Next thing I know, I’m waking up to whispered conversations around me. I open my eyes and have to shield them against the sun shining through the golden leaves above. Sprinkles of puffy golden clouds highlight the deep blue sky. A deep breath brings the crispness of fall air and the semi-sweet scent of sap retreating into the ground.

A whisper sounds from behind me. I roll and twist, grabbing a convenient stick along the way. I land on my knees, holding the stick between me and whatever terror may be in this place.

Crinkling blue eyes meet my own. Black as night hair falls into his pale face as he shakes his head with a lazy chuckle. “You think that little stick can protect you, Wolf?” He gestures to the small thing in my hand that’s but a hand's width long.

A smile that presumably comes off more as a grimace than anything crosses my face as I recognize the blue eyes of the black Werecat from the night before.

I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “It’s better than nothing, Were.”

I try to stand, but my ankle won’t hold. The black ducks under my shoulder in a show of speed that leaves me dizzy.

“Thanks, but I had it covered.” I say.

He rolls his eyes. “Sure you did. Sorry 'bout that.” He gestures to my broken and swollen ankle, truly sounding contrite. “We all thought you were spies from the royals. Two alphas, really? What were you thinking encroaching upon Were territory?”

“Last I remembered, Were territory was on the other side of the Dregs.” I respond. He shakes his head, but doesn’t comment. Instead, He drags me over to a fire and plops me on a log. A few others—a man and a slightly heavyset woman—are across from me. I am indeed grateful for the pair of pants that smell of cat, but for the second time in just over a week, I don’t wish to know who dressed me. Or my wounds, for that matter.

“The Shifters sent Dragons.” The black Were beside me continues as he dishes out soup from over the fire. “Our mounts fought hard, but even they are no match for the monstrosities your people sent.” He hands me the soup.

I take it with numb hands and mumble a thanks from habit alone. Tingles race up and down my back, and if I had fur, it would be lifted. Dragons sent by Shifters? No, that shouldn't be. Can't be right.

Last I remembered, we had an uneasy peace treaty. So long as Weres were on the other side of the vast desert called the Dreg and Shifters on this side, neither wolf nor cat could be said to be in violation of this treaty.

“When was this?” I ask.

“Three years.” He says softly, eyes peering into his bowl as if it held revered memories of a home loved—then lost.

About the same time I escaped the assassins' guild. No wonder I had no news of this. Perhaps I should have kept a closer eye on my homeland... but the pain was too much. I ran as far and as fast as I could, mentally and physically, eventually crawling up to my adopted parents' doorstep after disposing of the last assassin sent to retrieve me, on the other side of the continent from my land.

“And Alpha Teynal has nothing to say of this?” The Alpha may be ill tempered and easy to anger, but he is fair. He wouldn’t have broken the peace without cause. I sip the soup.

The black looks at me with piercing blue eyes, narrowed in suspicion, plus something I can't quite name. “The King is dead.”

The words are a sock to the gut. I immediately lean over, coughing. Black comes over and pounds me on the back, jostling my ribs and making me cough that much worse. I immediately stifle the coughs just to make him quit.

“He’s what?” I croak out. The Alpha was young for a Shifter. He should have had many years left.

The black-haired Were sits beside me and settles back when he decides I will not die by soup. He shrugs, unaware of my thoughts.

“The King was killed in his home by an infamous assassin. Rumor is his nephew wanted the throne, but no one alive dares say that. Greyson now rules.”

So my cousin had The Alpha killed, at least according to this Werecat. But I sense sincerity in this guy. As long as his facts are reputable; he believes he’s speaking truth.

“Who was the assassin?” I barely keep a growl from my voice. I’ll find him. And I’ll kill him... after I skin my cousin's pelt.

“Fang.” He speaks the single word somewhat reverently, as if it will bring this assassin down on him like some sort of forgotten deity.

“What?” I yelp. There’s no way. That is not only an improbability, but an impossibility.

He leans in as if sharing some great secret. “They have multiple witnesses that say it was Bloodfang. Beyond that, even the Masters Guild attests it was him.” He leans back, a smirk growing on his face. “Besides, it seems something Fang would do. Now all are searching for The King’s long-lost heir who was stolen some years back. Greyson is looking in every nook and corner, leaving no stone unturned. Most say the heir is presumably dead by now.”

He’s wrong. There is no way Fang would’ve killed his Alpha. I take a moment to think through the last thing he said.

“What?” I dumbly ask... again.

“I just said that everyone is looking for The King’s Son.” He gives me a once over and snorts. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, fine.” I mumble. So now, not only do I have the Master’s at my back, but my demented cousin before me. Yay me.

When did life get so complicated?.

When was it not?

True. But couldn't you have done us the favor of not being born a prince?

How can you blame me for my birthright?

Cause I can. It's my right. See what I did there?

Idiot.

Not healthy.

Shut up.

~~~

It isn't long before I'm left in front of a fire across from Were who were downright hostile and trying to kill me the previous evening. There may be some tension in the air.

The black cat introduces me to both his friends across the way who mumble a hello. I nod back, but don’t even hear their names as my mind whirls.

He leaves me to my breakfast after that, thank all that is good and holy. I might've killed someone if pestered. My mind and body are near breaking after... everything. I can feel it in the trembling of my limbs and the slowness of my thoughts.

My mind is having trouble absorbing all... this. I’ll have to ask some of my sources, see if they know—if they’re even still alive since I've been out of touch for many years. Hopefully, they are; I need some answers as to how, when, and why The Alpha died.

A deep snort and a bellow like that of a massive drum drawn from the windpipe of a dragon drags me from my thoughts as a huge monstrosity steps out of the forest. I gape. I had heard stories of the Werecat’s mighty Berserks, and yet no words can prepare you for something like this.

His mighty ivory tusks are as twice as long as I am tall, leaving me imagining one impaling me with a word from the Cats. I wince. No thanks.

What draws my eye next is his hairy snout, long and snakelike, with wrinkles and bristling fur all along the trunk. It is at least ten times my length.

The Werecats see my expression and laugh. Black flashes me a smile, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he takes in my shock.

I give the rest of the animal a once over. White fur like that of a mink covers its flank, and the stocky way it moves reminds me of a large draft horse I had once seen that was twice as tall as me. This giant is almost as tall as the surrounding trees. He moves around the trees like sand, always shifting and flowing, somehow not toppling any as he strips leaves from the tops using that massive snout.

I limp towards him, drawn by curiosity and a reckless sense of awe. As I move, he turns, his easy and gentle movement bringing me face to face with him.

He snorts out his long nose, spraying me with what I deeply hope is water, and making me stagger through the sheer force of his giant breath.

His colossal head swings my way, and I find myself gazing into a large brown eye. It is a kind eye; an understanding eye. And then I realize why I’m not afraid.

This massive creature is a gentle animal who could cause much havoc with a single step. He knows it. Yet, he is a placid soul with careful movements around us smaller beings. I set a gentle hand on his nose as he bends that head down to see me better. I feel like a flea next to a horse.

“You and I are much alike, aren’t we?” I ask softly.

He undulates his white snout, snaking it along my hand. He’s soft like velvet.

“I’ve never seen the like.”

“It’s like he knew him.”

“Crazy.”

The whispers draw my gaze to the others. They stand there staring with ranging expressions from mistrust to anger to amusement. Amusement from the Black who broke my ankle. Mistrust from the mother. Practical adoration in the bright, excited blue eyes of a cub only about ten years of age. Anger and jealousy from the others.

I step hastily away from the Berserk, as if caught with my hand in the candy jar. My ankle catches and I about splat on the ground. The Berserk wraps his snout around my waist, tenderly holding me still until I can regain my footing.

I scratch under his chin, my hand sinking into the folds of skin and feeling course whiskers underneath.

“Thank you, friend.” I whisper.

He releases me with a regal bow, slowly dipping his head. His eye regards me for a long moment, then he turns, going back to strip the trees of their dying leaves and bark.