The Wolf Prince´s True Mate: Alpha Male BBW Pregnancy Fantasy Romance Page 2

  “That,” he snapped, “is none of your business.”

  “Hm. Perhaps you’re right.”

  She tucked her knife back into her boot and retrieved her coat from the floor where Kristof had abandoned it.

  “But I wonder what your father would say, seeing as how Emberi is the sworn enemy of Lobishome.”

  Rolling her shoulders, Ilyssa turned to go.

  “I’ll have someone bring you some breakfast in a bit. In the meantime, you should probably make yourself comfortable.”

  She glanced back at him. “You’re going to be with us for a while.”

  She could still hear him snarling as she closed the door behind her. Her heart continued to pound inside her breast. No, this feeling did not come from being afraid. It came from another place, entirely. A place of desire.

  Chapter Two

  With Kristof and Barto off trying to find a way to get Prince Alaric back home, Ilyssa had decided she needed some time away from their captive, as well. She had avoided going to look in on him throughout the day. She needed to clear her head. Unfortunately, she could not dislodge the memory of the instant she first looked into those golden eyes, nor could she remove the image of them from her mind. They even invaded her dreams when she tried to catch a nap in the afternoon. Unable to sleep, she had taken a sojourn to the hot springs not far from camp, and had soaked for a bit in the warm, soothing waters.

  Ilyssa had returned, somewhat refreshed and relaxed, to find supper preparations underway. She twisted her wet hair up into a messy bun, donned a loose-fitting blouse, leather waist cincher, soft doeskin trousers and her well-worn boots before deciding to pay a visit to the hut that served as the camp kitchen.

  “Good evening, Lorena,” Ilyssa said, smiling. “How goes it?”

  “It goes,” Lorena said.

  The tribe’s head cook, a handsome woman and Kristof’s wife of many years, stood at a table chopping wild turnips.

  Ilyssa gave a word of thanks when Lorena offered her a slice of the vegetable.

  Lorena paused to brush a stray lock of red hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Although you should know that our esteemed guest has refused both breakfast and midday meals.”

  By now, word had circulated around the camp that they had abducted a member of the royal family instead of the ambassador to Lobishome. This had caused some dissention among the tribal members, some going too far as to proclaim their intention to break rank and leave the group out of fear of the retribution King Mardell would unleash upon them all. For the most part, everyone agreed to continue to conduct their lives around camp as usual, and to treat the prince as they would any other prisoner.

  Munching on the piece of turnip, Ilyssa frowned. “Oh?” She wiped her mouth with her fingers. “What, did he not touch the plates at all?”

  Lorena huffed out a dry laugh. “Oh, he ‘touched’ them, all right.” She glanced up at Ilyssa. “Picked them up and flung them at the wall. Both times. Called the fried sausages and eggs ‘repulsive’ and the roast game hen pie ‘disgusting.’”

  “Well, he’s only depriving himself of some of the finest food in all the land,” Ilyssa said, and that earned her a smile.

  Still, it gave her cause for concern. Did the prince think he could deprive himself out of protest? It would certainly make their situation all the worse if they returned him half-dead from lack of nourishment. Or could there be some alternative reason for his refusal to eat?

  Another possible motive began to take shape in her mind, and a determined smile formed on her lips.

  “I think I may know how to solve this problem.”

  “You’ll save us a lot of wasted food and broken crockery, if you can do that.”

  Shaking her head, Lorena returned to her chopping. “But to be on the safe side, if you plan to serve him tonight you might want to take a broom along. You’re going to have a mess to sweep up, if His Highness finds supper not up to his lofty standards.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with his station,” Ilyssa said. “No matter what else he may be, first and foremost he is a Werewolf.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Ilyssa went on, “it might not be a matter of taste.”

  She walked around to stand next to fire pit, where one of Lorena’s helpers tended to a leg of venison roasting over the flames on a spit.

  “You’ve been feeding him cooked meat.” She looked back at Lorena. “I think Werewolves can only eat meat when it’s raw.”

  Lorena stopped again. She blinked at Ilyssa in surprise. “Is that what it is?”

  Ilyssa shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, Ilyssa stood outside the door to the makeshift prison cell, holding two covered bowls and a wine skin hanging from her neck.

  “All right, Marten,” she said, and tossed her head. “You’re relieved of duty. Open the door for me, and then go join the others for supper.”

  Marten motioned to the bowls and grinned. “He’s just going to-“

  “Yeah, I know what he did, before,” Ilyssa said, cutting her friend off in mid-sentence. “Don’t worry, the only place this food is going is down his gullet.” She lowered her voice. “Even if I have to force it down there.”

  “You’re a brave one, Ilyssa,” Marten said with a chuckle, and opened the door. “Good luck, all the same.”

  With night falling, a lamp had been lit and hung inside the small hut. Ilyssa saw Alaric sitting on the bedroll, leaning back against the wall with one long leg bent at the knee and his shackled hands lying in his lap.

  He lifted his head when she entered. His eyes picked up the dim light and made them glow like embers, the only part of him she could see clearly as his hair, dark trousers, black boots, and deep red shirt tended to blend in with the shadows.

  Ilyssa offered a smile. “Your Majesty,” she said by way of greeting. “I thought you might be hungry, especially after I heard that you had refused to eat all day.”

  He grunted and turned away, his handsome face partially obscured by the curtain of his disheveled black hair.

  “I found it…unappetizing,” he said.

  “I think you’ll find this more to your liking.” Ilyssa uncovered one of the bowls and slid it over to him.

  His hands shot out to catch the dish, his reflexes quick despite the shackles; without the collar, Ilyssa knew she would not have seen him move at all, as Werewolves had the reputation for being gifted with preternatural speed and dexterity.

  Alaric sniffed the dish’s contents, cautious, and then looked up at her again with a blink of surprise. “This venison. It’s – it’s uncooked.”

  “Which is how you like it,” Ilyssa said. “Am I right?”

  He regarded the food again, and shook his head as if in disbelief. “Yes” he replied softly. “I…” He trailed off and instead gave a humble bow of his head. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Internally, Ilyssa felt a rush of satisfaction. She had guessed correctly about the food.

  “Can’t have you starving yourself while you’re here. You’re already lean enough as it is.” She chuckled and motioned to herself. “As you can see by looking at me, I never miss a meal. Don’t let these plush curves fool you, though – I may look soft, but I can be pretty hard in other ways. I’m sure some of my comrades would say ‘hard-headed.’ Which I can be, from time to time.”

  She had a reason for the light-hearted approach. If she could get into Alaric’s good graces – even while keeping him collared and chained to a wall – she stood a chance of ensuring some leniency toward the tribe once he returned to his kingdom.

  For his part, the prince did favor her with a faint smile. “An armful is quite often better than a handful,” he said.

  Ilyssa raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, made all the more eloquent by his well-bred manner of speaking. That was a compliment, she thought, amazed, and felt her face go warm with the flush of pleasure
. All right, she chastised herself, don’t let his pretty looks and charming tongue get the better of you. You’re supposed to be winning him over.

  Casually, Ilyssa took a seat on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she said, and indicated her own dish. “Mine’s cooked, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said. “And no, I don’t mind.” He looked down into his bowl. “Although I doubt it would matter if I did, seeing as I am your prisoner and therefore have no choice.”

  Ilyssa felt her mood deflate. She popped a chunk of roasted carrot into her mouth and chewed.

  “All things considered,” she said as she chewed, “can you blame us for erring on the side of caution?”

  She swallowed and then jerked her chin.

  “Your father would have us hunted down pack-style and torn to pieces if he finds out we’re holding you here. Even if we were to release you right now and let you go on your own free will, there’s nothing to guarantee we won’t meet with that same fate.” Shrugging, she leaned back against the doorjamb. “So we’re at an impasse.”

  “I understand your fears,” Alaric said. “And they are not unfounded. But I am not my father. I offer you no harm.” He shook his head and she could hear the heavy note of dismay in his voice. “If anything, I was trying to prevent it.”

  “Well, now,” Ilyssa said, eyeing him with suspicion. “That was rather cryptic. Care to elaborate?”

  He looked ready to reply. After another moment’s hesitation, he picked up a raw, glistening chunk of meat from his dish.

  “It’s unimportant,” he muttered, and stuffed the morsel into his mouth.

  “I say you’re lying.”

  Ilyssa set aside her own bowl and pulled the wineskin off over her head. Aside from being their best tracker, Barto also had a knack for brewing up the best libations from the sweet berries that grew wild around the forest. Uncorking the bladder, Ilyssa took a deep pull from it and then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you were traveling alone last night?”

  “Release me from these chains,” Alaric replied, without missing a beat, “and I will.”

  Ilyssa studied on him for a few moments. Experience taught her to always be cautious, to always be several steps ahead of a potential opponent, and to always – always – have an escape route. Releasing the prince from his chains would allow him the freedom to move about; he might even try to escape the hut and the camp, but as long as he wore that collar he would be no match against her able-bodied tribespeople, each one trained in every known form of combat and survival techniques. She herself could take him down easily if needed. Kristof is not going to like this, she thought.

  “All right,” she said at last. She took another swig of wine and licked her lips. Dropping the skin, she got to her feet. “I’ll do this, but the collar stays on.”

  She dipped her fingers into her generous cleavage and pulled out the key. “Even if you managed to escape, once you left the encampment you wouldn’t be able to sniff your way home and you’d wind up lost in the woods.”

  “I understand,” he said, rising up from the floor as well. “I give you my solemn word, sworn on the blood of my ancestors that I will not make any attempt to flee.”

  His eyes locked with hers as she approached. She saw vulnerability in that amber gaze, as well as trust and strength, and something else she could not name but which struck her as strangely familiar and made something tug deep in her belly. Alaric held out his hands and Ilyssa unlocked the cuffs.

  “There,” she said, and dropped the shackles into a corner with a clatter of metal on stone. “No more chains.”

  “Thank you,” he said, rubbing his now freed wrists.

  Ilyssa watched with some surprise as he settled back onto the blankets and reached for his supper, using one hand to cradle the bowl and the other to eat.

  “Yes, this is much better,” he remarked.

  Ilyssa eyed the prince. He could be feigning complicity, she thought, biding his time until I let down my guard. She smirked. Prepare yourself for a long wait, Your Majesty.

  Snagging her own dish and the wine, Ilyssa sat down across from Alaric instead of near the door. She passed him the skin and he murmured his gratitude before taking a sip.

  “How about that story, now?” she reminded him.

  “Ah, yes. That.” He nodded. “Well, to tell it properly I suppose I should preface it with a bit of history.”

  He swallowed his mouthful of food and sucked the juice from his fingers – something most noblemen would call ill-mannered and even barbaric; while nearly everyone in the tribe did it, for some reason Ilyssa found it incredibly fascinating to watch Alaric engage in the act.

  He took another drink from the skin and began.

  “When I was a boy, my grandmother would recite fables and read to me. It was because of her that I developed a deep passion for books. I would spend hours in the palace library, poring over every tome that I could find.” Alaric set his dish down in order to gesture as he spoke. “This burning desire for knowledge followed me through the years as I grew into manhood. Recently, I happened upon a secret room hidden behind one of the library shelves. It was filled with scrolls and books, old and covered in thick layers of dust which spoke of how long they had gone untouched. Immediately, I began to go through every one of them. And what I found gave me reason to understand why they had been hidden away.”

  “What did you find?” Ilyssa asked.

  “A very special book.” Alaric dragged both hands through his hair, raking the black mass away from his angular face.

  “It appeared to be some kind of holy scripture, detailing the origins of my people…but it was not in keeping with the stories Grandmother had shared with me.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “In that moment, I discovered that everything I ever knew before had been a lie.”

  “How do you mean?” Ilyssa asked, tilting her head and frowning.

  Alaric hesitated. Looking away from Ilyssa, he focused on the low-burning lantern by the door.

  “My people have long believed that Werewolves were born of this world,” he said. “We were taught that Humans had been created as a plague to test our faith in the Mother Goddess.”

  Hearing this made Ilyssa snort. “Really?” she chuckled. “Well, that’s a funny coincidence. Where I come from, everyone thought that Humans were the original inhabitants, and that Werewolves came about after one of The Fates had been playing around with dark alchemy and made a monster that was half-hound, half-man.”

  The corners of Alaric’s mouth twitched with a bemused smile.

  “How interesting that each race would see the other’s invention as something terrible,” he said. “But it would seem both stories are wrong. According to the book I found, the Mother Goddess had two children – one Werewolf, the other Human – and she loved them both equally. They all lived together on another world until a ball of white fire came and destroyed it. The Mother Goddess managed to escape with her children. She wandered the stars in search of a new place to live and eventually came upon this world. Unfortunately, it already belonged to another deity, and a very spiteful one at that. He told the Mother Goddess she could leave her children here but under the condition that they would be divided, their love for one another destroyed as they were forced to become enemies. Out of desperation, she agreed, but before separating her children she place an enchantment on them. A day would come, she declared, when their descendants would learn the truth, reconcile their differences, and reunite again as One Family.”

  He arched an eyebrow at Ilyssa. “Would you care to know the names of her children?”

  “Let me guess,” Ilyssa drawled, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “’Emberi’ and ‘Lobishome.’”

  “Quite astute.” Alaric smiled and nodded. “Yes, the two ancient kingdoms divided by hate – one ruled by Humans, the other by Werewolves – are named for the Mother Goddess’ unfortun
ate children.”

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am a child of Lobishome. I was on my way to Emberi last night for a clandestine meeting with someone born of that kingdom who believes as I do, that the time has come to put an end to the centuries-long feud and live in harmony.”

  “That’s a pretty incredible story, all right,” Ilyssa said. “Now, allow me to impart a little story of my own, one that’s equally interesting.”

  She brushed at a smudge on the knee of her trousers. “Word has it that Lobishome has decided it’s tired of being a land-locked kingdom and has started to look toward Emberi’s ports with plans to invade and conquer. There’s even talk that your father, King Mardell, has been strengthening his army in secret for this very purpose. If there’s any truth to these rumors?” She looked at Alaric and shook her head. “There’ll be no happy ending for that little tale.”

  Alaric grimaced. Standing up again, he paced to the back of the room.

  “I regret to report that everything you’ve heard is true,” he muttered. “My father is indeed preparing for an attack, one which will result in tens of thousands of deaths – Human and Werewolf alike.”

  His boots scraped the floor as he pivoted around to look at Ilyssa again.

  “That is why I have been working in secrecy to undermine his plan. What I am doing is treasonous and son or no son, by law my father will be forced to put me to death if I am found out. I have been in communication with a woman from Emberi who believes as I do, that the fighting between races must end and we must do what is necessary to protect our people. That is why we agreed to meet, at a predestined point between the two kingdoms.”

  As he spoke, the prince’s demeanor began to change. Ilyssa could see this in the way he carried himself. His jaw clenched, and his hands now formed fisted at his sides.

  She could also hear it in his voice, too, the soft tenor shifting from solemn to agitate. “Who is this woman?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Is she someone from the royal house?”

  He shook his head and turned away once more. “I cannot be certain. What I do know is that she is someone of great import, and that she has something which will guarantee our success. She said she would share it with me when we met after midnight this evening. I had hoped to arrive early, to wait for her.”