Blood Law (14 page)

For
one so old she squeezed his hands with considerable strength before she let
them go. “There is nothing to forgive, Rafa. We must all travel our own path.
Yours has brought you back to me.”

“Come
to the compound with me. I will take care of you. All of you,” Rafe softly
said, knowing she would refuse.

“This
is my home,” she said with a shake of her head. She turned and sat back in the
rocker and indicated he should sit in the only other chair in the cabin. He did
so, gingerly, not sure if his weight would destroy it.

“It
looks weak, but it can handle the weight of you and your brother,” she cackled.

At
her words, Rafael immediately envisioned Falon. At first glance, she had seemed
weak, but she had a spine. She had handled Lucien, and she had something inside
of her that would not be manhandled. Something, he realized at that moment, not
of the human world.

He
straightened in his chair, reining in his fear in favor of information.

“You
have come about the girl?” Sharia asked.

“You
know?” Her question shocked Rafael. It shouldn’t have. The reason for the
Amorak’s being was to protect the Lycans. If the girl posed a threat, they
would know. How, was a mystery that would not be solved in his lifetime.

“Her
coming has been foretold.”

Anxiety
gripped hold of Rafael; he slowly released it and told her what he knew.
“Salene wanted her. I slew him. She possesses great power, though I sense she
is new to it. Who is she? Why is she here? What are the powers she possesses?”

Ignoring
his questions, Sharia pointed to his right hand. “How did you come by the
ring?”

Knowing
it was the topic of conversation, the damn thing warmed on his finger. Absently
Rafe rubbed it. “Salene. I took it from his ashes.”

“Did
you know he possessed it?”

Rafe
shook his head. “Having not heard otherwise, I assumed, as we all did, that it
was still buried safely in the frozen North.”

“Do
not remove the ring,” she warned.

Rafe
nodded again. His instincts told him, despite his frustration with it, to keep
it on him at all times.

“Has
the girl been sent by the Slayers?” Had she used black magic to ensnare him?
Was he as blind as his brother had been? He wanted to know.

“No,
but she is dangerous nonetheless.”

“Dangerous
how?”

Dark
brown eyes looked steadfastly up at Rafe. “She has the power to destroy you.
She has the power to destroy Lucien, and if she destroys the brothers, she will
destroy the Lycans.” Sharia leaned toward him. “Gain her trust, keep her
close.”

“How
does she have the power to destroy me?”

“The
Blood Law.”

Rafe
swiped his hand across his chin. Trying to get a straight answer out of Sharia
was like chasing his tail.

He
held up his right hand. “Does she want the ring? What power does it hold?”

Sharia
smiled. “The Eye of Fenrir. What is there not to covet? There is power beyond
measure within. So long as you do not release the demon wolf inside, you have a
chance, Rafael. Do not remove the ring and do not under any circumstances
release the hell within it.”

“How
do I release it?”

She
eyed him cryptically, deciding if he was worthy of such information. “By giving
it permission.”

Rafe
sat back, contemplative. The answer was so simple, it was terrifying.

“What
power does it have over me?”

“So
long as you wear it, the only power the ring has over you is the power of
suggestion. It cannot, however, make the person wearing it do anything he
doesn’t already want to do.”

“But
when I resist its call, it heats up. I cannot remove it.”

She
smiled a crooked, toothless smile. “My boy, it cannot force you to do what you
do not want to do. But Fenrir is vengeful. He sees all and hears all. Guard the
ring with your life. So long as he is not released, his power is yours.”

“What
power?”

“Since
you slipped it onto your finger, do you not feel more empowered? Stronger?
Faster, focused? More determined?”

He
felt all of that, and more. “Yes.”

“The
real power lies within you, Rafa. The ring releases it. On the hand of the
wrong person, the Eye of Fenrir is lethal.”

“The
Slayers will see how lethal it will be against them.” They already had. He had
almost single-handedly destroyed a gang of Vipers.

Rafael
lowered his hand and looked at the ring. It remained cool, the eye unflaring.
He felt as if Fenrir was quietly listening. “I am weary of this blood feud,
Sharia. My pack is falling apart around me, Lucien has come for his revenge,
and while I know I must abide by the Blood Law, I have been wronged by it.” He
looked directly at her. “And I cannot find a way to hand over the girl.”

Sharia
shook her head, and her dull brown eyes glittered with tears. “You are no
wearier than I. The girl can never completely belong to you or Lucien. Only
when you each discover and accept your true mate and the sacrifices you must
make to possess her, will there be peace. Only then will the packs thrive. Only
then, Rafael, can the Slayers be defeated.”

“But
what of the girl?” he demanded, moving to the edge of his chair. “Am I to hand
her over to my brother? Am I to watch as he destroys her before my eyes as I
forced him?”

Sharia’s
eyes softened. “There must always be sacrifice. Sometimes it is the heart,
sometimes, Rafael, the soul. Your parents loved each other with every fiber of
their being. Your sire would not have given up one day with Tamaska, even
knowing the anguish that would follow. He was brave. A valiant warrior. You are
his eldest son. You are an alpha. The pack depends on you and you on them.
While your feelings are irrelevant to the survival of the pack, follow your
heart, my son. Let it lead you, for it will be your only salvation in the end.”

Rafael
stood up and cocked his right arm to punch the wall over the small stove, but
not wanting to have the meager dwelling come down around their heads, he
punched his open palm. “Stop speaking in circles! Do I hand her over to
Lucien?”

“The
Blood Law must be avenged.”

“It’s
a double-edged sword! Lucien should pay for lying with a Slayer—not me for
destroying her!”

“The
Blood Law must be avenged.”

“My
heart tells me to defy it.”

“Then
it will destroy you.”

“How
can that be? If I follow my heart as you say, you turn it around and say it
will destroy me. Which is it, Sharia?”

“Listen
to your questions, Rafael, and also to my answers.”

Frustration
took hold of him. He could get a straighter answer from a snake oil salesman.
He should not have come. New bouts of anger and frustration sparred with his
promise to himself not to turn his back on the Amorak again.

“Come
with me to the compound, Sharia. I can protect you there—here, I cannot.”

“I
don’t need protection, Rafa. I’m safe here among my people.” She slowly stood,
her old bones creaking as she did. Reaching out, she took his hands into hers,
clasping them tightly. “Go, Rafael, fulfill your destiny.”

RAFAEL’S
FRUSTRATION AND confusion reached critical mass. Sharia spoke in circles.

Follow
your heart. His heart, his gut told him handing over the girl so that Lucien
could murder her in cold blood was wrong.

The
Blood Law must be avenged. So what choice did he have but to hand her over?

He
gunned the Harley and headed back to the compound. Dawn was but two hours away.
The pain from the knife wound had intensified, but he could handle it. Pain in
one form or another was his constant companion.

His
guilt over the divide with his brother and the Amorak’s current lifestyle ate
at him. His inability to save his parents and his pack’s degeneration ate at
him. Hell, it all ate at him.

But
right now, most of all, he wondered if he would be handing an innocent girl
over to her death in just a few hours. And if so, what kind of monster would
that make him?

When
he returned home, he strode into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.
The girl woke with a start. In the gray halo of dawn, he saw her sleepy, hooded
eyes. Her hair hung in a wild mass around her slender body. She was wearing one
of his T-shirts, forcing a scowl.

Her
nipples poked at the thin fabric, and the high curve of her breasts left
nothing to the imagination.

He
snapped back a snarl and walked past her, flung the bathroom door open, and
turned on the faucet of the large, sunken sink. Water flowed in a wide,
waterfall sheet as he stripped down to his jeans.

Rafe
smiled sardonically at himself in the mirror. Thick, stylishly cut blond hair
framed his face. The barest hint of a gold beard shadowed his chin. His
turquoise eyes blazed like they were on fire. Blood and dirt smeared from his
chin down his neck and across his wide chest. He extended his arms and grabbed
the edges of the sink with his raw-knuckled hands while flexing his muscles.

Despite
his lousy mood, kicking the shit out of those Vipers had been a huge stress
releaser. Gordo had had it coming for a long time. Even so, Rafe scowled.

Unfortunately,
Gordo’s captain, Sledge, would pick up the reins now. He was smarter than
Gordo. More patient and more cunning. He wished it had been Sledge he’d taken
out. Gordo had been manageable. Sledge would prove to be more difficult.
Because the Slayers had made deep inroads with the Vipers, it was inevitable
that pack Vulkasin would clash with the outlaw bikers and their silent backers
again.

Rafe
shook his head. It never ended, but he’d always known that.

For
ten years, he’d watched his father manage the pack when it had been thirty
times what it was now. Strong. Powerful. Influential. More importantly, it had
been prosperous and, despite the ongoing Slayer wars, happy, strong, and proud.
Rafael had known one day he’d be alpha. He’d craved it, wanted it more than
anything.

And
now the position was his. He’d earned the right, as well as all the sacrifices
and troubles that came with it. He had no regrets. When he was honest with
himself, however, he could admit that fear, he had in spades. He wanted the
same tight-knit family his parents had created. He wanted a strong mate to
stand beside him as they watched their grandchildren play. If he wanted to
insure the well-being and future of his people, and his dreams of creating a
super-pack, there was still much to do before the Blood Moon rising.

And
hanging over his head like his double-edged swords was the Blood Law. Until it
was avenged, they could not move on!

He
shoved his hand under the cold water and then across his face, washing the
night’s battle stench from him. Straightening, he threw his head back and shook
it, sending water flying, then ran his fingers through his damp hair. Rivulets
of water ran down his chest, mingling with the blood then down his belly,
stopping at the top button of his jeans. He grabbed a washcloth off the
sideboard, wet it, then squeezed the water out. Dawn’s gray fingers peeked
through the ponderosa pine. As he dragged the towel across his chest, his
jawline tightened, and he wondered where Lucien was.

What
was he waiting for?

He
flexed his right arm. The Mondragon tribal band of his mother’s line, the noble
head of a black wolf with a series of blades crisscrossed surrounding it, was
tattooed around his right biceps. Below it hung two eagle feathers.

In
contrast, on his left arm, from his shoulder down to his elbow, was the mark of
the Vulkasin. A detailed image of a ferocious Siberian wolf, his fangs drawn,
his nose pointed north and interwoven through the wolf’s thick pelt, the mighty
Vulkasin double swords.

He
ran a hand down his right pectoral to his side, swiping a significant amount of
blood away. He hissed in a sharp breath when his fingers touched the knife
wound.

There
was more damage than he had thought. The three-inch gash oozed crimson. He
hissed and, even as he did, the sound mingled with another’s gasp. His head
jerked up and locked eyes in the mirror with the girl.

FALON
STOOD IN silent awe at the bathroom door. Even if those black beasts outside
were hot on her tail, she could not have dragged her eyes from Rafael’s body.
He was magnificent in his halfdressed state. His back muscles rippled with his
every movement. In an ancient font, the word Vulkasin was tattooed across his
broad shoulders.

Blood
ran from a gash in his back. “Rafael? You’re bleeding.” She rushed to him.
Slowly, he turned to face her. When she reached out to touch him, he grabbed
her hand, pushing it away. His touch was hot, feverish. She caught her breath
at the heat of it.

Anger
took a swift hold of her concern. “Did your brother do this?”

Rafael
grinned, then laughed. “Like Lucien could ever get that close.”