies.”

“Do you have an estimate of their numbers?” Magda asked.

“I’m surprised Prince Alastor hasn’t given you that already,” Thalia said.

Shit. That reminds me.

She excused herself with a murmur and searched the crowd for any sign of Sheyla, but parties, even impromptu ones, weren’t the doctor’s thing, especially not when so many people were relying on her. Pru hurried to the med center and found it quiet compared to a week ago, but the staff seemed no less exhausted. Sheyla was visibly thinner, her face drawn and weary, when Pru found her.
She has too much to do. I wish I didn’t have to add to her burdens.
But unlike Pru, Sheyla had a face that only became more beautiful when she was overworked; somehow she took that air of exhaustion and her pretty face deepened to ethereal beauty.

“Let me guess,” Sheyla said with a faint sigh. “You’re wondering if I’ve figured anything out for your fragile Golgoth friend.”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t running out of time.”

And we need him.

Since the conclave had failed, Prince Alastor represented their only hope at keeping the Golgoth at bay. Surely there must be some who would turn from conquest, given a more rational choice. They couldn’t all follow Tycho with mindless fervor, right? Since Alastor’s entourage comprised all she knew firsthand of his people, maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to judgment.

“My equipment is shit, so I had to do a lot of manual analysis, and I
think
I’ve come up with a similar compound, but it won’t do much more than buy him time if the various dosages are off, even in minuscule amounts. There may also be unforeseen side effects, as I’m nowhere near proficient in Golgoth physiology, let alone treating their ailments. Finally, and I know I sound like I’m excusing failure, but I’m not a fucking chemist. The only chemist we had died in the first blast.”

“I’m sorry,” Pru said softly.

“I don’t feel good about this.” Sheyla stared at the pale liquid in the vials on the counter. “It’s like I’m setting him up for a slow poisoning. I should’ve run tests on him first, examined him fully, analyzed his physical condition—”

“There was no time for that. I’ll ask the prince to cooperate with you in getting that done now that we have a little breathing room.”

So little. We have a would-be king with an undisclosed illness who doesn’t really want to wage war against his brother.
But from what Alastor had said, he understood that it was the only road that led to survival. Eventually Sheyla sighed and inclined her head.

“I’m aware the circumstances aren’t ideal. I guess if I accidentally kill his last rival, Tycho may be merciful when he rolls over us.”

“But I doubt it,” Pru muttered.

“I won’t hold my breath. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Jase.”

“Can I come with you? I’ll just pop in for a minute.”

“Of course. Glynnis was with him while Jilly was napping, so he hasn’t been alone long.”

With all her heart, Pru wished she could sit by Jase’s side and talk to him nonstop, but with war looming just outside the gates, she could only steal these moments.
Please don’t let that inhibit his recovery.
Though Sheyla strode in boldly to check his vitals, Pru paused in the doorway, her heart wrenching for the boy who might not even know he’d lost his parents. He looked so small in the hospital bed. Once Sheyla finished, Pru sat down in the chair near Jase’s bed.

“I wish I could spend more time in here. You have to wake up soon, all right? We miss you. Jilly needs you.”

His fingers flickered, and she wrapped his small hand in hers. Sheyla said, “Don’t read too much into that. It could be involuntary.”

“But I’ve heard that comatose patients can sometimes hear everything people say.”

“That’s not something I can validate… but just in case, try to stay cheerful.”

Pru spent five minutes longer talking to Jase, but apart from that first flex of his fingers, he didn’t respond to her voice. She kissed him on the forehead in farewell, and whispered, “You’re a proper warrior. Thank you for surviving.”

With that, she slipped out, so that the steady beeping from the machines keeping him alive faded to the quick footfalls of the medical staff hurrying to and fro.
Was Prince Alastor at the party?
She couldn’t recall seeing him, but she swung by the park to check. The desperate merriment gladdened her heart, but it was a melancholy sweetness. Beneath the determined cheer lay the frantic fear that they could lose everything—not just Ash Valley—but Burnt Amber and Pine Ridge, along with the Eldritch and Golgoth territories.

We have to keep Alastor alive long enough to rally support against Tycho.

That was a shitty reason for helping someone, she knew. But her urgency didn’t abate as she searched the dancers keeping warm the best way possible, hands in the air, and unlikely couples paired up in the music-rich dark. She spotted Alastor curled up near the fire, a few of his men close enough to intervene if anyone went after him, but the mood was mellow since Princess Thalia’s arrival. The flickering flames painted Alastor in diabolical hues, but those colors somehow only made the prince seem more delicate.

“Have you come to deliver me from my self-imposed exile?” he asked.

“I suppose I have.” She passed him the treatment Sheyla had devised, then imparted all the caveats and warnings the doctor had shared.

“If you
wanted
me dead, there are more direct means. I’ve gambled my life on lesser matters, so why not?” He hefted the case and shook his head with evident bemusement.

“Something’s funny?”

“You want me alive much more than my own people, that’s all.” By tone and expression, he tried to sell the idea that he was fine with that.

Only Pru wasn’t buying it. Before she could dig into his feigned indifference, the sound of heavy weapons boomed, silencing the music. The festive scene devolved into leaders calling orders and a lightning-fast response from the warriors.

With a sardonic twist of his mouth, Alastor said, “Looks like the party’s over, and I didn’t even get to dance.”

“They’re shelling the
walls, and if they find the breach points we patched up, we’ll have a thousand Golgoth inside our gates.” Dom couldn’t believe how aggressive and driven the enemy was, especially since they’d just been defeated, but he had two royals inside the hold, so that was probably why.
If they take out Thalia and Alastor, resistance among the Eldritch crumbles and the Golgoth are united.

“Give me intel,” Slay shouted.

The sentry on the wall scoped out the situation as best he could. “They’re limited on heavy weapons. Right now, it’s only two guys on a C-TAK firing shells, but they’re working on the princess’s fleet. If they get those vehicles running, I think they mean to ram the gates.”

“It won’t happen.” Suddenly Princess Thalia was beside him, tapping away at her phone.

Thirty seconds later, a series of booms rocked the ground. With a grim look, she said, “How many did I take out in sacrificing my tech?”

Dom shouted the question, and the scout replied, “At least fifty.”

“It’s a start. How are we handling this, pride master? Your walls don’t look sound enough for a long siege.”

He practically snarled, “They were better before all the bombs went off.”

To his surprise, her eyes dropped away. “My father’s doing. I’m still collecting information about what went wrong, but I’ll have answers soon.”

“That can wait. This can’t.” Dom gestured at the chaos.

At the moment, each faction leader was giving his or her own instructions, but that didn’t make for an organized resistance. Dom wanted that job about as much as a punch in the face, but somebody had to do it, and he had three compelling reasons to step up. One—it was his home ground to defend, and he knew the terrain best. Two—he had failed his people enough, so while he might not be the hero they deserved, he’d give his best. Three—he had to protect Pru; no way he’d leave it to anyone else.

Mind made up, he sent runners to collect the others: Raff, Callum, Alastor. Thalia stuck close to him, constantly in contact with her people via radio and phone, until the signal went out. A scout reported the enemy must be using scramblers, and Dom didn’t stop cursing for like five minutes.
We can’t hold out long if they keep hammering us with the C-TAK.

“We don’t have a lot of time to debate, so I just need to ratify this with a show of hands. My realm, my rules. I’m open to suggestions, but from this point on, I’m in charge of this offensive. Any questions?” He made eye contact with the other leaders in turn.

“No objections,” Raff said as a shell exploded.

The Eldritch princess shook her head. “It only makes sense.”

Both Callum and Alastor kept quiet, which he took for tacit assent. He hadn’t known the bear long enough to have a good handle on his personality, but he seemed slow and steady whereas the Golgoth prince was a study in contrasts, one moment flippant, somber the next. As long as they acknowledged his authority and deployed their forces accordingly, that was enough.

Callum said, “The Order of Saint Casimir stands with you. I can’t call any reinforcements from the north, as they’re already fighting.”

Dom inclined his head. “I understand if you need to withdraw and defend your territory. We’ll hold on here long enough to keep these bastards from pushing north.”

“These ‘bastards’ are my people,” Prince Alastor said in a deceptively mild tone.

The wolf lord took a step forward, one hand on the hilt of his weapon. “And they’re murdering us.”

Can’t let that continue.
But Dom decided to see how the Golgoth prince would handle the situation.
If necessary, I can always step in.

“That’s because they’re raised on a cocktail of dominance and aggression. It doesn’t mean they all want to ride to conquer. In our world…” A muscle ticked in Alastor’s jaw, then he bit off whatever else he might have said. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s focus on preventing Ash Valley from being utterly destroyed.”

“What’s the plan?” Slay asked, snatching the segue.

Dom appreciated his friend more than ever, as the other leaders locked on to the discussion. “We send a strike force, the stealthiest bastards we’ve got.”

“And they take out the C-TAK?” his second guessed.

There was no need to confirm the obvious. “Who do we have ready for action?”

Quickly, they assembled a team, comprised of the pride’s best scouts, a few wolves, and the best of the Noxblades, including Gavriel. “Let’s go.”

Slay grabbed his arm. “Hold up. You can’t lead this one personally.”

“Bullshit I can’t.”

“Think for a minute. You just got everyone to acknowledge that you’re running the show. In what world does it make sense for you to handle the op yourself?”