Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Why did you fly a drone to the tower?” She mimes a drone swooping around.
I frown. I don’t know how much to tell her. Just because she’s my mate doesn’t mean she can be trusted.
“Were you looking for me?” She points at her chest.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why were you in the tunnels?”
I hesitate. I should be the one interrogating her, but I’m too drunk on satisfying her sexually to want to push her right now. This information is about her, so it seems fair to share. “I knew you were having a seizure because the drone fell. I ran for the tower, and you showed me the way in.”
Aster looks at me with wide eyes. “But then you took me prisoner.”
I shrug. “I didn’t know you were my mate.” There, it’s out in the open. We need to acknowledge this thing. “At the time, it seemed like fate delivered you to me for a different purpose.”
Her gaze sharpens. “What purpose?” she asks, ignoring the part about being my mate.
I turn the questions around on her. “Where do you keep the Moonborn?”
She chokes on her hot cocoa.
I sip mine, studying her.
“What do you know about the Moonborn?” she asks.
I lean forward. “I know they brainwash females into serving as sex slaves.”
Aster recoils. “Not true.” But I see doubt creep over her expression.
“I know they snap the necks of pups born without hearing.”
She goes still, her entire body coming alert. “You know you were Moonborn.”
I nod.
A frown mars her forehead. “The prophecy–” Her hand flies to her temple, and her face crumples with pain. She starts to jerk and shake.
I lunge from my chair, not able to catch her in time, but throwing my hand between her head at the floor as it hit.
Fuck.
I scoop her jerking body up and carry her to the couch, where I sit, cradling her in my arms.
It’s all right, Seeress. I’ve got you. I project the words to her. You’re safe.
Her eyes roll back in her head. Her feet tangle and thrash around mine.
Come back to me, starlight. I pour energy into her. It’s not something I’ve done before, but it must be what an alpha wolf does with his pack members when he lends his strength for their healing or to help them when they first learn to shift.
Somehow, I’m sure she’s absorbing it. In fact, it feels like she pulls it from me until her fit gradually eases, and she slips into a quiet slumber.
Damn.
Her visions take so much out of her. My wolf wants to rip someone apart. To give her something–some kind of tonic or medicine or talisman–to take this burden away from her.
I push away the lewd thought that I have exactly the thing that would take this from her–my dick.
I kiss the top of her head, unwilling to lay her down or remove her from my arms. As she naps off the after-effects, I mull over what she said. There was a prophecy about you.
What was the prophecy? And was the seizure a reaction to the prophecy or just that she was thrown back into her vision world?
As I stroke her silky hair, grim thoughts march through my head.
The prophecy is probably that I am the wolf who will destroy the Moonborn. But what if, in doing so, I destroy my mate? What if I take from her something she loves?
Fuck.
She’s not even my mate. As long as she, too, remains brainwashed by the Warden and the Adalwulfs, she won’t give herself to me.
What’s more, any harm I do to them could harm her.
And that, my wolf may not allow.
Aster
Visions of hundreds of years of the Grandmother’s wisdom and millions of their memories spear my mind, moving in fast forward, too jumbled to read.
Then, they crystalize into a single moment. A memory.
* * *
“Are you spying on me?” Oma glares at a younger Warden as she leaves the yurt of one of Odin’s females. His face paint is even more dramatic than how he wears it now.
He falls into step beside her. “Is she pregnant?”
“No.”
“Odin needs an heir,” the Warden warns. “If he doesn’t produce one soon, Catherine’s Blackthroat pup will have a claim to the throne.”
Oma stops walking and turns to face the Warden. “The problem is not with the Moonborn females. Odin’s seed is sparse. He’s incapable of siring a child.”
The Warden’s eyes flare. He runs a hand over his bald head, his scent full of dismay. “Who have you told about this?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Oma hisses. “No one.”
“Not even Odin?”
“He knows. But no, we do not speak of it.”
The Warden stares off into the trees for a moment, then he snaps his attention back to Oma. “Use the Alpha Rites to choose a Blood Heir. We’ll use all the Moonborn females of a suitable age and genetic makeup. They'll all be bred by Odin and the males you hand select. Ask the Grandmothers to select the next alpha from those conceived. The first-born pup will be the chosen Blood Heir.”