Taking these memories so no other may learn.
Lyall screamed and rocked, shaking his head, tears rolling down his face. He pressed his hands over his ears as if he could drown her out—or keep her out of his head. Branislava entered his mind with trepidation, afraid of what she might find.
She felt Zev take her hand. She knew he hadn’t done so physically; he was too busy watching Lyall to ensure the Lycan didn’t try to harm her, but still, it felt as if he’d threaded his fingers through hers and entered that warped mind with her.
There was greed, certainly. Lyall wanted more than the power Rolf claimed he already had as a council member. He wanted to be the one everyone looked up to and followed, just like Rolf. She saw Xaviero and caught glimpses, small little vignettes of the encounters over so many years. Xaviero had been patient in stalking Lyall and learning about him. He had wanted a man in a position of power, one he could persuade easily and yet would believe that all ideas were his own. Lyall, over time, had become that man.
Xaviero had discovered his weakness for women. At first he had used flattery to ensnare Lyall, and then he began to mention his night with a particular woman and the things he had gotten her to do for him. Lyall’s breathing changed, his mouth went slack and he practically drooled. The baser the stories, the more rapt Lyall’s attention became. Xaviero led him down that path slowly as well, talking about how they were so superior to women and how women provoked them with the way they moved and dressed and smiled. How those women were meant to serve men such as they were. Powerful men who needed the relaxation such women provided.
Lyall wanted to hear those things and he accepted more and more of Xaviero’s depravities as normal. He began to believe he was entitled to any woman he wanted, and his good friend agreed with him. By the time Xaviero had begun to share sadistic stories, Lyall was more than ready for them and eager to try them out.
It didn’t take long for Xaviero to begin introducing the subject of the sacred code and how the council wasn’t upholding the ideologies. At first the conversations were merely philosophical, but then they turned to how they could begin to right the wrongs. Always, Xaviero was careful, allowing Lyall to believe all ideas came from him. The mage was clever, admiring everything Lyall said, hanging on his word as if it were gospel. Lyall believed his good friend Rannalufr was his most ardent follower.
He had no memories of the Sange rau, but he had carefully begun to enlist followers for his army, recruiting those who were fanatical about keeping to the old ways. Over time he had a tremendous amount of followers. Unfortunately, Arno had helped, without realizing it, adding his voice to the ones preaching in the Sacred Circle meetings.
14
Branislava left Lyall’s depraved and twisted mind abruptly. “He’s fanatical and likes to hurt women, but he doesn’t know about the Sange rau assassins Xaviero had made. He built an army with the idea that he would get rid of the council and the Sacred Circle would rule in its place. He, of course, would be the head of the Sacred Circle. He planned on having many young women attending him.” She said the last with disgust.
She wanted to leave. To go back home and sit on her porch in the middle of the forest, listening to the wolves and the night creatures. She needed to be cleansed after being inside such a vile mind. “Lyall has no real sense of morality anymore, nor does he remember loyalty. He’s addicted to the sadistic things he does to the women he sleeps with. If they protest, or if he grows tired of them, his good friend Rannalufr takes them off his hands. He’s never thought to ask what Rannalufr does with them at his laboratory, nor does he care.”
She rubbed her temples, realizing she had a headache. The man sickened her, and he’d been far too close to Xaviero for her comfort. Xaviero had found an apt pupil and disciple, although Lyall had believed it was the other way around.
“Rannalufr is definitely Xaviero and he found a corrupt, greedy man with a weakness for women and exploited it. Lyall went willingly down that path of destruction.” She couldn’t keep the distaste from her voice. “He knows nothing of Xaviero’s plans, or of the Sange rau, although there is a laboratory where his lovely friend, Rannalufr, takes the women Lyall discards after hurting them. My guess is they endure torture and are eventually killed. After a few hours in Xaviero’s company, the women probably welcome death.” She’d seen it more times than she cared to remember.
Mikhail waved his hand toward her and she felt a little less covered in the stench of evil. “All three of the High Mages were very adept at choosing the right target for their enlistment. They had patience and they waited to discover the weakness of their victim. Lyall liked women and had he never met Xaviero, he might never have given in to his baser impulses, but the moment he was targeted by the mage, he didn’t stand a chance.”
“Are you expecting us to feel sympathy for the man who tried to kill us?” Randall demanded.
Branislava shook her head. “No, of course not. I want you to understand your enemy, and I don’t mean Lyall. Xaviero spent years breaking him down, conditioning him to accept more and more violence toward women. That wasn’t quite as hard as turning him against friends, but their political talks eventually had Lyall believing he was superior to all of you and could lead the Lycans back into the ‘right’ way of living.”
Rolf sighed and sat back, hanging his head. “If you look too long at something evil, eventually you become evil. Minds are funny things. Lyall was a man of strong faith. He believed in the sacred code and the old ways, but he always kept an open mind. Becoming friends with Rannalufr and listening to him clearly allowed the mage to slowly corrupt Lyall’s own values and morals.” He shook his head sadly.
Branislava noticed Rolf used the past tense as if Lyall was already dead. He didn’t look at him, as if that man sitting there on the floor rocking back and forth, hands over his eyes, was not the same man he’d known all those years—and in truth he wasn’t.
Lyall couldn’t bear to see his own crimes and depravities so exposed; on some level, whether he had convinced himself he was right or not, he knew the things he’d done were wrong.
“Bronnie.” Mikhail’s voice was gentle. His tone was like pure water, clean and fresh like a mountain stream, running over her and cleansing away some of the grime of evil. “Who directs his army? Who is in charge of these attacks against us? Is it Xaviero?”
“He is the puppet master. He would not issue orders himself. He will always appear innocent of any crime, so if caught, those around him will fight for him, truly believing his actions were never anything but kind.”
Her legs trembled and she made an effort to steady herself. She was tired. Not from the battle or from using her spirit to fight off the mage-shadows, but from this—the ugliness of Lyall’s mind. Of touching far too close to Xaviero and feeling the depth of true evil once again.
“There is a man, a wolf, tall, broad shoulders, a great bear of a man, much like Randall. He moves fast and has been active in the Russian military. He’s highly decorated. His eyes are a deep blue and his hair is closer cropped than that of most Lycans. He commands Lyall’s army.”
Randall closed his eyes briefly, refusing to look at his fellow council members. “Is there a tie to Xaviero?”
Branislava nodded her head. “Yes. All three men have met on many occasions, and it was clear that Xaviero and this other man are friends away from Lyall. The looks between them, the way they smirked—they were planning to get rid of Lyall once his usefulness ran out. Of course, that’s my guess from replaying Lyall’s memories, so maybe not, but it is something Xaviero would do. Do you know this man I’ve described?”
“He’s my nephew, Sandulf,” Randall admitted quietly. “He was elite and then joined the military. He loves the battle and power. I wish I could say I’m surprised because he’s always been a moral man with strong beliefs of right and wrong, but he craves action and above all else, attention and power. No matter how often I counseled him, he ruled his family with an iron fist and any in his pack had to be cautious.”
“He seemed to have no problems with the idea of killing everyone here, the council, Mikhail and all of us.” She swept her hand toward Zev and the other Carpathians in the chamber.
“Is he mixed blood? Sange rau?” Mikhail clarified.
“I have no way of knowing, you’ll have to ask the council.” Branislava swept a hand through her hair in a gesture of weariness.
I’m going to get you home, Zev said, tenderness nearly bringing tears to her eyes. There isn’t much more you can tell them.