“Have a nice night,” Ezekiel said to them all. “Pleasant dreams.” He glanced casually at Miguel, but held Alejandro’s gaze until Alejandro dropped his eyes – no question whether that was a matter of rank. But then Ezekiel grinned and clapped Harrison on the shoulder – rare, for one black dog to touch another, but he did it – and the two Dimilioc wolves went up the stairs together. The door at the top of the stairs closed behind them.
Miguel let out a deep sigh and came to take Natividad’s hand in both of his, clearly needing that contact more than he needed rest or food. Alejandro knew how he felt.
So did Natividad, por supuesto, but though she put an arm around her younger brother’s waist, she also said wistfully, “Is any of that meat actually cooked?”
After a moment, Miguel laughed, a little unwillingly, and pulled away from his sister’s embrace. “Sit down again and you can have supper in bed.”
“Comida? Is it still supper and not breakfast?” Natividad rubbed her face. “I feel a hundred years old. How long was I asleep?”
“Not long,” Alejandro assured her. He moved to inspect the contents of the platters. “Supper, and then you can sleep again. Some of the meat is only a little rare. It’s fine – it’s venison,” he added, putting some of the most well-done slices aside for Natividad, along with some of the bread and all the berry preserves. He added to Miguel, as though casually, “Grayson wanted to see my shadow rise. Ezekiel did it. I think it took that cabrón less than a minute to break my control.”
“En serio?” said Miguel, disbelievingly. “Your control, ‘Jandro?”
Alejandro didn’t look at him. “It’s more than his strength. Though he’s very strong. He sees too much about what will rouse anger and fear. And it’s not like when Papá made me practice control. The verdugo is much scarier than Papá.”
“But less than a minute?”
“Truly.”
The boy looked a little happier. He rolled a slice of meat up with focused concentration and ate it in two bites. Another. Then he said, not looking at Alejandro, “I guess it took him maybe four or five minutes to make me lose my temper. I didn’t think anybody could do that to me.”
Alejandro nodded. “Grayson told me Ezekiel could break anyone’s control.”
“I think he could,” Miguel agreed. He shivered, exaggerating it, but it was real, too. “I think so. I think Ezekiel’s the strongest black dog here.”
“But Grayson’s the Master.” Natividad had made sandwiches with some of the meat and cheese and bread, then eaten her first sandwich with concentrated intensity. But now she put her second sandwich down and frowned at Miguel. “Are you sure Ezekiel’s really the strongest?”
The boy shrugged. “No. But I think so.”
“I think he’s right,” said Alejandro. “I think that’s exactly why Zachariah and Harrison backed Grayson when he took the Mastery. Because they knew none of them could beat Ezekiel one on one. I think maybe they all draw a lot of their strength from one another, even now.”
“But…” said Miguel, frowning. “I don’t think Ezekiel wants to challenge Grayson anyway.”
“Of course he wants to challenge him–”
“His black dog might want to fight him, but I don’t think Ezekiel wants that.”
Alejandro thought about this. “Maybe.”
“I think they’re all very strong,” Miguel said. “Even Ethan. But their control–”
“Yes,” said Alejandro. “Their control is more important than their strength. No wonder Dimilioc could keep all the other black dogs down so long. Dimilioc lobos really are ruled by human will, not black dog bloodlust.” He had not really believed that until this moment. Not really. He had never known any black dogs like that – except Papá. He said slowly, “You see how they are with one another – you see how they are a family.” Ordinary black dogs, even blood relatives, seldom tolerated one another well enough to share a single territory. A very strong black dog could force others to submit to his control and hold them as a pack, but that was not the same. Alejandro had known Dimilioc was different. Papá, por supuesto, had been different himself, and tried to teach Alejandro to be different the same way. He said bitterly, “And then I showed them tonight how little control I really have.” He had not understood what real control was until Ezekiel Korte had demonstrated to him that he didn’t have it.
“We’re still alive,” Miguel pointed out, having effortlessly followed this thought out to its obvious conclusion. “You think that’s just because of Natividad? I don’t. You said yourself Ezekiel could break anybody’s control.”