Page 2 of Siren’s Kiss & Feral Beasts

KAI

ONE YEAR AGO…

“ S hadow born. Blood forged. Shadow born. Blood forged.”

Wolves chant as I move through the crowd, making my way toward the center of the fighter’s circle.

Some pound their chests in unison, gazing straight ahead, while others drop to one knee with their heads bowed.

Both are a show of respect as their howls pierce the night, echoing through the open field not far from the island’s shore—an ancient call that seals their loyalty to me.

Their king. Their Alpha.

“Shadow born. Blood forged. Shadow born. Blood forged.”

The ground beneath my bare feet is wet and warm. The trail of blood and sand—the unconscious bodies of territory leaders being dragged through on their way to the healer’s tent—is a testament to our ancient ways. It’s tradition. A sacred ritual.

I’ve held it for the last four years, since taking over as alpha. Just as my father did before me.

The victor of the previous fight retakes his place in the audience, limping and bruised, his head bowed in my direction while I take in the damage inflicted.

Two broken palm trees, snapped in half.

Ripped fur and fragments of skin on the eroded ground.

Sanguine stains feed the earth beneath our feet as the goddess is paid her dues.

Every wolf here has earned his place through dominance, blood, and fire. Many have challenged me and lost over the last few years—leaders in their own right with packs they’re responsible for—but here, they kneel.

My word is law. Their loyalty is to me. To our brotherhood.

Pirates. Wolves. Bloodthirsty.

Tonight, though, a few seek to settle old grudges. Others want favor from the royal house.

No matter the reason, they’ve come because I commanded it.

The summit is mandatory.

No excuse. No mercy.

Once a year, male and female commanders from different corners of the five seas converge on this consecrated isle. It started when my grandfather fought his king in a challenge, then was carried on by my father, and it will not die under my rule.

Our wolves, the other half of us, demand a reckoning.

Not politics. Not alliances.

We are beasts wrapped in skin, ruled by dominance and truth. Two souls in one body. And while we may walk on two legs, speak in tongues, and rule like men…

The wolf always lingers beneath the surface.

“ Shadow born. Blood forged. Shadow born. Blood forged.”

They’re louder now. Thirstier. Their chants and howls intertwine with the lightning strike not far from where I stand.

It lands in the dark water, maybe thirty feet from the shoreline, but the effect ripples throughout.

The ground trembles and electricity pulses in my veins, and the latter has nothing to do with the storm.

My wolf is restless. On alert.

Something feels off…

Pack leaders close the circle once I step through, leaving an open ring of sand for the next battle to begin. The air is heavy with the scent of rain as two worlds collide, and I’m addicted to the mix.

Wet earth and salty sea.

One is my home, while the other beckons me closer. The pull is getting stronger every day.

“Final challenge,” I say, my voice carrying through the crowd, and every leader steps back, except one man. He’s not a commander, much less a member of my kingdom, and I tilt my head to the side, studying him as he steps inside the ring with me.

He’s thin, dirty, and missing a front tooth. His hair is matted, the color of rust.

But more than that is his scent.

Putrid. Dishonest. Criminal.

The difference between him and a pirate like me? I have a moral code, even if it is small.

We don’t hurt women. We don’t steal from the defenseless.

Something rogue wolves don’t abide by. He’s also not the kind who voluntarily leaves his or her pack for a solitary life among humans. There’s no thread or bond to his previous home. No mating mark that explains his decision to live away from the sanctity of a pack.

Not that it couldn’t happen. Choosing to leave is uncommon, but it has happened because of love or the simple need for change—yet a tether always remains. Those wolves maintain a connection to their birth family and each pack member. They’re also welcomed back anytime with open arms, but this man…

There’s nothing honest in his cold, lifeless eyes. In the small tremble of his hand, one that conceals a sharp blade under his lightly tattered sleeve. Strike one.

“What territory do you represent, Wolf?” I ask as my beast stretches within me, pushing against my skin to be let out while my fangs descend. They tear through the gums and cut my bottom lip; I taste the metallic and smile. “Answer me.”

He swallows hard at the sight, but doesn’t retreat. “I’m southerner?—”

“Lies!” three men shout in unison. It’s a father and his sons, their faces contorted in outrage, yet their necks bend low in apology for the disruption.

The older male takes one step forward, though, keeping his body a few inches outside of the ring while holding up a hand.

“Please forgive us, my alpha. May I speak freely?”

I nod once. “Go on.”

“Thank you.” Turning his head, his eyes zero in on the rogue, and whatever show of respect had been given to me is gone.

This pack leader is repulsed—anger flows out from him, and it’s directed at the man standing across from me.

The latter staggers a bit but manages to remain upright.

“He is not one of my pack members. My wolf doesn’t recognize him, and his scent is that of?—”

“I am from the south,” the rogue interjects, his voice trembling with rage. “Do not speak for me. Do not lie.”

“You insolent, filthy—” I shake my head at the furious old wolf, and he cuts himself off. Even his sons, who’d been snarling low, stop.

“Rogues have no place here. Especially ones who lie.”

“Where I go is my decision, Your Majesty. Not yours.” Disrespect number two.

“Watch yourself, or I might take your idiocy as a challenge.”

He takes a single step forward, chest puffing out a bit. “And if it is?”

I smile. “Then so be it.”

Lightning crashes just off the coast, lighting up the black sky a second before the first drop of rain falls on my forehead. This storm’s been brewing all evening off the horizon with its dark clouds and flashes of light—the loud clap of thunder intertwining with the chants of my wolves.

Because they don’t like intruders, and that’s what this lone shifter is.

A grifter with no loyalty or bonds, two things wolves need.

Pack is family. Pack is sacred.

“Name your terms, rogue,” I growl, baring my teeth at the smaller man who dared to step into the circle with me. Although, I’ll give him credit for not tucking his tail. Most do when in my presence. “What do you want?”

“You, my king.” His voice isn’t loud, but it carries, and I tilt my head to the side. Take note of his subtle, yet defiant sneer. “I’m here to challenge you for the title of alpha of all alphas.”

His declaration is met with anger. Exiled wolves are not to be trusted, and with good reason; this one carries the stench of betrayal. Hunger for power.

But more than that, he’s brought with him three other wolves…

The rogue’s eyes shift from side to side, looking for something, and he exhales roughly when two males and a small female come into view.

They’re scared as they walk closer to the circle; I can smell the fear coming from all three, but they don’t run away.

Instead, they quietly huddle closer and pull a small spray bottle from the woman’s bag.

I’m not the only one who notices, as my beta and gamma scent the air. Not that they find anything, and there’s only one way for a shifter—rogue or pack—to hide their presence:

Scent blockers.

Not a new concept. It’s a tactic used in battle when trying to surprise an opponent, but to use it here is the definition of stupid. Or maybe cocky. However, the better question is…

How the fuck did they get past the guards on patrol?

My beta, Veris, moves closer while my gamma, Torren, takes his position directly to the left of me. Both are in my line of sight. Both are poised to attack, but I give a minute shake of my head.

The male intruders don’t catch the directive, but the woman does, and her mouth opens. No words come out. She’s frozen, drops the bottle, but the man to her right catches it, muttering under his breath about her fucking shit up.

He’s wrong. That would be them.

Keep an eye on them. No harm to the woman.

The mindlink message is sent to both Veris and Torren. In return, I get a quick: Yes, Alpha .

Don’t trust them. Scared wolves don’t challenge alphas, Torren adds a moment later, while Veris flashes his canines at the trio. They whimper, the noise setting off multiple snarls across the beach.

Looking back at the challenger, I raise a brow. “Name.”

He swallows hard, hand clenching around the blade he’s trying to conceal. “Spiro.”

“Spiro, what?”

“No last name. I’ve renounced it.”

“Last. Name,” I ask from behind clenching teeth. “I won’t ask again.”

“Marros. Spiro Marros.”

He wasn’t lying. The name Marros originated in the south, in Mar De Juramentos Rotos or Sea of Broken Oaths , and they’re all watchers.

Long line of them; they live and maintain lighthouses or towers on high elevations near the shore to help guide fleets home or warn of incoming storms. Respectable, the job comes with good pay and trust from the pack, but from the disdain on his face, it’s not enough for him.

My eyes shift toward the elder leader, and his brows are furrowed. “Is he lying?”

Confusion is clear on his face, but the elder commander nods. “It’s true, Alpha. Marros’s son was exiled…” he pauses, and I wave a hand for him to carry on “…but this man looks nothing like his father or his offspring.”

“I am him, not that it matters?—”

“It doesn’t.” Both look at me, but my focus is on Spiro. “The challenge stands.”

“I’m ready.”

“Beta, start the countdown.” Immediately, the ground vibrates—the stomping of angry beasts travels through me, and I respond with a growl that further ignites their thirst for blood. Those who watched the earlier fights through their wolf’s eyes shift, their hands now pounding their chests.

Solidarity. Family. Pack. Everything Spiro Marros doesn’t understand or value.

It’s our way of life, and hierarchy isn’t guaranteed by birth. It’s earned. It’s valued.

And while my family has ruled for three generations, we have fought and killed to keep our crown. Alphas are challenged—threatened—and losing a battle comes with consequences bigger than the control of territory.

Every fight comes with a sacrifice. No exceptions.

Money. Land. Mates, in some rare instances, when the fight is over a woman or a man.

However, this time I’ll collect more than whatever meager possessions Spiro owns.

Only one of us will walk out of this ring alive.