The Passion Read Free Page B

a snapped rib actual y protruded through his flesh. He must have fought for some time knowing he was dying; the destruction of the others was that important to him.
    The only reason Nicholas had missed his scent before was because the stench of the human had distracted him. That, of course, was no excuse.
    A werewolf, kil ing his own kind for no discernible reason. What kind of madness was this? How could such a thing be? Perhaps Nicholas could be forgiven the rashness of his assumption in blaming the human before even looking for another perpetrator, for this—this insanity, this senseless, mindless slaughter of innocent victims by another werewolf… it was unheard of. It was beyond imagining.
    And yet it had, undeniably, happened. Nicholas's head swam with the impact of what he was seeing, and beginning to understand as the truth, even as a cold sickness fil ed his stomach for the magnitude of the error in judgement he had made. He demanded hoarsely, "Who is this creature? What can possibly be his purpose in doing such a thing?"
    There was a significant pause. It occurred to Nicholas for the first time that his parent was as deeply affected by al of this as he was, if not more.
    But being the older—and, as recent events had just proved, stronger—werewolf, he showed none of his feelings. That was as it should be.
    "I know him." Alexander's voice was low, and the surprise of the words caused Nicholas to look up at him quickly. Alexander's face was, as ever, implacable, though his eyes were dark with remembrance, or sorrow, or perhaps even horror.
    "He hails from a time long ago… a past I thought was buried. I don't know his name. But I remember him."
    Then, with an effort, he seemed to force his attention back to the present. His gaze, and his voice, sharpened."As for his purpose… perhaps it was nothing more than to manipulate you. into blaming a human for his crimes. And he almost succeeded, didn't he?"
    The coldness of horror crept through Nicholas's veins, turning his skin to ice and freezing his breath in his lungs for one long and painful moment. A moment ago he had been wil ing to turn as wild as this kil er, to toss aside al he knew and al he valued for the satisfaction of bloodlust… and he had been wrong . One rash, mistaken assumption I and he had been ready to declare war upon the human race; to cast aside centuries of breeding and civilization and careful restraint; to disgrace himself and destroy the pack; to let science, industry and art fal by the wayside—for the sake of a mistake. Because it was easier to believe centuries of prejudice than a moment's logic; because in the moment of deepest passion the savage always triumphs.
    The shame of his failure reached deep into his soul.
    Slowly Nicholas stood, careful this time to let none of his turmoil show in his eyes. "The human," he insisted evenly. "Why should a human be involved in such a thing? Who is he and what was he doing here?"
    "Not a human, you fool," Alexander repeated harshly, and with more than a touch of impatience.
    "Find the pure blood scent. Tel me what you smel ."
    Nicholas looked around uncertainly, fol owing the evidence of his nose to a splatter on the wal that held the strong scent of the human. He was acclaimed the most powerful werewolf in the pack, yet he had been wrong twice tonight already. He felt like a cub taking its lessons: angry to be so humiliated, yet humbled because the humiliation was just.
    He dipped his fingers in the splatter of blood and brought them slowly to his nostrils. Human, yes.
    Human, yet… He stiffened, and brought his fingers closer.
    He raised his eyes to Alexander. "Werewolf," he whispered.
    Alexander's face was impassive.
    "Is there another?" Nicholas demanded. The scent on his fingers, intermingled with human scent, was not that of the feral kil er, or of Moria or Rene or Tobias. It was not like any werewolf scent he had ever known, so faint, in fact, as to almost not be werewolf at al … but