Page 63 of Blood Fist

Scrambling to his feet, Ridan dusted off his pants and tried to scrounge up what was left of his dignity. Brune joined him, effortlessly swinging the shield onto his back.

“Can I walk you back?”

“I know the way, Foreigner.”

“But it’s dark,” Brune pointed out. “You might trip.”

“I’m not going to trip!”

Scratching the back of his neck, he dropped his head sheepishly. “Fine, then…can you walk me back?” he was fluttering his eyelashes. Ridan scowled to keep from laughing.

“Fine,” he groused, taking off toward the unmated alpha tents. “You’d probably just fall in a hole, anyway.”

Ridan stared at the small hearth until the light burned his eyes. The sting was preferable to the noise around him. Sighing, he closed his eyes until the lights smudged on his lids disappeared.

The smell of the tent was foreign—an amalgamation of scents that clung to the poorly tanned leather. Smithe would have a fit if he saw such shoddy work. Ridan knew even the smallest of their tents were made better than this monstrosity.

And monstrosity it was. Whoever traveled with such a thing? Big enough to fit the chieftainsandtheir egos. With room to spare.

Ridan was sore from traveling. Three days on horsebackwill do that to you, though he couldn’t say he found the trip as tedious as in the past. Normally it was the worst part of coming to the festivals—the carts loaded up with wares made progress slow and ungainly. Even Peppercorn began chafing at the slow pace, eager to move forward on the long stretches. She spent much of the second day straining at the bridle. Ridan hated telling her no, but he had to stay close and protect the carts. They were prime targets for thieves and the Clanless.

He would make it up to her later.

Even with disappointing Peppercorn, it was Brune’s constant chatter that made the trip bearable. He was anxious to see everything—from uniquely shaped rocks to any kind of animal, his entire face lighting up every time a lizard so much as scurried across their path. Sometimes Jonen or Corric would answer him instead, giving Ridan time to reflect quietly. He didn’t need to speak to watch Brune out of the corner of his eye.

The big alpha had been particularly excited when they started seeing traveling parties from other clans. He loved seeing their sigils, hearing about where the clans were situated, and even their unique traditions. The Festival was going to make Brune’s head spin.

And as much as Ridan wanted to see that, he had business to attend to.

In years past, he accompanied his mother as heir to these chieftain meetings. They were dull to a child, but as a new chief, he understood why his mother was always so on edge. Even just chatting before the meeting began, he could feel the undercurrent of tension. Politics he wasn’t quite ready for danced on unseen currents, waiting to knock him from his perch at any wrong move.

Gustall had been coaching him, filling him in on the things hismother had shielded him from, but without the older man’s calming presence, he wondered if he had absorbed enough. Osmond joined him as his second, standing behind his chair with his arms crossed and face affable. It was his first chieftain meeting. Gustall usually accompanied his mother, but the beta had said he would rather ‘rip his own eyelids off than sit through another knot measuring contest’ and so they were left on their own.

Taking a sip of mead, he looked over the rim of his cup at the other chieftains present.

Directly across from him was the Stone Blade’s closest ally—Thewn Clean Blade of the Iron Jaw clan. Less than a day’s ride from the Stone Blade, the Iron Jaw were located off Jagged Coast. Specializing in fishing and boating, they found a natural ally in the farming Stone Blade.

Which didn’t make putting up with Thewn any easier. The man was pompous. He clung to old views, looking down his nose at anything that wasn’t an alpha. He wasn’t popular, but he was a good leader and warrior. At an early age, the man had broken his jaw, leaving his lower teeth protruding, not unlike bottom fangs. His speech was slurred because of it, and to make up for it, he seemed to shout everything he wanted to say.

Thewn was getting older, his once dark hair peppered with white. Still, he looked hearty and hale in his age, strong. His second was a man Ridan’s age named Sevrin Stout Back. Ridan liked the chestnut haired alpha well enough. He was excitable, but honest. Despite Thewn’s many omega mates, he had yet to have a child. With no natural heirs, Thewn named Sevrin his heir. Personally, Ridan was shocked any omega would touch the foul alpha with anything less than a blade.

Beside Thewn sat Auhert Cloud Seer, the chief of the Windy Cliffs clan. His appointment was recent, only last year had he challenged the last alpha and won. A strong fighter, he was not politically savvy. Something Restrina had often commented on. What he lacked in cunning, he made up for in loyalty. He loved his clan. Ridan could work with that, and being only three days' ride from the Stone Blade, he was another ally he should cultivate.

The Windy Cliff clan made their home perched on the tall cliffs on the north of the Jagged Coast. The wind made anything but the heartiest crops fail, but their armorers were second to none. A weapon made by the Windy Cliff would last a lifetime and never lose its edge.

The Stone Blade was on good terms with both the Windy Cliff and the Iron Jaw clan, but nothing official existed. And with the change in chiefs, it could put them in a precarious situation.

Of the four clans, the Strong Leg clan was the one Ridan knew the least about. Far south, they lived by the sparkling waters of the Torn Cove. Unlike the fractious storm ridden Eastern shore, the Western shores were calm and balmy. Often sunny, the clan made their living off both land and sea. They kept largely to themselves, specializing in the beautiful gems and pearls found in the cliffs around the cove.

Their chief was the only other omega in the room. Areine Bare Neck was a mystery to Ridan. Standing taller than the men in the room, there was no question she was born and raised on the sunny western coasts. Her skin was nutty brown, which only accentuated her the cut of her muscles. Areine’s arms were larger than most men’s thighs, and her legs were strong from a lifetime of swimming. Her shiny black hair waspulled back from her head with intricate braids, bedecked with colorful gems and pearls from her clan lands.

Ridan had the opportunity to watch her fight in the games at the last festival. Fighting bare breasted, she had only bared her fangs when an alpha made a comment about it. She tore his ear off with her teeth at the end of the fight.

Now she was sitting back in her chair, boots kicked up on the table as she took in the room. There was something inherently intimidating about the woman. Even while the alphas in the room puffed up their chests and postured about, it was Areine that drew Ridan’s eye. It could be the way she was staring at him—like he was something to be measured.

Ridan knew little about the fellow omega. He knew she was currently mateless and if rumors were to be believed; she preferred omegas to alphas or betas. And her bed was far from cold.

Thewn slammed his cup on the table, drawing the room's attention.