Falling In Love With The King Of Beasts

Chapter 342: Scenting the Air - Part 1

LERRIN

Suhle sighed and her body slumped, but she nodded and pulled her hood back up before she pushed out of the tent flap and into the bright, late morning sun.

He immediately regretted sending her out and started after her, but as he reached the flap, he heard the guards sniggering and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Don't worry," one of them muttered as she passed, "You piss the King off, one of us will be happy to take care of you."

She growled and they both laughed. Lerrin shook with pure, murderous rage. Shoving the tent flap aside, he stormed out. The two guards snapped to attention, all laughter gone.

He stared back and forth between them, keeping his face expressionless, but feeling his strength and certainty, brimming with the Alpha power until they both began to twitch with the desire to submit.

"If either of you," he said in a voice low and smooth with promise, "or any other male in this camp ever so much as touches her, I will personally bite out his throat and throw him to the vultures." He let himself sit with the rock-solid certainty of his dominance and willingness to follow through the promise, knowing they would scent it on him. "Are we understood?"

They both nodded and saluted. One of the quivered.

Lerrin let himself smile the way he would at prey. "Tell your friends: If I catch one of them touching her—or any female who hasn't made the signals—I'll come for them… and for you."

One of the guards dropped to a knee, fist to his chest and eyes to the dirt. "Yes, Sire."

The other shook with the struggle not to submit, but nodded and saluted again. "Yes, Sire," he said breathlessly.

Lerrin looked at them both a moment longer, letting the hint of a growl putter in his throat. Then he looked for Suhle, to go after her. But she was gone. "Which way did she go?"

The guards both blinked and looked around. "I… I don't know, Sire. You came out and—"

"Hold your posts and remember what I said," he snarled, then started down the trail towards the cookpots. Perhaps she had gone to get some lunch.

But almost an hour later he was still wandering the encampment and coming up with nothing. At least, no sign of Suhle. How did she disappear that way? In part it made him relieved. She would be safe until she felt like coming back.

And she would come back, he told himself. She knew him well enough now to know his anger would ease. He would have to apologize to her. But she would return… wouldn't she?

He turned back towards his tent. Perhaps she had already returned and was waiting for him?

He picked up his pace. He was on the other side of the encampment now and it would take some time to get back. He couldn't be seen to hurry because his rush would make others think there was reason to panic. But he could walk briskly, as if he had somewhere to be. Then those who saw him would be less likely to ask him to stop and speak.

As he walked the trails between tents, he continued scanning for Suhle, but without any sight or scent of her, something else began to draw his attention—and raise the hair on the back of his neck.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

There were still occasional campsites with the mess and ill-discipline he had rebuked earlier. He would have another word to Asta. Those who were guilty needed to be given a final warning. He would not have this self-indulgence!

But the mess wasn't what made his skin crawl.

A camp like this was always busy. Fighters and scouts worked on shifts, so there were always some awake and some asleep, no matter the hour of day or night.

And where soldiers or trackers were not working, they congregated in packs to play cards or drink.

Lerrin had no issue with drinking. He enjoyed thistlewine in particular—and in his youth he hadn't been above a night with his pack mates getting legless.

But now? During war? Alcohol clouded the mind and made a strong body weaker. Yet, when he passed the third fist of soldiers laughing raucously though it was only lunchtime, his hackles rose.

Then he turned a corner and found one of the servants, a washer, lugging two large baskets of laundry back to her tent. And right on her tail, two males, smiling and nudging each other. Neither offering to help with her heavy load, though they clearly had their focus on her. And her scent prickled with… weariness? Not fear, exactly. But a resigned air. As if this was not a new experience for her and one she did not enjoy, but fully expected to meet again.

He stepped out of the way, off the hard-packed trail for her to pass with her baskets and she inclined her head towards him. "Sire," she said quietly.

He let her pass, then stepped up before the two males, his expression intentionally stony.

"Sire!" they both snapped to attention and saluted. So they were soldiers.

"Busy day?" he asked them casually.

They looked at each other, then the one on the right, with rust-colored hair and a scar on his cheek, answered. "Not today. It's our day off," he said hesitantly, as if unsure if Lerrin approved of days off.

He did, as it happened, by they didn't need to know that.

"If you wish to help with the laundry, it can be arranged," he said, tipping his head. "That is why you follow her, correct? Because you want to be of aid to her?"

The second male, dark haired and shorter, stockier, snorted a laugh. "Sure!" he said with a grin. "We always want to help."

Lerrin waggled his eyebrows and the two looked at each other, smiling. Apparently these kinds of fun and games were not a surprise.

Not even with their King.

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