Cryptic Prince

Clara

Who was him? How long had he been eavesdropping our conversation?

Hazel and I made no move or sound, but we both tensed up.

The werewolf yawned.

His beauty was ethereal and his movements foxlike. Unlike the muscular meatheads of our pack, this male seemed to prize lithe grace over bodybuilding. Yet, I could tell he was strong.

I had never seen him. He must be an outsider, a foreigner from another pack. And I did not recognize his exotic scent – there was a strange spicy aroma that I couldn’t place.

He drew out a long black pipe from his tunic and filled it with some kind of dried powder. Every movement was slow and calculated, as if he didn’t mind my growing discomfort.

Hazel gave a short but graceful bow. “I apologize for disturbing your repose, Prince Legiere.” She clasped my hand. “I wished to tend her wounds before the coupling began.” I could sense her body tense up, stiffened.

Prince?

He stretched and yawned again loudly. Once again, I was reminded of a crafty fox. There was nothing remotely like a wolf about him. “Just patching wounds? Silly me. I must have been too eager for all the action to begin. I thought the Mating Ball had started already.”

Hazel made a move to exit the room, but the werewolf raised his hand. His claws were mottled: black with streaks of silver. They weren’t as long as our Alpha’s black claws, but they were razor-sharp. His lazy voice suddenly grew cold. The sudden change in tone made my hackles rise once more.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet.”

He beckoned to me, and only now did I realize that the spice I smelled was unda, a type of mildly psychoactive herb. They were highly prized and notoriously difficult to grow, even in the Twin Canines where we lived. They only grew further south where the Ingrelle River split into the delta draining into the sea.

Hazel had called him prince, but I had no idea what pack he was from. I had never seen him once in my life, though in truth, why would a low-standing werewolf like myself even be personally acquainted with foreign royalty?  

He gazed at me. “Come here, girl. I’m as high as a kite, and I need a pair of soft hands. Yours will do nicely.” When Hazel moved forward, he shook his head and sighed dramatically. “No, not you. The other one.”

Hazel and I exchanged looks. I wanted to ask a million questions, but her face was tense and expectant.

Go on, her eyes seemed to say.

I walked towards him warily. My guess was that it was just another Elite having a joke at my expense. He shook a small box and tossed it to me. I caught it. It was a black matchbox with no lettering. He stuck his pipe between his white teeth and lay back on one of the alcove’s cushions. It was a surprisingly spacious area that was shaped like a couch.

He must have been hiding behind the curtain all this time.

I opened the box and struck a match against its bristled side. An orange flame danced from the match, and I let its light descend on the crushed powder within the werewolf’s pipe.

He caught my wrist and traced my veins with one finger. “Mmm, you have soft skin. Like velvet. Ah, but your shoulder. Torn to shreds. What a pity.”

I pulled away my wrist quickly and snarled at him.

Unperturbed, he breathed in deeply and blew out one perfect halo of a smoke ring into my face. I coughed at the harshness of the spicy smoke. My eyes watered.

I gasped, “Ugh!” I couldn’t help my reaction. It was practically involuntary.  

He barely flinched. “Isn’t it wonderful? I could smoke this for hours. Forget the cult of Diantha – this is one of our kind’s greatest inventions. Also, you talk! Incredible. I thought you had suddenly been struck dumb by the Goddess herself. Good. I like my women chatty.” A sly grin crossed his face.

We were nearly a hairsbreadth away from each other. It was hard to determine if I found him attractive or completely alien.

“Your women?” I asked incredulously.

Was he implying I would be his next lover? These bloody princes and Elites. They’re all the same, aren’t they? So confident in their conquests. A bunch of arrogant, overprivileged spoiled brats with minds full of rotten waste.

“To be honest, I enjoy both men and women. I don’t discriminate. Variety is the spice of life, isn’t it?” he said playfully.

Another rapacious flirt who seduced whoever had a pulse.

My thoughts must have spilled out on my face, because he laughed merrily. “What a terrifying face! If looks could kill, I would be buried deep under the ground right now. Perhaps I should say my grave rites to Diantha. May my feet never falter, may my eyes glow in the night hereafter, and may I have my head firmly planted in the ample bosom of Diantha. Now, I don’t really believe in all those gods or goddesses, but if Diantha exists, she must have the loveliest breasts in all the land.”

“Pig,” I muttered under my breath.   

He took a deep pull of his pipe and breathed out. Even though his manner was easy, I could see something dangerous flash in his eyes.

“Now, now. There’s no need for names. Once we get to know each other better, I’m sure you’ll find me quite irresistible. They all do.” He patted his lap, and he was back to his languid self. “Here. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’m told I make a very pleasant seating arrangement. Careful, I might poke you in the middle.”

I noticed his erection and made a sound of disgust. Did this repulsive male actually think I was going to sit in his lap like some paid whore?

“To whom? Your imaginary friends in your sick head? Or did you smoke so much unda that you actually consider yourself charming and not some pompous ass that smells like burning mushrooms? Gods, the stench!”

I couldn’t take it anymore, and I pinched my nose to save my soul. Was he even a werewolf? Did his sense of smell burn away the day he first smoked this vile herb?

Poor forgotten Hazel quickly ran up towards the alcove and took my hand firmly. “We should go,” she said urgently. She gave a curtsy to the werewolf, and half-ran, half-dragged me out of the room.

I turned back to look at the werewolf with fine features. Wisps of smoke surrounded him, giving him the look of some sorcerer deep in his witchcraft. A sly grin was on his face, and he continued to lazily exhale smoke rings.

“Going so soon? Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll see each other again, won’t we, Clara?”

How did he know my name?

My heart pounded. Hazel and I fled the room, though I wanted to demand how he seemed to know me. I didn’t know a thing about him, except that he was clearly a spoiled Elite.

“You called him Prince Legiere,” I said to Hazel, but she barely relented. She was heading straight to the ballroom where we needed to be.

“Gods,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “We shouldn’t have been there. How could I been so stupid? Why would he be in there, instead of with the other Elites?”

“Hazel. Hold on. For goddess’s sake, Hazel!” I stopped her from pulling my arm. “Who in hells is he?”

She looked at me, shaking her head. “Do your best to never pique his interest, and never, ever insult him to his face again. Trust me, Clara. He’ll eat you alive, then spit you back out simply because it amuses him.”

“Another arrogant Elite—” I began to sneer.  

“NO!” she shouted. “He is not just any Elite!”

I flinched at Hazel’s yell in shock. She had never raised her voice with me in all the years I had been with her. She sighed and smoothed back one of my brown locks that had broken free of its jeweled barrette.

She spoke, “He is the undisputed Alpha of the Dark Shade. Deanneth Legiere. Oh Clara. I wasn’t joking when I said I always find you in trouble. This is my fault.” She hugged me close to her body, as if she wanted to shelter me from any danger lurking in the shadows.

I shivered.