Blood Rebellion

"And you failed to pay attention," Karzac sipped a cup of tea in the palace kitchen. He’d spent most of his time with Grace, watching over her while Lissa was gone. Kifirin said Lissa was fine—Karzac had to rely on that information, else he might have given way to his temper.

"I didn’t fail to pay attention when Gardevik threw the body in my direction," Gabron sighed.

"Accept responsibility and go on," Karzac said.

"She won’t take me back."

"Now we get to the truth," Karzac sighed. "How badly do you want her to take you back, or is this merely a point of pride?"

"I don’t deserve to be taken back."

"Many certainly feel that way. I would wait for Lissa’s opinion on the matter," Karzac emptied his teacup. "Meanwhile, I’d be thinking of ways that might convince her you’re worth taking back." Karzac folded away.

* * *

The old myths that vampires can’t walk on consecrated ground or into a church, or that they burn if holy water is dumped on them are exactly that—myths. Who came up with that, anyway? Somebody who wanted to convince themselves that there was a way to keep vampires away from them? Granted, garlic was a little strong and offended a vampire’s nose because it was so sensitive, but if a vampire was truly hungry, you might have to cover your whole body with the stuff to chase them away.

One of those little pamphlets they give away at funerals was pressed into my hand as I walked into the large, gothic-style church in Dallas. I’d bent time to get back to this point. I looked at the folded paper in my hand—a photograph of an older Winkler than the one I’d known stared back at me. I gently ran a thumb over his image. An usher directed me to a pew at the back of the church and I sat. I was dressed in a black suit—I’d discovered that with power, many things are possible, including clothing yourself in the latest fashion wherever and whenever you might be.

I couldn’t see Winkler’s children from where I sat, though I craned my neck to find them. Someone played somber organ music and it made me wonder what Winkler might have thought about that. He liked jazz and classic rock and roll. He’d been one hundred forty-two when he’d died. Still young for a werewolf, if you weren’t Packmaster. Winkler was gone fifty-three years after I’d seen him last.

The church was packed with werewolves, local celebrities, media and the curious. It made me wonder how many of those present had truly loved him. Winkler had been a powerful man—and an important one. Now he was gone. He’d given his position as Dallas Packmaster to one of his children in the only way he could.

The service was long, flowery and boring. Winkler would have hated it. Hated it with a capital H. The burial was supposed to be private, with only family and close friends. My interpretation of that was werewolves only. That’s why I rode with the casket as mist.

A separate service was held graveside and I recognized the place when we arrived. Wilburn Ranch had changed little since I’d seen it last. Randall Wilburn was there but his human wife had died years earlier. Daryl Harper had come, as the current Grand Master instead of Weldon’s Second. Weldon had disappeared to join the Saa Thalarr, leaving Daryl to fight for his right to hold the Grand Master’s position.

I stood back from the others at the gravesite, shielding myself to keep them from seeing or scenting me. Several werewolves spoke, standing behind the casket—it sat next to the open grave, which lay near two tombstones. Winkler’s parents were buried there. Daryl, as the highest-ranking werewolf present, spoke last. He talked about Winkler’s life and his contributions to both humans and werewolves. And then he talked about Winkler’s exploits. Then the weirdest thing of all happened.

"Winkler once hired a vampire to work for him," Daryl began, as if pulling up a favorite memory. "A female vampire, and those are extremely rare. I won’t go into the reasons why he hired her, but he did. She worked as a bodyguard for him and he even loaned her to my father once, to protect him during a spring summit. That vampire saved my father’s life and held the peace between vampires and werewolves. You can thank William Winkler, now, for helping to preserve the peace you have with the vampires. The little vampire died, I’m sad to say. But my father made her a member of the Pack and that stands to this day. If she were here, I think she’d tell you that she loved Winkler.

"She is here and she did love Winkler." I walked through rows of standing werewolves as fast as I could. Daryl was shocked, I could tell, when I stood across from Winkler’s grave, gazing steadily at him.

"Lissa?" That’s all he managed to say.

Chapter 11

"You knew my dad." It was a statement and not a question. William Winkler Junior stood beside me as we stared at the wolf inside the open casket. Daryl managed to get all the others away for a private moment. Winkler’s daughter was still having a hard time with all this and hated her brother at the moment. She’d left with the others—they’d gone to Randall Wilburn’s home to sit down and cool off. It was June in Texas and hot outside.

"I knew your dad." I reached out to stroke the fur around Winkler’s ears. He’d died in wolf form—he wouldn’t change back. "I’ve seen him fight. He was something to see." I struggled to come to grips with the fact that a few of the wolves remembered me when the vampires didn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter with them while it did with the vamps.

"I hope he didn’t suffer," Winkler Jr. brushed tears away as he stared at his father’s wolf.

"Honey, look at me." He looked a little like his father. Same dark eyes and black hair. Nearly as tall as his daddy, too. He turned those familiar, dark eyes to my face. "Your dad struggled with this, too," I told him. "It ate at him the whole time—his father made him do the same thing so the Pack would come to him instead of going to the Second. Trust me, I knew Phil. Phil didn’t need to be in charge of the Pack and he didn’t need to be mated to your Aunt Whitney. Phil wasn’t the best person in the world. Your Grandfather forced Winkler to challenge and then pretty much threw the fight. Your dad gave this as a gift to you and as a gift to his Pack. Don’t sully that gift by carrying this load of guilt around with you your whole life, like he did."

"I understand your words and I hope I can see things that way someday," he told me. "Right now, I feel like shit."

"Yeah. I know," I said. "But you have a Pack to run. Don’t let this get in the way of doing your job. You’re in charge, now. Your dad knew his job and he did it well. I hope he taught you what he knew." I brushed the fur on Winkler’s face one last time before pulling my hand away.