Nick was possibly the strongest shifter Arit—and the tribes—had ever known.
Higher and higher, they climbed the mountain upon which the lodge had been constructed generations ago, when the building had served as a gathering place for local tribesmen and women. Storm winds gusted, blowing fat snowflakes into Arit’s eyes. His paws slid on the ground beneath him, which grew increasingly slick with ice-crusted rock. With autumn descending upon the Urals, wind had stripped most of the leaves and greenery from the vegetation, but trees and barren scrub thinned as they neared the elevation in which the lodge’s upper camp nestled. They wouldn’t go to the camp tonight. Arit had chosen a site looking down on the valley to the east, where shallow caves pocketed the mountainside to provide emergency shelters against unpredictable spring storms. Nick could explore that far up this piece of the Urals, though—and Arit, racing to catch him.
Not Benjic and Rolan, however. Benjic swerved, smacking into Rolan who stumbled. Both wolves rolled, wet snow clinging to their fur. Arit slowed, because the ground could be tricky here, but Benjic’s mottled gray wolf and Rolan’s wolf with the white socks of a noble only reared up on their hind legs, front legs locking together. Both wolves growled, jaws wide as they sparred, each shifter trying and failing to clamp their open mouth over the other.
Was the roughhousing play?
Or dominance?
Likely both. Arit couldn’t guess and, as long as the two weren’t legitimately fighting, he didn’t care. Let his sire and the prince’s brother wrestle. All he cared about was the white wolf ahead of him streaking up, up, up.
Unfortunately for Nick, no one knew his territory better than Arit. He diverted to the left, taking a steeper but faster trail through towering boulders littering the mountain and emerged from the craggy rocks moments later…no more than a few body lengths ahead of the white wolf.
Who barked in giddy surprise and continued the game by chasing Arit instead.
Panting in the frigid and thinning air, Arit ran through the worsening storm. He wasn’t shocked that the white wolf caught up with him—the shortcut hadn’t gained Arit much distance. Arit’s heart warmed with gratitude when Nick didn’t try to retake the lead, apparently content to lope alongside Arit. Relief flooded Arit because he didn’t want posturing and plays for dominance marring their first night and their first run together.
Chest heaving, Arit guided them through the increasingly rough terrain to a granite overlook he usually reserved showing guests until after they’d migrated to the upper camp…if he showed outsiders at all. Proud to his core, Arit wouldn’t share the places he loved most with customers who proved themselves entitled and unappreciative, but Nick was hardly that. Arit sensed his boundless admiring wonder, a synchronicity of spirit gently sinking into place as they ran. The link between them intensifying beyond physical lust should have alarmed Arit. Perhaps he’d regret it once his wolf receded and his human mind ruled him again, but for now, the budding companionship of his mate slipping into his awareness was as amazing to him as the land upon which they raced—wild but beautiful.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
Neither was Nick.
Arit slowed on the trail through the rocks, and next to him, Nick curbed his sprint to a jog as well. They both pivoted, heading deeper into crevices that had bought Arit precious ground to best Nick in their race. The tumbled boulders provided a windbreak, sheltering them from brisk gusts and blowing snow. The cold didn’t rattle Arit’s bones as fiercely. The layer of snow thinned to a scant dusting on the path under their paws.
Side by side, they exited the scramble of massive stone tossed by an ancient glacier or possibly by avalanches after the glacier receded. They pushed forward to a flat jut of granite that ended in a steep plummet. Reaching the edge, Arit glanced at his mate, and hope flooded through him when Nick’s awed stare drank in the valley below. He didn’t look at the town, homes marked as brightly lit dots in spite of the storm creeping into the lower elevations, as Benjic would—with a thirst for more power and calculating greed. He didn’t see the people as Arit or his dad did, either, with warmth and affection. Not yet.
Nick surveyed his tribe, Arit’s people, the ones Arit loved and worked daily to serve, with thankfulness. With respect and infinite yearning, not for his own selfish concerns but for the betterment of everyone below. Arit felt Nick’s commitment to the tribes as certainly as he knew his own beating heart.
Pity he would abdicate the throne before he had a chance to rule. Nick would be fantastic, a leader of strength and compassion, one who genuinely cared about and wanted only to improve the lives of his people. With the bond between them intensifying, Arit knew that much.
Arit hated politics. He’d matured enough to recognize his loathing of statecraft and governance was tied to his resentment of his sire who thrived on capitol power games, but his contempt was nevertheless merited. The elders governing the tribes had lost touch with the people. Capitol elites worked to gain wealth and position instead of fighting for the shifters in the outer territories like those struggling below to obtain enough fuel to survive every harsh winter. Rather than freely trading with the lands of men, the council had closed borders and thereby destroyed much-needed jobs. They claimed cutting off the tribes from men protected shifters from post-war violence and bigotry as well as preserved their bloodlines, but strategists in the capitol didn’t pay the price. Arit’s people had, with each dangerous trip to smuggle goods through the Urals to survive.
When Arit senses spiked and shudders overwhelmed the white wolf next to him, he wasn’t surprised at Nick’s shift to his human form. Although the fierce cold would forbid lingering as men, Arit focused to bring his human mind forward, too, and because Nick was his match in skill at transitioning from one form to another, they both knelt in the dusting of snow moments later. Arit panted through the ache of his bones resetting, shivering at wind slicing into skin barren of insulating fur.
Nick trembled, too, but he stumbled to his feet, his hand grasping the locket still encircling his neck while his attention fixed to the valley below.
Gritting his teeth, Arit stood as well.
As a shifter, his visual acuity was sharper than a human’s even while Arit was in his human form, but his vision was strongest as a wolf. Where before the overlook had revealed dens in the town and traffic moving on the streets, now he could only make out dim pricks of light through the storm where Arit knew homes must be. Blowing snow didn’t hinder Nick from staring, gasping at the cold.