Declan was currently arguing with the Den guards about some imagined slight. And at the Aux headquarters … Well, if they were lucky, Sabine had already arrived to meet with Ruhn about an “urgent matter.”
Bryce found the Prime without much trouble, sitting in the shade of a towering oak in the park that occupied the central space of the Den. A gaggle of pups played at his feet. No other wolves in the area.
She darted from the shadows of the building’s columns to the wooden chair, a few curious pups perking up at the sight of her. Her chest squeezed at their fuzzy little ears and waggly tails, but she kept her gaze on the ancient male.
“Prime,” she said, kneeling on his far side, hidden from the view of the guards still arguing with Dec at the gates. “A moment of your time, please.”
He cracked open age-clouded eyes. “Bryce Quinlan.” He tapped his bony chest. “A wolf.”
Ruhn had told her what the Prime had said during the attack. She’d tried not to think of how much it meant to her. “Your bloodline—the Fendyr lineage. Can you think of why Danika might have been interested in it?”
He hesitated, then motioned to the pups and they scattered. She figured she had about five minutes until one of them blabbed to an adult that a red-haired Fae female was here.
The Prime’s chair groaned as he faced her. “Danika enjoyed history.”
“Is it forbidden to know the names of your first ancestors?”
“No. But they are largely forgotten.”
“Do Faris Hvellen and Niklaus Fendyr ring any bells? Did Danika ever ask about them?”
He fell silent, seeming to scan his memory. “Once. She claimed she had a paper for school. I never learned what became of it.”
Bryce blew out a breath. There hadn’t been any papers about wolf genealogy in the secret coffee table stash. “All right. Thank you.” This had been a waste of her time. She got to her feet, scanning the park, the gates beyond. She could make a run for it now.
The Prime halted her with a dry, leathery hand on her own. Squeezed. “You did not ask why we have forgotten their names.”
Bryce started. “You know?”
A shallow nod. “It is one scrap of lore most of my people were careful to ensure never made it into the history books. But word of mouth kept it alive.”
Brush crackled. Shit. She had to go.
The Prime said, “We did unspeakable things during the First Wars. We yielded our true nature. Lost sight of it, then lost it forever. Became what we are now. We say we are free wolves, yet we have the collar of the Asteri around our necks. Their leashes are long, and we let them tame us. Now we do not know how to get back to what we were, what we might have been. That was what my grandfather told me. What I told Sabine, though she did not care to listen. What I told Danika, who …” His hand shook. “I think she might have led us back, you know. To what we were before we arrived here and became the Asteri’s creatures inside and out.”
Bryce’s stomach churned. “Is that what Danika wanted?” It wouldn’t have surprised her.
“I don’t know. Danika trusted no one.” He squeezed her hand again. “Except you.”
A snarl rattled the earth, and Bryce found a massive female wolf approaching, fangs exposed. But Bryce said to the Prime, “You should talk to Sabine about Ithan.”
He blinked. “What about Ithan?”
Did he not know? Bryce backed away a step, not letting the advancing female out of her sight. “She kicked him out, and nearly killed him. He’s living with my brother now.”
Those fogged eyes cleared for a moment. Sharp—and angry.
The female lunged, and Bryce ran, sprinting through the park to the gates. Past the guards still arguing with Declan, who winked at them and then burst into a run beside her, into the bustle of Moonwood. More questions dragged along behind her with each block they sprinted.
She had every intention of collapsing on her couch and processing things for a long while, but when they got back, Cormac was waiting outside her apartment.
Bloody and dirty, and—“What happened to you?” Declan said, as Bryce let them into the apartment, flinging the door open wide.
Cormac helped himself to a bag of ice from the freezer, pressing it to his cheek as he sat at the kitchen table. “Mordoc nearly snared me at an intel pickup. Six other dreadwolves were with him.”
“Did Mordoc scent you?” Bryce asked, scanning the battered prince. If he had, if Cormac was tracked back here …
“No—I kept downwind, even for his nose. And if any of his soldiers did, they’re not a problem anymore.” Was the blood on his hands not his own, then? Bryce tried not to sniff it.