God forgave those who killed in his name. To assume that he did things for any personal gain was to admit to pride, and had pride not taken from his flesh before? The scar across his muzzle, now twisted as it crinkled and turned his face savage, was proof of that. Violence was not wrong. Violence was as much a part of this life as it would be in the next; there would always be another apocalypse, another coming of the End of Days. This world had been forged and reborn in fire and blood thousands of times.
The dark thing that was more wolf than coyote, that was more warrior than priest, it bared a set of teeth cut on the backs of dead men. It turned into a monster. “You don’t understand and you never will,” he snarled. “You’re only good to me when it comes to battle. I needed that from you and nothing more—I learned that from your sister,” he added, voice deepening with fury. He wanted to do to Hybrid what he should have done to Faolin. Cold, calculating reason was all that kept him steady. Hybrid alone knew how to push him, and this was perhaps because the coyote, for all his scars and his always-used Secui body, looked like his sister.
And Gabriel hated Faolin yet.
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