Nik Johnson fucking hated meetings. Since he was a pack master, however, they were a necessary evil.

When he thought his head couldn’t possibly be crammed full of any more nonsense about real estate, a welcome knock came at the door to the meeting hall. He glanced at his watch. It was scuffed as hell, but that was what he loved about it. They’d been through shit together. He’d never been the type to splurge on pricey shit just for the hell of it. “Pricey” often meant “status symbol” to him, and he fucking hated that shit. Living in a manor had always set him ill at ease too, but at least he had a roof over his head.

Nik wrapped up the meeting and adjourned the three men before him. Sometimes running the pack felt more like being the president of a very rowdy private club. They had a president (him), VP (his Beta), a treasurer, a scribe, and so on. They met once a week to discuss pack business and get their affairs in order.

Definitely not the rock-star life he’d imagined as a kid.

After everyone had cleared out, a throat cleared, and Nik looked up to see who had rapped at the door.

The werewolf stopped before him and bowed his head. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, the unofficial uniform of the Moonstruck Pack. Nik really should make them clean up and look like respectable werewolves, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. It was the least of his mounting concerns.

The werewolf smacked his fist over his heart, the token sign of respect and loyalty among the pack. “Sire, the High King is here.”

Nik had to resist the urge to growl. Now he knew exactly how irritated his brother had felt when called “Your Highness,” “Sire,” “Exalted One,” and whatever title Nik could come up with just to needle Gage. “Thank you,” he said, forcing his lips to stretch in a tight smile. “I will meet with him in the drawing room.”

The drawing room was just a fancy phrase for Nik’s office, but it was still fun to say it. He smiled inside. Maybe some of Alara had rubbed off on him after all.

His office had made quite the change since Malachite’s reign. For one, there were no longer skulls and stuffed wolf heads in there. The whole thing had been fucking morbid, and he’d torn it all down and completely remodeled it first thing. Well, actually, Gage had done that. He couldn’t stand it either.

While Gage’s tastes were more muted than Nik’s, the office was functional. No bells, no whistles, no fancy pencil sharpener, because let’s admit it, who the hell still used pencil sharpeners? Nope, just plain and simple. Nik had, however, indulged himself in adding pictures of motorcycles everywhere, along with some motorcycle knickknacks just for the hell of it. He had to make the office his somehow. Telling himself it was because he was a werewolf and they marked their territory was how he’d justified buying all that shit.

He followed Bracken, an older werewolf who looked as if he’d been a stoner in the seventies, into the office. The manor was crawling with more watchful werewolf eyes; Gage’s royal guards had apparently had no problem dispersing themselves in strategic positions. Everyone seemed wary but civil, at least. It was the best he could hope for in any event combining werewolves from two different packs.

A pair of guards—his, judging from the holey, torn jeans and all-around “thug” look—opened his office doors. He strolled in, the office stretching before him. It was long and big, no pun intended, at least twenty by thirty feet. He had a sitting area with some comfortable leather furniture, since no man cave was complete without it. Considering he practically lived here, or in the bedroom with his mate, this was as close to a man cave as he was going to get.

The other half of the office housed his massive oak desk and row upon row of shelves filled with books, files, and other important documents.

A tall man stood to greet him.

A smile immediately spread across Nik’s face. “How’s the first month in office treating you, Your Highness?”

“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?” Gage said, smiling widely as the two brothers embraced.

One of the royal guards still lingered nearby and cleared his throat.

Gage held up a hand. “It’s all right. He doesn’t have to bow and all that.”

Nik grinned. Gage was already turning out to be a fine king. He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “About damn time we put someone on the throne with an even head on his shoulders.”

Gage’s eyes shone with pride. His eyes cut to his guard, who looked ready to draw his gun on Nik. “It’s fine. Tell the others to see that my queen is okay. You are dismissed.”

The guard looked uncomfortable at leaving but obeyed. Once the doors were shut and they were alone, they relaxed their shoulders. Gage closed his eyes and sighed. No one would guess by looking at his button-up plaid shirt, jeans, and boots that he was a king.

“It’s so good to be back,” he said, glancing around. “I see you’ve redecorated. Have you taken Alara out for any bike rides yet?”

“A few,” Nik said. “She still wants to hold on too tight around curves.”

“And that’s a problem?” Gage asked with a suggestive smile.

Nik snorted. “Nah. You know how I am.” Which was perpetually horny. He definitely wasn’t complaining about feeling Alara’s generous breasts bunched up against his back whenever they went for bike rides. It took everything in him not to pull over and tug her into the woods on some of their longer rides.

Gage’s eyes lingered about the room, and his smile slanted sadly.

Nik didn’t need him to explain. He walked up to his brother and grasped his arms, squeezing. “This is still your home too. Anytime you need to get away.”

Gage’s smile broadened. “Thank you, brother.”

Nik gave him a gruff nod. It felt a little weird not seeing his brother in a month. He’d always been looking out for him, always protected him, but now he had an army to do that. The sting of being unwanted was tough at first—until Nik realized how fucking stupid that was. It wasn’t as if Gage were a toy that only Nik could play with. He was a High King now, with responsibilities. Both were now kings in their own rights.

Though Nik loathed the political bullshit that went along with the title, he vowed to be the best damn king he could. His brother had entrusted him with this gig, and no way in hell could he let Gage down and make him look bad.

Gage seemed just as uncomfortable in the awkward silence as Nik. He shifted his weight around and smiled.

Time to break the ice.

“Want a drink?” Nik asked, heading to the beverage counter.

“Would I ever,” Gage said, following behind.

Nik poured the two wolves four fingers of whiskey, and they sat down together on the leather furniture.

The two brothers sat in silence for a moment before Nik cleared his throat. “Well, since you know I’m not one to beat around the bush, I’m guessing you didn’t drop out of paradise just to say hello.”

Gage smiled. There was a tightness to it that set Nik’s wolf senses on edge.

Gage stared into his drink, swirling the glass’s contents. “I talked to Verika.”

Well, that wasn’t anything unusual. “And?”

When Gage didn’t look at him, Nik sat up. “Spit it out, bro. What’s eating you?”

Gage went still. When he lifted his gaze, it was as hard as stone. “Elijah is still alive.”

Nik thought he couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. He snorted and blinked, settling back on the cushions as he took a long swig of his whiskey. “Yeah, right. That son of a bitch ended up in a ditch a long time ago. Had to have, with the type of company he liked to keep.”

No, that last part didn’t sound bitter at all, his inner prick drawled.

“It’s the truth.”

When Gage didn’t once crack a smile, the giggles drained right out of Nik. A chill went through him. “You shitting me?”

“No,” Gage said roughly, downing the rest of his alcohol. “Never about this.”

Holy fucking shit. Elijah—Eli—was alive.

Nik had no idea how to begin to process how he felt about that. Relieved? Pissed off? Angry? It wasn’t anger at Elijah being alive, per se, as much as anger that the asshole was alive and hadn’t bothered saying anything to them about it.

How long had it been since they’d spoken? Years? Their childhood felt like a lifetime ago. Hell, it was a whole other life ago. They’d been completely different boys then.

Now, they were men with baggage.

Fuck.

Every curse word Nik knew spewed out of his mouth. He stood, pacing and still swearing.

Gage stood with him. “Verika called when Danica and I were in Colorado,” he started. “I would have called to tell you, but it didn’t seem like the type of thing you casually spoke of on the phone. I needed to tell you in person.”

No shit. He might have been tempted to blow it off as a lie or an ill-suited joke had Gage spouted this off on the phone.

Gage launched into the conversation he and Verika had had, how he’d picked apart everything she’d said. Nik knew Verika well enough to know she’d never joke around about something like this.

He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. The itch to drink burned his throat more than the whiskey did as he gulped it down like water. Before he could squeeze it any tighter and break it, he set his empty glass down and gripped the back of the couch. “Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk.” He heard the tear of leather. His nails had sharpened into claws as his inner wolf momentarily took over.

Calming himself, he released the couch and ran his hands through his hair. It still felt weird actually having hair to get in his eyes, but Alara seemed to like it. “Fuck.”

“You’ve said that already,” Gage teased lightly.

“I don’t know what else to say.” Nik let his arms flop back to his sides before he fell back on the couch like a rock. He stared into empty space. Oh yeah. The realization that Elijah was alive had fried his brain, all right.

Gage slowly sat, eyeing Nik warily.

Shit. “What now?” Nik asked, noting the edge in his voice.

“There’s more, about the pack,” Gage said carefully, leaning forward. “Brace yourself.”

Two words Nik never liked to hear. “What is it?”

Two minutes later, he was taking the whiskey straight from the bottle.