Chapter 0393

Damn woodland sprites. Never encountered them before, and I could've happily lived my whole life without this disaster. Now Isolde's invited them to hang out with our wolves. I'll have to double the patrols—make sure no one sneaks off for some quick fun with these creatures.

"Do you think wolves could actually mate with sprites?" Isolde asks as we walk back to the packhouse. Alistair had shifted—much to the delight of those sprite twins—and asked if they wanted to meet him at the pond after his shift. I’m surprised they managed to speak through all that drooling.

"No clue. Wouldn’t have guessed a ten-year-old fae prince would be mated to a Guardian’s daughter either, so what do I know?" I grumble, still irritated by the whole situation.

Isolde grabs my hand, stopping me. Her fingers slide into my hair, massaging my temples. "Let it go, love. They’re harmless. Like being stuck in a room full of toddlers—exhausting, but not dangerous."

I close my eyes, letting her touch soothe the headache threatening to split my skull. Leaning down, I press my forehead to hers before pulling her hips flush against mine. "Thanks, baby."

"So, Alpha." My eyes snap open, darkening at her tone. "Think you can make me shiver like those sprites did with just one lick?"

I laugh. "Sweetheart, when I lick you, I’m taking my time. I want to savor every bit of you." My nose brushes hers before I whisper in her ear, "But don’t worry, little Alpha. By the time I’m done, you’ll be trembling on my tongue." The goosebumps rising on her skin and the shiver down her spine are my reward.

We join the warriors for tournament training. I’ve narrowed the finalists to twenty, but half still need to be cut by week’s end. Every one of them is fighting hard for a spot. Leopold and I have been sparring with them daily, assessing their skills. Today, with Leopold on patrol, I’m pitting them against Isolde.

Sure, the training’s important, but I won’t lie—watching my mate take down every last warrior is pure entertainment. She’s every inch an Alpha female: strong, agile, ruthless.

Our mate is fire. Magnus purrs in my head.

Damn right. Look how easily she dropped that one. Didn’t even break a sweat.

She works through them one by one. A few stand out—lasting more than thirty seconds against her. They’re definitely in. The ones who didn’t last ten? Cut. By the end, I’m down to fifteen contestants for eight spots.

Dinner in the dining hall is lively. The space has been upgraded, with Nathaniel crafting longer, more elaborate tables. It’s coming together—another sign our pack is thriving.

Mid-meal, Theodore—the warrior who lost his leg—approaches. "Alpha, got a minute?"

"Of course. Want to join us, or is this private?"

He glances back at his family, his mate nodding. "Your family’s welcome too," Isolde tells him.

Hesitant, he motions them over. While Isolde and Lillian chat with the kids, I focus on Theodore and Rosalind. "What’s on your mind?"

"Well, Alpha… My mate mentioned you built her a smokehouse when you heard she knew how to cure meat. That it’d help the pack."

I nod. "Right. Something wrong with it?"

"No, it’s perfect. But if we’re staying—and we want to—I’d like to contribute too."

"What’re you thinking?"

He exchanges a look with Rosalind. "Hot sauce."

I blink. "Say again?"

"In my old pack, I made it. Sold well—not just to wolves, but humans too. We’ve got the garden space. Just need to plant peppers and a dedicated area to process them. Could bring in solid income for minimal upfront cost."

"You’ve done this before? Know what you’re doing?"

"He was the best," Rosalind cuts in. "Everyone said so."

"It’s a great idea, even if we only use it internally. But tell me—if you were so valuable to your last Alpha, why leave?"

They share another glance. "He taxed us into the ground. I was bringing in thousands for him monthly, but my family barely ate."

"We don’t think you’re like that, Alpha. Happy to pay our share, but we want to live off our work."

"Fair point. I’ll need to consider how to structure pack taxes." I’ll consult Adrian and Sebastian—see how their packs handle it. "What do you need to start?"

"Pepper plants."

"Easy."

After dinner, Isolde heads to the kitchens while I check on patrols. The report isn’t good—hunters have been spotted in the neighboring woods.

As I prepare to shift, a disheveled Alistair stumbles toward me, looking drunk. I rush over. "Alistair! You okay? What happened?" His hair’s a mess, clothes wrinkled, face smudged.

He grabs my shoulders, eyes wide. "Alpha! I think I’m in love!" Then he staggers off.

Damn sprites.