Nightfall (Book 2, the Halfblood Chronicles)

18.1 | Legends Long Forgotten

Nika looked amused. "Well, alright then."

After finding a wall to lean against, Steele nodded to Misha, who then removed Dusha and the scabbard from his pocket and tossed it onto the cushions near his cousin.

"You lied."

Rage rippled through the words, as well as the handsome planes of his face. Unlike most keepers, Misha Kovac didn't seem fond of masking his emotions all the time. At least not when it came to matters that involved family and friends.

Saran didn't blink. She almost looked bored. The lack of reaction only agitated Misha further, and he dove into a brief, but no less heated, explanation of what had unfolded two days ago. The truth that Mizelle had exposed.

"The hedgewitch says those you're the only one who can read those runes. You know what that knife is capable of. And you're going to tell us. Now."

"You will not believe me. You will say it is fantasy and superstition," Saran countered, her lips curling back. "And why should I trust any of you? You locked me up in a basement and nearly got me sent to a Vigil prison."

Misha glanced at the High Keeper, eyebrows raised in question. It suddenly occurred to Lu that his sudden display of intensity was perhaps just an interrogation tactic.

Steele remained distant and composed as she said, "You have my word that no harm will come to you, no matter what you tell us."

Saran's expression yielded nothing but icy resistance, and Lu was beginning to lose hope in this method when Misha approached. He picked up Dusha before sitting down and meeting his cousin's forceful gaze.

"Family comes first," he said quietly but not weakly. "That was the excuse my father used to lie to me about you. Those secrets ruined my relationship with him. And now, he's dead. He took something away from me because he thought it would keep me safe. But he was wrong. Family shouldn't lie. They should fight their battles together."

A crease emerged between Saran's brows, guilt and uncertainty battling in her eyes as she studied Misha.

"Trust goes both ways, Saran," he added in a whisper. "Please. I need to know what you're hiding."

With a sigh, Saran took the knife from his grip and unsheathed it. Her long fingers fit perfectly into the grooves of the handle, and Lu wondered how many times she'd wielded it against her enemies. How many lives she'd ended with one clean swipe.

Uneasiness knotted in the pit of Lu's stomach. Part of her wanted to drag Misha away from the she-wolf, but she rooted her heels to the floor instead. Watching. Waiting. Praying.

"In order to explain what Dusha is capable of, I have to tell you how it was created," Saran finally said. "It's one of many stories known only by the wolf packs of Russia. We call them Forgotten Legends, because after millennia of living among humans, the rest of the Daemonstri world has lost touch with its true heritage."

Nika scoffed. "True heritage? Like the Oldbloods? Why does every crazy, magic-wielding woman I meet spew this nonsense?"

Ren nudged her with his knee, as if advising she shut her mouth. And Misha's warning glare promised to shut it for her, should she goad Saran again.

The Winter Wolf, however, only said, "The Oldbloods, the Shadowlands—my people believe they are real."

This time, Nika refrained from speaking. But her pressed lips and shaking head told Lu that this revelation neither surprised nor pleased her. Lu supposed she didn't blame her. She'd wanted a normal summer after the insanity of last spring, and instead she'd gotten training programs, blood addictions, and impending doom. Lu made a note of that, her mind already spinning with ideas to reintroduce some merriment into both of their lives.