Lupi 09 - Mortal Ties

know.
    Lupi didn’t have the same priorities as humans. To them, the possibility that a subordinate
     Rho had betrayed that relationship was a much bigger deal than the loss of a device
     that was potentially worth millions, maybe hundreds of millions. Or would be if it
     worked. Did the thief know it didn’t work right? Lily tabled that question for now.
     It was vital, but not as urgent at the moment. Lupi took a really hard line on betrayal.
     No shades of gray. If a member of Nokolai betrayed the clan, that was treason. If
     a subordinate Rho violated his agreement with Nokolai’s Rho, that was treason. In
     their world, treason had only one possible punishment.
    If she wasn’t really smart—and probably lucky, too—someone was going to die. Maybe
     tonight. “Laban would be in the same position as Vochi to learn stuff,” she said carefully.
     “And they’re a lot more competitive than Vochi.”
    Cullen snorted. “I doubt Leo knows how to balance his checkbook, much less how to
     sell the prototype. Rich in fighters, Laban. Poor in everything else.”
    That’s what she’d been told. Nokolai’s two North American subordinate clans were opposites.
     Laban was small, contentious, and bred good fighters. Vochi was small, wealthy, and
     bred too many submissives. “Vochi like money games. They’re good at them.”
    Rule bit off a one-word reply. “Yes.”
    “The thief stole the prototype of a device that doesn’t work.”
    “That…doesn’t sound like Abe.” Rule’s voice loosened slightly. “Treachery doesn’t
     sound like him, either, but to steal something that doesn’t work—to betray everything
     for an object without value—Isen needs to hear this.” He started to move ahead. Stopped.
    “Go,” Lily told him. “Cullen can walk me down. If we run into trouble, he’ll burn
     it. It’ll do him good. Go.”
    He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and took off.
    Lily and her fire-happy escort moved on in silence at the best pace her human feet
     could keep on the rough slope. It was maybe five minutes before Cullen spoke. “The
     prototype does work.”
    She sighed. “Yeah. I know.” It was possible the thief knew about the side effects,
     too. And wanted them. She didn’t know why, but maybe that’s what had kept that abstracted
     look on Cullen’s face. Maybe he’d been trying to figure that out.
    After a pause Lily added obliquely, “Abe matters to him.”
    Cullen sighed back at her. “Yeah. He does.”
    Lupi were very black and white about treason. Traditionally, it had only one punishment:
     death. And traditionally, it was the Lu Nuncio who carried out that sentence.

NINE

    R ULE stood at the center of the meeting field on his Rho’s right hand beneath glowing
     mage lights that blotted out the brilliance of the stars overhead. His heart beat
     slowly because he willed it so…but it was hard.
    His Rho was angry. The stink of that anger rolled through him. He felt it in the very
     pulse of the mantle—a hard pulse, steady but a shade too fast. Out of sync with his
     own. This was something a Rho could do, use the mantle to pull any of his clan into
     an intimate rhythm. Rhos did it most often to steady a clan member whose control was
     slipping. Rule had done that himself. You didn’t have to pull on the mantle very hard,
     not one-on-one. Control your own heart rate, allow the mantle to flow out, and the
     heart rate of the other fell in with yours. Fast, if you wanted to move them into
     action. Slow, if you wanted to calm them. Rule had never tried to spread his control
     over so many at once, but Isen had, many times. Rule had experienced it from the other
     side.
    He should be experiencing it now. Standing so close to his father, his Rho, while
     Isen pulled firmly on the mantle, no amount of training was enough for him to separate
     hispulse from that demanding beat. But he carried a mantle, too. And Leidolf did not
     beat at Nokolai’s command.
    He felt dizzy. Disoriented. He was Nokolai.
    And he was Leidolf.
    He’d known that since the Leidolf mantle was forced upon him. Known with his head,
     at least, that the trace of Leidolf blood he’d inherited from a great-grandmother
     had made it possible for Victor to force the mantle on him. Victor had meant to destroy
     him with it. He’d failed.
    Now he stood beside his Rho, surrounded by clan—by Nokolai—and his heart didn’t beat
     with Nokolai. It beat for Leidolf. He held it to a slow, steady