Jelayan: Wolves of Sorrow, #4

By Elaina Roberts

Six months.

Of peace. Of plenty. Of security after a lifetime of uncertainty in Sorrow. It should have felt like paradise. It doesn't. Not for a honed warrior used to long scavenger runs to keep her primal nature in check.

So when a stealth mission into a neighboring province drops into her lap, Jelayan pounces on it. There are just two problems: The mission comes with a partner, and their cover story is a relationship which has to convince more than just the enemy.

Jelayan doesn't need a babysitter, especially one as dangerously sexy as Kellan Avelaño. But she's forgotten one very important detail. Her partner is Rifaniir, and ambush predators strike when least expected.

When he decides to change the rules, their glorious night of passion changes everything. Now, she must fight her past, Fight her fear that everyone she loves will leave her. Fight to hold on to this man she didn't want and now can't live without.

Because more than just their mission is at stake. Kellan is Jelayan's mate, and she's a possessive beast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaina Roberts
• Release date: Feb 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223924586

Book preview

[01]

Kellan Avelaño’s table, please.

Jelayan kept her voice steady and confident, but her pulse pounded in her ears. She needed this. Her beasts needed this. Running her hands over the pretty blouse and slacks she’d worn for the meeting, she smoothed away any hint of wrinkles. The dressy clothing suited the venue, an intimate restaurant with tables nestled among a garden of flowers, but she felt naked without her weapons. Sure, she had her claws and fangs. And a knife in each boot. Okay, and a pulse pistol in a snug holster at the small of her back. Still, she felt naked without her tactical gear and cranky about it.

He’s expecting you, miss, the host said with a smile as sunny as it was false. This way.

The slender male led her through a maze of potted greenery arranged to ensure the privacy of the restaurant’s diners. She couldn’t identify the plants by either scent or sight. The flora of Barif was too unlike that of Earth Prime, too strange and overwhelming in its variety and color. She’d never known there were so many different shades of green, or that leaves could form a mesmerizing shift of light and shadow on cool, damp moss. The amount of water needed to maintain these plants could sustain a small pack for months. Such an extravagant waste. Such irrefutable proof of the vast differences between the two planets.

If Izabel was with her now, she’d touch a leaf and tell her all the ways it could help their people. From the drooping waterfall trees which eased pain to the spiked, giant aeloas which soothed burned skin, her best friend created salves and potions to augment the nanoinjectors more prevalent on their new world. But Izabel wasn’t with her. Her healer friend was happily mated to a Rifaniir soldier who adored her, and Jelayan was out of time. She’d arrived.

The male who rose at their approach roused her cat’s curiosity and sent her wolf into a wary crouch. Stocky and solid, Kellan Avelaño looked like a brawler yet moved with the grace of a dancer. Or a predator. The colors of the wastes lived in his galaxy eyes, from the golden sand of his sclera to the obsidian stars which swirled like a sound spout to form a unique pupil. Gold highlights streaked his dark brown hair cut somewhere between unkempt and military short. But it wasn’t his appearance which set off her instincts. His dominant strength raked jagged claws across her senses and urged her to defend herself or flee.

Jelayan! His smile was charming, his eyes assessing. So glad you could make it. I hope your trip into the city was pleasant.

Of course. She slipped into the empty chair across from him, pleased he hadn’t placed her back to the room. Instead, he’d shifted their chairs so both had a view of the restaurant. A small thing perhaps, but it showed he considered her an equal and not an accessory.

They chatted about the usual things—the recent unrest, the wolves’ integration, her best friend’s mating with the security director—lending truth to the fiction they planned to create. Nothing to see here, just two warriors laying the groundwork for a relationship. Definitely not a cover for a mission. Absolutely not.

Food ordered, Kellan rested his elbows on the table and his chin against his clasped hands. The razheen wants us to leave within the week. Will that be a problem?

No. Jelayan kept her voice as low as his and let her lips curve in a smile. Play the part. I’ve been seconded to the western sea border since the transport crash. With Nellerei reclaiming her position, it leaves me free to roam. Keelah’s placed the pack’s novices on internal sentry duty, so it won’t leave a hole there, either.

Good.

When the waiter brought their meal, both her beasts went on alert. The grilled fish smelled divine, the vegetable skewers steamed to perfection, but there was something off. Something wrong with the scents. Letting her cat rise to the fore, she drew in a long breath when the server moved closer to refill her glass.

A hint of cooking grease. A myriad of foods from simple breads to exotic meats. The alcoholic tang of spilled ale. And cold aramidium coated in oil. She kept her body relaxed and her muscles loose, but her claws sliced out in readiness. The scent had become familiar during her months of training with the security team and more so after working with Orav on the western border. She curled her lip to bare a small, curved fang. If this was a test, it was insulting.

Picking up her glass, she caught the waiter’s attention and growled. Sweat broke out over the young woman’s skin, water spilling from the pitcher in her shaking hands. Jelayan’s answering smile contained more fangs than friendship. It promised a bloody death for any aggressive act, such as using the pulse weapon concealed behind the server’s apron. The young woman stumbled back a couple steps.

What tipped you off? Kellan cut into his steak, chewed, and hummed at the flavor.

Everything has a scent. Directing her next growl at her dinner partner, Jelayan resisted the urge to rake her claws across his face. Arjun and Aadhire could have passed such a test while half asleep, and they were still pups. Including pistol oil.

Excellent. He looked up at the waiter and nodded. Once she left, he spoke between bites. My value to our razheen lies in my ability to complete my tasks without hope of backup. I’ve survived this long by taking very little on faith. I’m unfamiliar with the wolves in general and you in particular. Those who chose you won’t be on this mission. I will. I needed to judge your abilities before I relied on them to save us both.

A poor test, and one which betrays your inexperience with the wolves. Razheen Elloufen knows better and should’ve passed along that information. She placed her glass on the table and stabbed a small green vegetable which looked like a tiny tree. You’d have done better by poisoning the food. Warriors learn weaponry from the time we’re pups, but a subtle poison or other unknown contaminant in the food is harder to detect.

Perhaps, but the consequences of failing such a test are far more severe. I’m not sure I’d want to explain to the ka-Razheen why she’s mourning a packmate, he answered drily.

As long as the ingredient has a scent, you wouldn’t have to explain anything. She paused to eat the unknown vegetable, wrinkling her nose at the flavor. I took precautions just in case. Everyone’s a novice until they prove otherwise, and our noses aren’t something the Rifaniir are used to. Though it won’t help much if our opponents know how to shield their scents.

He tilted his head in a gesture of curiosity which was almost wolfish in nature. What do you mean by shielding scents?

"Just that. Every individual has a unique scent, but some of your people have managed to camouflage it to the point it disappears entirely. Many of the Kaleidoscope’s crew did so with varying degrees of success. Razheen Elloufen, however, is a ghost to my senses when he wants to be. She scowled at the inoffensive potato on her fork and muttered, Which seems to be always."

Unnerving?

Creepy. Growling, she ate several more bites to order her thoughts. Scent is an integral part of our lives. Those from Sorrow, that is. We track by it. Use it to determine if prey is healthy enough to eat. Detect sickness or infection with it. To see something or someone yet be unable to smell them makes us question everything we’ve learned to stay alive. As far as I know, only Razheen Elloufen has been able to mask his long-term, but that doesn’t mean others can’t. Director Til never has, nor have any of his soldiers. It could be an indicator of strength. She shrugged. I don’t know enough about your biology to make more than wild guesses, though.

I’ll ask him about it and see if it’s learned or instinctual. If it’s learned, it could be problematic.

Yes, but only to those familiar with wolf noses. What can be learned by one can be learned by all. It’s bad enough y’all turn all but invisible. If everyone learns to hide their scent, the pack’s dominants will find little use for their skills here.

Your pack is more than just their noses. A soldier is the sum of many parts—experience, skill, training, and natural ability honed to a razor’s edge. Your unique background means you’ll view situations in ways I won’t. It may give us an edge over our opponents.

His reply shocked her. Most Rifaniir, even those who’d welcomed the wolves to Warrior’s Weald, disregarded so much they’d fought to learn. That this deadly blade of a male saw the potential in not just her but all her packmates mattered more than she’d care to admit.

Thank you. I’ll do my best.

They fell silent when the waiter returned to refill their glasses. Kellan smoothly transitioned to discussing various tourist destinations around Barif, and Jelayan followed his lead. The less others knew, the fewer potential leaks.

We’ll need to spar often to see if I can make any adjustments to counter the Rifaniir’s insane speed, she said once she’d finished her meal. I’ve picked up a few things on my own working with the security team, but they’re specific to the individual. The way a particular soldier telegraphed a movement or attack. Not very useful against other opponents.

The ka-Razheen and Malia have been working on a training regimen since the pack’s arrival. They’ve agreed to show you tomorrow after the briefing. We’ll work out more as we travel. No one will find it odd that two martial dominants spar in their leisure time.

They spent the rest of the meeting solidifying their cover story. Neither felt they’d learn enough about each other prior to leaving Korlyn’s Glen to play at being an established couple. But a new couple, one just finding their way together? That, they could do.

***

Jelayan dodged the fist aimed at her jaw, absorbed the second blow to her abdomen, and raked her claws down her opponent’s outstretched arm. The Rifaniir soldier swore in an unfamiliar language and danced out of range of her second attack.

Point to me, she purred, cat and wolf in rare harmony.

Kellan grinned, showing off rows of sharp fangs. That’ll teach me to forget you have claws.

She flexed her fingers. Let me remind you again.

His laughter was like wind riffling through fur, equal parts pleasing and annoying. She paced him as they circled the room. Studied him. Assessed him as she would one of her trainees. His movements flowed with an easy agility, his strikes delivered with a speed and accuracy unmatched by any in the pack.

It took all her skill to defend against his next attack, and several shots made their way past her defenses. A booted foot skipped off her shin, a solid fist bruised her shoulder, an elbow robbed her of breath when it struck her side. All aimed to debilitate but modified to inflict no lasting harm. Jelayan growled, lowered her center, and let the cat guide her.

The wolf was a steady presence, loyal and relentless and patient. It gave her stamina to run for hours and the will to stalk her prey without giving in to growling frustration. But the cat… The cat was a wasteland lightning storm. Mercurial in its moods, agile and deadly, and with an unerring focus on the perfect place to claw or bite to take down its prey. She had to be careful when indulging her feline nature. The wolf knew how to play, how to spar without blood. The cat fought to win and rarely allowed an opponent to survive her claws.

They met in a whirlwind of fists and feet, punches and parries. Ducking, dodging, and dancing around the room. When he laughed again, she laughed with him, his joy in the match a contagious thing.

Full speed, ordered the statuesque woman by the door.

Malia Roussan, Razheen Vaistu Elloufen’s security chief, stood beside Jelayan’s packmate and ka-Razheen, Shoba. The two warriors served as spotters, judges, and coaches for the match. Occasionally, one or the other would shout encouragement, groan in sympathy, or bark an instruction on how to counter a particular strike. They’d assured her the mission was hers, their assessment of the match ensuring she knew where her strengths and weaknesses lay, but she couldn’t shake the fear they’d snatch this opportunity out of her grasp. And she needed this mission.

Jelayan couldn’t focus on that need, however, not with Kellan becoming a blur of movement she couldn’t dream of matching. Sand and sun, she’d already pushed her skills to their limits. Her beasts snarled, unwilling to accept defeat. They’d survived Earth Prime with all its dangers, survived the elders and their petty cruelties, survived a trip across galaxies. They would survive this, too. She parried his attacks by instinct rather than any conscious strategy. When he dodged a swipe of her claws, he pivoted into her strike rather than away, placing him in the perfect position to pin her arms to her sides and wrap his hand around her throat.

Stop, Malia and Shoba said in unison.

I call a draw, he murmured against her ear.

She growled softly and twisted free. Grabbing a water bottle, she drank half before turning to Malia. None of the soldiers training the pack move that fast. Have they been holding back on us?

Yes and no, Shoba answered. Director Til’s unit contains lower- to mid-level dominants on their first assignments, so they’re not as fast as those who register more strongly to our senses. Those on the higher end temper their speed to match their fellow soldiers.

Not helpful if we roam outside Korlyn’s Glen, Jelayan muttered.

My razheen doesn’t want to crush the wolves’ pride before you’ve had a chance to adjust to your new world, Malia said, "nor will he train a potential enemy. As several of your packmates have proven both on the Kaleidoscope and in Warrior’s Weald, gratitude doesn’t equal loyalty."

Nodding, she finished her water. She understood their reasoning, but it still felt like a betrayal. Which made no sense. She, herself, felt little loyalty toward the pack. The elders had destroyed that long ago. The only reasons she’d stayed when her cat wished to roam were a churning mix of love and guilt. She’d refused to abandon her best friend to Inez’s evil, and though Brienne held her partially responsible for Riordan’s death, she’d watched over the less dominant wolf as well. Izabel was now happily mated to Ranoch Til, and Brienne had found her true mate with the Tyelann’s Depths security chief. She had no remaining ties to the pack. So why did it still feel wrong?

Shoba.

Shoba was a member of the pack, and she’d allowed the Rifaniir to keep secrets from her packmates. Jelayan met the woman’s amber eyes and nodded slowly. Sorrow had never been home for Shoba as it hadn’t for Jelayan. Her ka-Razheen was too strong, too centered for the elders to do anything other than alienate her. And Jelayan, alone and scared and in an equally precarious position in the pack, hadn’t crossed the divide which separated them.

Fair enough. Her issues were her own and unimportant to the task before them, but afterward she’d extend the hand of friendship she’d been too afraid to offer on Earth Prime. Tell me what I need to change to stand a chance against one of the Rifaniir.

An hour later, Jelayan had some new skills to incorporate into her training regime, more bruises than she could count, and a second date with her partner. She needed to sell this budding romance to more than Baize Jal’Hallec and those loyal to the former razheen. She also needed to sell it to her pack. Because as much as the Rifaniir’s distrust rubbed her fur wrong, Malia had been right. There were some in the pack who couldn’t be trusted.

[02]

Before she could convince the pack she’d stumbled into a relationship, she and Kellan needed to manufacture a public meeting. The lunch at the restaurant was targeted toward the Rifaniir agitators. Few civilians would notice a random couple eating dinner. Fewer still would question where they met. The wolves were a different matter. The small group used to protecting each other against the sandstorms, raiders, and adders needed to see them together, needed to know his strength could handle hers. Jelayan rarely took lovers who weren’t warriors, her beasts needing someone who could handle her dominance without flinching.

Thank you for coming so quickly, Jelayan said as Kellan stepped off the transport. His muscles bunched when he slung a bag over his shoulder, his stride matching hers as they walked toward Friedrich’s den. Keelah’s kept the cleaners from the den until we give her the all-clear, but they’re eager to get it prepped for the next occupant.

Are they that certain Friedrich won’t return? He glanced over with an arched brow.

She growled low. "Even if he manages to survive the razheen and Director Til, which is highly unlikely, he won’t survive me."

Because he betrayed the pack?

She curled her lip and let the cat color her voice with its fury. Because he hurt Izabel.

She stopped in front of the small house formerly shared