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Seven

Present day…

I cannot say that I like wolves well. But there are occasions whenour paths cross, and I can tolerate them, unlike the bear shifters, who I do not find agreeable at any time and who bring out the worst in me. Centaurs, on the other hand, are regal creatures, and I like them well.

Still, I would not go to a wolf pack by choice nor spend longer in their presence than absolutely necessary. The thought of one of ours living among them makes me shudder… It also takes my mind back to an encounter long ago when I was a young stag on my coming-of-age quest.

It was not this pack, but another pack far to the north… The chances seem infinitesimal, yet there can be no doubt in my mind—this is the Goddess’s will at work.

The letter, which had been delayed a full year due to the messenger’s injury and subsequent turn in the weather, arrived exactly a week ago.

My initial hope was to collect my ward without unnecessary discourse with any wolves, but alas, the letter was worse for wear. The map, which was drawn at the bottom to indicate the placement of my new ward’s cottage, was smudged and impossible to decipher. This despite my best scholars examining it with a great deal of squinting and twisting the paper this way and that under lighting of various kinds.

Likely, the wolves would have noticed the moment I entered their territory anyway, but now I cannot even delude myself that this will be swift in and out.

Resigned to the conversation I will need to have, and the strain of maintaining decorum and diplomacy, I make good time, arriving midmorning exactly seven days after the letter arrived.

As soon as I enter the territory, I am met by two wolves who block my path, doubtless intending to be intimidating.

I consider charging past for the thrill of it… but I resist. I do not want to get anyone here offside before I know where my future mate resides, so I slow to a trot and then stop.

They shift to their human form.

I follow suit.

“What is your business here?” the man on the right demands.

He is curt but more congenial than thatotherpack who ran me off their land without bothering to ask.

“I would have words with your pack leader,” I say, offering a tepid smile. Their prior pack leader, Tobias, fell during a battle with the bears some ten years ago, and the last time I crossed paths with anyone from this pack. The two shifters before me are likewise unfamiliar.

They scan the surroundings. They have probably already called pack members to search for more of my kind.

“I come alone,” I say. “With no intention of starting a war.” But if needs must… “I have merely come to collect my ward.”

“Ward?” The one on the right shares a look with his companion before adding unnecessarily, “You are a deer shifter.”

“King Seven or Master Stag,” I say with no small amount of irritation. “Are the correct term for the leader of the herds. Or you have permission to use my given name, Seven. And yes, I am very much aware of what I am.”

They are clearly creatures with limited mental capacity, and this conversation is already becoming tedious. The pack leader is yet to be conversed with, and I can only hope he has a greater intellect than these two.

They fold their arms in unison like that might persuade me to turn around.

“Clay,” the one on the left says, still eyeballing me.

“Glen,” the one of the right offers with a scowl.

“We are a wolf pack,” Clay says slowly like he is grappling with a complex puzzle.

“I am likewise aware of this. You were both in wolf form when you blocked my path, and my memory, both long and short term, is exemplary.”

Nostrils flare.

I should not bait them. It would be very bothersome and counterproductive to battle them before I have a chance to speak to the pack leader.

“My ward is not a wolf,” I say.

“We don’t have anydeershifters here,” Glen says