Dark Lycan (Carpathian)

“If your warriors embrace the Sange rau and deliberately seek to become one, the Lycans will attack you,” Fen said. “The war would be endless, and no one would win in the end other than vampires. You have to go into a meeting knowing their prejudice is ingrained in them and will be difficult to change.”


Mikhail nodded. “I do believe we need to have our own name for those Carpathians and Lycans who have not turned vampire yet have mixed blood, something to indicate they are very different than the demon the Lycans believe them to be. That must become part of our vocabulary before I even meet with Zev. Which means we should come up with it immediately.”

“Do you really think changing a name is going to change their minds?” Vikirnoff asked. It was the first time he’d spoken, and Fen could tell by his tone that he didn’t like the situation at all. Had the situation not been so grave he would have smiled. Mikhail Dubrinsky fully understood the problem. He wasn’t going to throw his hands in the air and walk away, he was going to actually try for resolution. More than anyone there, other than Fen, it was Mikhail who knew what he was facing.

Many of his Carpathian warriors would be tempted to become Sange rau, just to make them better fighters. They would want to ignore the potential problems and they wouldn’t recognize that MaryAnn and Manolito and Fen and Tatijana as well as Dimitri would become experiments. They would be watched closely by both Lycans and Carpathians if Mikhail was successful in convincing the Lycan council that there was a difference. If not, what then?

Would the Lycans be willing to go to war to force the Carpathians to hand over those who were Sange rau? Sadly, Fen considered that a big possibility. Even if Mikhail convinced the council, that didn’t mean all the packs would agree, not over something that had been so ingrained in them. If the council agreed, their decision could very well cause a split among the packs.

“We need a lot more information before we allow any of our people to voluntarily choose this path,” Mikhail said. “I am counting on the three of you to supply us with that information.”

Fen nodded. “I have no choice but to follow the rogue pack if it moves. I have to hunt both Abel and Bardolf.”

“After seeing Abel’s return to his homeland, I believe he has one purpose in mind, and he won’t be going anywhere very soon,” Mikhail said. “He has returned in order to kill me. In the meantime, our hunters need to know how to fight Abel and Bardolf. You obviously trained Dimitri, who has known about this for some time.”

There was the smallest hint of a reprimand in Mikhail’s voice.

Dimitri shrugged, unrepentant. “The rogues never came near our homeland. I chose to set up sanctuaries for our wolf brethren knowing Fen needed a place to rest and heal at times. It gave me a chance to be with him. What he was, during those centuries, had no impact on our people.”

Gregori stirred, his silver eyes slashing at Dimitri, but Mikhail held up his hand to prevent Gregori from speaking.

“There has never been a question of Dimitri’s allegiance to our people,” Mikhail said. “Until this rogue pack came to our homeland, the Lycans avoided us.”

“True,” Gregori admitted, “but had we known of such a potential enemy, we could have been better prepared. As it is, many of our hunters were badly wounded.”

“They fought the pack, not the Sange rau,” Dimitri pointed out.

Why are you engaging in this argument with him? Fen asked. You know he is right. We both should have brought this enemy to light long before this. You were protecting me, Dimitri, we both know that.

Dimitri frowned. It was unlike him to take exception to someone pointing out the truth. It was Gregori’s job, above all else, to guard their prince. Why did he feel this unsettling restless, almost feral, resentment?

Your wolf is rising to protect you, Fen explained. Can you feel him? You’re in a place where our ancestors can judge us. He feels that and is urging you to leave.

Mikhail waved his hand and hundreds of candles along the walls sprang to life. Instantly the giant columns and crystals radiated muted colors. In the very center of the room was a circle of crystal columns. They were the shortest in the chamber, the middle one coming up to Mikhail’s shoulder. It was bloodred, formed of rich minerals and crystals. The tip was razor-sharp.

Mikhail spoke in their ancient language, the ritual words to call to their long gone ancestors. “Blood of our fathers—blood of our brothers—we seek your wisdom, your experience and your counsel. Join with your brother-warriors and lend us your guidance through the blood bond. We pledge to our people our unwavering loyalty, resolve in the face of adversity, compassion for those in need, strength and endurance through the centuries and above all, we will live with honor. Our blood connects us.”

Mikhail brought his palm down over the tip of the column so that it pierced his flesh and droplets of blood coated the top of the column. “Our blood mingles and calls to you. Heed our summons and join with us now.”