by Eileen Wilks
He said their names again, putting more power into his voice. This time they prostrated themselves, lying flat, face-down, in the dirt.
He knelt then at their heads, laying a hand on each young, strong neck, curving his fingers until he found the vein he needed.
He dug in his thumbnails, scraping across both veins.
This was the part he’d been unsure of. Nokolai used a blade fixed to a thumb brace to open the vein. Leidolf used the traditional method. Rule had filed his thumbnails to as sharp a point as he could.
It worked. Blood trickled down each neck.
The next words were not Latin. They came from an older language, one lost to all except the Rhejes, who must have such words in the oldest memories. He spoke them softly, making each sound distinct: “Nera ék amat.” He had no idea what the words meant.
It didn’t matter. The mantles knew. They leaped to his call, sliding down his arms like water, rushing along his hands, tasting the blood there. The two young men jolted as if he’d shocked them with an electric current, but he knew it was bliss, not pain, that shuddered through them.
The mantles, never quite separate from him, returned. The sense of them was subtly different, enlivened by the richness of youth. He straightened.
Only then did he realize what had happened. What he’d done. He’d successfully sent the mantles into both young men, and drawn part of them into the mantles.
Both mantles.
David and Jeffrey were now fully Leidolf . . . and fully Nokolai.
THIRTY-TWO
LILY watched as Rule stood. According to what he had told her earlier, the actual gens compleo was finished now. The rest of the ceremony was more symbolic, and mostly for the families.
He said something in that bastardized Latin they used. The two young men rose to face their families, neither of them bothered one whit by full-frontal, public nudity. Lily couldn’t say the same for herself, but she was adapting as best she could to lupus ways. And the view was . . . interesting.
Rule stepped back, exchanging one long glance with Cullen. Neither man’s expression changed. Then Rule gestured at the waiting logs.
This time, Cullen was supposed to show off.
Lily suspected he would have relished a robe with long sleeves that could sway dramatically, but he made do just fine in his ragged jeans. He stepped close to the fire pit, lifting both arms and chanting softly—and, she suspected, unnecessarily. Cullen could call fire with the flick of his hand.
He shook his hands over the logs as if dashing water from them, and fire fell as if it were, indeed, flung water drops. The logs burst into flame all at once, with an enthusiastic whoosh.
Normal flames at first. Gradually they changed, turning the bright green of a Granny Smith apple. The same green as the baby fire he’d played with in the conference room, she realized. He looked at Rule and nodded.
“Leidolf,” Rule said, “come share in the ardor iunctio.”
That meant “joining fire.” Lily had been learning a few bits of Latin, those that any clan member was expected to know.
Solemnly, in twos and threes, the clan members approached the fire. The woman next to Lily—an older woman, gray-haired, with glasses and a fair amount of pudge poured into her jeans—said, “Come on,” and took Lily’s hand.
“But I’m not—”
“You’re welcome to the ardor,” the woman said, and tugged again on Lily’s hand.
So Lily, too, moved up to the joining fire.
Rule went first. He plunged his hands into that spooky green fire, up to the elbows. And smiled. This, he’d told Lily earlier, was when he let a trickle of the mantle free, just a drop, joining it to the flames.
He stepped back, and those closest to the fire moved up, thrusting in their hands, some scooping up handfuls of flame—and it clung to them for several seconds, dancing merrily on flesh.
After a few moments, and with a few sighs of regret, the first group moved back and others moved forward eagerly, reaching for apple green fire. As they touched it, they grinned. Some of the women giggled. One man laughed out loud. His fire had scampered up his arm and kissed his cheek.
The others laughed, too. Lily looked at Cullen, who grinned. A curl of flame swam up a young woman’s arm to lick at her lips. She laughed, delighted.
Oh, yes, Cullen was showing off, and enjoying it immensely.
It was Lily’s turn. Green fire, she told herself firmly, was nothing like mage fire or regular fire. She’d seen how little hurt anyone took from it. So she held her breath and sank her hands into the blaze.
It tickled. It was warm and dry and merry in a way her skin understood, if her head didn’t. There was magic in it. And the magic tickled.
Everything tight and worried eased out of her as she watched the wonder of green flames dance cheerfully on her skin. Then a bright, mischievous thread darted up her arm—and jumped onto her breast. She yelped. “Cullen! Behave!”
He laughed. Everyone laughed. And then it was time for her to reluctantly step back, time to allow the rest their turn to safely play with fire.
When they had, and had stepped back, Rule spoke softly, in a rhythmic cadence that suggested the words were part of the ritual, though this time they were English words. “We are the fire.”
“We are the fire,” everyone repeated, not quite solemn anymore.
“Safe in joining, safe together. We are clan.”
“We are clan,” the others echoed.
Rule grinned. “Let’s eat. And then we play.”
Cullen snapped his fingers. Yellow and orange flames ate up the green, returning the bonfire to a normal sort of cheer—hot and happy and dangerous.
Lily made her way over to Rule. She leaned in to hug him—and whispered in his ear. “What’s wrong?”
Because something wasn’t as it should be. That glance he’d exchanged with Cullen . . . She knew both men too well. Their faces hadn’t revealed a damned thing, which was what had tipped her off.
He nuzzled her ear. “I’ll tell you later. It won’t matter right away.”
Well, that was interesting.
Interesting, too, was the next part, which was very much a party. The coolers held beer and soft drinks—the beer being for those women who wanted to indulge, since lupi didn’t bother with alcohol. Their bodies purged it too quickly. There were cupcakes, too, and brownies, and cookies, all homemade.
Rule stayed with her at first, introducing her and learning names. After the first few minutes, she relaxed and enjoyed herself. The only other time she’d hung out with Leidolf had involved guns and threats. This was much nicer.
Unlike Nokolai, Leidolf had a lamentable tendency to divide up into male and female clusters. She was chatting with one of the female clusters when one of them said to another in a low, gossipy voice, “Thank goodness Crystal didn’t come.”
“Now, Rachel, don’t you start.”
“No, really. You’ve got to admit it’s better this way. She kept insisting she would come. I really thought she would, too.”
“She and David are close, after all,” put in another woman.
“Well, fuck-friends aren’t normally asked to a gens compleo , are they?”
“Rachel,” one of the older woman said sharply, “that’s enough. If Crystal had wanted to come, we would have welcomed her. That’s tradition. This would have been Charley’s night, so his family had the right to attend if they wished.”
Rachel tossed her head. “I don’t care what you say. I think she showed good sense by staying home. It would’ve been painful for her and just drained the joy right out of things for everyone else.”
“Crystal Kessenblaum?” Lily asked, curious.
“Yes, do you know her?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. At least we’ve met. I had no idea she was Leidolf.”
“Oh, no, she’s not clan,” the older woman assured her. “She and Charley shared a mother, not a father. But traditionally, even out-clan family are welcome
at the gens compleo if they wish to come. Rachel here is out-clan herself.” She gave Rachel a pointed glance, then sighed. “Poor Charley. Such a tragedy when they die so young.”
At that point Rule gave a low whistle. Everyone turned toward him.
“Anyone up to a chase?” he asked, grinning.
A couple of the younger men whooped. Every man there immediately shucked what little clothing he’d bothered with. The women laughed, some shouting catcalls or ribald suggestions. The older woman who’d told Lily she was welcome to the fire went up to the burly, brown-haired youth, now a young adult in his clan’s eyes, and hugged him hard. The blond youth had a few hugs to give and receive, too, but quickly.
The men were eager for the chase. Lily was not.
Rule and Alex had discussed this at length. It was common for an older Rho to let his Lu Nuncio lead the chase—but until now, the Lu Nuncio had always also been the heir.
Alex was Lu Nuncio. Rule was heir. It would have been acceptable for Rule to give Alex the role, but in the end Rule had decided he would take the Rho’s part fully. He was young enough, fit enough, to give the rest a good run. To give the role to Alex said that either he considered himself less fit, or that he didn’t trust the Leidolf wolves to honor the chase.
Which meant that in a moment, Rule would Change and race off into the night. Alex was supposed to count off twenty seconds’ head start—but, Rule had told her, grinning, it was almost never the full twenty seconds. Somewhere around fifteen, Alex would release the other wolves to the chase.
It was all in fun, and yet it wasn’t. The chase game was a way of reinforcing the Rho’s dominance. A Rho or his Lu Nuncio was supposed to outrun or outfox the lupi on his tail and return to the bonfire without being tagged. Tagging meant a touch solid enough to leave some of Rule’s scent on the other wolf. A bit of blood was allowed, but not encouraged, since there wasn’t supposed to be any combat. A Rho’s prowess was judged on both his canniness and his athleticism—and on how long he kept the others running after him.
Alex would remain behind, as would Cullen, who had no part in a Leidolf chase. And so, dammit, would the two guards.
Lily had argued when she learned about that, but Rule would not be budged. A Rho did not take guards on a chase game. Ever. So he’d be running from a dozen lupi who might or might not want his blood.
They wouldn’t kill him, he’d assured her calmly. They wouldn’t endanger the mantle that way. At worst, if he was clumsy enough to be trapped by a few Leidolf willing to break the rules of the chase, they’d bloody him. Or try to. He seemed entirely too sure of his ability to bloody them worse.
Rule had stripped down as enthusiastically as any of them. He winked at her, grinning. She wanted to punch him. Then he looked around, a gleam in his eye that made her think of Cullen—or of Toby. Pure mischief, that gleam.
And he Changed.
Not quite as instantly as when he’d pulled himself through that door in midair, but still too fast for her eyes to track. One moment he stood there, naked and grinning. The next he stood there four-footed and grinning. And her heart just turned over.
That’s how I remember him . . .
The thought ghosted across her mind even as the love welled up, a butterfly kiss from her other self, who’d known him only as wolf. Even as, she realized, a dozen other lupi Changed—unexpectedly, pulled into it by the sudden, imperative Change of their leader. Even Cullen. The sorcerer gave one surprised yelp before being dragged into the Change willy-nilly.
Oh, he’d tricked them, hadn’t he? Given himself a good head start. Lily grinned as Rule raced off into the night.
THE door! The door was open!
They had come. The warmths had all come to it, even the man, and it had thrilled. Surely this was meant. But when it tried to rush in close, it couldn’t. It had watched and wept pieces of itself, longing with everything it was to go up to the fire, to join in the fire sharing. And it couldn’t. Though they had come to it, it was blocked. Blocked, it understood dimly, by the one it most needed to get close to. By the man—or by the magic the man held within him.
But its waiting paid off, for the man Changed himself and rushed off—and when he did, the other warmth opened the door to itself once again. This time the door hung open slightly, beckoning.
Desperate, elated, it rushed in.
RULE ran full-out, rejoicing in the speed, the sheer physical effort of the chase. It had been too long, much too long, since he’d played with other wolves, and he knew now that all his solid, logical reasons for taking this role were only part of the story.
He wanted them to chase him. He wanted to outrun them, trick them, fool them, and win. He grinned at the night air rushing past his face as he leaped a fallen log.
And felt Lily die.
THIRTY-THREE
COLD. Freezing cold, the most terrible cold Lily had ever known, swarmed into her like a living force. And with it, death magic—flooding her from the inside, unspeakably foul, choking her—breaking her, some part of her, something she grabbed after even as the cold swallowed it, leaving her alone. Unbearably alone.
You came to me, something crooned. You came.
What—?
All of you came to me. This is meant to be. The fire. Walk to the fire now.
The words were like ice chips cutting into her brain. It hurt. Her leg started to move. No! No, she wouldn’t; she . . . That voice in her mind. That was the wraith. Could it be anything else? She wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let it make her kill.
Walk to the fire, the voice repeated.
Ice, slicing into her brain—she tried to scream. And couldn’t. But . . . “No.” It was a whisper, a breath, all she could manage. Her lips barely moved—but her legs moved not at all.
You can talk to me!
She felt its astonishment, a blizzard of surprise, ice floes shifting in a glacial sea. “Get . . . out . . . of me.”
You don’t move when I say. How . . . oh, no! Its wail sliced at her. There are two of you! I got in through one door, but I can’t get all the way in. Only one of you died, and I can’t get all the way in!
Maybe she could shove it out, then. She tried, pushing at the smeared foulness inside her. But her head hurt bad, so bad . . .
Still, you can hear me, it said, apparently not even noticing her efforts. You can tell the man . . . ask the man. There is something I must ask him. I don’t remember. Help me. I must remember so I can ask him . . .
“Ask . . . who?”
He knows me. We will kill, it crooned. Together we will kill, then I will remember.
“No,” she whispered. “Together . . . we will . . . die. Look.” And she managed to pull her gaze to the left.
A red wolf with eyes a bright, unlikely blue crouched ten feet away, snarling. Cullen’s sorcerous vision worked in either form, and he did not like what he saw.
He leaped, crashing into her, knocking her to the ground—she glimpsed slashing teeth, his muzzle reaching for her throat—
She convulsed.
RULE ran faster than he ever had in his life—as if he could outrun death, race backward in time, find Lily safe and alive and laughing at him.
Three of the Leidolf lupi had Changed quickly enough to be on his trail. He barreled straight at them, the growl rising from his chest and breaking free in a maddened howl. They scattered.
He leaped over the next one. Then he’d reached the clearing and saw Lily’s body crumpled on the ground, and Cullen—Cullen!—crouched over her, teeth bared.
He slammed into his friend’s red-furred body, getting him off her, off Lily, twisting in midair to go for the throat, needing blood, blood, oceans of blood—
Cullen ducked his head and Rule got mostly fur in his mouth. The two of them landed hard and tangled, rolling, bones jarred by the force of Rule’s charge. Rule snapped at the paw nearest his teeth. Missed.
Around them, women’s screams. Other wolves gathering, growling. Other wolves . . . In the madness of
grief, Rule hadn’t thought, wasn’t thinking much now, but—Cullen? No, Cullen wouldn’t kill Lily. Maybe he’d been standing guard over her body . . .
Her body. Rule raised his nose and howled.
Cullen Changed. Then stood there on two legs, hands on his thighs, head hanging, blood dripping from a slash on his shoulder near the neck. “Rule, she’s alive. Lily’s alive. The mate bond . . .” He gulped, as if he were holding back tears. “The mate bond is gone, but Lily’s alive.”
“I hate hospitals,” Lily muttered from her perch on the exam table.
“I know.” Rule leaned his forehead against hers.
She could feel his warmth, his skin. She couldn’t feel him. Not anymore. If she didn’t see him or touch him, she didn’t know where he was.
It was a small loss, she assured herself. The mate bond hadn’t given her access to his thoughts or feelings. Just a sense of where he was, physically. “I’m not hurt.” Except maybe in her brain, but that damage wouldn’t show up right away. And the wraith hadn’t been in her long—hadn’t been able to move her, control her. Maybe there wouldn’t be any damage.
She tried not to remember the sharp edges of the ice. She tried not to blink too much.
“I know.” Rule kissed her cheek and straightened. “But you’ll indulge me and allow the doctors to finish looking you over.”
“They’ve checked every inch of me, and their evil cohorts have drained me of blood.” Some of the results of the blood tests wouldn’t be back for a while, but that wasn’t what they were waiting on. Halo’s hospital didn’t usually run MRIs at night. They’d had to be persuaded to get their MRI tech out of bed.
Ruben had accomplished that with a phone call. Got to have a good look at her brain, after all. So they’d know if it started going wonky.
“Nettie will check you out tomorrow,” Rule said.
“Nettie? But she . . . Rule, you didn’t ask her to fly across the country.”
“Of course I did.” He was still speaking in that utterly calm voice, the one he’d used since she came to after her seizure. “I spoke to the Rhej, also.”
