Gary nodded without hesitation. Zev was fairly certain that, like him, Gary hadn't been prepped ahead of time. The answer had to come from within at the precise moment of the acting. There was no prepping. He didn't know what his own answer would be.
Gregori and Darius, with Gary between them, approached the crystal column, now swirling a dull red. Gregori dropped his hand, palm down, over the tip of the formation, allowing his blood to flow over that of the prince's.
"Place your hand over the sacred bloodstone and allow your blood to mingle with that of the ancients and that of your brothers," Mikhail instructed.
Gary moved forward slowly, his feet following the path so many warriors had walked before him. He placed his hand over the sharp tip and allowed his palm to drop. His blood ran down the crystal column, mixing with Gregori's.
Darius glided just behind him in the same silent, deadly way of his brother, and when Gary stepped back, Darius placed his palm over the tip of the bloodstone, allowing his blood to mingle with Mikhail's, Gregori's, Gary's and the ancient warriors who had gone before.
The hum grew louder, filling the chamber. Colors swirled, this time taking on hues of blue, green and purple.
Gary gave a little gasp and went silent, nodding his head as if he heard something Zev couldn't. Within minutes he stepped back and glanced over to the prince.
"It is done," Mikhail affirmed. "So be it."
The humming ceased, all those beautiful notes that created a melody of words only the prince could understand. The chamber went silent. Zev became aware of his heart beating too fast. He consciously took a breath and let it out. The tension and sense of anticipation grew.
"Is it your wish, Luiz, to become fully a brother?" Mikhail asked.
Zev took a long look at Zacarias and Manolito. The De La Cruz brothers were rather infamous. Taking on their family as kin would be daunting. Only a very confident and strong man would ever agree.
Luiz inclined his head and walked to the crystal bloodstone on his own, Zacarias and Manolito behind him. Clearly Luiz had not been wounded. He was physically fit and moved with the flow of a jungle cat.
Zacarias pierced his palm first, allowing his blood to flow down the stone, joining with the ancient warriors. At once the hum began, a low call of greeting, of recognition and honor. Colors swirled around the room as if the ancients knew Zacarias and his legendary reputation. They seemed to greet him as an old friend. There was no doubt in Zev's mind that the ancient warriors were paying tribute to Zacarias. Many had probably known him.
When the humming died down, Luiz stepped close to the stone and pierced his palm, his blood flowing into that of the eldest De La Cruz. Manolito came next and did the same so that the blood of all three mingled with that of the ancient warriors.
At once the humming of approval began again and the great columns of both stalagmites and stalactites banded with colors of white and yellow and bright red.
Luiz stood silent, very still, much as Gary had before him, and just as Gary, Luiz nodded his head several times. He looked up at Zacarias and Manolito and smiled for the first time.
"It is done," Mikhail murmured in a low tone of power that seemed to fill the chamber. "So be it."
Zev's mouth went dry. His heart began to pound. He felt tension gather low in his belly, great knots forming that he couldn't prevent. There was acceptance here--but there could also be rejection. He wasn't born Carpathian, but Fen and Dimitri were offering him so much more than that--they stood for him. Called him brother. If these ancient warriors accepted him, he would be truly both Carpathian and Lycan. He would have a pack of his own again. He would belong somewhere.
The feeling in the great chamber was very somber. The eloquence of the long dead slowly faded and he knew it was time. He had no idea what he would do when asked. None. He wasn't even certain his legs would carry him the distance, and he wasn't going to be carried to the bloodstone.
"Is it your wish, Zev, to become fully a brother?" Mikhail asked.
He felt the weight of every stare. Warriors all. Good men who knew battle. Men he respected. His feet wanted to move forward. He wanted to be a part of them. He was physically still very weak. What if he didn't measure up in their eyes?
You aren't weak, Zev. There is nothing weak about you.
Her voice moved through him like a breath of fresh air. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until she spoke so intimately to him. He let it out, braced himself and made his first move. Fen and Dimitri stayed close, not just to walk him to the bloodstone, but to make absolute certain he didn't fall on his face. Still, he was determined it wouldn't happen.
With every step he took on that worn stone floor he seemed to absorb the ancients who had gone before him. Their wisdom. Their technique in battle. Their great determination and sense of honor and duty. He felt information gathering in his mind, yet he couldn't quite process it. It was a great gift, but he couldn't access the data, and that left him even more concerned that he might be rejected. Somewhere, sometime, long ago, he felt he'd been in this sacred chamber. The longer he was in it, the more familiar to him it felt.
As he approached the crystal column, his heart accelerated even more. He felt sheer raw power emanating from the bloodstone. The formation pulsed with power, and each time it did, color banded, ropes of various shades of red, blood he knew had been collected from all the great warriors who were long gone from the Carpathian world, yet who, through the prince, could still aid their people. Mikhail understood their voices through those perfectly pitched notes.
Fen dropped his palm over the tip of the stalagmite. His blood ran down the sacred stone. The colors changed instantly, swirling with deep purple and dark red. He stepped back to allow Zev to approach the column.
Zev wasn't going to draw it out. Either they accepted him or they didn't. In his life, he couldn't remember a single time when he cared what others thought of him, but here, in the sacred chamber of warriors, he found it mattered much more than he wanted to admit. He dropped his palm over the sharp tip so that it pierced his skin and blood flowed over Fen's, mingling with the one who would be his brother, and with the great warriors of the past.
His soul stretched to meet those who had gone before. He was surrounded, filled with camaraderie, with acceptance, with belonging. His community dated back to ancient times, and those warriors of old called out to him in greeting. As they did, the flood of information through his brain, adhering to his memories, was both astonishing and overwhelming.
Zev was a man who observed every detail of his surroundings. It was one of the characteristics that had allowed him to become an elite hunter. Now, everything seemed even sharper and more vivid to him. Every warrior's heart in the chamber from ancient to modern times matched the drumming of the earth's heart. Blood ebbed and flowed in their veins, matching the flow of the ancients' blood within the crystal, but also the ebb and flow of water throughout their earth.
Dimitri dropped his palm over the crystal and, at once, Zev felt the mingling of their blood, the kinship that ran deeper than friendship. His history and their history became one, stretching back to ancient times. Information was cumulative, amassing in his mind at a rapid rate. With it came the heavy respons
ibility of his kind.
The humming grew loud, and he recognized now what those notes meant--approval, acceptance without reserve. Colors swirled and banded throughout the room. Those ancient warriors recognized him, recognized his bloodline, not just the blood of Fen and Dimitri who claimed kinship, but his own, born of a union not all Lycan.
Bur tule ekamet kuntamak. The voices of the ancestors filled his mind with greetings. Well met, brother-kin. Elasz jelabam ainaak. Long may you live in the light.
Zev had no knowledge of his lineage being anything but pure Lycan. His mother had died long before he had memory of her. Why would these warriors claim kinship with him through his own bloodline and not Fen and Dimitri's? That made no sense to him.
Our lives are tied together by our blood. They spoke to him in their own ancient language and he had no trouble translating it, as if the language had always been a part of him and he had just needed the ancients to bridge some gap in his memory for it all to unfold.
I don't understand. That was an understatement. He was more confused than ever.
Everything, including one's lifemate, is determined by the blood flowing in our veins. Your blood is Dark blood. You now are of mixed blood, but you are one of us. You are kont o sivanak.
Strong heart, heart of a warrior. It was a tribute, but it didn't tell him what he needed to know.
Who was my mother? That was the question he needed answered. If Carpathian blood already flowed in his veins, how was it he hadn't known?
Your mother's mother was fully Carpathian. Lycan's killed her for being Sange rau. Her daughter, your mother, was raised wholly Lycan. She mated with a Lycan, and gave birth to you, a Dark blood. You are kunta.
Family, he interpreted. From what bloodline? How? Zev knew he was taking far longer than either Gary or Luiz had, but he didn't want to leave this source of information. His father never once let on that there was any Carpathian blood in their family. Had he known? Had his mother even known? If his grandmother had been murdered by the Lycans for her mixed blood, no one would ever admit that his mother had been the child of a mixed blood. The family would have hidden her from the others. Most likely her father had left his pack and found another one to protect her.