Black Dog (6 page)

“Is that what your father told you?” Grayson was silent for a moment. He did not seem to expect a response, but at length went on, quietly, his deep voice dropping into a still lower register, “It's been, what? Twenty years, since your father quarreled with Vonhausel and then, like a lunatic, with Thos Korte. At least twenty years. I find it interesting that your father, though exiled from Dimilioc, nevertheless found himself a Pure woman. That he even married her. I find it incredible that he lived long enough to have children your age and yet never once brought himself to our attention.”

Alejandro apparently could think of no response to make to this. Natividad certainly couldn't. Not even Miguel seemed to have anything to say.

“And now you are here. Possibly with Malvern Vonhausel snapping at your heels. Well. And you think Dimilioc should lay claim to your father's old quarrel?”

Here it was, this moment, which held either life or death, which held their futures and all their lives. Natividad wished she could answer. Or Miguel, who could always find words that were smooth and polite and persuasive. But the Dimilioc Master would expect Alejandro to answer before his younger human brother or Pure sister.

So it was Alejandro who took a breath, met Grayson's eyes, and answered, “Dimilioc hunts down
descontrolados
black dogs and sends them into the fell dark; Dimilioc clears moon-bound shifters out of the sunlit world and protects the Pure. Twenty years ago, Vonhausel did not dare challenge Dimilioc. Now the war is done, if there still exists any civilized House of black wolves he will not dare challenge, it is this one. So, I brought my sister here. Will you not take her in?”

The Dimilioc Master did not answer. He regarded Alejandro with narrow-eyed intensity.

Alejandro lowered his gaze, but from the angle of his head, Natividad knew he continued to watch Grayson covertly. He said suddenly, “Was the cost of the war with the vampires so high?” Alejandro looked from man to man on the porch: Grayson and Harrison and Ethan Lanning; Zachariah and Ezekiel Korte. “Is
this
all your strength?”

Grayson said nothing.

“You are weak,” Alejandro said harshly. “Dimilioc is
weak
. All the
callejeros
were hiding before, they were quiet, but now why should they hide their shadows? Never mind Vonhausel: if even ordinary stray black dogs look north now, who is here to stop them?”

“I expect we'd manage somehow,” murmured Ezekiel, cool and mocking and totally unimpressed.

“Oh, yes, will you? Should black dogs fear the Dimilioc
verdugo
?” Alejandro asked him. “The Dimilioc executioner, who can find you anywhere and will step silently out of the night to tear out your heart – every black dog fears the
verdugo
! But even the executioner himself cannot fight ten black dogs at once… or twenty… or fifty.”

“You might be surprised,” said Ezekiel, smiling a little.

Alejandro shook his head. “It's fear that defended Dimilioc. It was fear of you that kept the
callejeros
quiet in the world. But now Gehorsam is gone from Germany, and nearly all the Lumondiere wolves dead in France, so we hear, and who knows about the Dacha? Or the cartels in Syria and Saudi Arabia; not that
they
are a loss, but they were strong and now they are gone. If not even Dimilioc remains strong enough to make all the
norteamericano
black dogs afraid, then the
callejeros
will hunt the Pure, and never mind what Malvern Vonhausel will do! Any black dog with strength enough to force another to follow him will come to pull you down. If you have only five wolves to meet them, they will do it–”

Grayson gave Alejandro a burning look, and Alejandro stopped. The Dimilioc Master said, his tone harsh, “I assure you, pup, black dogs everywhere are still wise to fear Dimilioc.”

Alejandro lowered his eyes, but Miguel, less impressed by black dog aggression, said, “If Dimilioc can't hold against stray black dogs, that would be… Look, you
have
to hold. If Dimilioc was gone, even the weakest of the black dogs would hunt as they please. There would be another war, this one between black dogs and humans, and no one would win that one either, but black dogs would lose it.”

Grayson transferred his burning look to Miguel.

Miguel didn't seem to notice. He said earnestly, “Dimilioc needs to be stronger, whether Vonhausel comes or does not come. You don't have
time
to breed more black wolves of Dimilioc bloodlines. You need us as much as we need you! Toland used to be Dimilioc. We could be again. Alejandro is strong right now – Papá trained him all his life–”

“Enough!” snapped Alejandro. But he said to Grayson, “But that is true. That is all true. We came to ask Dimilioc to take us in. If you
can
protect my sister and brother, then we will strengthen Dimilioc.”

Grayson Lanning tilted his head, amusement and something else in his hard face. “You amaze me.”

“I will be loyal to Dimilioc,” Alejandro insisted. “We all will be. Six wolves would be stronger than five. Enough, maybe. Miguel will make himself useful to you – and, after all, our sister is Pure.”

Ethan Lanning said with contempt, “Pimping your sister, are you, pup?”

Only Natividad's grab at his arm kept Alejandro in his place. She was furious and didn't mind letting it show, because meekness was all very well, but there were
limits
. She said sharply to Grayson, ignoring Ethan, “I
told
Alejandro he should say that. It's obvious anyway. Did you think it was an
accident
I said that about my married cousins? I'm not a
puta
; I won't lie down with them all. But if you take us into Dimilioc, I'll take any one of your wolves you say.” She jerked her head scornfully at Ethan. “Even him.”

Ethan Lanning flushed and snarled, his shadow rising fast through him so that his jaw distorted and his claws slid out of his hands, which Natividad affected not to notice. But, with impressive control, he stopped the change there, his shadow subsiding, at no more than a look from his father.

“If we kill your brothers and keep you?” Harrison said to Natividad. He glowered at her, though she couldn't tell whether that was because he was angry with her, or irritated with his son, or whether that was only his normal manner.

She tossed her head, glaring back at him. “Then I'll hate you all. You don't want that.”

“We don't,” Grayson agreed, his rough voice cutting across Harrison's response. The Dimilioc Master walked down the steps and put one thick finger under Natividad's chin, tipping her face up. She met his eyes, though she knew perfectly well how dangerous that was. She could see Alejandro staring at her, willing her to be meek and submissive. But s
he
wasn't a black dog.
She
didn't have to drop her gaze. Nor did the Master of the Dimilioc wolves seem offended. After a moment, he let her go.

He looked carefully at Alejandro, and then at Miguel. To Miguel, Grayson said, “You also want to come into Dimilioc? Human as you are?”

Miguel gave Alejandro a wary glance. “It was the only thing any of us could think of to do, after Vonhausel killed our parents. We… We hid. Papá wouldn't let us fight…” he cut that thought off.

“If you had fought, you would be dead, too,” Grayson said, his deep voice quiet. “Especially you, boy. Our human kin don't belong in black dog battles.” He paused. Then he said to Ezekiel, much more curtly, “Take them downstairs. When they have been secured, come up, and we will talk about this. Ethan, go get their car. If you can't get it up the road, at least get it out of sight.” The Master himself went back into the house without a backward look. Zachariah Korte and Harrison Lanning followed him, and Ethan shot them a contemptuous look and strode away toward the forest. Then only Ezekiel remained, watching them where they still knelt. He was smiling, but his pale eyes were cool and watchful.

“That was not precisely what I expected, when I brought you here,” he commented.

Miguel looked Ezekiel in the face as he got to his feet. “Why not?” he asked. “I'd have thought it was obvious.”

Even if Miguel had been careful not to meet the young executioner's eyes, he might have put that better. There was no challenge in his tone: as always, he was simply curious. Nevertheless, Natividad wasn't surprised when Alejandro stood up quickly, in case the Dimilioc executioner took offense at Miguel's familiarity.

But Ezekiel showed no sign of affront. He said merely, his tone dry, “Perhaps it should have been.” Then he offered Natividad a hand to help her rise. Alejandro moved to stop her taking it, then caught himself. She smiled tiredly at her brother, but she took Ezekiel's hand without hesitation. His thin smile as he offered it told her that he expected her to be afraid of him and she wanted to show him she wasn't. And she wasn't, really. Not
really
.

Ezekiel's hand was warm and firm, his grip strong. He met her gaze as he lifted her to her feet. He was not smiling now. She could not read the expression in his eyes.

Alejandro put a hand under her elbow, easing her back, away from the Dimilioc executioner. “You're tired…”

Natividad let go of Ezekiel's hand, allowing her brother to draw her back. She knew Alejandro had been pushed far enough already, so she agreed cheerfully, “Tired and stiff! I think
every
muscle I own is going to be stiff.” But then she looked straight up into Ezekiel's eyes, not smiling, and asked, because she thought he might answer, “What's downstairs?”

“Nothing too alarming,” Ezekiel said, still dry. “You can relax.” She could tell he was telling the truth, though there was a slight emphasis on the
you
that she wasn't sure she liked. But when he stepped back, waving them all up the porch stairs so they had to go past him and let him come at their backs, she went. Especially because, under the circumstances, she didn't think they had much choice.

 

3

 

Alejandro found “downstairs” more than a little alarming. The term turned out to refer to a big, half-finished basement, with brick walls, tiles on the floor, exposed pipes reaching across the unpainted ceiling, and – this was the part he didn't like – a huge, heavily barred cage taking up fully two-thirds of the available room. The cage bars were wrapped top to bottom with silver wire. The lock itself didn't have silver on it, but Alejandro could see it would be out of reach from inside the cage. There were plumbing attachments in the cage, as well as a single cheap plastic chair and a narrow cot. Outside the cage was a small table.

Ezekiel tipped his head toward the cage. “It's plain, I know, but amenities tend to get destroyed.” He looked thoughtfully at Natividad. “You'll leave your little knife on that table.”

Alejandro didn't like that either, and his black dog liked it less. Losing that silver knife, stepping into that silver cage… His black dog pressed at him, wanting to fight now, while fighting was still possible. He closed his eyes, breathing carefully. Natividad's attention was on him, not Ezekiel. She had the knife in her hand, waiting for his nod. He couldn't make himself give it, but he took the knife out of her hand himself and, without looking at the
verdugo
set it carefully on the table outside the cage.

The young
verdugo
, evidently satisfied, gestured toward the cage door. Alejandro lowered his gaze, put one hand on Miguel's shoulder and the other on Natividad's, and guided the twins into the cage, because whatever his black dog thought, there
were
no other options.

“Good,” said Ezekiel. But he made no move to shove the door closed. He said instead, “Of course, the cage is for black dogs. A nice little Pure girl could have a room upstairs.”

Alejandro stiffened. He set his hands protectively on Natividad's shoulders, glaring a warning at the young Dimilioc
verdugo
. The cage door was still open. He wanted to explode out of the cage, fight the
verdugo
, kill him. He longed to tear that mocking expression off his face, rip through his spine, send his shadow screaming into the fell dark, leave his body bleeding on the concrete floor. Impossible, stupid urges. Papá would have said, “
Is that what you want to do, or is that your black dog?
” He would have said, “
You call up your shadow and you put it down, don't let it start going the other way
.” Alejandro took one slow breath after another and did not move. Natividad
would
be safe here. Alejandro clung to that conviction, blocking his shadow's longing for blood and violence with the solid refusal of a lifetime's practice.

But he would not let anyone take his sister away from his protection, either. They would have to kill him first. He stared at the young
verdugo
, letting him see that.

Ezekiel Korte met his eyes, smiling.

“No, thank you,” Natividad said, in her meekest tone, the one she used on Alejandro when he was angry. It was all show, that tone, but it helped calm his black dog.

Ezekiel shifted his gaze to her, and his smile changed, the mockery in it giving way to genuine appreciation. “A
private
room,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Natividad repeated. “But no. I'll stay with my brothers.” She patted one of Alejandro's hands, where he gripped her shoulder. But she also smiled at the
verdugo
and added, “Some extra blankets would be nice, though. And a cord. So we can hang blankets across the middle,” she added, when the young man lifted an eyebrow.