To Rule the Alpha's Heart

33. A Kingdom

CALLA VORONÍN

Idoneah heeded Calla's words and delivered her to a large, dome-shaped tent deep in the city surrounding the Salt Caves. Guards, human-form and wolf-form alike, stood erect outside of the structure, and smoke billowed from an opening at the dome's top, promising warmth within its walls.

"You find him there, Luna," Idoneah nodded toward the domed tent but did not take a step closer to the structure.

Adrenaline still coursed through Calla's veins from witnessing the cruel punishment of the human slave, so she did not pause to consider why Idoneah refused to approach the dome. She simply stormed toward the entrance, Cyril trailing in her wake.

Before she reached the tent's entrance, however, a low growl rumbled from the nearest wolf, and two of the bare-chested human guards stepped to intercept her, creating an impenetrable wall between Calla and the opening.

"Get out of my way," Calla seethed, tilting her chin up to level a glare at the two males that towered before her.

"Olno Alpha ark Sanguin," one guard barked, his hot breath fanning the top of Calla's head.

"This tent is only for alphas and their Sanguin, Calla," Cyril translated, but Calla already understood the guard's meaning by the ferocity in their dark eyes.

Cyril came to stand by her side and attempted to shoulder past Calla, to place himself between her body and the two angry shifters, but she did not move. She did not need Cyril's protection any more than she needed his translation skills.

She did not remove her gaze from the guards as she cocked her head, a muscle in her jaw flexing. "Alpha Einarr et maranome. Gratones me te sok por lo roban," she growled, inwardly praying that she remember the words correctly. The same words that Einarr used to threaten the challenger several nights ago.

Alpha Einarr is my mate. He'll give me your pelt for a cloak.

The guard blinked his surprise at her lethal words, and Calla used the moment of hesitation to her advantage. She placed a pale hand on his shoulder and pressed back, firm. "Now, get out of my way."

His skin felt hot beneath her icy digits, and the muscle connecting his shoulder and neck stiffened, but he did not swipe her hand away. Instead, he conceded a step to the side, eyes narrowed. The other guard followed suit.

Calla was keenly aware of at least a dozen eyes watching her every move, but she did not deign to address the onlookers. She simply held her chin high and faced the tent's entrance, where only two loose flaps separated her from Einarr. She would not be kept from him. Without further hesitation, she strode through the tent flaps and entered the alphas' dome.

Immediately, thick, smokey heat surrounded her. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the hazy darkness, acutely aware of the silence that followed her arrival. A sizable firepit waited at the center of the tent, and a dozen hulking figures sat around the blaze. Every eye in the room watched her, but Calla kept her eyes peeled for Einarr's familiar shape in the dim lighting.

Finally, she found him seated at the far end of the firepit, his Sanguin flanking him on both sides. The flames danced before him, casting playful shadows across his bare chest and broad shoulders. He wore his hair in the same long braid that Calla helped him weave in their bed that morning. Even in the darkness, Einarr's gray eyes flashed fiercely at the sight of her in the alpha's den.

"Calla," he growled her name as he rose from his seat, and the sound warmed her insides.

"Maranome," Calla replied, gliding past an unknown male seated by the tent's entrance.