Mikhail coughed into his hand, clearly trying not to laugh. Gregori, just in case you have never met yourself, that’s you sitting over there.
Gregori sent the prince a sour look. Your amusement at my expense never fails to amaze me.
The way you make friends everywhere you go never fails to amaze—or amuse me.
“O jelä peje terád—sun scorch you, Mikhail,” Gregori said irreverently to his father-in-law, the prince of the entire Carpathian race.
Mikhail’s expression never changed, but his laughter was contagious. Gregori clearly tried to hide his own amusement, glaring at Mikhail, but in the end he knew Mikhail knew him far too well not to feel his laughter at his own expense.
“Please excuse me, Bronnie,” he said aloud. “I know the dangers of trying to remove a mage-shadow and the thought of you attempting such a thing without protection was such a shock I spoke without thinking. I have removed splinters, but not a mage-shadow. I tried, but wasn’t successful. It was . . . vile.”
Branislava heard the sincerity in his voice and knew it had nothing to do with fearing Zev. Gregori didn’t like bullying women.
“If it makes you feel any better, I would never have tried such a thing. That’s why I asked you and Mikhail to meet us here, to decide what to do,” she said. “I needed to know if my suspicions were true. Damon was adamant that the only place he’d gone was to a Sacred Circle meeting. There was someone there he couldn’t name, a person he’d met many times, and yet each time he tried to recall him, he became quite ill.”
Gregori nodded in understanding. “You suspect a mass shadowing?”
She pressed her lips together hard, her heart stuttering again, reliving that moment when she was quite certain who had placed the shadow in Damon’s brain. She nodded slowly, frowning a little. “Who else, Gregori? Who could do such a thing? If not Xavier, then one or both brothers have to still be alive.” Her voice quivered. She couldn’t help it.
“And when you checked?” Gregori gentled his voice.
“It was as I feared. Xaviero.”
Tatijana gasped and covered her mouth. She shook her head.
Branislava nodded. “It was, Tatijana. There is no mistaking his signature. He’s alive, and he’s infiltrated the ranks of the Lycans. Like Xavier, he is working to destroy anyone who might oppose his power.”
Zev swore softly. “How could he manage it and none of us know?”
“I lived among the packs for centuries,” Fen pointed out. “And I have mixed blood. I simply went to ground during the time of the full moon to avoid detection.”
“He would be old and very respected,” Branislava said. “He would demand devotion. Admiration. There is no way that he has stopped killing. He’s addicted to it and enjoys it far too much, but he has discipline. He would torture and kill far from where he operates.”
Zev shook his head. “There’s no one like that.”
“Yes there is,” she insisted. “He’s out in the open, living and moving among you. Don’t look for a killer. He’ll appear kind and benevolent. He’ll blend in seamlessly with Lycans. He will have followers and they’ll love him, almost to the point of worshipping him.”
Zev frowned and rubbed his hand down his face as if wiping away the first image in order to try to replace it with the second. “You’re describing half the leaders of the Sacred Circle as well as a few council members. It could be anyone, Branka.”
“He’ll need a laboratory for making his soldiers. And he has access to Carpathian blood.” Branislava’s breath caught in her throat and she closed her mouth abruptly before her next thought could spill out.
What is it? Tell me.
Zev’s voice turned her heart over. So gentle and caring. She would break his heart if what she suspected was true. She shook her head.
Mon chaton féroce. If what you suspect is the truth, it will come out eventually. Better to get it over with now.
When Zev spoke in that French accent, his voice smooth, like velvet, she couldn’t help but react to it.
Someone discovered your grandmother was mixed blood. They had to know she was Carpathian born. If Xaviero knew, he could have ordered her death. He would have access to her blood, the very blood all three brothers had searched for.
“Tell us,” Mikhail said gently. “We need to know everything, including what you only suspect. Without all information, we can’t make an intelligent decision.”
Branislava’s gaze clung to Zev’s. Her logic was reasonable, though, and she knew it. Xaviero was alive. No one else would leave that same shadow behind. His signature had always been distinct. He had to have lived among the Lycans, infiltrating and becoming someone of importance. He would use his position to set up a network of spies. Those spies would keep him informed of every detail.
“Zev’s grandmother was the child of the Dark Bloods. The last lifemated pair. They ran across the trail of the Sange rau destroying the Lycan packs systematically and of course they tried to help. When they were killed, Lycan survivors coming across their bodies and finding an infant believed she was Lycan. They took her with them to raise her.”
“And Xaviero found out,” Mikhail finished.