I Will Be Strong For My Home.

They all had been lucky. Yssamega more than the rest. A shy wolf didn?t last long in Blackmoon Pack. A shy female? A shy female was taken advantage of. Rape and Murder were not punished in that pack. It was fight to survive, or be ravished or shredded. Perhaps that was why Blackmoon?s ranks were so small. Only the stronger wolves lived. A soft growl rolled through his chest. Yssamega? He would give her a chance to live if she ever came to arms against Valhalla. For a Blackmoon wolf, she was gentle. How she had ever come from a mixture of wolves like Lash and Kill, he had to wonder.

Deep green eyes gazed into the pond, ivory teeth gleaming a moment as his dark jowls lifted in disgust and fell again. He hated his parents, now that he knew what he?d been missing. He saw pups here, being raised with love, growing strong and fat. These pups would be large and strong, brave. They wouldn?t be ruled by fear of an old tyrant. They would have honor. His parents had been cold as the glaciers of the north. Kill had been a wolf driven by bloodlust and a love of his job as an Assassin. He treated the job as if it was an art. Just how messily could he stretch out a target?s entrails and splatter their blood? He strove to desecrate the target?s body.

Lash had been the typical Blackmoon pack female. Serpent like, coiling herself around any male she thought she could manipulate. She was also the best female assassin in the pack. She was beautiful on the outside, like Illusia. He huffed. How he wished that Erani could have been his mother. She was gentle, beautiful on the outside and the inside. After her initial coolness toward him had eased, she?d turned out to be warm, caring, gentle. Strong. Could he ever be as good as the wolves here? Could he ever make up for what his birth pack had done to Erani? He had been a frightened fool. He?d never known what it felt like to be out from under the eyes of his birth pack until he?d set off to complete his first mission. Erani?s death. And then he?d failed, and instead of the one he?d tried to kill returning the favor, she and Cairo, the terrifyingly large brown male, had given him a chance. He wanted to return that favor.

He lowered himself to his belly and studied his reflection. His father had been large, with an eerily graceful way of walking. Like a snake in water. Sarak would never reach his potential size, even with the fine hunting Valhalla possessed. His crucial period of life, where good feeding and care was needed to make him strong, and enable growth, had not been enough to facilitate any chance of him growing to his father?s size. He would be small, lean and quick. He had decided not to continue in the training of an Assassin. There was no need for one here. He was fast. So? A runner was what he chose now. A messenger. He smiled, and his reflection smiled back.