To Rule the Alpha's Heart

7. A Brewing Storm

ALPHA EINARR

Alpha Einarr Fjerstäd did not understand his mate.

Like a damned fool, he'd offered to escort her back to her homeland after a year spent in Nortend, and she'd hardly deigned a glance in his direction since. He thought that the offer might help subdue the fire that so evidently churned in Calla's human veins, but the girl appeared more resolved to hate him than before.

"Does she give reason why she stays with the female slaves?" Einarr half-growled, eyes locked on the white-haired female across the boat.

Two days had passed since their raid on Calla's village, and she never strayed far from the flanks of her fellow humans. It angered Einarr. She was his Luna– the mate of the mightiest Alpha to grace the vast Nortend cliffs in centuries– and yet, she chose to spend her time with slaves.

She should have been sitting by Einarr's side as they breaked for dinner that evening. Should have been warming the furs of his bed that night. But she'd contented herself to eat alongside her human companions, the slaves that Einarr would offer to the Alpha King as payment and tribute in a matter of days. If she'd dared to meet his gaze even once over the last two days, he could have told her of their fate.

Cyril, who gnawed on a chicken bone a few paces away, swallowed the meat and shook his head. "I believe the women remind the Luna of her homeland," he replied in fluent Nortend tongue.

Einarr clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the handle of his mug of mead as his mate threw her head back and laughed at something a slave said. Her white hair practically glowed in the moon's light, as if she'd been kissed by the Moon Goddess herself. The bell-like sound of her laugh caused more than one of the Onyx Craven pack members to glance in her direction, and Einarr barely suppressed the urge to cross the deck, take Calla in his arms, and force her to take her place by his side. At least that might dissuade some of his men from ogling at her beauty.

"She is a Luna," Einarr grumbled, setting his mug of mead on a nearby barrel with a thud. "She degrades herself by aligning with the humans."

Indeed, with every moment that Calla spent alongside the female slaves, fear festered in the pit of Einarr's belly that she might never rise to take her place beside him. As a human, it would already be difficult for Calla to earn his pack's respect. If she continued to defy him, it would be impossible. Even Einarr had trouble sleeping at night knowing that the Moon Goddess had given him a human mate.

Cyril coughed, and Einarr's dark eyes flashed in the translator's direction. The blonde-haired man quickly averted his gaze, lowering his eyes before carefully choosing his words to reply. "You should be patient with her, Alpha. She will learn the Onyx Craven Pack's ways in time."

Einarr exhaled, forcing himself to release a portion of the primal frustration that coiled deep in his chest. His fingers curled into fists before relaxing once more as he nodded in the loyal translator's direction. "You will serve her, Cyril of the Andal Cliffs. Ensure that she does learn."

Cyril's blue eyes widened, but he quickly lowered his head in a bow. "Of course."

Before Einarr could turn his attention toward the conversations of his surrounding men, a low rumble pierced the night sky. The thunder was distant but indicative of a brewing storm, nonetheless. He frowned, studying the haze of clouds in the distance that would soon descend upon the purple night sky.

"Tell the girl that she will stay in my cabin tonight," Einarr ordered, gruff. "I will not have my Luna sleep in a poorly patched tent alongside slaves during a storm."

Cyril bowed his head dutifully before standing from his spot. Einarr watched as the human male tossed his remaining chicken bone over the ship's side before crossing the boat. The women were gathered in a circle, eating their dinner several paces away from their tent's opening. The crash of waves against the longship prevented Einarr from hearing the contents of Cyril's exchange with Calla, but he could read the female's expressions easily enough. She was angry.

A muscle in her jaw flickered as her unfathomably blue eyes snapped up to meet Einarr's. He held her gaze, but the female did not yield. Several long moments passed before Calla discarded her dinner to the side and stood from where she'd been sitting.

To Einarr's surprise, she did not return to the slaves' tent. Rather, she strode across the deck toward him, fire dancing in her gaze.

Einarr sat up a bit straighter in his seat, every muscle in his back going rigid at the sight of his ferocious mate stalking closer. She would be difficult to tame– but not impossible. One corner of his lips twitched upward at the thought of the struggle he would face before she would yield to him. He was still smiling when Calla arrived before him, still clad in the same white dress she'd been wearing when he found her.

She did not offer any greeting. She did not even lower her gaze in respect. "I will not lie with you this night, animal," she snarled in her strange, Eatrelean tongue.

Einarr's eyes fell from his mate's soft features, trailing down the length of her body. They snagged on the hardened peaks of her breasts, a result of the bitter evening breeze, no doubt. Predatory hunger sparked in his chest, even as Einarr forced his eyes back to hers.

"You will not lie in rain," he replied, with finality. Her human body was not equipped to survive a wet, cold night at sea.

Her round nostrils flared, and one of her hands clenched into a fist at her side. "I will not sleep in the comfort of your cabin while my friends are soaked by a storm."

Calla's words held as much conviction as his own, and Einarr hummed a low growl of disapproval, even as something like determination swirled in the depths of his little mate's eyes. Her throat bobbed before she continued. "I have a proposition for you."

Einarr didn't understand the meaning of that word– proposition– but saw her chest expand as she took a deep breath, as if mustering her courage. His head cocked in the slightest as he waited, again, for his spit-fire Luna to speak.

"I will lie with you this eve. But only if the four women are given sanctuary in your cabin tonight and for the remainder of our journey to Nortend."

Every muscle in Einarr's body tightened. Truly the bravery and power of the Moon Goddess pulsed through his Luna's veins! Calla of the Berlyne City was negotiating with him, and she drove a hard bargain. She was offering her body in order to protect the human slaves from the cold and wet...

Einarr leaned back against his chair's rest, his fingers thrumming against the arm. "There is not enough room in the cabin, marana."

She took another deep breath, her breasts rising and falling. "Then you and I will sleep on the deck. The women will be given your cabin– your bed."

Now, more than ever, Calla confused Einarr. Did she truly care so much for these human women that she would deign to sleep on the deck of a longship in the middle of a storm? Einarr did not understand his mate, and he didn't particularly want to sleep in a rainstorm. But the thought of lying with this woman... It overshadowed every doubt in Einarr's mind.

The wolf inside prowled to life. Eager. Hungry.

He stood from his seat, instantly towering over the white-haired beauty who did not take a step back. Einarr's own nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, inhaling Calla's delectable scent. He detected no fear radiating from the female, even as he extended a hand to caress her cheek.

Seconds before the pads of his fingertips made contact with her dirt-stained skin, she yanked her head away. "Well?" she snarled, eyeing him carefully.

Einarr smiled, heat simmering in his broad chest. "You have a bargain, meraname."