Page 2 of Bound to Four Alphas (Silverthorn Alphas #1)

The evening had started much like any other.

He had barely had time to complete a brief patrol of the border before the sun set, signaling his required return to court. He growled his displeasure, wanting to spend more time out in the skies, the cool night air against his scales, but his responsibilities beckoned him back to the vast palace carved in the side of a long-dead volcano.

Kaelan landed in the great gaping mouth of the dragon door, sharp claws scraping against the basalt floor, great wings shaking out behind him. Some of his advisors were ready to meet him in their human skins, hands clasped demurely behind their backs as they bowed to him. Behind them a few of the younger nobles, the sons of the members of his court, were brawling and rolling over each other in their dragon forms, but they stopped when he arrived to lower their long necks, golden eyes flashing.

He looked to the older dragon behind them, green scales glimmering. “Greetings, Iveir.”

“My King.” The general lowered his head. “How was your flight?”

“Too short,” replied Kaelen, “but there are more important matters to attend to. Such as relations with the wolf clan.”

With this, he turned on the group of young dragons, who at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Now, do you boys want to tell me why I received word from Ronan that there has been another incident ?”

The largest of them, Phane, stepped forward, wings tucked tight against his sides. “It was my fault, my lord,” the young alpha said. “We were just out practicing formations and some of the wolves were chasing after us. Things got … messy.”

Kaelen growled, the sound reverberating through the cavern, and the boys shrank back from him.

“You’re lucky nobody got seriously hurt,” he said, “and that Ronan has apologized for the actions of his wolves—a group of young alphas, apparently, keen to sharpen their claws. Not unlike a certain group I know.”

The young dragons glanced between themselves, eyeing Kaelen warily. No matter how many times he had admonished them, more and more fights had been breaking out between the younger members of the two clans. Nothing deadly— yet —but serious enough to concern the older nobles. They were just boys, but soon the young alphas would be fully grown.

All it would take would be one fight that went too far. One alpha sniffing after an omega from the other clan. One of the older alphas getting involved. These days, it seemed more and more like an inevitability. But the wolf alpha, Ronan, would do anything before letting war break out, and Kaelen was in no mood to weaken his own clan through a pointless battle.

He recognized the actions of the young, frustrated alphas for what they were—playground skirmishes. As long as it never went any further, he couldn’t bring himself to truly disagree with their desire to fight the wolves.

“Who won?” Kaelen asked, and the boys looked at him in surprise before Phane’s wings preened outwards slightly.

“We did,” he said, and Kaelen couldn’t help the pride that welled up. Phane was a fine young alpha, and would grow into a strong force for the clan. He was everything Kaelen wanted the next generation to be, everything he would want an heir to be. But Phane wasn’t his son, or his heir, and it was becoming an increasing burden to him that he still remained without.

“Iveir,” said Kaelen, and the general stepped forward. “Try and keep them under control during today’s drills, okay?”

Iveir nodded, and Kaelen sensed the amusement in his old friend before the great green dragon threw his head back and roared, shaking the very mountain. At the signal, the boys launched forward into the air, snapping at each other for primary position, followed closely by the general.

Iveir would keep them in line for now, and there was no doubt that Ronan was doing the same for his wolves. That would have to be enough for the time being.

Kaelen shook his head as the familiar crawling sensation of his transformation took hold, his scales rippling back into themselves, his claws and fangs retreating. Even in his human form he loomed large above his advisors and most of the other dragons, the nobility of his breeding lending him size, strength, and power beyond any of the other dragons. It had been a point of utmost pride in his youth, but with age and burden, he now shouldered it as the responsibility it truly was.

“My King.” One of his advisors stepped forward, holding out a letter. “Correspondence from the Fae.”

Kaelen took the letter as he strode past, deep into the tunnels of the volcanic palace, past various halls filled with his people as they laughed and ate and basked in the life he gave them.

“The Benellane Court?” he asked as he opened the thick parchment, sniffing it for any hint of magic before unfolding it.

“Yes, sire,” one of his men said. “It arrived this morning along with a dozen bouquets of roses.”

Kaelen rolled his eyes. “Burn the flowers, we don’t need a repeat of last winter.”

It had been a joke from Elian, the trickster lordling of the Benellane Court, who had thought it would be terribly amusing to enchant the flowers so that anybody who caught their scent danced for three days on end. It had taken nearly a week and one rather epic meltdown from Lady Agharri, whose mate was cursed into dancing with a serving girl, to work out what was going on.

The advisor nodded, and Kaelen skimmed over the letter. Thankfully, it wasn’t from Elian, who seemed to revel in trying to rile Kaelen up, but instead from his father, Lord Phaendar of the Marble Halls. Most of his words were pretty platitudes, wafer-thin well-wishes. Kaelen rolled his eyes. The Fae were completely incapable of just getting to the point; anything they wanted to say had to be wrapped up in at least six layers of misleading nonsense.

Eventually, there , he spotted the sentence that held the crux of Phaendar’s letter; innocuous enough at first glance, but Kaelen was well versed in reading between the lines.

“And, of course, we are so looking forward to the autumnal festivities near your lands. We do so hope that they will remain peaceful and undisturbed for our merriment.”

“Increase the number of patrols on the eastern border,” he said to one of his advisors, handing him back the letter, “Phaendar is concerned that some of Malek’s monsters might spill over from our territory to his.”

The advisor stumbled slightly at the mention of Malek, self-proclaimed king of the monsters that had sprung forth from the dark places in the wake of The Breaking.

“Malek wouldn’t dare let his monsters invade our lands, sire,” the advisor said warily. “You know we execute them on sight.”

“Even Malek cannot stop all of them from prowling the borderlands,” said Kaelen with a sneer. “Although next time I see him, I’ll remind him that it’s in his best interest to try harder.”

The advisor nodded, “Very good, sire. Should we respond to Lord Phaendar?”

Kaelen nodded back. “Yes, tell him that our side of the border will be—”

A great shift tore through him like thunder, rocking him to his core.

He bellowed in shock, falling to one knee, his magic rending in, turning itself inside out within him.

Not his magic, he realized with a start.

No, this was the magic of the land. The very forest itself, jolting to life, roaring in the agony of rebirth.

“Impossible,” he whispered, staggering to his feet.

There was a hum in the air, all encompassing, all engrossing.

And a light calling to him from the south.

Kaelen didn’t hear the words of his panicked advisors, didn’t acknowledge the hands reaching for him, trying to calm him. He whipped around and tore through the palace, his shift already setting in, limbs growing, wings unfurling.

By the time he made it back to the dragon door, his transformation was complete, copper scales shining in the moonlight as he launched himself into the darkness. Several of his people, some advisors and one or two soldiers, charged after him, but they were no match for his speed.

“Stay back,” he roared even as he strained himself faster, faster than he had ever gone before, “guard the clan-lands, I’ll return!”

He didn’t bother to check if they’d obeyed him. All of his senses, everything in him, urged him forward. He had to get to that light, that beacon, that glowing lantern in the darkness. He didn’t care about borders, about territory; that could all come later. He just had to reach it.

For hours he flew with single-minded focus, a razor of gold slicing through the night sky.

The beat of wings beside him shocked him out of his reverie and he glanced back to see Iveir and the young alphas falling into line behind him. Had he caught up with their patrol already?

“Your Majesty,” Iveir roared over the wind, “Kaelen! What is it, what’s going on?”

“The magic,” Kaelen managed to spit out, his mind more dragon than man. “The Forest God! It’s back!”

He felt Iveir’s shock, but his friend quickly recovered, straining forward to keep up with him, skimming close to the tops of the trees, “Let me come with you, let me help you!”

“No,” roared Kaelen, “you need to turn back. We’re already in Ronan’s territory, if one of his patrols finds us—”

There was a bellow of pain and fright, and Kaelan reared around to see one of the young alphas disappearing below the tree line, his leg firmly grasped in the slavering jaws of a wolf.

“Anor!” Phane tucked his wings in and barreled down into the trees, ignoring Iveir’s cries of warning.

Kaelen roared in frustration, following the diving dragons down into the trees, the branches scraping at his wings. The boy, Anor, had been dragged to the forest floor by one of the enormous beasts, having dipped too low in the sky and caught by a leaping wolf. They were circling him now, yellow eyes gleaming, growls shuddering through the forest.

“Stop,” yelled Kaelen, landing close to them. “Phane, do not engage!”

One of the wolves leapt forward, jaws snapping, and Kaelen reared up to avoid the swiping paws. “This isn’t an attack, stand down!”

“Listen to him!” A dark wolf leapt from the darkness, chest heaving, larger than the others by a considerable amount. When the gray wolf in front of Kaelan turned and snapped its jaws, the alpha snarled at him and tackled, knocking him down. The other wolves backed away at the yelps of pain from the gray wolf, lowering their heads to the alpha.

To Ronan.

Kaelen breathed a sigh of relief, watching with careful eyes as the wolves released Anor, who leapt to the safety of the group of dragons, Iveir spreading his wings out to protect the young alphas.

“You felt it, too?” Ronan turned to him, yellow eyes flashing.

“Yes.”

Ronan snarled, turning to his packmates, “Let the dragons go, this is bigger than us.”

“But, Alpha—”

“I said release them!” Ronan roared, muscles rippling, head shaking against some imperceptible pain. Kaelen understood. He could feel it too, that pull, that agonizing voice inside him telling him to go, to find it, and apparently Ronan could not hold it at bay anymore; with a great snarl he thundered back into the forest, a blur of teeth and rage.

Kaelen stretched out his wings. “Get back to our territory,” he ordered Iveir. And then he launched upwards, continuing his relentless hunt.