Alaine. So, that was how it went. Gabriel’s body stiffened, his face full of unwelcomed shadows and things of which he could not speak. Ignorant of the crimes of his children until now, he faced them with resentment and selfish anger. It was because of them he had almost lost her. At least now he understood why. The wolfish man set his jaw and grappled the typhoon within himself. Years of practice had made him a rock; he was greater than any of those things that had come before him. His children were weak—Faolin’s blood had made them weak.
“I will take him,” Gabriel promised, his voice strangely hollow. “When he no longer needs your milk, I will take him. Until then, you are only to come here to feed him.” Through the open window, Gabriel heard the faint noise of two voices speaking in that odd foreign tongue. Good. Enkiel would be needed before the end of the night, to ensure that the scars would heal. “If I were you, I would be careful,” he went on, teeth gleaming as his lips pulled away from them. “I may not be able to hurt you, or that dog, but your brother is just as mad as you are.” Finally, he had said it aloud. Ezekiel was not mad in the way of others, like Samael, or even Haku, but his son was cursed by furies.
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