Mikage, The Lost Kami | Book III of The Eresthai Series

Laurent

Last week, if someone had told me I’d be on a plane to Hokkaido—by decree of the Moon Goddess, no less—I’d have laughed in their face. Yet here I am, sitting on a plane, sipping what I suspect will be my last tumbler of Lycan whiskey for some time, on my way to Japan in the dead of fucking winter.

Just because I don’t feel the cold doesn’t mean I enjoy being out in the snow—it’s wet, miserable, and has a talent for getting everywhere it shouldn’t. No matter how thoroughly you stomp your boots, it still worms its way inside.

For lack of a more apt description—This. Fucking. Sucks. Vivian didn’t even give me a place to start my search. Hokkaido, that’s it. That’s all she gave me. Thanks.

Hokkaido is huge, and by the look she gave me, she no doubt knows exactly where this stupid wolf is. It’s not that I mind going, but why do I have to go alone? Couldn’t someone at least have come with me? Sure, Lycans aren’t necessarily pack-dependent shifters like Werewolves, but I happen to like my friends. I know I’ll end up talking to myself and driving myself insane with only my Lycan for company.

At least I speak Japanese. There’s one bonus. I spent three years working in Tokyo for one of Nikolay’s corporations—that’s where I met Alexander. He offered me a job as his assistant, which came with considerably more travel. Much to Nikolay’s dismay, I took Alex up on the offer and haven’t looked back since.

That was over ten years ago. I’ve never been to Hokkaido, though. I’m curious to see it—curious being the only positive scrap I can dig out of the bottom of this up-side barrel.

There are only two Werewolf packs left in all of Japan, and no wild wolves at all; they went extinct in 1889. You can thank the humans for that one.

My search for this “lone wolf” will start in Sapporo. Alpha Ito might be able to help—might being the operative word. With any luck, he’s forgotten about the affair I had with his daughter years ago. How was I supposed to know she was the Alpha’s daughter if she didn’t tell me? I’m a lot of things, but a mind reader isn’t one of them.

Alexander used to warn me that these casual flings would eventually come back to bite me in the ass. I never really believed him, but our supernatural world is far smaller—and far pettier—than the human one. This upcoming, undoubtedly awkward reunion with Alpha Ito feels exactly like the sort of scenario Alex meant.

If the Mangetsu Pack refuses to help, then my only alternative is to play detective among the humans and sniff around for rumors of a wild wolf causing trouble. Goddess, that sounds like an exhausting amount of footwork. It’s been a while since I’ve had to get my hands truly dirty. Going to Siberia with Alex and breaking up that Were-war was tame compared to some of the shit I’ve done. There’s a reason I’m just an assistant now. Lycans don’t shy away from blood—we enjoy bathing in it—but not all the blood I spilled belonged to my enemies. That blood never washes off.

Closing my eyes, I pray that Alpha Ito helps me—that’s what it’s come to. Praying.

This is exactly why I put my playboy ways on pause: the potential backlash alone is enough to make any sane man consider celibacy. That, and ever since Alexander found Victoria, I’ve been…envious.

Sure, they had a brutal stretch—Alex spent years thinking he’d lost her and spiraled to a place he almost didn’t return from—but seeing them now, seeing their love manifest in their daughter, Madison, there’s no question. I want that. All of it.

If I ever find my Eresthai, the last thing I want is to look her in the eye and confess my exceedingly high body count. Not that I could give her an accurate number—I’m the walking definition of man-whore.

It’s been five months since I’ve dipped my stick, and without that outlet, I’ve discovered something unpleasant: I am, apparently, incredibly snappy and short-tempered.

No Lycan enjoys acknowledging flaws in their nature, but I don’t want mine running the show anymore. I’m trying—truly—to take pages out of Alexander’s book and train regularly to keep him leashed. Tae is especially impressive; his control over his Lycan is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The guy’s practically ancient—he comes from a different time, a different breed, where cultivating one’s zen is a daily priority.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the deep whoop of Vivian’s blink. I jolt upright, sloshing whiskey everywhere as the tumbler flips from my hand. Vivian freezes the liquid midair—every droplet suspended—then casually gathers it all back into the glass and holds it out to me.

She smirks. “Sorry to pop in on you like this. I forgot to give you something.”

Taking my drink resentfully, I make no effort to hide my irritation.

“I hope it’s a map with a big red X marking the exact location of this wolf you want me to find,” I mutter into my glass.

“I don’t want you to find the wolf. Selene does, silly goose,” Vivian says, flashing that insufferably smug smirk.

I narrow my eyes at her, fully knowing there’s only one person alive who can leash this unhinged sorceress. “Does Tae know you’re here?”

She scrunches her nose and shakes her head—far too pleased with herself.

“Wait—why couldn’t you just blink me to Hokkaido and spare me the trip?” I ask, my irritation levels rising significantly.

Vivian bats her eyes, smiling like the adorable menace she is. “Um, because I’m technically not supposed to meddle.”

My brows knit. “Then why are you here?”

Vivian chuckles mischievously. “To meddle, duh. Agnar may have given me a little heads-up before Selene took him, and I hold Agnar in much higher regard than I do Selene—no offense to your deity and all, but she’s the embodiment of a wet blanket. I also don’t have much time. I’m technically in the little girl’s room back at Tae’s place.”

Of course she is.

Vivian opens her hand and reveals a kunai. It looks pathetic. Old, blunt, and about as threatening as a butter knife.

“Wow, you shouldn’t have. Just, wow,” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick, “as in, no thanks, you really shouldn’t have. Keep it.”

“Touch it.” That playful smirk curves her mouth, but I know her well enough to recognize the warning: my big mouth is about to get me humbled.

“I’m not touching that,” I mutter into my whiskey.

“I dare you,” she pushes the kunai closer.

Sighing, I take the kunai. The instant my skin touches the iron, power surges up my arm—vibrating, pulsing and alive.

“Holy fuck.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge things by their appearance, Laurie,” Vivian singsongs. “Things are never what they seem. Then again, sometimes they’re exactly what they look like.”

“Useful advice. Thanks, Viv,” I grumble, still feeling the echo of power in my fingers. “What am I supposed to do with this thing?”

“I don’t know yet, but Agnar said you’d need it., so I put my juju in it. You’re also going to need my help at some stage. I don’t know when or how, but when you do, call me.”

“You know this is the definition of meddling.” I set my drink down and slip the kunai into my satchel. “And how exactly do I call you?”

“A drop of blood on the earth, as you say, my name out loud will do. It’s an old-school hail, but I’ll feel it as long as my feet are on the ground.”

A grin tugs at my mouth. “What if you’re on a trampoline? Or swimming?”

Vivian barks a laugh. “Then keep bleeding, ass hat.”

I snicker. “Terrific.”

“Oh, and this is for Alpha Ito,” she says, handing me a small wooden puzzle box with ornate inlay.

“Alexander may have mentioned he might be a potential hurdle for you to hop over,” she adds.

“Leap with a vaulting pole, more like it.” I shake the box, hearing something shift inside. “What’s in here?”

Silence.

I look up, and Vivian’s seat is already empty.

Typical.

Taking a deep, slow breath, I let it out. Vivian’s surprise visit was brief, but at least now I don’t feel quite as alone in this quest as I did five minutes ago. I hope she and Tae accept Alexander’s offer to join our little pack. I didn’t have much of a family growing up, but that’s the beauty of being a Lycan—we choose our family; we’re not born into packs, we build our own.

Werewolves aren’t so lucky. They’re mostly stuck with one another unless they choose to go Lone Wolf or get cast out as Rogue—and yes, there’s a difference. A Lone Wolf is someone who prefers solitude; their wolf’s aura stays pure. A Rogue Wolf is one exiled for something grave enough to warrant it. Their aura mutates—rots—and once that corruption sets in, it marks them for life unless another pack is willing to risk taking them in. Not many Alphas are willing to gamble their pack’s purity like that. Cleansing takes time and genuine, heartfelt effort.

Most Rogues band together out of necessity. Werewolves rely on structure and social ties far more than we do. Some search for redemption, some for revenge, but most live and die alone.

And come to think of it, I don’t even know if the wolf I’m looking for is a Loner or a Rogue—or what the hell I’m supposed to do when I find it.

I suppose time will tell.

I down the rest of my whiskey and raise the empty glass when the flight attendant glances my way. She approaches, placing a fresh tumbler on my little fold-out table and her hand on my shoulder.

“That’s a lovely puzzle box,” she says, nodding toward it. I bet you have a lovely box.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Savoy?” Yes, a foot rub and a nasty fuck in the galley.

“No,” I manage through gritted teeth as I remove her hand from my shoulder. Five months, Laurie—don’t throw it away on some sky floozy.

I down the new drink in one go and lean my seat back, hoping a nap will put me out of my misery. It works—until the plane lands, at which point I’m forced to start thinking about how the hell I’m supposed to find a needle in a haystack during a blizzard. Most of Hokkaido will be a frozen tundra, and while snow can be useful—absorbing ambient noise, making footsteps clearer, leaving tracks visible for me to follow—it’s a nightmare for scent work. Cold, humid air doesn’t carry scent far, and Lycans rely heavily on scent.

When I land at Sapporo airport and go through the motions of grabbing my luggage, the loneliness truly hits—only my bag to wait for, something I haven’t done since I started working for Alexander. The worst part of this mission is missing out on watching his baby grow up. She’s such a cutie with those striking blue eyes, and even though they have everything handled, I’m a sucker for freshly baked babies. I’m going to miss all of it—the first steps, the first words. She’s the first baby in our little pack, and I’m missing every milestone.

Growling in frustration, I force myself to mentally shift gears as I head toward the car-hire counter.

That’s enough whining. Enough pouting. Time to cut the crap and end the pity party of one. With my feet on the ground, it’s time to stop bitching and hunt down this damned wolf.