“Not Ivan, Fredrick. She’s giving berserkers to everyone. Even me later.” Paz smiled, looking wolfish. “But why should you care? You never did officially mate her.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Kraft didn’t understand. Then, speak of the devil, he spotted his father arguing with Mormo. “Sire?”
His father ignored him, as he normally did. If not useful, Ritter of the Black Fang Wolf clan had little use for it. Kraft had taken a while to come into his wolf and his power, so Ritter hadn’t spent much time with him except to belittle or do his best to forcibly mold Kraft into a servile nachzehrer. All of Ritter’s important time had been spent working for their patriarch, hoping for a higher status in the clan. At any cost.
Kraft hadn’t minded though. No, he’d beentoldhe didn’t mind. He shouldn’t. Vampires didn’t do affection or emotions other than joy from a kill, satisfaction from pleasing their patriarch and fellow soldiers. He knew this and sought to bury his own pain through laughter and teasing. And death, so much death.
“Look, Father. Look at me,” his middle son said.
“Not now.” Irritated, because Kraft needed to ask his father something, he hurried toward the hardened nachzehrer and saw his father’s smirk.
“You don’t even know what flower she likes.”
Kraft glared. “She likes roses best.”
“What color?”
Kraft wasn’t sure. “Red?”
“Pink, stupid. What’s her favorite food? Drink? Movie? Does she read books? What does she do in her spare time?”
None of which Kraft had an answer for.
“Father, I’m here.”
Pain speared him, an ambiguous hurt for the boy he ignored but couldn’t stop himself from hurting. For the boy he’dbeenthat never knew love or praise from the one male he’d been born to please and never had.
Morpheus returned. “Kraft, there you are. Hey, you. Tall, mean guy. Take the children with you, will you?”
“If I must.” Ritter shrugged and gathered the children to him before diving into the pool, following Riley.
Kraft rushed to follow, but Morpheus wouldn’t let him. So strong, the dream god held him back with one hand.
“Won’t they drown?”
“Maybe.” Morpheus put an arm around Kraft’s shoulder. “Let’s talk, buddy.”
“O-kay.” Kraft didn’t like being so close to the guy. He smelled funny. As they walked, he glanced around and realized they’d returned to the Olmstead house, where the sorcerers had been with all those dead lycans. Pelts of fur and blood painted the outer yard.
“I know you’re worried about Riley, but you don’t need to be. I’m here to make sure you have her, not Julian or Fredrick.”
“What?”
“Riley. She belongs with you. She’s a powerful berserker. In fact, she’s got a history that’s right up there with yours.”
“History?”
“It has to do with your bloode. Say, would you mind giving me a little bit of yours, just to make sure?”
Kraft snorted. “No.”
“Please? I need it.”
“Fuck off.”
“But if you give me your bloode, I can give you whatyouwant. Riley—all to yourself. Come on, buddy. Just enough to fill this little vial.”
“I said no.” Kraft needed to kill the god, to devour him bite by bite, and glanced at the pool, still waiting for Riley.
