The Alpha King's Mate novel Chapter 8

Walking back toward the edge of the forest with the pelts, I try not to imagine their last moments.

After burying the hides, I return to Wellmore Village. I approach a group of middle-aged women sitting on wooden crates, crocheting, and ask them if they can tell me anything about the wolf pelts. They give each other funny looks before one of them speaks.

"Villagers have been scouring through the forest and going as far as entering Moon Crest to hunt and kill rogues and bring back their pelts to sell at market. It has helped everyone pay the tax rise. They fetch more at the market than a normal wolf because they're thrice the size. Most of the villages in West Wallow sell these pelts. If taxes are unpaid, it's five lashes by King's orders," she explains. I thank the women and head to the next village.

Arriving in Treehold at sunset, a group of locals complain about the tax hike and the food shortage they

now face. An elderly lady chats quietly with her husband outside a tavern.

"We can barely afford the regular tax! War costs money, and protection from the werewolves is paramount, but where does he expect us to get the money?" She says, her hands clasped in her lap.

"My dear, it puts Treehold and us in dire straits. I might have to accept lashes instead." Her husband says, patting her knee.

"Don't talk nonsense, Harold, you old fool! If anyone is going to get lashes, it'll be the soldiers, by me!"

"Now, who's talking nonsense, Margaret? They'd execute you on the spot if you tried to fight them. We'd be very lucky if they didn't burn our house down for it," Harold says.

"You're right. We'll just have to think of a way to come up with the money," Margaret sighs, and I approach the couple.

"Good evening, I wonder if you can direct me to your local Tavern, please?"

Margaret cocks a brow and looks me up and down with a smirk of approval.

"What business does a handsome man like you have in a small town like this?" Margaret asks flirtatiously.

"Margaret!" Harold shouts.

"Oh, calm down, dear. I'm just having a little fun."

Even though I'm young enough to be her grandson, I reach for her hand and place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

"I'm very flattered you think me handsome. It's a shame you are married, Margaret, for I'd scoop you up now and run far, far away with you."

"My hand! It's on fire! What do I do, Ember?" I'm squawking and flapping about like a dazed baby bird.

Ember rolls onto his back and feigns sweetness. He isn't worried at all. I soon realise the flame isn't burning me.

"You knew I could do this, didn't you?" I ask him.

Ember stands and nuzzles his face against my calve like a cat. I close my hand, and the flame disappears.

"Ember, what am I? What else can I do?" I ask him. He eyes me before running off through some trees.

"Ember! Don't you run away from me, Mister! Get back here!" I shout as the energy fills my palms again, and a big gust of wind encircles me in a wave. I'm impressed and stunned.

"It's working," I say happily to no one. I take a breath and gently blow towards a pebble.

A small gust blows the pebble across the ground.