They had prepared for this visit back on Earth, Mammon and Haru: How to not stare at wolves for too long; how to make Haru’s presence as minimal as possible; even how to prepare for the unexpected yet inevitable encounter of wolves mating in some dark corner of the kingdom (a natural occurrence in Vargr). Neglectfully, they did not discuss Haru’s introduction to the chieftain.

However, Mammon's hand was forced from the moment they entered this hall. No, from the moment they entered Vargr. The stench of lust from these wolves as they watched his mate kept intensifying. The young guards, in particular. Haru would never sense it. To a human's olfactory system this stench was virtually imperceptible. It was also why humans were the easiest prey; they never sensed the danger, whether it came from demons hungry for souls, or from a wolf looking for a slave to quench their thirst.

It was imperative for Mammon to establish his dominance here. Somehow, he had let his guard down. Even that child from before, Rudi? Of course, it was too young to know anything of lust or desire, but it was certainly looking to imprint with Haru, much like a new-foundling would. Haru's scent to Rudi would be irresistible, so much tenderness it radiated. If the child was truly Fenus', and Mammon had yet to find this credible, it was no surprise it would be starved for affection. Remembering Rudi's bruised face, Mammon pushed away the thought of the child growing up under Fenus' care. Right now, the chieftain had his gaze narrowed on Haru. “This is your mate?”

The king of the wolves stood and in a few sure strides he was in front of Haru. Mammon felt Haru reaching for his hand and he silently apologised to his beloved for bringing this attention to him, but it was necessary. Surely his excitement to come here did not include being spotlighted like this. It was one thing to see pure wolves in court or in Vargr, at a given distance. Their three to four meters of height perhaps was not so intimidating when their curiosity was drawn elsewhere. But it was an entirely different matter having one stand in front of a much smaller human, taking a few sniffs.

“He’s not dead, Mammon! He’s still in his human flesh!” The chief marvelled.

“He is. This is Haru Ito.” Mammon nodded once, holding his pride in check as Haru stood his ground, where perhaps other humans would have fled, or fainted, or froze of pure fright. Instead, Haru's eyes glittered with a mix of thrill and nervousness. Not unlike when Mammon had surprised him with a last-minute day visit to the National Railway Museum, in the city of York, in England. That tickled his mate's love for those clunky machines for many months. His human always surprised him in the most elegant ways.

“It’s an honour, your highness.” Haru lowered his head.

“He’s small, even for a human, but he’s got grit! He hides it well. He’s not like other souls who whimper at the first sight of us, not that I mind that though. Look at him, not a trembling bone! HAH!! Haru Ito?” The chief tapped Haru’s back, making him stumble slightly. “We need to bulk you up a bit, get you in some hard training, some hearty meals to follow. You’ll be right as rain, eh! You'll need it to keep up with a wolf!” 

“Oh, I try to keep a healthy diet, and I normally stick to my cardio exercises.”

“Caardio?” The chief said, as though he had trouble pronouncing the word.

“Jogg— ru-running, sir. I like to run.”

“You like to run? Fenrir’s teeth boy, look around! We can help you. Have you not seen a wolf chasing after its prey? AH-HAHAHA!!!”

 Mammon could see Haru’s effort to match the chief’s contagious chortle, but there was sweat on his brow and his cheeks were pale. He was already giving it his best. The chief may be laughing, but in his human’s eyes, all he could be seeing was a three-meter-tall wolf bearing his fangs. How could it look anything like laughing, anyway? Mammon offered a reassuring hand squeeze, granting him Haru’s gaze. It lasted but a moment, as the chief continued. “His smell is too sweet! Be mindful, Grand Marshall, you may find yourself having to fend off some younglings. They’ve yet to tame their urges outside of the rutting season.” He winked at Mammon as he walked back to his chair.

“Thank you, Chief Lobos, I’m well aware.” Mammon spared a side glance at the youngest guard near them. This one flinched stiffly.

“So, how long will you grace us with your stay?” The Chief asked.

“Five days was the original plan.” Mammon returned his gaze to the chief. “Something has come up; I’ll have to cut it down to two.” There was no way he’d let Haru stay here longer, not under these circumstances, lest he fight all these lascivious deviants.

“Two days?! That’s barely enough time to enjoy our feast! The cooks have been preparing for days after the massive hunt we had in your honour.”

“That’s also not enough time to inspect the new candidate-troops.” Fenus jumped in sharply.

“It is enough time for our diplomatic discussions, which take priority. Even wolves can talk while they eat, Fenus. I’ve extended the second day already taking the feast into account. And I don’t intend on recruiting anyone at this stage.”

“What are you talking about?!” Fenus’ voice rose. “The whole point of your visit is—”. Fenus stopped himself when Grodus tapped his shoulder.

“Calm down, Fenus.” The chief said, his previous mirth long gone. “Grand Marshal, we thought the king was looking for new recruits. That has been the long-standing tradition and the agreement over the many centuries we’ve collaborated with court. A visit from a royal has always meant a selection is to take place. Are you saying the new king changed the rules?”

It was the reason Mammon had come, but sensing their desperation gave him immense pleasure. Fenus especially. If it came to some grovelling, Mammon wouldn't have minded either. The silver wolf repressed a chuckle as he spoke, “Chief Lobos, rest assured, the agreement and the collaboration court has with Vargr still stands under the new king. In fact, he is keen on maintaining that relationship, as I said. Patience is remarked for its rewards.”

“What are you even saying?! You're the royal here; the Grand Marshal! You’re the one with the final say in all matters regarding the military!” Fenus’ seemed exasperated under his glare.

“The main reason of my visit,” Mammon continued, deciding to ignore the small red-eyed wolf. “Is still to ascertain whether the new king will continue to have your support in his future endeavours. We are at peace presently, but Hell is never too far a war, as you know. Satan is in exile, as you also know, but a chance of his return is always on the table. The chance to overthrow his son is still very real. The new king needs to know he can still trust the wolves.”

“YOU! What are you playing at?! You're questioning our loyalty?!” Fenus barely contained his rage.

“Quiet, Fenus!” The chief growled decisively. It was enough to relent the smaller wolf. A serious expression marred the chief’s snout. “You know he does, Mammon. The way you talk, it’s as if we’ve given the king cause for mistrust. If that’s the case, he could’ve come here to see for himself. From what I've heard, he's far from being a coward; quite the opposite. Why send you, one of our own to check us out? Does he think the message is received differently?”

“Mm. Our king doesn’t fare well with the cold, Chief Lobos.” Mammon offered a small smile.

“And you do? With that pink arse you carry around?” A ragged voice came for the corner of the hall. Mammon could recognise that boozy scent from anywhere. Raymon smirked as he leaned on the entryway, arms crossed.

“They’ve kept your ugly nozzle around long enough.” Mammon retorted with a tender smile.

“What, no uncle, it’s SO great to see you! Thank YOU for saving my sorry life!” Raymon gestured with exaggeration.

“Be grateful I was always a dutiful servant, and never disappointed my masters. Otherwise, they would’ve come for your sorry arse years ago.” Raymon’s chuckle contrasted with Haru’s wide eyes, and Mammon right away understood. A mere second in the presence of the old man, and Mammon was close to reverting to his old common speech.   

“Raymon, good of you to join us.” The chief said, still holding his serious gaze. “Whether your nephew considers himself one of us or not, we all here know he is. You did well by him, sending him off with Satan’s sons when you did. Look at the fruits your deed bore. My son Kaeltan would probably not be alive, were it not for the Grand Marshal here. So know this, Mammon, son of Ulfhild: as far as this clan is concerned, you’re a hero, and our trust in you remains. My wolves would lay down their lives to protect the new king, but I know for a fact that the highest honour they seek is to serve under your command. I hope you’ll reconsider and let our troops show you what they’ve got. They've been looking forward to the day one of their own would finally be handpicking them.”

It was for a moment, but Mammon noticed Faolán’s wordless stare shift from Fenus to Grodus, and then finally to the ground. To anyone else looking, his demeanour would not seem altered, but Mammon could still pick up on the mild distress.

“You flatter him too much, chief.” Raymon waved his hand as he walked closer. “He’s not that smart; he just pretends like he is, the pompous twit.” Raymon widened his condescending smirk at Mammon while the two clasped forearms.

“Says the drunken old fool. I could smell the booze from two houses away.”

“This drunken old fool still has the best booze in Vargr at the old shack.” Raymon winked.

Mammon looked over at Haru, whose eyes fixated and glistened at Raymon. He had been keen to meet the old man. Perhaps an extra day wouldn’t do harm.