Mated to the Werewolf King Book 3

‘Produced by: Bethany Sharp’

‘Written by: Cecilia Gigliotti & Ellis Stump’

‘Sound by: Meaghan Bardwell’

A lot can change in three months.

Three months ago, did I expect to become the reigning royalty of the Underworld, the city planner for Demon Island, or the literal Queen of Hell?

Did I expect to be overseeing the place previously run—or rather, run—down—by Lasarus, whose name still made me feel sick to my stomach?

But whose subjects—some at least—still adored him?

No.

I definitely was not prepared for any of that.

It was quite a project to take on.

And on top of all that, did I expect to be doing it with my birth mother by my side?

The mother I, only three months back, did not yet know was still alive?

But who now acted as my right hand, always anticipating my every move and offering the most brilliant input, ideas, and advice?

Almost as if she could read my mind?

Almost as if…you know, we were genetically related or something?

No.

I didn’t expect any of that either.

But I embraced it.

Here we were, my birth mother Shea and I, sitting across from each other over breakfast in the ornate, gothic-style great hall of the palace.

We had managed to brighten it quite a bit by installing massive wall-length windows for natural light, adding soft cushions and rugs for comfort, and importing in some fresh houseplants.

My aim was to begin internally with renovations in the castle, then project that energy outward to the rest of the Island and its people.

If the demons felt surrounded by beauty, perhaps they’d feel inspired to reflect that peace within themselves.

Shea was heading the remodeling operations, and she was perfect for the job.

She was organized, confident, and efficient. An amazing role model for me too.

All in all, we wanted to make serious changes to the Underworld. Inside and out.

Not only in the physicality of Demon Island, but in the leadership, purpose, and economy.

The demons had been treated horribly by Lasarus, who had led them to believe they were worthless.

Shea and I wanted to reteach them their value so that they could become contributing members of our little society.

Those were our goals.

Lofty, sure, but flying high was hardly a challenge for two witches, right?

As Shea and I reviewed our weekly agenda and progress report, I realized how far along we’d already come toward actualizing those goals.

“How’s cleanup by the south coast coming along?” I asked as I crunched down on my toast.

The kitchen staff always burned it a little down in Hell, but I didn’t mind too much. I chased it with juice.

“Wonderfully,” my birth mother replied. “We’ve cleared away almost all the debris and put out the unnecessary fires. The rest we’re dealing with just as you suggested, by corralling it into fire pits along the beach, like tame bonfires.”

We smiled at each other. Her eyes sparkled like stars.

Then I gazed out through our expansive open windows to the roaring sea. The waves crashed upon the shore in a steady rhythm.

Already, the water seemed clearer and bluer than before. It had struck me as black and gloomy when I’d first seen Demon Island.

“You’re making this place beautiful, Shea,” I said.

Sure, it felt odd still calling my birth mother by her first name. But referring to her as anything else felt even weirder. Or would at least take some getting used to.

From the way she talked about him, he sounded so special.

I loved it when Shea slipped into those nostalgic moments, offering just the tiniest glimpses into my past. The part of my story I had never before known.

Working together, primarily just the two of us, was a dream come true.

Shea and I were a dynamite duo reconstructing an intimate space to match our mutually decided-on vision.

There was no one to stop us, or question us, or thwart our progress.

Well, almost no one.

As if on cue, the Demon Priestess swept into the dining room.

Her dark velvet cloak rippled behind her, and her heels click-clacked loudly on the hardwood floor, echoing through the space.

Since surviving my dark lightning bolt a few months back, she seemed to see us on the same level, power-wise.

She still totally disregarded my position as queen and took every opportunity to make me doubt myself.

As if I didn’t already second guess every action of mine.

I was so anxious to make a good impression, so obsessed with doing a good job at fulfilling my destiny and making my mother proud.

The Demon Priestess pretty much spoke for the few vocal demons who preferred Lasarus’ rule.

Despite being an unofficial representation, she was committed fully.

“Another protest, by the south coast this time,” she reported smugly.

I could see the gleeful twinkle in her eyes, which completely contrasted the sparkle in Shea’s. They were motivated by different things.

“They hate the renovations,” continued the Demon Priestess. “Fire pits? Who do you think we are? A bunch of crunchy granola, Earthly campers?”

From the corner of my peripheral vision, I saw my mother’s face fall, disappointed. I could hardly mask my own annoyance.

The outbursts of discontent were still manageable—barely—but growing in size and risk every day.

I pushed myself up from the table.

“I’ll deal with it,” I said.

Being the Queen of Demons was no easy task. Which, just three months ago, I had not expected to even be taking on, much less embracing.

And of course, I missed Keith every waking minute of every day.

Nine months until the myriad cracks caused by our use of portals would heal enough to safely go through again.

Nine months until I could see my mate again. If only for one day.

The heartache pulled at my chest, pulsed deep in my core, nagged in my brain.

It tired me, drained me, infuriated me.

But I was dealing with it.

One way or another.

Occasionally, my longing for Belle felt so intense that I almost swore she had to be experiencing it simultaneously.

I imagined a rope connecting us that we took turns tugging, just to remind the other that we were still there.

I was on a walk around the palace grounds with Xavier, addressing our plans for kingdom reconstruction.

The last few months had been dedicated to grieving: mourning all who had passed away in the series of battles, and offering respectful healing time to their families, mates, and friends.

But now, three months in, Werewolf Kingdom was ready to regroup.

Or, I was at least.

I was ready to take drastic measures in hopes of uniting the kingdoms of the Earthly Realm—wolves, vampires, and witches—just the way Belle would have wanted.

How the others would react, I wasn’t quite sure.

But I was about to find out.

“I have an idea,” I began slowly.

“I’m listening,” Xavier said.

He always was. That was one of the traits I appreciated most in him.

Xavier, my trusty right-hand man, was so dependable. In my current state, missing my mate and addressing brand new leadership strategies, this did not go unnoticed.

“I think we should gather the other kingdoms. Representatives from each, in an assembly of sorts, to talk about ruling our respective people in a…more uniform way.”

Xavier was listening. But he didn’t know what to say.

I knew it was a lot to ask, considering Xavier’s recent history with vampires.

After the vampire woman he fell for had turned out to be a traitor, he would understandably have trouble trusting any of the others.

“It sounds crazy,” I admitted. “It would be a huge undertaking, I know. But it wouldn’t be possible without your help.

“I need you, Xavier,” I continued. “You’re friendlier than I am. I need your assistance recruiting representatives, persuading them to join.”

We stopped walking. He glanced down at his feet, avoiding my gaze.

I took a deep breath.

“Are you in?”

As Keith’s long-time friend and Beta, I supported his ideas and motions wholeheartedly.

But this was asking a lot.

A silence passed between us. I could feel his energy—somehow optimistic and desperate at the same time.

Objectively, an assembly of kingdoms made perfect sense. It would be highly constructive for the future of the Earthly Realm.

But personally, the mere idea churned my stomach.

Finally, I looked up to meet his eyes.

“Fine,” I said. “I mean, of course.”

After accepting Keith’s task, I retired to my room, mind reeling. Over the span of the last few months, I had succeeded in pushing Renee from my thoughts.

For the most part. At least, enough to keep the pain at bay.

But now, she was back in full force.

“Come in,” I called in the direction of my door, quickly pulling myself together and honestly thankful for the distraction.

Zena burst in, eager.

Skirting over any greetings, she announced: “I overheard you and Keith discussing this assembly of kingdoms. I want to help.”

My sister had always been headstrong, if not slightly undirected.

“Uh, Zena…”

“I want more responsibility. I have tons of energy to offer; I can handle it.”

“Zena, all the traveling… It might not be safe. If anything happened to you—”

“I don’t have to come with you,” she replied. “That might be weird anyway… I mean, if Keith’s going too. I’m just…”

She let out a sigh before she continued. “I’m tired of playing this role, Xav. Of being known as nothing more than the king’s jilted ex.”

“That’s not all people think of you—” I began.

“Or his Beta’s sister,” she added. “I’m ready to do more around here. To contribute.”

Her eyes were almost pleading.

“Fine,” I said. “You can deal with things here on the home front in my absence. Represent the face of the Royals. I mean, we’ll have to run it by Keith, but…”

Zena flung her arms around me in a hug.

This was a big deal. A huge undertaking. We both knew.

“Thank you, brother. I won’t let you down.”

The coven was in an era of transition.

As was I.

Despite still grieving my brother, and a recent wave of unexplainable exhaustion, I had begun teaching a new generation of witches how to harness their magic.

That was giving me purpose. And hope for the future of the Wiccan people.

I sat by the fire one night, flipping through one of my dusty old books on the elements and collecting inspiration for upcoming lesson plans, when someone rang the chimes at the front door.

The beautiful sound danced over to my ears.

I typically welcomed visitors, especially in the wake of initiating magic education. But it was late.

Slipping on my house shoes and gripping my steaming tea, I shuffled to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.

And found myself face-to-face with a total stranger.

A warlock.

“Hello,” I said, unable to hide the hesitance in my voice. “Who are you, sir?”

“I’m Oleander, a follower of Tannon’s.”

At hearing my brother’s name, my heart twisted.

He proceeded: “I come to share in your grief and to seek the guidance of my mentor’s twin. Let me in?”