Wurd count: 612

Samael was her precious; Samael would turn the world to nothing more than burned plains and ash for her if she so much as hinted such a thing would make her happy. The resemblance to Astaroth was not lost on her, but the two canines were so far apart the silver-furred woman could barely even sense that connection. Samael was hers. Astaroth had done nothing for him, contributed nothing towards him save his sperm and his genetic material. Astaroth had not been a father to Samael, not even a little bit, and he deserved no credit for the beautiful creature of shadow and rage now clinging to Kaena, pacified only by his mother, belonging onto his mother. If Astaroth was still alive, she would have paraded Samael in front of him and taunted him until he'd attacked, and then Samael would have torn him to pieces to protect Kaena. The silvery Centurion knew there would not have been a second of hesitation from the winter-darkened coyote before her; he would kill (or die trying to kill) anyone Kaena asked.

It was for this reason that she could not send him after Haku. She could not bear to lose him and his protection; the thought of allowing another child to slip out of her grasp—at her very own request, no less—turned the ash-colored canine's stomach. His response was simple, succinct, as she'd expected. There were no long speeches of adoration from Samael, as it was not needed. All of his love and loyalty shone clearly through those red eyes, possessing only the color of his father's. The things that lurked in Samael's eyes were a far cry from Astaroth's, speaking of a deep-seeded, vile thing that appeared to Kaena to be pure and undying affection and unquestioning loyalty. After all, this was the Samael she knew—not the Samael who had taken Halo against her will, not the Samael who had torn Charon to pieces for no reason other than that he had existed and dared to lay a finger on Halo.

Wild thoughts dizzied the coyote, and she drew back from Sam, her half-dead and half-alive gaze piercing toward him. Often it was the stolen eye that struck more fear into others' hearts—it was nothing more than torn flesh, bubbled and rotten scar tissue from a wound older than most now who even laid eyes on it. "You must do something for me," she said, her golden-yellow eye locked onto his crimson gaze. It took a lot of effort not to spill the whole sordid tale to him, to whisper of what Haku had done and watch the rage blossom in Samael, far more beautiful than any flower created by Mother Nature. Something in Kaena knew, however, that watching his fleeting hindquarters as they headed to Dahlia de Mai would be the last time she ever saw him. If Haku did not kill him, if Samael did not die trying to avenge his mother's dignity, the rest of Dahlia de Mai would on his escape. If he survived that, Gabriel would kill him for inciting war. Samael could not die. "You must watch the borders. Watch the western end of the territory. Do as you will with any who set foot on our land," she said. Speaking these words, directing Samael to essentially kill on sight—it brought a strange sense of comfort over the silver-furred coyote, and a small smile encouraged her son, perhaps of genuine relief or perhaps simply encouragement to her son. It was not as if Samael needed any of that, though—if she told him to walk, he would, until he died in midstep.