Lupi 04 - Night Season

over those assembled to drive him out. Thirteen. Only thirteen proud Etorri had taken the trouble of coming together to rid themselves of the dangerous contamination in their clan.
    Such a small clan, and so proud, so honored by the other clans. Such great du. They couldn’t have their honor damaged, could they? If he wouldn’t break himself to suit their notion of honor, they’d do it for him.
    Thirteen present…but not his father. Surely he’ll come. He’s late, but he’ll be here. Even if he doesn’t understand, can’t speak for me before the clan the way a father ought to, he didn’t mean what he said. He won’t leave me to face this alone…
    Thirteen men…and one woman. Old, bent, her eyes filmed with cataracts, the Etorri Rhej spoke. “Cullen Seabourne, step forward.”
    It was happening. It was happening now, and his father wasn’t coming. He’d meant it. He’d said Cullen would be dead to him if he refused the Rho’s order, and he’d meant it.
    Cullen held himself rigid and stared at the old woman, who seemed to think he’d cooperate politely. His throat burned. His eyes burned. “I’m right here and you’re only half-blind. Surely you can see me?”
    â€œStep forward,” the Rhej repeated.
    He shrugged. “No.”
    The man on his left was built much like him, with elegant hands and a neatly trimmed beard. His voice was much deeper than his appearance suggested, baritone heading for bass. “Don’t make this harder on everyone than it has to be, son.”
    Son? Heat prickled over him like lightning waiting to strike. And he could have struck. He could burn them all—which was why they were so eager to be rid of him, wasn’t it? “You’re my Rho,” he said to the man who was also his uncle. “For another few minutes, anyway, you’re my Rho. You are not my father. I’m told…” He had to stop and swallow, which messed up his delivery. “I have it on good authority that I don’t have a father.”
    â€œThis doesn’t have to happen. You can still renounce sorcery, remain—”
    â€œI could renounce the Change, too, no doubt.” He’d told them that, over and over. They didn’t hear, couldn’t understand, that the one was as much part of him as the other. No more essential than breathing, either one of them.
    â€œNo.” The old woman’s voice was sharp. “He cannot. Blame me, Cullen Seabourne, if you must blame. I have Seen that you are not to remain. Your Rho has hoped to change my seeing by persuading you to renounce what cannot be put aside. He meant well, but he offers false hope. You were born Etorri, but your fate does not lie with Etorri.”
    She’d been right. The old bat had been right. His fate lay with Nokolai, not Etorri.
    With that thought came the knowledge that he was dreaming—same tired old dream, one his subconscious ought to have grown weary of playing with years ago. But that knowledge was enough to shift the dream, not end it…
    He was on the ground now, held down by strong hands on his feet, his knees, his arms. Mist swirled over him and them—they’d lost their faces to that mist, but the Rho’s voice was clear and certain: “I call seco on Cullen Seabourne, born Etorri.”
    â€œLet me go, fool!” cried a woman, unseen in the mist.
    Ah, yes—things were happening a bit out of order, but that would be his mother, who’d shown up to berate the Rho, the Rhej, the whole clan, bless her. Not that they had let her attend the seco itself, but she’d tried. Cullen braced himself for the next part—
    â€œOr I’ll shoot every sorry-ass one of you.”
    That was not in the script. Cullen turned his head as the mists cleared, and saw Cynna standing a few feet away with her legs wide, her .357 gripped in one hand and braced by the other in proper FBI shoot-’em-up fashion. She was extremely pissed. “Maybe I’ll shoot you all anyway,” she growled. “Bunch of damn idiots—let him up this second.”
    He smelled Cynna, smelled the spicy musk of her. She was aroused. And so was he.
    Cullen woke with his heart pounding, his skin damp with fear-sweat, and the smallest of smiles on his lips. The air was filled with the scent of Cynna curled up behind him, spoon-fashion…and her hand was on his cock.
    His breath