“Rowena, tell me what’s going on,” Cassidy demanded when they were gathered outside. “They’re about to fight, aren’t they?”
“You can do nothing to interfere,” Rowena said. Her voice was ragged and harsh with loathing. “This is what comes of the beast in us.” She walked away and stood alone, arms wrapped about her ribs.
“Miss Holt.”
The woman who spoke was the small, brown-haired guests who’d been first to go to Rowena. Cassidy recognized her accent; it was exactly the same as Boroskov’s. Immediately she went on her guard.
But the Russian woman seemed both anxious and afraid, glancing over her shoulder toward the doors as if she expected attack. “My name is Tasya,” she said. “I am Count Boroskov’s cousin. Please, there is something I must tell you. A life is at stake. I did not know who else to approach.” She looked toward Rowena and shuddered. “You must know, since you are to be Lord Greyburn’s mate.”
Cassidy opened her mouth to contradict the Russian woman, but Tasya was still speaking with undeniable urgency.
“This is my only chance,” she said. “My cousins will stop me if they know.” She caught timidly at Cassidy’s sleeve. “You must help to save Lord Greyburn’s son.”
Fourteen
Every man in the room knew what was to come. Braden had allowed himself to believe that Boroskov would be more subtle. He’d been prepared to watch the Russian every minute until he made his first move—for days, perhaps, even until the very end of the Convocation.
His judgment had been badly flawed. The waiting was at an end almost before it began. Boroskov was impatient. But so was Braden. The Russians insult to Cassidy was an outrage that could not be allowed to pass unchallenged.
Braden struggled to master his mindless fury. When Boroskov spoke to Cassidy, of her, as if she were a mere object of lust, his self-control had almost snapped. Every primitive impulse demanded that he attack the Russian without warning, oblivious to Tiberius’s careful rules of challenge.
Such a lunatic action would have ended in disaster. He needed the icy dispassion that came of absolute focus on survival. If he failed to uphold his leadership now, he would lose it. The Cause would be damaged irrevocably.
His weakness would be an open invitation to any other loup-garou who wished to break his dominance.
No other werewolf would get the chance. His blindness was a disadvantage, but he must defeat the Russian nevertheless. Nothing else was acceptable. It wasn’t a matter of saving his own life—that alone was of little value.
But the Cause was at stake. The Cause—and Cassidy’s fate. Boroskov had not been making idle threats. If he won, he would use Cassidy for his own vile pleasures. He would see that Rowena suffered as well. Quentin, too, would die attempting to avenge his brother.
It could not happen. No one else would ever touch Cassidy…
He shook himself and faced Boroskov. The ritual must proceed correctly, step by step. To kill one of their own kind was a grave matter among the loups-garow, and this would be a battle to the death.
The room was deathly silent.
“Why have you come here, Boroskov?” he asked.
The Russian laughed softly. “You know, Greyburn. We have both known since I arrived. My brother and I have waited long enough for our vengeance.” His voice swept the assembly. “Hear me. This hypocrite married my sister for the sake of his precious Cause, but he could not prove himself a mate worthy of her. When in his insane jealousy he sought to enslave her like a serf, she asked to be released from their mating. He refused. He held her here like a prisoner until she was compelled to escape. She died in the attempt.” He turned back to Braden. “Where are your heirs, Greyburn? Where is proof of the purity of your blood and the reason for Milena’s pain and suffering?”
Braden felt the others look at him, begin to wonder and question. Yet he would not lie, even now.
“You have not done what you demand of the rest of us,” Stefan said. “You are not fit to lead.” He snapped his fingers. “You will learn how easy it is to smash the very Cause that destroyed my sister.”