More names he didn’t recognize. More filthy blood. He hated that they were so proud of themselves, ignorant of the truth of their heritage. Larkspur almost wished there were more of the Khalif here to beat sense into these ignorant wolves. The Brandts would without a doubt. They had loved doing so to him, especially once they had learned to shift. Most of his childhood had been spent running from gradually increasing violence—they had begun by throwing dirt clods, then sticks, and by the time he had been a yearling it had been stones. Abuse had turned him inward and turned him cruel.
This was why his aggression came out most apparently when dealing with white wolves. He saw those faces and despised them. Even his father had treated him like he was a blight to be ripped from the earth. To consider that they were related was something he found disgusting. Even Naniko, as his alpha, had very little respect from her gruff subordinate. He did so out of a duty to remain for his children, and for Eris. He could have survived alone. He had for years. “Naniko’s my cousin's daughter,” he said flatly, finding this was the easiest way to explain it. “She let y’just waltz in here, hm?” Another example of her weakness. It was deplorable.
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