Kitabı oku: «Immortal Wolf», sayfa 3

Chapter 2

Raphael tore down the pathway, alarmed at the distressed cry. There, from the woods’ edge, near the property line. Emily. Something threatened her.

Instinct took over. He ran, waving his hands and eliminating his clothing as he did so, changing into wolf.

She stood in the gathering darkness, gloved hands to her mouth. Trembling as if a mighty wind shook her.

Just on the other side of the small, narrow dirt road he saw them.

A line of Morphs staring her down. As if they wanted her dead and would devour her heart.

While it still beat inside her chest.

With a snarl, Raphael leapt onto the road, charging the Morphs staring at Emily.

“Stop! They won’t come here!”

Stark fear in her voice snapped him to a halt. His paws skidded in the loose gravel. The Morphs inched backward, their hunched, shriveled bodies twisting, talons outstretched as they hissed at him.

Raphael growled at the enemy. Wanting to snap and tear and destroy, every instinct rising to attack. But his charge was his first concern. He wouldn’t leave Emily alone, facing danger.

The Morphs shapeshifted into wolves, loping off silently. Raphael trotted back to Emily and shifted back to human form. A cold wind brushed against his naked skin, chilling his bones. He clothed himself with a wave of his hand, looked at her terrorized face.

“Are you all right?”

Emily stared after the Morphs. “They won’t come on the property. Urien said it was the magick shield on the land, but I think it’s me. They fear me.”

Raphael sensed her inner turmoil and challenged her. “Then why not leave?”

A frown creased her lovely face. “I should. I could, but in the past, Urien said they’d attack in packs, cloning themselves and sacrificing the clones to kill me. They would strip the skin from my bones and eat my heart to ingest all the magick I have. I know I’m going to die, but I don’t want to die like that.”

Anguish tinged her voice. Raphael’s heart dropped to his stomach. Damn, this was going to be tough. All this time he’d been Kallan, he’d never faced such a challenge.

Think of her, not yourself.

“Emily, let’s get back. You’re shivering,” he said in his gentlest tone.

Raphael shrugged out of his leather jacket and went to drape it about her slender shoulders. She jerked back as if he were a hot iron. “Don’t touch me!”

“I was only going to offer you this.”

“Then you’d have to destroy it after I wore it.” She backed away. “You’re supposed to be wise. Everything I touch is contaminated. My own people can’t stand being within ten feet of me. They won’t let me touch anything. Even the livestock. I can’t feed them, water them, care for them. I’m unclean.”

Raphael’s heart twisted.

“Stop looking at me like that. I hate pity. Damn you.”

With a swirl of skirts, she spun around and stormed off toward her cottage. Raphael gazed after her. He’d leave her alone for now. Come morning, they had work to do.

Once Emily had loved the dark. Now it brought only fear of the night and terrible dreams chasing her through sleep. Last night’s had been particularly gruesome. Long, yellowed fangs ready to sink into her flesh, eager to rip and tear.

Emily hooked a band of hair behind her ear. Before sleeping last night, she had managed to calm herself enough to decipher a snippet of the sacred texts.

“The Destroyer has been sent to kill her. The Chosen One surrenders herself to the Destroyer.” Two sentences having a vague interpretation. But what if she did surrender herself to the Destroyer? What then?

She had become too upset, and the words blurred to nothingness before her eyes.

Emily poured herself a cup of coffee, donned her gloves and took the cup outside to enjoy the morning air. Distress filled her as she spotted Raphael sitting on the rocker on her porch. In a dove-gray T-shirt, jeans and boots, his powerful body tensed, he stared into the woods.

“Why are you on my porch?” she demanded.

Silence met her. She tracked the line of his gaze and saw a small deer peacefully cropping dewy grass. “What are you looking at?”

“Prey.” His voice was low, intent.

His back to her, Raphael stood and tugged the shirt over his head. Muscles rippled beneath his smooth, tanned flesh. Her mouth went dry as she stared. He reached for the waistband of his jeans.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to hunt. I haven’t eaten deer in months.”

“There are no deer where you’re from?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Where I come from, we eat nutrias. Rodents bigger than small dogs. They look like mutant beavers.”

Fascination stole over her as she watched him shed his clothing slowly and carefully. Emily suspected he did it on purpose to get a reaction.

She reacted.

She had seen naked men when her pack males shapeshifted into wolves. But not this beautiful. His legs were long and sturdy, his bottom taut with muscle. His broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and hips. Fascinated, she studied the rippling muscles of his tanned flesh. An odd marking in blue ink decorated his strong left bicep—a dagger that had intricate runes like the Sacred Scian thrust through a heart.

Iridescent sparks started to shimmer around him, then faded. “Aren’t you joining me?”

A ripple of pleasure went through her. Her pack hadn’t invited her to run with them in years. Emily leaned back, sipping her coffee.

“I don’t hunt anymore.”

“Why?”

She fell silent, reluctant to tell him why. He seemed to struggle with a decision. His large shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh. “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Like fishing with C-4 explosives.”

Raphael waved a hand, clothing himself again. Relief swept through her, and bemusement. Most others would ignore her and pursue their hunger.

“Your refrigerator should be fully stocked,” she said, setting down her coffee. The Sacred Scian hung in a sheath on his belt. Emily swallowed hard.

“It is, but I like the thrill of the hunt. I am, after all, a big, bad wolf.”

A charming grin touched his mouth, melting her a little. He seemed friendly. Open and willing to talk with her as if she were just an ordinary Draicon.

She wasn’t. Emily squeezed her hands.

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I like. I never follow other people’s style.”

“Style? I don’t know of style, but I do know it’s important to be like everyone else in the pack.”

“So that’s why you wear that sackcloth?” he drawled.

Emily fingered the shapeless dun dress with its long sleeves and coarse material. “It’s tradition. Our people embrace traditional clothing.”

She stared at the small gold dagger dangling from a loop pierced through his left ear. “Our males do not wear earrings. We wear no decorations upon our bodies.”

Raphael leaned against the railing. “The earring is more than a decoration.”

He tugged at his left ear and the tiny gold dagger dangling from it. In a flash, the golden blade on his belt vanished and appeared as a second dagger in the earring. “I keep the Sacred Scian close to me at all times. The earring gives me the freedom to walk armed into places where humans forbid weapons.” He flashed the charming grin again. “Much better than setting off metal detectors at airports.”

She felt her breath escape her as he tugged his ear again and the Scian reappeared on his belt. The sacred dagger, carried only by a Kallan, would end her life. He wore the blade as he wore his clothing, with a casual indifference that belied his role. Fear skittered through Emily. Other Kallans had been purebloods, with long robes and gray beards, and kept the Scian hidden. They revered their dress and the Scian, and ancient texts painted them as mystics. They chanted ritual words, worked spells and possessed great magick.

This Kallan was a warrior. Beneath the amused dark gaze lurked the intent of a true hunter. Raphael would not easily be fooled as she might have fooled the elderly Kallans.

“You’re so cavalier with the Scian. Why do you wear it on your trousers at all? The pureblood Kallans of the past always kept it guarded in a tortoiseshell box.”

Amusement fled his eyes, replaced by a flattened expression. Emily backed away, sensing the rising anger, the ruthlessness of purpose.

“I wear it how I wish. I’m not of your people, but I revere my role and my duties as Kallan as much as the Kallans of old. My Scian is a weapon and never leaves my sight. I’d say I’m much less cavalier with it than the old ones.” Raphael removed the blade, flipped it into the air and sheathed it.

“We’ve never had a Kallan who wasn’t a pureblood. You’re a mixed-blood, so different.”

His jaw tightened to flint. “There’s a first for everything. I worked hard to become Kallan and passed the test. That’s all your people need to know.”

Sunlight glinted off the dagger’s fine gold hilt. Emily hedged. If he were to kill her with the blade, then she wanted to see it closer. Touch the knife that would end it all. She stretched out her gloved hands. The covering would protect the blade from contamination.

“May I see the Scian? I’ve never held one before.”

“No.” His voice was curt.

Hurt, she retreated to the end of the porch. Raphael stared out at the woods. “Come, Emily. Walk with me. It’s time to begin your lessons.”

“I’m not a good pupil.” Anger roiled within her.

“All transitions learn. It’s my job to teach you, to prepare you for your journey to the Other Realm.”

“A journey I won’t easily take,” she whispered.

His gaze softened. “Then let’s walk, a simple walk through the woods. Show me your woods, Emily.”

Given no choice, for he seemed determined to shadow her, she headed for the forest, the Kallan giving her plenty of space. Leaves drifted lazily downward, brushed by a cool wind. Emily scuffed her bare feet in the thick padding of dead leaves, moss and grass as they entered the woods. The path she used was wide enough to admit two, but Raphael trailed behind her. Sunlight filtered through the tall oaks, pines and maples. The welcoming scent of forest and earth wrapped about her senses. She breathed deeply, smiling. Here was home, a sacred place where she felt most comfortable.

“Do you always go barefoot?” he asked.

It’s the only part of me I feel free to bare. “When I can.”

When they approached the small glen, she tried to quickly pass, not wanting him to investigate. But Raphael halted.

A frown creased his forehead as he gazed about. “This is a sacred place, with much ancient energy. I feel a heaviness in the air as well. It’s coming from over there.”

She gazed in the direction of his pointing finger and her heart dropped.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

Raphael left, heading toward the direction where he’d pointed.

“Don’t. It’s nothing you need to see,” she called after him.

But as she raced forward, it was too late.

Raphael entered the small space with its uncommon quiet. No songbirds chirped here, and though the trees were not as thick, the air seemed dense.

He stood before the stone altar and touched the ancient rock with a solemn look.

Emily fisted her gloved hands. He was here to kill her. She didn’t dare trust him or anyone else. Raphael was her executioner. No overtures of kindness, treating her with respect and talking with her and staving off the constant loneliness would change that.

The stone altar served as a granite barricade between them. Raphael shifted, putting a hand on his hip.

A stray beam of sunlight flashed off the solid gold dagger hilt at his waist. He caught her staring at the dagger.

“Oh, Emily,” he said softly.

With a strangled sob, she turned and ran blindly through the forest, away from the grim reminder of what was to come. Finally she reached the haven of her cottage. Emily squeezed her eyes shut and, with all her emotions and thoughts, called out to the one destined for her. He’d told her he’d be out of reach for a few weeks, but her need was urgent.

If Amant could not help her, no one could.

Raphael walked through the forest, deeply troubled. Faint energy emitted from the stone altar where Emily would be executed to end the curse. The sight had not bothered him, but he sensed something of tremendous importance had occurred there. Yet the altar held no tinge of death or sorrow. He could not make out the energy patterns.

Pity surged through him, banishing the earlier resentment. Emily thought he wasn’t as good as the other Kallans because of his mixed blood. Unworthy. Old memories flashed through him. Walking to town, to the Vieux Carre, from his simple bayou home to get supplies. Other, more pure Draicon taunting him, throwing stones and laughing.

Dog. Mongrel.

Would old prejudices against his Cajun blood never cease?

Raphael shoved aside the bitter past and concentrated on Emily. His transition came first. He must find her, get her to calm down again if they were to work together….

Amant?

The voice inside his head startled him. Raphael leaned against a tree, sighed. Erin, the time isn’t right….

Please, Amant. I’m sorry for intruding. I have such great need of you, otherwise I’d never have contacted you. Help me.

The terror in his draicara’s voice alarmed him, along with a horrible suspicion cresting over him. Raphael tried pushing back all the emotions crowding his mind, her panicked fear, his guilt that he could not attend to her needs.

If you can’t come to my side, tell me what I can do. You’re a great warrior, I sense this about you, a wise one who has fought many battles. He will hurt me. Please, just advise…

Who is threatening you? he demanded. Tell me and I will take my dagger and cut his heart out. I will ask my brothers, and they’ll come to your aid.

You cannot stop him. No one can. He is one who is great, powerful. I cannot stop him, stop this. A sob broke out, echoed in his mind like shattering glass.

Hush, all will be well, he whispered, deeply distressed at her sorrow. How could he do this, be the Kallan and be apart from her? Time and again assignments would take him from her side, and his mate would not be his first priority. Yet every instinct inside raged to rush to her side, attend to her needs.

But Emily came first now. He must attend to her before easing Erin’s fears.

For years, he quietly accepted that he’d never find his true mate, the missing half of his soul’s magick. Others fortunate enough to do so experienced joy and fulfillment. Raphael assumed like the other Kallan before him that it was not meant to be. His duties came first, and he found small comfort in that.

Now she’d finally sought him out and he rejoiced inside. But merde—ah, the timing. He needed all his concentration and energy directed toward Emily. His transition came first.

Erin, listen to me. Do you have a weapon nearby? A small sniffle and he could feel her pulling together all her strength. Good, he said silently, proud of her courage.

Yes, a small, sharp knife.

Take it and arm yourself. Don’t fear to use it on this male. Stab him, aim for the left quadrant of his upper chest. It will nick the heart and slow him, no matter how powerful this one is. Will you do this?

I can’t kill!

Hush, he soothed. You must protect yourself. It will incapacitate him. Now, get the knife.

Worry filled him as he waited. After a few minutes, he heard her in his mind. I have it. Are you certain this will work?

Yes. Where are you? Are you in a confined place, a house or building?

Is that dangerous?

Get out. Less chance of being cornered, Raphael told her.

Silence, and then he heard her speak. I’m outside, near some trees. I feel safest here.

Raphael shook his head. Now, do as I say. Find your family, your people, and stay with them. Even if the one threatening you is among them, he will not dare hurt you in their presence.

Oh, Amant, she whispered, and hiccupped through her tears as if she laughed. They’re the ones who summoned him here.

Raphael’s heart dropped to his stomach. The delicious smell of lavender and wildflowers suddenly wafted on the chilling breeze. He moved away from the tree and began walking toward the scent, keeping the line of communication open telepathically as he did so.

Where are you, Erin? he asked. Tell me.

Waiting for her answer, he prowled noiselessly through the brush, entering the forest, stepping carefully as his wolf would, avoiding detection.

I can’t talk. Panic threaded through her tone. Someone’s coming. I think…I think it’s him.

Abandoning stealth, he bolted through the forest, crashing through the undergrowth, his lungs working hard, his heart racing. Now the scent flooded his senses, a ribbon of hot desire pulling him forward in senseless need. He saw her now, backed up against an ancient oak, her body lush and tempting, her eyes wide in her fine-boned face.

Raphael cut off communication from Erin as abruptly as hanging up a phone receiver. He raced forward.

“Emily,” he breathed.

Drawn to the female shrinking back from him, he leapt forward, trapping her against the tree with his body. He must know for certain.

Raphael pulled her to him in a crushing kiss.

Even as her lips opened under the pressure of his, he knew.

Even as his blood sang hotly in his veins and his cock grew to stone at her aroused scent, he knew.

His body screamed no, the cry echoing in his mind. Raphael pulled back in abject shock and horror. No, not her, not this one….

Emily cried out, putting a gloved hand to her lips, blue eyes wide in her delicate face. Blue eyes turning rapidly to deep violet. “No! Oh, goddess, not you, it can’t be….”

His throat closed up. Raphael couldn’t speak, though he screamed inside his head.

Emily, the one he was to execute. No safe, anonymous stranger.

But Erin, his draicara, his mate. It wasn’t possible.

Barely had the thought crossed his mind when an eerie, high-pitched scream, like that of an ancient banshee, tore out of Emily’s throat. Raphael heard the snicking of the knife slashing through the air. Pain exploded in his chest as the blade sank deep.

He fell forward, landing face-first on the damp, welcoming earth.

Chapter 3

Emily had killed him.

The kitchen knife fell from her outstretched fingers. She stared in dawning shock, her heart racing. His kiss hadn’t been a mere fusing of mouths, but a drugging, intoxicating kiss that drew in her very soul. It was fulfillment of all the desperate hopes, dreams and sensual yearnings she’d felt since finding him through their mind link.

He’d kissed her into silence, his own sexual hunger twining with a sorrowful knowing.

Emily brought her hands up to her face.

Blood soaked the chamois gloves.

A scream lodged itself in her throat as her gaze dropped to Raphael lying on the ground. She had killed him, the Kallan, her draicaron.

Her executioner was also her destined mate, the male who was supposed to save her.

Her hands, hands that killed, now shook violently. A cool breeze touched her cheek, soft as a gentle caress. It fluttered the hem of her skirts. Emily dropped to her knees, reaching out to touch Raphael.

She jerked back, her mouth opening and closing. Fisting her hands, she pounded them against her thighs.

“No, no, no,” she croaked in a thin wail.

The pitch rose to a hysterical scream. She threw back her head and released her anguish to the sky. Emily struggled to rein in her emotions. Stretching out her hands, she thought quickly.

She could restore life with her blood.

Barely had the thought occurred when Raphael groaned and stirred. Blood no longer flowered on his shirt from the terrible wound she’d inflicted. Her gaze whipped to him, and she crab-crawled away as he sat up. His dark gaze regarded hers with a touch of wry humor.

“I see you paid attention to my advice. Good.” He touched the crimson stain on his chest.

Relief over his recovery turned into grieved anger. “How can you jest over something like this? How can you do this?”

How can you be the one who is to kill me when you are supposed to be my mate?

Regret darkened his gaze. “I didn’t want to frighten you any more than you already are.” His mouth twisted. “I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you are the Kallan?” she blurted out. “My mate?”

He stood, as whole and healthy as if being stabbed hadn’t affected him. “Emily,” he said softly. “Why did you tell me your name was Erin?”

“Why did you not tell me your true name?” she shot back.

“I didn’t want my draicara to be afraid of the Kallan. I wanted her, you, to come to know me for who I am.”

“My executioner,” she said brokenly.

His eyes closed as he shoved a hand through his tousled hair, pulling free bits of twig and leaves. “Let’s forget that for a moment. Tell me, Emily, why did you tell me your name was Erin?”

“Because it was my father’s nickname for me, my favorite name. I didn’t want you to know my real name. I was afraid—maybe you heard stories of Emily, the cursed one.” She struggled to her feet, training her gaze on him.

Bitterness mingled in his wry smile. “I see we both had good reason for withholding our real identities from each other.”

“But I should have recognized your voice, your accent.” Emily touched a nearby oak, feeling comfort and strength from connecting to the sturdy, strong tree.

“Perhaps we both were blinded to the truth, until we were forced to confront it together.” Raphael bent over, picked up the bloodied kitchen knife. A frown pierced his forehead.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

Mystified, she watched as he dropped the knife and held out his hands. A streak of white light blazed from his fingertips, heating the metal, turning the blood to white ash.

Raphael retrieved the knife, formally held it out to her, hilt side. “I believe this is yours.”

“Put it on the ground.” When he did, she took it, reluctant to even let their fingers brush. Emily set the knife on a small stump.

“Why did you incinerate your blood?”

His troubled gaze met hers. “I’m an immortal, and my blood contains powerful magick, powerful enough to restore life, or make other beings, evil ones, immortal as well. If I am injured, I must do my best to destroy any droplets. I must not allow anyone to use it for their own purpose.”

His blood as well? Faint hope filled her. “Power,” she breathed. “You can restore life through your blood?”

If he could, their mutual problem was solved. Raphael could execute her and then revive her with his blood. She shared the thought, sending it to him using the unique telepathic connection shared between destined mates.

For a whisper of a minute, their minds connected, merged. She saw deep sorrow in his thoughts, a heartrending grief.

“I am permitted that gift only once. I used it to save my sister-in-law, because I reasoned I would never find my draicara.” Raphael’s jaw tautened. “If I use it again, I will forfeit my own life, and the blood used to restore life will turn to poison in the person’s veins.”

For a moment, he looked away, his arms folding across his powerful chest. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She knew Raphael was referring to her emotional state, which was rather precarious. His protective nature warmed her until she realized it was all futile. Emily touched the tree again for comfort.

“I’ll be fine.”

“There has to be a reason why this is happening. It makes no sense.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Come back to my cabin. I’ll get changed, make us breakfast and we can discuss it.”

Emily felt her defenses rise. She couldn’t dare trust him, the only Draicon she thought she could trust. The only Draicon who could save her would kill her.

She truly was all alone, and the thought sent her backing away with wariness.

“Find your own breakfast.”

“Emily. Come now, we can’t ignore the truth any longer. Eat with me, and let’s try to find answers together as to why this is happening.”

She could not answer. Emotion clogged her throat. Every cell cried out to take his outstretched hand, trust in his kind expression, go with him.

Self-preservation screamed against it. Emily shook her head.

“My touch kills, Kallan. Have you forgotten?”

She whirled around and darted back into the haven and security of her beloved forest.

No, I haven’t forgotten. I can never forget.

Raphael’s heart wrenched as he watched her slip away. He released a heavy sigh. He wanted to scream his anger and frustration. Debating on whether to follow, he inhaled her scent. Emily’s unique fragrance was as clear as if he’d marked her himself. Didn’t she realize he could track her through a forest filled with skunks and still find her? He resisted the instinct to give chase.

Instead, he roped in all his control and turned back toward his cabin. He needed energy, fast, from raw meat. The stab wound had nicked his heart, and even though it had healed, he felt drained.

Raphael suspected the deeper, more devastating emotional wound to his heart would take much longer to heal.

How could this happen? How could the one female he was to mate with, his other half, who contained the missing half of his magick, be the cursed one he had to kill? The rising sexual awareness of her and the desire riding him did not lessen. It made sense now, but he was helpless to control his body’s reaction around her.

Until he made Emily his in the flesh, his sexual need of her would grow stronger, making him nearly animalistic in his drive to mate and claim. He hadn’t wanted a mate. Always on the move, the race’s death dealer whom most feared, he kept to himself but for family. Raphael had few friends, and knew a mate couldn’t fit into his lifestyle.

He always suspected his would be a challenging mating at best if he ever found his draircara. He would have to soothe her fears and have a leisurely courtship to show her his gentler side. But this mating surpassed his darkest thoughts.

Anger rose up at her pack’s deception. Had they been truthful, he could have avoided this. Raphael returned to his cabin, fished through the refrigerator and drew out two steaks. He ate the raw meat standing up, feeling the energy revive him. Through the lacy curtains at the window, he could see the edge of the deep forest where Emily hid.

He finished eating, dropped the bones on a plate, wiped his mouth and reached out with his mind.

Emily, where are you? Come to me. Stop running away.

Silence. His jaw tightened. She needed time, both to process what had happened and what she had done. His read was that she was a gentle soul, who loathed and feared her gift to kill. Stabbing him in the heart had emotionally taxed her, along with the knowledge that he was her draicaron.

He would give her the necessary space she needed for now. In the meantime, Raphael tossed the bones into the garbage with a grim look.

He had a much bigger bone to pick over with the pack’s top dog.

Urien was friendly, invited him to join them for breakfast. When Raphael declined and confronted him about Emily, the leader stood his ground. “If I told you Emily was young and strong, not a weak elder, you would not have agreed to this sacrifice. And we could not bring ourselves to do it, but it must be done.”

Raphael locked his hard gaze to the other male’s. They sat in the expansive living room of the pack’s house. In his traditional clothing of the Old Ones, a dun-colored vest of broadcloth, trousers to match and a forest-green, long-sleeved shirt, the Burke pack Alpha looked as if he’d traveled backward in time. Raphael had chosen the seat opposite him, facing the door. Never with his back to newcomers. Always on guard.

Now he wished he had been more careful before accepting this assignment. He did not tell Urien about Emily being his dracaira. Every male protective instinct inside him warned against it. Information would be exchanged only if Raphael thought it had a chance of saving Emily.

“It’s not a sacrifice, but an execution. How do I know all you’re telling me about Emily is the truth?” Raphael’s mouth thinned as he glared at the other male.

“There are two gravestones in our cemetery that prove my words. What do you wish, Kallan? To see her actually dispatch another life?”

Beneath the bristling tension and aggressive words threaded an emotion Raphael could not identify. He sensed the male hid something. There was something else more ominous about Urien, but he couldn’t place it. Raphael reached out with all his Draicon senses, inhaled the older male’s scent.

He detected nothing but a slightly sweet fragrance. His gaze whipped over to the vases of fresh freesia and lilies on a polished round table.

If Emily was the cursed one, and her touch killed, there would be prophecies detailing her future. He leaned forward, his jaw tensed.

“I need proof, not of what she’s done, but of the ancient words. Let me see the prophecies.”

Urien relaxed and gave Raphael a pitying look. “I cannot. It is forbidden. Our ways are sacred and of the Old Ones, the purebloods. You, as a mixed-blood and a Cajun, are not allowed to see the sacred words. Besides, you could not interpret them, so they would be of little use.”

Hairs bristled on the nape of his neck. Not understand. Always the snobbery, the division so clearly demarking his pack from the purebloods.

Raphael kept his thoughts guarded and offered a slow, calculating smile. “Then I will call my brother, my adopted brother, to my side. Damian is a pureblood Alpha, a descendant of the French Marcel pack. He has the authority to decipher the sacred words.”