“I am shallow.” It was almost automatic, the way his defenses came up. The smile on his face widened so much that he thought his face would crack. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“I’ve been around your kind my whole life. Why won’t you admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“What you are,” she stated. “You’re a hybrid. Half Lycan, half warlock. That’s why you can do magic.”
He huffed, but did not answer her. Usually, he parried inquiries about his nature, but then again, no one had ever asked him directly.
“I know the council views hybrids warily,” she continued. “But it’s not like anyone’s going to treat you differently. My best friends are hybrids and use their powers to protect our kind. Is it so bad to admit it?”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. Yes, powers could be wielded for good, but they could also be abused.
“C’mon, D. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed,” he stated.
“Then what’s wrong? Why won’t you just say you’re a hybrid and be done with it? It’s obvious that’s why Vrost recruited you.”
Recruit. Right. “It’s not what you think.”
“Were your parents … did something happen to your witch or warlock parent, which is why you didn’t realize you were a hybrid?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Her expression was genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I never knew them.” He swallowed hard, feeling his wolf go still at the mention of his parents. “I was orphaned and taken in by the Pont Saint-Louis clan. If I am what you say I am, then there would be no one to confirm.” In fact, he’d never met a hybrid until he’d been paired with Jacob, who had the ability to create and manipulate fire.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—Oh God, I’m so insensitive! I thought you were just being mysterious.”
He hesitated, but he trusted her. And he would be gone here in a few days, so there would be no harm in revealing more. “I was about nine or ten when the shadows … called to me.” It was difficult to describe the feeling. It was like a pull, small at first, but growing bigger each day. The dark corners, whispering his name until he couldn’t ignore it. “I … disappeared into the shadow of this big oak tree on clan property. Then I reappeared a few feet away, from the shadows of an old shed.”
“You must have been scared.”
Actually, he wasn’t. It had felt right. However, it was what happened after that was all wrong. When it had been discovered what he could do … well, Remy Boudreaux was a bastard, and the fact that Delacroix was a child didn’t matter to him. No, he only cared about getting what he wanted, even if it meant making others do his dirty work.
Delicate brows drew together, and her light green eyes pleaded at him. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I understand why you might not want to talk about it. But your abilities … they could turn this war around for us.”
This damn war with the mages, he growled inwardly. Granted, it was the mages who sought the destruction of his kind, and the Lycans were just trying to defend themselves. Still, he thought leaving his old clan behind would end the fighting and bloodshed. When he had made that pact with Nick Vrost, he didn’t realize he would be exchanging one master for another. The violence was exhausting, and he’d already paid so many times, as if his very nature was a crime. When would it be enough?
“But he doesn’t want to go.”
The sound of the low, masculine voice never failed to make his wolf uneasy, and if he were honest, himself. Turning toward the source of the words, he straightened his spine and bowed his head. “Your Majesty.”
King Karim stood in the entryway to the garden, dressed in his formal military tunic decorated with medals on the chest. His mere presence agitated him and his wolf, even after all this time, which was probably because the king was one of only two dragon shifters in the world. The power he held—both as ruling monarch of Zhobghadi and the animal he kept tightly reined in himself—would have cowered anyone, yet the moment his gaze landed on his queen, he was a completely changed man. The seriousness on his face disappeared, leaving only tenderness and warmth.
“Habibti,” he murmured against her temple as he walked to her and bent down. “How is your day?”
“I’m great.” She leaned against him, and his posture relaxed. “Caspar is napping,” she nodded at the stroller next to her.
“Don’t wake him up; he’ll only get cranky later.” He turned to Delacroix, his face turning serious again. “I could ask Vrost if he could spare you for another year, at least until Caspar’s first birthday. I’m sure Creed could speak on your behalf as well.”
“That’s kind of you, Your Majesty.” He tipped his chin down reverently. “But it would only delay the inevitable.”
“I hate that now I must lose two of my trusted guards,” the king grumbled.
As soon as Delacroix received his marching orders from Vrost, Jacob had elected to go back to New York, not just to go back to his job at Lone Wolf Investigations, but to join the Guardian Initiative as well. He reasoned that it was time for him to go back home and that he was bored with life at the palace and wanted to be in the thick of the action. Delacroix wished he was as eager to fight, but he was glad his one true friend was going back with him.
“I am curious though.” King Karim’s blue eyes pierced into him. “What made you decide to pledge to New York?”
“He’s not pledged yet,” Queen Desiree explained. “He’s a transfer, and unless he’s a legacy transfer—meaning he had a parent or grandparent originally in the clan—it takes a few
