“I hear you, grandfather,” Zev said softly. “I understand.”
“You can’t risk them going rogue. They need a strong alpha they can look up to.”
“You tried to be that alpha for them, didn’t you?” Zev asked, with sudden comprehension. “Even wrapped in chains of silver you tried to help the others.”
“They can’t continue without a pack, you know that. They’re good boys. Some of them must have survived.”
Not the one who had thrown his grandfather facedown in the dirt in front of Xaviero. That Sange rau had not survived. Dimitri had dispatched him quietly and quickly while the rest of those in the field had watched in horror as Xaviero and Xayvion had opened the gates of hell.
“Maybe a dozen,” Zev said.
“So few. Xaviero took so many lives so casually. He was cruel, Zev. So cruel. If the Lycan he wanted in his service didn’t join with him, the mage tortured and killed his family. Then, just to rub salt in the wounds, he took on his Lycan image and became the kindly Rannalufr, to counsel the rest of the grieving family members. More than likely he made them feel such guilt they quickly killed themselves. He would dance with glee around the laboratory whenever he managed to ruin an entire family.”
The coughing was continuous now. The bleeding was steady, no matter how many times Zev wiped the blood from his grandfather’s mouth.
It won’t be long now, love, Branislava said. He’s close. I don’t know why he’s still holding on when he could embrace death.
Zev feared he knew. “Rannalufr means ‘plundering wolf.’ I suppose if any of us had just thought about how that name didn’t fit the imagery we might have looked closer at him.”
Hemming made a movement as though he might shake his head, but the effort was too much and sent him into another violent coughing fit. Zev took his free hand.
“You want me to be responsible for these displaced Lycans. To form a pack with them and become their alpha. Not someone else. You want me to be their leader.”
Hemming nodded, too exhausted to speak.
“I give you my word, Grandfather. I’ll take care of them.” Inwardly Zev sighed. He knew what his grandfather wanted all along. But that many Sange rau, all relatively newly made, shunned by the Lycans and their council, would be a handful. “They will make tremendous elite hunters once trained properly. If they wish to join my pack, I’ll take them on.”
Now he was a schoolteacher. Zev couldn’t contain the little sigh. A flash of amusement lit up Hemming’s eyes. He squeezed Zev’s hand and then allowed his lashes to drift down.
There was a moment where he took a breath and exhaled. Peace settled over his ravaged features. A kind of joy. His lips curved into a soft smile, and he was gone.
Branislava held Hemming’s hand for a few more moments and then gently extricated herself, allowing his head to lie on the ground once again. She reached out to Zev, who immediately wrapped his arm around her.
“He wanted to go,” Gregori said, his voice a little rougher than normal. “I’m sorry, Zev. He was a good man. It would have been a pleasure to have had more time with him, if for any other reason than to learn from him.”
Zev nodded. He looked past Mikhail to see the four silent sentinels, Andre, Tomas, Lojos, and Mataias standing guard between Mikhail and the Sange rau lined up behind them, watching in silence. He noted each of the faces of the mixed bloods. They looked grief-stricken. Confused. Ashamed. All of them had bowed their heads at Hemming’s passing. Two wore the Sacred Circle tattoo, and one crossed himself. Another looked as if he murmured a prayer.
The moment Zev looked up, all eyes jumped to his face. Waiting for him to judge them. To pass sentence on them. He was weary of blood and death. Of fighting. He had lost friends this day—they all had. But these men had lost everything. They were no longer Lycan and most Lycans wouldn’t welcome them home. Even if the council ruled to lift the death sentence on the Sange rau, there would be prejudice until education finally won the old ones over.
Their free will was taken from them. They tried to fight against Xaviero’s orders. Some embraced his rule, while these did not. You can see marks on them. Some of them were disciplined by the mage. His disciplines are brutal. Cruel, Branislava informed him.
I will not force them to join my pack. They’ve had enough of others making choices for them. They can make up their minds.
Most likely they’d heard the conversation with his grandfather, but he was held to that promise—not any of them.
Slowly he stood up and made his way to them. The row of Sange rau—no, not that—they were Hän ku pesäk kaikak. “In spite of what others have told you, in spite of every ancient belief, a mixed blood is not an abomination. Just as a Lycan can make the choice to become a rogue werewolf, and the Carpathian can make the choice to become a vampire, you also have a choice in how you want to live. At this moment, you are considered Hän ku pesäk kaikak, which means ‘guardian of all.’ I am Hän ku pesäk kaikak. I make no apologies for this. I take my role very seriously. I guard all species. Lycan. Carpathian. Jaguar. Human, and yes, even mage.”