“Fen?” Mikhail prompted.
“I don’t honestly have an answer for you. I ran across werewolves committing murder and knew I’d discovered a rogue pack. A single hunter can’t take on a small pack by himself, let alone a large pack. And this is a very large pack. I followed them and began picking them off one at a time. It’s dangerous and time-consuming, but believe me, it’s the only way if you want to survive.”
Fen sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I traveled this way only to be close to my brother once again. I felt drawn here. In doing so, I ran across the kills.” He looked at Tatijana. “I had resisted for well over eighteen months. I found I had to come, although I felt it dangerous to do so.”
“Did you think we wouldn’t welcome you? Gregori tells me you are of mixed blood. You thought this would matter to us in some way?” Mikhail inquired, his tone deceptively mild.
Fen spread his hands out in front of him, fingers wide. “People like me are called Sange Rau, literally bad blood in the Lycan world. We are hated and hunted the instant it is known we exist.” He shrugged. “I could live with that from the Lycans. I understand their reasoning. The only mixed bloods they have known have been vampire-Lycan. To them, that is what I am should I be discovered. The idea of my own people condemning what I’ve become did not sit with me so easily.”
Gregori turned his head, those pale silver eyes moving over Fen in a careful study. “You are not so easily killed, even by one of us.”
Fen gave him a slight nod in response to the compliment. Gregori only stated the truth, he wasn’t out to flatter Fen. Clearly Gregori had made a show of Jacques and Falcon’s presence because he knew they would need more than one hunter to try to kill him. And then whose side would Tatijana come down on? She had sworn her allegiance to the prince, and no Dragonseeker would ever break their word after giving it.
He took another slow look around the room. There were others. There had to be more than just these three warriors protecting the prince. He had allowed the house to confuse his senses while they distracted him with talk. He was happier to be in his homeland, surrounded by his own people, than he’d let himself believe. That had also thrown his guard off a bit. And then there was Tatijana . . .
He sighed. “You may as well tell the insect in the rafters to come on down. The mouse in that tiny hole over there”—he indicated his left—“and the knot directly behind me is concealing a beetle of some sort. If there are others, they certainly are adept at hiding, but being in the body of something so small for so long, makes for slow fighters.”
The flying insect in the rafters responded first, shimmering into the form of a tall, broad-shouldered male with strange-colored, nearly aquamarine eyes. His hair was very long, nearly to his waist, thick and tethered with a single long leather cord winding all the way down to secure even the ends, a typical way to bind hair for battle. Fen recognized him immediately and to his shock, relief spread through him. Mataias had been a childhood friend.
Fen had known Falcon, but he’d grown up close to Mataias and his brothers. They’d run wild together in the mountains, learned battle skills and shifting on the run. They’d been like family, and he’d lost track of them. He came to his feet and clasped Mataias’s forearms in the age-old traditional welcome between two warriors.
“Arwa-arvo olen is?nt?, ek?m—honor keep you, my brother,” Fen greeted.
Mataias’s answering grip was strong. “Arwa-arvo pile sívadet—may honor light your heart.”
“It’s good to see you,” Fen said, meaning it. He truly felt as if he had come home, seeing Mataias, knowing he hadn’t succumbed to the ever-present darkness.
The fact that Mataias was there meant the other two guarding the prince had to be his brothers. The siblings were never far from one another. Coming from a long line of respected warriors, they had traveled together to see each other through darker times. They were lethal hunters, calm, experienced, and coordinated their attacks with expertise, much like the packs of Lycans. A master vampire had killed their parents when their mother was pregnant and they’d hunted the vampire across two continents, with a ruthless, implacable purpose, never stopping until they had found and destroyed him.
“Lojos and Tomas may as well show themselves,” Fen added.
“Did you smell them?” Gregori asked.
Fen glanced over at him. Clearly he’d been testing something new. He shook his head. “No, not even with my Lycan senses heightened.”
Dark Lycan (Carpathian)
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