Fated for Her Wolves - Tara West Page 0,16
Tor asked.
“I’m not sure.” Bunic Klaus stood and rested his knuckles on the table. “We will call an emergency tribal meeting and discuss it. In the meantime, we are to remain vigilant.”
MUCH TO HER CHAGRIN, Tatiana found herself sandwiched between Constantine and Dimitri. Not that she minded being next to Constantine, but sitting next to Dimitri was like being pressed against an iceberg. He kept his attention focused on the center of the big barn. It was old and smelled like musty hay, but it had been recently painted. It was nothing like the beautiful structure the Alaskan tribe had, with coliseum seating and carved pine pillars, but it had been improved. Ever since the brothers’ grandfathers had taken over as chieftains, they’d been making improvements to the town, from fixing potholes to painting fences. The Lupescu wolves took pride in their community, and it showed. Hopefully, the brothers did, too, and the house they’d been fixing up would look a lot better than when she’d last seen it.
When Bunic Klaus walked to the podium in the center of the barn, everyone still standing took their seats, waiting for him to speak.
Bunic Klaus raised his hands, and the crowd went silent. “Brothers and sisters.” Lines of worry framed his eyes and tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I have called this emergency meeting because of a recently discovered threat to our community.”
The crowd hissed until he raised his hands once more.
“The Russians that have infiltrated our town”—he paused, clearing his throat and perhaps gathering his courage—“have brought a demon with them.”
It was as if a vortex had sucked up all the energy in the room. Everyone gaped at Bunic Klaus.
A middle-aged man with stark, white hair and a thin scar bisecting his upper lip jumped to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Bunic Klaus. “How do you know this?”
“Fucking Atan,” Dimitri murmured, his brothers growling with him.
Tatiana knew all about Atan Albescu. She glared at him, standing a few rows behind them. Atan’s fathers, the senior Albescus, were the former chieftains. The alpha and beta had died a few years ago, leaving behind a frail widow and two brothers who were rapidly going senile. Atan and his brothers would have inherited the chiefdom if their fathers hadn’t royally fucked up, allowing an old grudge to put the entire tribe at risk. Tatiana suspected, judging by the way Atan glared at Bunic Klaus, that their grudge was not forgotten. It had most likely grown and festered since Bunic Klaus had taken over as head chieftain.
Tatiana had her own personal grudge against Atan. He and his brothers had once tried to kill the Lupescu brothers, and their punishment, voted on by the tribe, had been only a monetary fine and a reduction in rank, hence why he and his pack now sat in a middle row.
Puffing up his chest, Bunic Klaus matched Atan’s glare with one of his own. “My sons and the Thunderfoots encountered her on the road. She smelled like dark magic.”
Atan’s upper lip pulled back in a feral snarl. “Why didn’t they kill her?”
Bunic Klaus didn’t falter, leaning over the podium with a growl. “They were not sure if she was a demon or a witch.”
Atan snorted. “Would it have mattered?”
Boris jumped to his feet, his hands curled into claws and his eyes shifting into silver suns. “Do you forget our mate is a witch, or do you mean to insult her?”
“We mean your mate no insult.” Atan flashed a crooked smile. “She is one of us now.”
Tatiana’s veins iced over when the brothers broke into low growls, hunching over the backs of their chairs as if they meant to jump over them. Atan’s three brothers stood beside him in a threatening stance. Though she wasn’t afraid of her mates losing a fair fight, the Albescu pack fought dirty.
“Easy.” She settled a hand on Constantine’s arm, pleased when his growls eased up, his brothers following his example.
Much to her dismay, the Albescus continued to growl.
Bunic Klaus let out a powerful roar that rattled Tatiana’s bones.
She gulped when his face completely transformed to that of a protector, his nose wide and flat, his white, furry brow extended. “Please calm yourselves,” he rumbled. “We cannot battle the enemy when we are fighting amongst ourselves.”
Atan threw his arms wide, a virulent gleam in his eyes. “What do you propose we do, chieftain?” There was no mistaking the venom in his tone when he called Bunic Klaus “chieftain.”
Her wolf scratched at