Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Administrator Venn waited until the last member of the dining staff had left before speaking again.

The doors closed softly behind them.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

The dining room still looked prepared for diplomacy rather than conspiracy: polished walnut beneath their hands, half-finished wine in crystal glasses, candles burning low between arrangements of winter greenery. Beyond the tall windows, the harbor lights trembled across black water.

Venn looked around the table.

”The people in this room are here because I trust them.”

Dean’s attention moved across the four councilors.

None appeared surprised.

Minister Corven sat with his hands loosely folded before him, while the others had abandoned the pleasant expressions they had worn throughout dinner.

Only allies.

Arion leaned back slightly. ”How many people know why we are here?”

”In this administration?” Venn asked. ”Seven.”

”Everyone present?”

”Five of us. My chief of internal security and one physician are the others.”

Hunter entered quietly from the side door at Corven’s gesture and took the chair that had been left empty near Dean and Arion.

Venn waited until he settled.

”We cannot afford wider knowledge.”

”Because of Draxil?” Dean asked.

”Because we do not know whose attention wider knowledge would attract.”

Corven reached beneath the table and retrieved a thin folder.

He did not slide it across immediately.

”There is a man living in the western residence.”

Dean’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of his water glass.

”Amaru?”

”Yes.”

Dean looked at Arion.

His husband’s expression did not change, but his attention sharpened completely.

”You are certain?” Arion asked.

Corven nodded. ”He arrived eight years ago under another identity. The original entry documents remain protected under our political-exile statutes, but I saw them myself before they were sealed.”

”Condition?”

”That is where our information becomes less useful.”

Corven finally pushed the folder across.

Hunter opened it first.

Inside were photographs Dean had already seen, though several were clearer than the intelligence copies they had managed to obtain from abroad.

The villa.

The medical vehicle.

The western road.

Two men standing beside the outer gate.

Dean stopped.

One was broad and dark-haired, perhaps in his forties. The other was older, heavier through the chest, with pale hair cut very short.

Even through a photograph, something about their posture was unmistakable.

”Alphas,” Dean said.

”Dominant alphas,” Corven corrected.

Arion’s gaze lifted.

”Both?”

”Yes.”

That complicated things immediately.

Dean pulled the photograph closer.

Dominant alphas were rare enough that two assigned to one isolated residence could not be a coincidence.

”Draxilian?”

”We believe so,” Corven said. ”Neither appears in the identity records provided to us.”

Hunter looked up sharply. ”You allowed unidentified foreign security personnel to remain on the island?”

Venn answered this time.

”They arrived under the exile agreement signed by King Ashar’s government. Their documents were valid then. The identities attached to those documents were not.”

”And you discovered that when?”

”Three years later.”

Hunter’s expression hardened.

Venn did not become defensive.

”By then, removing them would have required reopening an agreement involving a politically sensitive exile whose survival was supposed to remain confidential. We investigated instead.”

”And?”

Corven folded his hands.

”They do not report to either of the princes currently fighting over Draxil.”

Dean glanced toward Arion.

”That is certain?”

”As certain as we can make it without approaching them directly. No financial ties. No communications with either faction. No known family connection to their commanders.”

”Then Ashar,” Arion said.

”Possibly.”

Corven hesitated.

”Or someone outside Draxil.”

That was worse.

Dean looked back at the photograph.

”Claudia?”

”We have no evidence.”

”But you considered it.”

”Of course.”

Nobody at the table pretended otherwise.

Dean turned another page.

The remaining personnel were familiar from Hunter’s reports: a physician, a groundskeeper, domestic staff, and several local security contractors.

”The locals?”

”Mostly legitimate,” Corven said. ”They deliver food, maintain the exterior property, and conduct medical visits when requested. None are permitted unrestricted access.”

”By whom?” Dean asked.

”The two alphas.”

That answer settled heavily over the table.

Arion’s fingers tapped once against the folder.

”Who controls the residence?”

”We do not know.”

”You are the island government.”

Venn met his gaze evenly.

”We control the land surrounding it. The residence itself falls under the original exile protections. We can intervene for an immediate criminal threat or confirmed danger to an island citizen. We cannot enter simply because we have become suspicious of the arrangement.”

Dean understood the political problem.

Neutral territory survived by making its agreements dependable.

If Snake Island violated exile protections whenever governments changed their minds, nobody would trust it with another exile again.

”What about Amaru himself?” he asked. ”Has anyone spoken to him?”

Corven’s expression tightened.

”Not directly in years.”

Dean stared at him.

”How many?”

”Almost seven.”

That was much worse than he expected.

”The physician?”

”Sees him.”

”And reports?”

”Only that the patient is alive and receiving treatment.”

”Nothing about his mental state?”

”No.”

”Mobility?”

”No.”

”Whether he still has his scent glands?”

Corven shook his head.

Dean sat back.

Practically nothing.

Yet enough to prove Amaru had survived.

Venn reached for her glass but did not drink.

”There is another complication. We can discuss Prince Amaru with you because you arrived specifically seeking him and because the current situation creates a legitimate regional security concern. We cannot begin opening records on every person connected to that residence.”

”Why?” Hunter asked.

”Because the moment we start making broad inquiries, someone notices.”

Corven nodded.

”We have kept this investigation centered on one man. Amaru. Medical deliveries, movements associated with his residence, and personnel directly responsible for controlling access. Anything beyond that risks alerting whoever is watching the property.”

Dean looked toward him. ”You think someone is.”

”I think the security surrounding one exiled prince is disproportionate.”

That was difficult to argue.

Two dominant alphas alone made it disproportionate.

”How close have your people managed to get?” Arion asked.

”Public road only.”

”The grounds?”

”No.”

”The staff?”

”Approached outside the property when circumstances allowed. They know little.”

Hunter turned another photograph toward himself.

”And these two?”

Corven’s expression became grim.

”That is the real problem.”

He pointed to the older alpha.

”Our internal-security chief attempted surveillance four years ago. He was detected before reaching the residence.”

”What happened?”

”He was stopped on the road.”

Dean waited.

”That is all?”

Corven looked at him.

”He was a kilometer from the gate.”

Dean’s brows drew together.

The alpha had detected someone a kilometer away through forest and broken terrain.

Arion understood the implication too.

”Ability?”

”We do not know.”

Corven indicated the younger man.

”This one rarely leaves the property. When he does, the other remains. They alternate. One of them is always with the prince or between him and anyone who might reach him.”

”Pheromone output?” Dean asked.

”High. Both.”

Hunter closed the folder.

”Taking ordinary guards through them would announce us before we reached the front door.”

”Yes.”

”And island security cannot assist openly.”

”Not without violating the exile agreement unless we establish immediate danger.”

Dean looked at Arion.

They had found Amaru.

That should have been the difficult part.

Instead, somewhere behind the western ridge sat a prince they could not assess, protected, or imprisoned, by two dominant alphas whose allegiance nobody could identify.

Arion rested one hand on the table.

”We need to speak to him.”

Venn nodded.

”I assumed you would.”

”Can you get us onto the western road tomorrow without attracting attention?”

Corven glanced toward her.

Venn considered it for several seconds.

”The ecological reserve route can be extended because of the rockfall inspection. Officially, your party will be redirected through the western highlands before returning to the coast.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. ”How close?”

”Just under two kilometers.”

Not enough.

But closer than anyone had managed legitimately.

Dean looked again at the two dominant alphas in the photograph.

”Then we start there.”