Page 37 of Blood Fist

ALPHAS

Jonen and Corric’s chattering petered out as Ridan ducked behind a band of trees, Peppercorn's soft muzzle huffing against his back as they snuck away. He waited until the incessant sound of Jonen’s giggling silenced before stepping back out.

Figures,he snorted.Too busy making eyes at each other to notice I’m gone.

If anyone were to ask, Ridan would say the sweet way they looked at each other was grating. Personally, he could admit to himself and to Peppercorn that he wanted to give them some alone time.

Ridan might have no thought of finding a mate for himself, but that didn’t mean he would stand in the way of others' happiness. Growing up side by side, sharing a nest and family, it made the three of them thick as thieves. So much so that Ridan knew the two were interested in each other before either of them did. It’s been a painful few years to watch them tiptoe around each other. Maybe some time alone would be what they needed.

That, and he needed some time to himself.

Since his mother’s injuries, he’d been taking on more and more of her role. Iylah had stopped the bleeding, but Chief Restrina was no better. Her skin was still ghastly pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes. She slept fitfully most of the day, limbs twitching in pain when she was awake. The carefully sutured wounds were swollen and thick, the scent of illness permeating so thick Ridan had taken to sleeping outside.

Her duties weighed heavily on him. Ridan had never been one to second guess himself—his mother taught him to trust his instincts. But now he found himself wondering ‘is this what she would do?’ or ‘am I making a mistake’ Just this morning Gustall wondered if they should double their trades with the Windy Cliff clan to ensure safety for their people should Kaledonea attack again. Henroen thought they needed to place more patrols along the borders, but they didn’t have the warriors for it. Which meant they would need to pull from the farmers and harvesters. And with winter coming, that meant fewer stores they may need.

It occurred to Ridan—as he was staring at a group of alphas twice his age, with more experience in the dirt under their nails than he had in his whole life—that his mother’s legacy was more than the scars on her skin or the necklaces dangling from her neck.

She had been training him, true. They often went hunting and spent long days discussing just such problems. Hypotheticals that could come about between skinning rabbits and tracking Snap Jaw nests. But she had also let him lag behind. Allowing Ridan to have a childhood.

When he should have been sitting in meetings with her advisors, he was dropping snakes in Corric’s hair.When he should have been discussing farming seasons, he was wrestling Jonen blindfolded.

His childhood might cost his clan everything.

There was no guarantee he would be Chief after his mother. The clans didn’t put as much stock in blood as the Walled City. Sure, he was raised to be chief, and his clan liked him. But he could just as easily be challenged. If the challenger had the support of his people, and could defeat Ridan, he would lose his position. The position that had been in his family for generations.

He touched his father’s sword at his hip. Its weight was almost as heavy as the expectations on his shoulders.

Ridan wandered further into the woods, enjoying the cool shadows slithering over his skin. Far from the chatter of the clan, he could feel himself drifting off. Chittering animals in the brush scurried away at his movements, knocking bushes into each other in a song that trumpeted his arrival. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. Ridan didn’t think he could take true silence. It would weigh just as heavily as the thoughts fighting for dominance in his mind.

Peppercorn seemed just as happy to meander, eyes half lidded and ears relaxed as she followed him, occasionally dropping her nose to snag a weed or an appealing piece of grass.

He knows that’s why Momma Sehleh suggested they collect herbs. The shrewd beta woman knew he was at the end of his rope. With her soft hands, she ushered him out, insisting she and Iylah needed fresh supplies. It wasn’t very subtle, but Sehleh never needed to be. She always knew what was best for them.

As they walked, he felt a twinge of pain as he lifted his leg over a tall root. It was a stark reminder of three mornings ago when he fought the outsider.

Brune.

As strange as the alpha was, he could certainly throw a punch. There were several hits that knocked Ridan back, only pure pride keeping him standing when the world spun around him.

But he was also foolish. He swung without thinking and lacked any sense of self preservation. When Ridan first saw him, it had been a blur from the corner of his eye. He’d been ready to strike when he felt his presence. A sense of peace, of safety. In that moment, Ridan had dropped his guards because heknew,without knowing, that his back was protected.

And then he turned. Bargrave’s blood dripped down his hands and his victory screamed loud enough to reach Artrax’s peak, and there he was. Surrounded by shattered wood, muscles bulging and pale blue eyes intense beneath a mop of dark hair. They’d shared a single look, and that was it.

Yet it clung to him. That feeling. Like the herb some of the old men smoked on festivals, heavy and addicting. It clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t lose. And he didn’t understand it.

Ridan knew trust. He trusted Jonen and Corric. He’d gone into countless fights with them at his side and never once worried. But that blur—that outsider—had felt different in a way Ridan couldn’t understand.

He hadn’t intentionally sought him out that morning. His plan was to get stronger with his father’s sword away from prying eyes, but he was there. A big man with his eyebrows scrunched and tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on things most pups knew.

One of the few memories of his father was of them sitting on a hill overlooking the herds of horses. It was spring, and the mares were just beginning to give birth. He’d giggled at the sight of young, knobby kneed foalsfinding their feet for the first time. Their legs splaying every which way as they collapsed in a heap, battling gravity with a tenaciousness only the young possessed. His father had nuzzled the top of his head, pointing out where the lead mare prowled, eagle eyed for predators coming from the nearby forest.

“You need to know when to fight and when to run, Ridan,” his father had said.

“Momma doesn’t run,” Ridan had babbled, convinced his mother was as strong as Artrax himself.

“She does,” his father assured him. “When she must. Sometimes the fight isn’t worth the pain.”

Ridan hadn’t believed him then, and he didn’t believe him now. There was no fight Ridan would run from, and this foreigner was no different.