What are you? Are you a witch?
He heard a snort, and then a scoff. I am one of the last of the pureblood warlocks. My name is Kyros.
Max nodded. At times, I look…like you. How is that when I am a witch?
You were a witch, Max, a hybrid. You are no longer. When I was brought to you, you were barely alive. I saved your warlock. You are more warlock than anything else.
I don’t understand.
You won’t. Come to me, and I will explain in detail.
How will I find you?
Use the connection. My blood is within you. You can always find me if you concentrate hard enough. A word of advice, Max. Without your memories, you would be wise to trust your father only as needed. He is not as he seems.
A chill snaked down Max’s spine. Not as he seems. It sounded familiar. What was it? He tried to remember. Not as he seems. Nothing came.
Find me, Max, and I will help you.
His door opened and Max spun abruptly to find his father entering his room.
“How are you feeling?” Maximilian asked immediately, a look of disappointment clouding his eyes. Consciously, Max forced himself back into his human skin, seeing the slight nod of approval his father gave.
“Better.”
“That is good to hear,” Maximilian replied, stepping farther into the room. His cane dragged against the carpet, and he came to a halt a few feet from his son. “Your coloring is much better, and I can sense you’re getting stronger. I think it’s time for you to begin training again.”
Training. Tracker training, he knew. His father had mentioned it every day since he’d awoken.
“I’m putting together a team to capture the two witches who held you captive,” Maximilian continued, staring at him intensely all the while.
“Oh?” Max responded.
“Yes, I have reason to believe I will soon know exactly where Vivienne and Cassandre Bordeaux are hiding.”
Vivienne. Cassandre. Two sparks of memory. Yes, those were his captors. He remembered those names.
“Do you think you’re well enough to train?”
Max nodded. Training sounded much better than lying around and watching the television. His body still ached, but it was nothing that should keep him from exercising.
“Good. I know your memory is delicate, my son, so I will have someone escort you to the training facility after breakfast.”
Maximilian took a step closer, and smiled. The older man clapped his hand against Max’s shoulder. “I’ve never told you this, but I am proud to call you son. You’ve managed to live through torture at the hands of those fiendish creatures, and already you’re well enough to train.”
“Thank you…Father,” Max replied, testing the word on his tongue.
“Good. I will see you at the training compound. Eat hearty. You won’t remember it, but training is very intense.”
With that, Maximilian walked slowly from the room, favoring his right leg. When he was gone, Max collapsed against the bed, lifting his hand over his face and watching as the light tan color of his skin gave way to blue.
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Where was this Kyros anyway?
***
Vivienne stared out the window at the groups of laughing children as they exited the building and ran into the street. They all looked between the ages of six and sixteen, but she’d learned from Zahira that looks on werewolves were highly deceiving. As an example, Zahira had told her that Eli, who looked eighteen and acted the part, was actually in his thirties. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cold window pane, and tried to cheer up.
From the moment she’d awoken this morning to find that her monthly friend had arrived, she’d been in a bad mood. It had brought on a wave of sadness so intense she’d almost cried, before anger had replaced it. After scouring the veritable bachelor pad for a box of Stayfree or a pack of Always, she’d snapped at a confused, but understanding Conall. She’d demanded pads, new panties since he’d ripped almost all of hers, and a long list of other things she didn’t even need. After, she’d taken a warm shower that left her wrinkled from neck to toe, and when she’d emerged, Conall was gone, and a few packs of Always were on the bed. It was their first fight, and it was over sanitary napkins! Vivienne would find it humorous if she were in a humorous mood. She wasn’t.
“Are you feeling well, Vivienne?” Zahira’s voice intruded on her reminiscence, and Vivienne pulled her head from the window.
“Yes, I was just looking at the children—”
She broke off when she recognized the children were no longer there, and the street was now dark and empty. The only light came from a dimly lit street lamp a few houses up. Werewolves didn’t need light to see in the dark. They were natural energy conservators.