Hemming nodded, grateful for the explanation of the difference. “She often gave me blood during hunts or battles when I was wounded. I realized that I was becoming as she was.”

Branislava squeezed his hand. “Zev is Hän ku pesäk kaikak. Fen and Dimitri are as well. They fought this day with honor. You would have been proud of your grandson.”

“I’ve always been proud of my grandson. He has been a thorn in Xaviero’s side almost from the first day the mage became aware of an elite hunter who advised the council. Xaviero couldn’t break Zev’s hold on them, not even the members of the Sacred Circle.”

Another coughing fit seized Hemming hard. His body was slippery from all the blood leaking from so many places the chains had opened up. Branislava looked to Gregori, her sorrow so heavy she could barely breathe.

The pain is gone now. His body is numb, Gregori assured her. Can you not feel his joy? He is going to be with his lifemate. They are bound, whether or not tied soul to soul. He cannot wait to be with her.

Branislava knew Gregori spoke the truth. Hemming’s head fell back into her lap and once more his gaze jumped to his grandson’s.

“He never knew you were my grandson. He didn’t even suspect—not until recently. It was amusing to see him rail and rant, throwing temper tantrums like a child because he couldn’t kill the six of you he wanted dead. He used my blood to build servants, but he didn’t understand that the making of a true Sange rau—or rather a Hän ku pesäk kaikak—took time. He expected the Lycans he forced into his service to be faster and smarter and better than all they encountered.”

His hand went out to Zev. Trembling. Weak. The loss of blood was telling on him and he choked several times, fighting for breath. Branislava didn’t care if Hemming was numb or not. She couldn’t stand that fact that he was drowning in his own blood and knew it.

I call to water’s life source pay heed to my call,

I bid you to bend and reform to my will,

I take that which is lifeblood and turn it aside,

So that air may now flow giving peace to this life.

Hemming looked up at her and smiled. “I’m not afraid, little granddaughter. The pain of the chains is gone and I’m free. I feel as if I’m soaring across the sky. I have this time to be with my grandson and to meet you and his friends. No man could ask for more as he passes. I thank you for your care.”

Clearly her small spell had worked, and he was able to find an alternative method of breathing enough to talk as his time ran out. Branislava shoved her free hand in her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud. Hemming clearly wanted to be free of the life he had led. She didn’t want to ruin his passing with her tears.

“These men. Lycans. The ones Xaviero forced into his service,” Hemming said. “They were good men, Zev. Kind men. Some did their best to ease my suffering. They had no choice once Xaviero took away their free will. They will feel tremendous guilt. And they will be forever shunned by Lycan society, and yet they need to belong to a pack.”

“I hear you, grandfather,” Zev said softly. “I understand.”

“You can’t risk them going rogue. They need a strong alpha they can look up to.”

“You tried to be that alpha for them, didn’t you?” Zev asked, with sudden comprehension. “Even wrapped in chains of silver you tried to help the others.”

“They can’t continue without a pack, you know that. They’re good boys. Some of them must have survived.”

Not the one who had thrown his grandfather facedown in the dirt in front of Xaviero. That Sange rau had not survived. Dimitri had dispatched him quietly and quickly while the rest of those in the field had watched in horror as Xaviero and Xayvion had opened the gates of hell.

“Maybe a dozen,” Zev said.

“So few. Xaviero took so many lives so casually. He was cruel, Zev. So cruel. If the Lycan he wanted in his service didn’t join with him, the mage tortured and killed his family. Then, just to rub salt in the wounds, he took on his Lycan image and became the kindly Rannalufr, to counsel the rest of the grieving family members. More than likely he made them feel such guilt they quickly killed themselves. He would dance with glee around the laboratory whenever he managed to ruin an entire family.”

The coughing was continuous now. The bleeding was steady, no matter how many times Zev wiped the blood from his grandfather’s mouth.

It won’t be long now, love, Branislava said. He’s close. I don’t know why he’s still holding on when he could embrace death.

Zev feared he knew. “Rannalufr means ‘plundering wolf.’ I suppose if any of us had just thought about how that name didn’t fit the imagery we might have looked closer at him.”

Hemming made a movement as though he might shake his head, but the effort was too much and sent him into another violent coughing fit. Zev took his free hand.

“You want me to be responsible for these displaced Lycans. To form a pack with them and become their alpha. Not someone else. You want me to be their leader.”

Hemming nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“I give you my word, Grandfather. I’ll take care of them.” Inwardly Zev sighed. He knew what his grandfather wanted all along. But that many Sange rau, all relatively newly made, shunned by the Lycans and their council, would be a handful. “They will make tremendous elite hunters once trained properly. If they wish to join my pack, I’ll take them on.”

Now he was a schoolteacher. Zev couldn’t contain the little sigh. A flash of amusement lit up Hemming’s eyes. He squeezed Zev’s hand and then allowed his lashes to drift down.

There was a moment where he took a breath and exhaled. Peace settled over his ravaged features. A kind of joy. His lips curved into a soft smile, and he was gone.

Branislava held Hemming’s hand for a few more moments and then gently extricated herself, allowing his head to lie on the ground once again. She reached out to Zev, who immediately wrapped his arm around her.

“He wanted to go,” Gregori said, his voice a little rougher than normal. “I’m sorry, Zev. He was a good man. It would have been a pleasure to have had more time with him, if for any other reason than to learn from him.”

Zev nodded. He looked past Mikhail to see the four silent sentinels, Andre, Tomas, Lojos, and Mataias standing guard between Mikhail and the Sange rau lined up behind them, watching in silence. He noted each of the faces of the mixed bloods. They looked grief-stricken. Confused. Ashamed. All of them had bowed their heads at Hemming’s passing. Two wore the Sacred Circle tattoo, and one crossed himself. Another looked as if he murmured a prayer.