“I am still considering the matter,” he said. “I shall decide by the next sunset.”
“Then I shall wait as patiently as I can.”
Sensing the issue was settled for now, Qarakh knelt and wiped his saber on the grass before standing and sheathing it. “I should return to the camp.”
Deverra grinned. “Afraid people will notice we’re both missing and start to gossip?”
Qarakh frowned in mock irritation. “No, but given the current uncertainty, it would be better if neither of us were gone too long. If nothing else, Alessandro would begin to get nervous.”
She laughed. “He would at that! But you go on ahead. I must finish this rite and then I will be back. It’s a simple ritual that should take less than an hour.”
“Very well. But stay alert. There’s no telling who or what else might be roaming the woods this night.”
“Surely nothing as dangerous as you or I,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye.
“Even so…”
She nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” He turned to go, then paused. “You said you were my shaman and more. What does that mean?”
Deverra cast her gaze downward, suddenly uncomfortable. “There is a bond between us, Qarakh. Like two wolves in a pack that are united by deep understanding, by… love.”
Not knowing how to react, Qarakh nodded once, turned and started walking back to the campsite, trying to hurry without looking like he was trying to hurry.
Deverra watched Qarakh leave. Curse him for asking that! And curse her for answering him like that! What did the undead know of love?
You could have used another word, she told herself. But you didn’t.
Aloud, she said, “It’s just a word.”
Is it?
“What if—”
What if what? He didn’t want to know? He was unhappy you used the word? That he thinks you foolish for claiming a relationship with him that can’t exist?
“Yes.”
Do not attempt to fool yourself. You chose that word for one reason: Not because it is true, but because you hope it will become true.
Deverra had no rebuttal to that thought. How could she argue with the truth?
She looked down at the pool of her blood rapidly coagulating on the ground. There was somewhere she had to go, someone else she had to speak with, and she would prefer that Qarakh not know about it. Not until he needed to—if he ever did. But if the alliance with Alexander failed to come to fruition, and the tribe went to war with the Ventrue’s army, they would need help if they were to have any hope of emerging victorious. And Deverra could think of only one other place to go.
The Grove of Shadows.
Chapter Sixteen
Despite what Qarakh had told Deverra, he returned to the campsite only long enough to feed—being careful to take only a small portion of blood from several different mortals. When he had drunk enough to restore his strength, he once again left camp.
He rode his mare this time, not wishing to take the wolf shape again so soon. Besides, it felt good to be in the stirrups again. Comfortable, reassuring. When he rode, he wasn’t khan, wasn’t Gangrel or Cainite. Wasn’t anything but a man named Qarakh, a Mongol astride his mount.
He held the reins loosely, letting the mare have her head. She knew where they were going; he’d ridden her this way often enough. Though he rode standing in the stirrups in the manner of his people—his mortal people—he felt calm and relaxed. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations of riding: the rhythm of the horse’s hooves; the jingle of her tack; the deep in and out of her breathing; the wind blowing lightly on his face and tousling his hair; the warmth of the horse’s living body; the scents of lush green grass, crisp cold night air; and good honest horse sweat.
Far too soon, the mare slowed. Qarakh knew they had arrived. He opened his eyes to behold Aajav’s mound and the two gray wolves that guarded it. The horse whickered nervously and shifted her weight from hoof to hoof. Though the wolves were his ghouls just as she was, she’d never been comfortable around them.
He dismounted, spent several moments stroking the horse’s neck while speaking soothing nonsense to her and then commanded her to stay put. Thought she hadn’t been completely calmed by her master’s actions, they were enough to keep her from bolting.
Qarakh walked up to the male and female wolves and allowed them to approach.
“The night grows old, and I would speak to my brother alone. I give you leave to go off and hunt until dawn.”
The wolves didn’t understand his words, of course, but Qarakh communicated with them on a level much deeper than mere language. The guardians wagged their tails and yipped like eager pups before bounding off across the plain. Qarakh watched them go, for a moment wishing he could shift form and accompany them, but then he climbed to the top of the mound and settled into a cross-legged position. He bit his fingers and thrust them into the earth.
At first he felt nothing, and he feared that Aajav had at last retreated so far into slumber that he couldn’t be reached even by Telyavic magic. But then he felt the first faint stirrings of his blood brother’s consciousness, and he was relieved. One night, Aajav might very well be lost to him, but that night was not yet here.
“Greetings, Aajav. Much has happened since last we spoke. So much that I hardly know where to begin.”
Though he did not experience Aajav’s reaction as words, Qarakh had the impression that his brother was saying, So pick a place and just begin. You’ll get around to everything eventually.
Qarakh
