Blood Law

by Karin Tabke

  Sharia lived.

  As he raised his hand to knock on the weather-beaten door, it opened. A small, ancient woman wrapped in an old tattered shawl looked up at him. His heart stopped. The cheery brown eyes he remembered from his youth were gone. In their stead were hollowed dull brown spots, sunken into an emaciated skull. Hope was gone. Her life force barely flickered.

  “Sharia?” he asked, his heart twisting inside his chest. She’d been his mother’s nurse, as well as his and Lucien’s. She’d been the one person he’d been able to talk to when he couldn’t go to his parents. After their death up to the split of the packs, Sharia had been his and Lucien’s lifeline.

  Guilt washed over him in a second set of waves. He had abandoned her and her people when they needed him most. He hadn’t realized it then, but he did now.

  “Come in, Rafael,” she softly said, her voice barely a rasp.

  He ducked under the threshold too small to accommodate his great height. The interior was small but neat. An old bentwood rocker that she’d once used to soothe him as a babe sat across from a battered straight-backed chair. A cot took up the north wall and a small camp-style stove sat on top of a wooden cupboard with a water hand pump. Behind a tattered screen, he saw the claw-foot of an old porcelain tub.

  “Sharia, what’s happened?” But he knew.

  “The blood feud between blood brothers.” It wasn’t an accusation but a statement of fact.

  Rafael inhaled sharply. To think it was one thing, to have it thrown in your face was another.

  “I was young and angry when the council refused to believe me. It was a reason to abandon you.” He took her old gnarled hands into his. “Can you forgive me?”

  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 i
t.”

  “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.”

  Eight

  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.”

  Falon mentally snorted. Like that was such an impossibility. Lord, the man was arrogant. “It’s a knife wound.” She moved closer for a better look. Rafael flinched when she touched it. “If it wasn’t your brother, who did this?”

  “Several someones who won’t be able to talk about it.”

  Falon’s jaw dropped. “You killed them?”

  Rafe reached past her and grabbed a dry towel and blotted his chest. “What was I supposed to do, ask for a Band-Aid?”

  Falon took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest. She was very aware she wore only his T-shirt and a cast. She’d thought about snagging a pair of his underwear, too, but had decided that was going a bit far. The ribbed tee was bad enough. “Why is your brother going to kill me, and why are you going to allow it? And what the hell is the Blood Law?”

  Rafael tossed the towel aside and moved past her. Falon grabbed his arm and yanked him back with surprising strength. Her eyes widened simultaneously with Rafael’s. “Tell me.”

  He glowered down at her. “Does it matter?”

  She released his arm and pressed her hand to his chest. Looking up at him, she saw the anger and the despair in his eyes. Despite her own anger, something inside of her shifted.

  He didn’t want her to die, but he would not save her either. “Of course it does. It’s my life.”

  “What will be, will be. I cannot change it even if I wanted to.” He tried to move past her again, but she would not allow him. She pressed her other hand against his chest. He was warm, and she could feel the harsh throb of his heart beneath her fingertips.

  He must care on some level if he was reluctant to see her dead. If she could just pull him
a little more into her camp, then maybe she had a chance.

  “Rafael,” she softly said. “We’re connected somehow. Don’t you feel it?”

  Yeah, he felt. But he couldn’t embrace it. Rafael didn’t want to, but he forced himself to look down into her deep lake-colored eyes. He owed her that: to look her in the eye when he told her that not only was she going to die, but he was going to make sure of it.

  He swallowed hard as the rage began to build again. If he took Sharia at her word and listened to his heart, he would wrap this brave woman he barely knew in his arms and hold her tightly, protectively, then refuse his brother the right to her death. Instead, he let out a long breath, and as he did, it suddenly occurred to him that he had only minutes before his shift. He looked past her to the window. Pink fingers of the new day infiltrated the thick copse of trees east of the wall.

  Where was Lucien?

  Rafael lifted his nose and sniffed. Ah . . . there. Lucien was close. So why didn’t he show himself? This was the time when they were both human. One hour at dawn and another at dusk. What was he waiting for? He would not dare destroy the girl while Rafael was in wolf form. It was not their way.

  “I don’t want to die, Rafael,” she whispered.

  Looking down at her, his gut twisted painfully. In that moment, he envisioned the final glance that had passed between his mother and father before she’d died. They’d been mates in the best way possible. Heart, body, and soul. And now, in spirit.

  He set his jaw. Smiling sadly, he reached out to touch Falon’s cheek. The words were on the tip of his tongue—how sorry he was to have dragged her into the mess that was his life. But his moment of weakness was over as soon as it began.

  He was alpha. Alphas did not hesitate.

  He jerked away from her, strode angrily towad the door, and yanked it open. “Don’t leave this room,” he growled. Then slammed it behind him. Rafe shifted and went on the hunt for his brother.