“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.