To Rule the Alpha's Heart

9. The Alpha's Favor

The next morning, and every morning after that, Calla awoke alone.

While at sea, Alpha Einarr left the tent at dawn, and Calla scarcely saw him again until nightfall. She was grateful for that. She didn't know how to face him after what had happened– almost happened– their first night sharing a tent.

Alpha Einarr was, at least, a beast of his word. He did not touch her at night. He didn't even spare a glance in her direction throughout the day. It was almost as if she had become nothing more to him than the other human women onboard the longship. Calla told herself this was a blessing.

Without the threat of the Alpha's looming presence, Calla contented herself to spend her days alongside her fellow captives. They spent hours together, performing various chores when instructed by the Nortend shifters. They washed the warriors' clothing, scrubbed the longship's deck, and even cooked a stew for dinner. Cyril oftentimes told Calla that, as the Luna, she needn't burden herself with the chores, but she reminded him that she would not sit by while her friends worked tirelessly for their captives.

In the days that followed, Calla also came to rely on the translator. She still disapproved of his choice to serve the race of Nortend shifters at the expense of his own people, but Cyril served as Calla's watchful guide. He offered Calla warmer clothes, which she readily accepted, and ensured that she filled her belly at every meal. He dutifully remained by her side throughout the day, as if he'd been handpicked by the Alpha himself to keep a close eye on her.

To Calla's own surprise, she didn't mind Cyril's company. She was glad when he joined the women for dinner and convinced him to tell Lucia stories about his youthful years among the shifters. He made the infamously unforgiving land of the north continent sound like a beautiful dream, but Calla did not believe him.

The group of humans sat in a circle on the deck for dinner one evening when Cyril leaned forward to speak directly to Calla. "We will reach Roandör in the morning."

"Roandör?" Calla echoed, wiping a stray droplet of stew broth from her lip. "Is that Alpha Einarr's home?"

Cyril shook his head. "It's the capital of Nortend. We must pay tribute to the Alpha King before returning to the land of the Onyx Craven."

The Alpha King. A shiver scattered down Calla's spine at the name. Cyril had told her that he had been gifted to Einarr by the Alpha King after Einarr killed the former Alpha of the Onyx Craven Pack.

She frowned. "I didn't realize we would be traveling to the Alpha King."

"Aye," Cyril confirmed, chewing on a piece of dried meat. "Every Alpha across the continent must pay homage to the King after their summer raids. He demands gifts– gold and livestock and slaves."

A knot formed in Calla's stomach. She risked a wary glance at the four human women across from her who were laughing and talking about a different matter entirely. Calla lowered her voice for Cyril's ears only. "The King will take some of the captured humans?"

"Not some of the humans, Luna," Cyril replied. He held her gaze, releasing a long, forlorn sigh. "All of them."

Calla nearly choked. "All?"

A nod. "Alpha Einarr does not keep human slaves, Calla. The Onyx Craven are nomadic in nature, and too many humans serve as a hindrance. He will keep whatever supplies are necessary to survive the Frost. The rest will be given to the King."

Calla's heart guttered in her chest. She fought to keep oxygen in her lungs as she grappled to understand the fate of her friends– of the dozens of humans on the other longships. She had been determined to free all of the humans captured by Alpha Einarr during his raids, but now...