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  The Wolf Prince´s True Mate

  A Paranormal Romance

  By Jasmine Wylder

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  In the cool of an autumn night, the forest could be so silent, only the occasional snap of a twig echoing through the trees as an owl took flight from its perch in the higher branches.

  From her place crouched down in the thick undergrowth of ferns and grasses, Ilyssa listened for another sound. Soon, she heard it: the low, rhythmic thump of hooves on packed earth, like a heartbeat reverberating through the ground, growing in strength and volume as it drew closer. With it came the rattle of tack, the snort of horses, and the creak of wheels on the coach they pulled along the road that cut through the woods.

  Ilyssa caught the verbal signal from Barto, one of the lookouts stationed in the trees. Her hand tightened on the butt of her flintlock and she glanced over to her second in command, Kristof, kneeling a few feet away. In the dappled starlight filtering down through the boughs above, she saw his nod of acknowledgment and then watched as he made a hand gesture to the other members of their tribe waiting on the opposite side of the road.

  The coach rounded the bend. Ilyssa scrambled from her place and ran toward it. Her amazing swiftness and agility always came as a surprise to anyone who saw her for just her full figure and diminutive height.

  Seizing hold of the wagon, Ilyssa swung herself up and landed on the bench beside the startled driver. She pressed the muzzle of her pistol to the startled driver’s head.

  “Stand and deliver, dear,” she said, with a sweet smile.

  Seeing his hands tense on the reins, she clucked her tongue. “Ah-ah! You make those beasts go faster, I’ll still unload this gun into your skull. Is your precious cargo really worth the price of your brains coming out the other side of your head?”

  He started to pull the horses in. At the last moment, he brought up his elbow, trying to catch Ilyssa in the jaw.

  She dodged him and laughed. “Really? You think this is my first time at the carnival?”

  She retaliated by whipping him with her pistol. She didn’t want to kill the fellow – that wasn’t in the plan – but she didn’t mind roughing up anyone who stood in her way.

  One good blow to the side of the driver’s head did the trick and he fell over in the seat. Ilyssa grabbed the reins from his hands and yanked back hard. The horses reared to a halt and the coach stopped.

  Barto jumped up on the other side of the unconscious driver. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, as Ilyssa passed off the reins to him.

  Ilyssa just gave him a warning look and dropped back down to the ground.

  From within the coach, they heard a voice call out, “Frandale? Why have we stopped?” followed by the sound of movement and the rocking of the carriage as its occupant shifted around.

  Ilyssa found Kristof waiting beside the coach, his crossbow aimed at the door. The rest of their party surrounded the wagon, weapons at the ready. Ilyssa grinned at Kristof.

  “Well, then,” she said, and licked her lips. “Let’s see the prize that’s going to help get our tribe through the winter, shall we?”

  Kristof smiled and tipped his head. “After you, m’lady.”

  “’Lady?’” Ilyssa scoffed and shook her head. “You mistake me for someone else, my friend.”

  Tossing her braided brown hair back off her shoulder, she reached into the leather pouch attached to her belt and pulled out a small sack. She nodded to Kristof who took one hand off his weapon long enough to grab the lever on the carriage door. He yanked it open and Ilyssa pitched the sack inside. It burst as soon as it hit something solid, emitting a thick cloud of dust.

  Quickly, Kristof slammed the door shut again and both he and Ilyssa put their combined weight against it.

  The coach began to rock violently, and they could hear snarls akin to those of an enraged beast coming from within. It lasted all of a moment.

  At last, after everything went still and silent once more, Ilyssa and Kristof looked at each other.

  “Phase one complete,” she said.

  Kristof pulled a metal collar from inside his coat and held it up. “Phase two,” he said, and passed the choker over to Ilyssa.

  As she took it from him, he looked around and gave three short, shrill whistles. This signaled their people on the other side of the coach to go to work.

  Ilyssa opened the door again and waved a hand as some of the unsettled dust wafted out. She could see their colleagues working, having entered through the opposite door.

  One of them, Marten, held a small lamp to light the coach’s dark interior. Ilyssa looked down at the body sprawled on the floor, hands already bound and a hood over the head.

  “It’s all right,” said Marten, crouching beside their quarry. He smiled and nudged the captive with the toe of his boot. “The dog is down. He won’t be getting up again for a few hours.”

  “Good,” Ilyssa said, hauling herself up inside the carriage next to her tribesman. She spared him a frown of disapproval. “And let’s refrain from being derogatory, shall we?”

  Marten had the decency to look chastised. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s my upbringing, is all…I know it’s no excuse…”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “I’m sure most of us heard it from our parents. Doesn’t mean we have to follow their example.”

  Leaning down, she grunted as she got the collar around the unconscious man’s neck and locked it in place.

  The dark stones set along the band began to give off a faint green illumination.

  Ilyssa sat back and nodded in satisfaction. “There. Now he’s safe.”

  She found the remains of the sack she had tossed into the carriage.

  “A bit of ground monkshood seed may knock them out, but to keep them subdued it takes silver and black moonstone.”

  She looked around at her team and smiled. “Good work, everyone. Let’s get him back to camp, and then we’ll see how much he’s worth to his king.”

  She climbed down out of the coach and clapped Kristof on the shoulder. Looking up at Barto, still on the driver’s bench, she grinned. “Has he awakened?”

  As if on cue, the driver began to stir. Barto knocked him out again with another punch to the head.

  “Nope,” the tribal scout replied. “Lucky for us, he’s one of our kind. Wouldn’t be this easy if he’d been one of theirs. Indentured service.”

  He shook his head
and let out a sigh. “And that’s why I’m living in the woods, a highwayman robbing coaches in the middle of the night.”

  “We do what we have to do, in order to survive,” Ilyssa said.

  “That we do.” Barto jerked his head. “Soon as you’re done clearing it out, I’ll turn this thing around and drive it back a few miles. The horses should be stable sour enough to take it from there.”

  He patted the driver’s knee. “Our friend here will be halfway home before he realizes it.”

  “Get right back to camp when you’re done,” Ilyssa told him. “Make sure to mask your scent when you do, too. I don’t want anyone tracking you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her off. “I know what to do. They’ll never pick up my trail.”

  He nodded to their prize, now unloaded and being set upon a stretcher to be carried on the shoulders of four of their men.

  “Just make sure you cover his scent. They know their own better than they know us.”

  With Ilyssa leading the way and Kristof bringing up the rear, ever watchful, the party made its way back through the trees. The tribe’s encampment lay deep in the forest, past streams and up onto a rocky plateau which gave them a visual vantage point while at the same time secluding them from anyone who might try to search for them. They knew these woods better than anyone in the two major kingdoms it separated – Lobishome, the land to the east, and Emberi, bordering the Western Seas.

  They reached their destination just as the sky began to change its shade from black to violet. Members of the tribe who rose at dawn to begin their daily chores stopped to greet the returning party with cheers of triumph. Ilyssa clasped their hands in passing.

  The bearers delivered their prisoner to one of the small stone huts used for storage. Constructed of smaller rocks and mud, it butted up against a large boulder. The tribe used it as one of their stores in winter; now it stood empty save for a bucket in the corner and a bedroll on the floor, ready to receive their temporary “guest.”

  “Careful!” Ilyssa snapped, when the four men carrying the stretcher dumped their still unconscious burden onto the wool blankets in a decidedly unceremonious fashion.

  She scowled at them as they made their way back out past her through the only door to the structure.

  “He’s worth more to us undamaged. We’re trying to get a ransom, not bring the Lobishome army down on our heads for harming one of their statesmen!”

  Kristof had shouldered his crossbow and now stood beside Ilyssa. “The dust should be wearing off, soon. The collar may weaken him, but we’ll still need a guard on the door at all times.”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  She stripped off her heavy waistcoat and passed it to Kristof. “The wrist cuffs stay on. I’m going to switch them around to the front so he can feed himself and take care of other personal business.”

  She nodded to a wooden bucket in the corner for emphasis. “The man should at least be allowed a little dignity.”

  “Aye,” Kristof said, and smirked. “I doubt you’ll find anyone here willing to help him with that particular task.”

  “Some of them can’t even wipe their own asses,” Ilyssa said.

  She stepped over to their prisoner. Holding out her hand, she caught the key when Kristof tossed it to her. She knelt down beside their captive and shoved him over onto his side so she could get to his restraints.

  “Pretty hands,” she noted, taking a moment to admire the long, tapered fingers.

  “Probably never did a day of hard work in his life,” Kristof said with a snort.

  “Probably not.”

  Snapping the cuffs back into place, Ilyssa rolled the lifeless man onto his back.

  “Now for the hood.”

  Drawing a small knife from a sheath in her boot, she used it to cut the cord cinching the sack around their quarry’s neck. While loose enough not to constrict, the rope had been necessary to hold the bag in place so it could not slip off easily during transport.

  “There we go,” Ilyssa said. “Let’s have a look at you, Ambassador.”

  She pulled the hood free – and nearly fell backwards from shock. Her blue eyes widened as she stared down at the face of the man lying before her.

  “Shit!” she hissed. She stood up and backed away, shaking her head. “No – no, this isn’t right! How can this be?”

  “By all the Fates,” Kristof said, his normally deep, rumbling voice turning breathy with horror. “That isn’t the ambassador – it’s Alaric, the crown prince!”

  He dropped Ilyssa’s coat and reached out to grasp her arm.

  “That coach was supposed to contain a dignitary of the court, traveling to the northern kingdom of Terradine – that is what we were told by our informants!”

  “I know what we were told!” Ilyssa shot back. “Apparently, someone either lied or was mistaken.”

  “We cannot keep the sovereign heir to the Lobishome throne here,” Kristof said gravely.

  He shook his head, blond ponytail swaying against his collar. “This will incite a war. King Mardell will raze the entire forest, and roast our bodies over the fires for kidnapping his son.”

  “This makes no sense. What was the crown prince doing out on the highway to Emberi, in the middle of the night?”

  Ilyssa planted her hands on her full, rounded hips and gazed down at the sleeping prince in a mix of frustration and confusion.

  “Why would he be on a journey, on his own in an unmarked coach, with only a driver and no royal guard?”

  “Who cares?” Kristof paced to the door, where he paused and looked back at her. “We need to send him back, Ilyssa – the sooner, the better. When Barto returns, I’ll talk to him about procuring a horse and cart. I’m thinking we can keep His Majesty dusted and conceal him under a tarp with some baskets bound for the Lobishome marketplace. Once we get him back to his kingdom, we can dump him and leave.”

  He grimaced. “His people will surely take care of him, from there.”

  As Kristof ducked out of the small storage hut, Ilyssa turned her attention back to their unexpected prisoner. Her friend had not exaggerated when he described the wrath that loomed before them.

  They had planned to abduct the Lobishome emissary and hold him for enough ransom that they could purchase goods from some of the smaller, neighboring kingdoms to get the tribe through the winter months. The king would have negotiated and paid them enough. But there would be no ransoming a prince. The laws about kidnapping varied depending on the status of the abductee; when it came to members of the royal family, one could expect a date with the executioner’s ax and nothing more.

  “This is bad,” Ilyssa said under her breath. “This is so very, very bad.”

  The prince began to wake. Ilyssa cursed. Her shock had distracted her from completing the necessary security measures. Hastening back to his side, she grabbed a heavy chain threaded through an iron ring set in the solid stone wall, and attached it to the cuffs binding his wrists. The chain would allow him to move about but would stop him just short of the door.

  In the morning light that began to creep into the room, Ilyssa paused and looked down at his face again.

  Admittedly, Prince Alaric had to be one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. His flawless skin had a bronze tint to it. Long lashes rested above sharp cheekbones, as thick and black as the mane of hair fanning out around his head. His full lips parted, giving her a glimpse at white teeth.

  As she watched, his eyes cracked open and she saw their rich, gold-amber color. His breath caught in his throat the instant he focused on her and he blinked, his dark brows coming together. Ilyssa heard a dry click as he swallowed.

  “Who are you?” he rasped, almost in wonder.

  “Ilyssa,” she replied, and then cursed herself inwardly for revealing her true identity.

  Part of the plan had included not using their own names around their captive. She knew she would get an earful from Kristof on that little mistake.

 
“Ilyssa...”

  The way the prince repeated her name made her shiver, like hearing a holy man whisper a sacred benediction.

  He started to move but stopped when the chain rattled. Still lethargic, he raised his bound hands and blinked at them. He looked around and then back to Ilyssa, confused.

  “Where am I?” His strength began to return and he surged up, staggering as he gained his feet.

  Ilyssa backed away from him quickly.

  He brought his hands to his neck and hissed the instant he touched the collar. “Wh-what is this?”

  “A little safety precaution,” Ilyssa said. “Comes in handy when dealing with your kind. As long as you wear it, you won’t have any special advantages – you’ll be just like the rest of us.”

  The prince growled in frustration. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

  Ilyssa sprang just out of his reach when he lurched toward her, her boot knife in her fist again as she went into a defensive stance.

  “Yes, I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Prince Alaric of Lobishome.” She looked him right in those gleaming, golden eyes. “You’re also the First Son of Mardell – Ruler of the Werewolf Kingdom.”

  “Then you know the price you will pay for holding me here,” Alaric said, and added for good measure, “Human bitch.”

  While she knew he meant to unsettle her with the racial slur, Ilyssa did not allow it to faze her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Careful, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her voice soft and level while her heart threatened to hammer its way out of her bosom – and not out of fear. She wondered if he could still hear it despite the collar dampening his natural abilities.

  “Given your late night sojourn away from home, unguarded, I would have to guess that no one in the kingdom even knows where you are, right now.”

  She tilted her head.

  “So, why would the Werewolf Prince be on his way to the Human kingdom of Emberi, all alone and under cover of darkness?”