Nightfall (Book 2, the Halfblood Chronicles)

7 | Family Comes First

Misha Kovac sat in the driver's seat of his father's pickup truck, staring at the orange envelope in his hands. After sorting out the details of the will, he'd learned that Emil had a safety deposit box held within a human-operated bank. Secrets—Misha's dad had so many secrets. He never realized how much it bothered him until a couple of months ago.

And yet, for some reason, Emil had decided to share some of those secrets with Misha. For the instructions in his will had led Misha to this very moment. To the contents of this envelope—for his eyes only.

Holding his breath, Misha tore it open and emptied it onto the passenger seat. A knife, a cell phone, and yellow note papers that had been folded in half, hiding the writing within.

"And here I'd hoped it would be a wad of cash," Misha muttered, though no one else was in the vehicle.

He picked up the weapon first, finding it to be of stellar craftsmanship. Its blade was double-edged and stretched over a foot long. An empty glass sphere was nestled inside the hilt by weather-worn iron, for decorative purposes that Misha couldn't quite discern. The upward-curving crossguard bore astonishing likeness to the claws of a wolf, and intricate carvings covered both the leather grip and the steel blade itself. But it was the ivory pommel, sculpted into a lupine head, that sent shivers down Misha's spine.

It was practically an antique. But why had Emil stowed it away in a safety deposit box instead of at the Kovac residence?

Misha switched the blade with flip phone. After a few moments, he determined it was an untraceable with only a single contact under the name Saran. Next, Misha drew out the documents and unfolded them to find his father's familiar rushed script covering the pages. It read:

Misha,

In my years as High Keeper, I've learned that there are no good days and bad days. There are only difficult days and less difficult days. Today was one of the hardest.

Last night, headquarters was attacked by Volkari and Minister Laguna was murdered in her own home. In case you're reading this far into the future, then I'll remind you what else happened. You rightly accused me of being involved with the Volkari, of being partially responsible for all the horrible events that occurred this month. I refused to give you an explanation for those actions, but it wasn't without reason. Since you're reading this, however, it means my secrets no longer matter. And I want you to hear from me why I did what I did.

I don't think I ever told you this, but I had an older sister. Petra. But when I was a boy, she ran away from home.

She didn't want to be in the Vigil, despite the Kovac family's long history of being keepers. Petra was a pacifist by nature, not a fighter. But our father, out of pride, denied her the option of taking her own path in life.

One autumn, she insisted on moving into her dorm at Konstantin Academy alone. My parents didn't think much of it, too busy with their jobs to care. So they let her go.

We never saw her again.

Two years later, when I came to Konstantin myself, I tried to look for her. But no one answered my questions, and nothing was left of her possessions. It was like she just . . . ceased to exist. My parents were never big on displaying feelings, and, to this day, I still don't know how her disappearance had affected them. Perhaps their lack of concern rubbed off on me because, eventually, I gave up trying to find her.

It wasn't until I went to Russia for boot camp that I saw Petra again. She told me that one of her friends from school had helped her run away—to Europe. At first, she'd settled down among humans and somehow faked her way into a university. I never asked what she did for money. I don't think I'd want to know.

She ended up meeting a Volkari named Sergei. I didn't believe it at first. Volkari had long since gone extinct, according to the Ministry. Then I met him and couldn't deny the truth of it. They asked me to come to their wedding, and I did.

I secretly kept a correspondence with her after I finished boot camp. A couple of years after their marriage, they had a daughter. Saran. Petra asked me to be the baby's godfather. I was barely twenty-two at the time and had no idea what that really meant, so I agreed.

As the years passed, though, we lost contact. There were conflicts among Russia's Volkari packs, as I understood it, and she and Sergei had to relocate a number of times. I thought about going to Siberia to see if they were alright, but I didn't know the Volkari customs. I feared they wouldn't accept visits from a keeper.

Then last November, Saran contacted me. We met in person, here in America. She's all grown up now, nine years older than you. She told me that Petra and Sergei are gone. I don't know how it happened, but apparently, Petra told her daughter about me. About all of us. Before she'd died, she asked Saran to see me and thank me.

Saran then told me she had joined an American pack and they needed my help to break their curse. She was in a bind. The only way she would've been able to see and speak to me, was by helping the Volkari.

The phone in this package is how I've been talking to her, and she also gave me the knife to hide from the alpha. He wants it for some reason, but Saran says giving it to him is dangerous. No matter what, it has to stay out of Capello's hands.

So that's my reason for helping the wolves, Misha. Because Saran is my niece, and your cousin. And if you still struggle to understand, remember what I always say. Family comes first.

Dad

Something knotted up tight inside Misha as he finished the letter. He read it again, slowly. He thought about what it all meant. About how he was irrevocably connected to the Volkari.

By blood.

And in the Daemonstri world, that which was bound by blood was bound forever.

The day Emil had written it . . . It was a hard one for Misha, too. Especially that meeting, when he'd finally confronted Emil about his discoveries. It was just after Minister Laguna had been killed. Just after they'd lost Asteroth to the Volkari.

Misha stared down the papers. It felt like the earth had been ripped out from beneath his feet, and yet, he couldn't move. Could scarcely draw breath. But those words kept ringing in his head.

Family comes first.