Page 21 of Fury of Affliction
No sense shutting down the idea without thinking about it first. He refused to fall into old patterns. The habit of pleasing his sire—of leaning away from self-sovereignty—was self-defeating. Unworthy of a commander. Though, the long-instilled programming was difficult to override.
Rodin was clever…and deliberate in his coercion. He’d spent years obliterating any sense of individuality. In Zidane. In the warrior packs living close to Prague. In the upper ranks of the Archguard, too. As leader, his sire ruled with a clenched fist and an iron will. In that world, what Rodin wanted not only trumped community needs but also those of the individual.
But that was over now.
Fate had dealt him a good turn by landing him in Tacoma. By giving him a new start, so…
What Rodin wanted for him and his squad no longer mattered. Despite the orders coming from the Archguard in Prague, Zidane possessed the power to choose.
Heart beating hard, he stared at his friend.
A pack name.
The first building block that would help him form an identity. A platform he could stand on while he seized control of his life, differentiating himself from Rodin and the high counsel. By naming his pack, he sent a clear message, making it plain he couldn’t be manipulated…or forced to play Rodin’s games—unless, of course, he chose to enter the arena.
Excitement skittered through him. Zidane tipped his chin. “Any suggestions?”
“A number,” Yakapov said, looking as though he wanted to kill someone. “They’re all shit.”
“What about…” he paused. A plethora of possibilities tumbled through his mind. He settled on his favorite. “Emberclaw. Or maybe…Stormfire. We could add Dominion or Legion to the back end.”
“Emberclaw Dominion. Stormfire Legion.” Pursing his lips, Yakapov tilted his head. “Not bad.”
“We’ll bring it to a vote.” Pushing out his lean against the table, he nodded. “See what the others think, then?—”
Static attacked his temples.
Zidane jerked upright. His boot soles rasped across concrete as the hiss intensified. Pain tore his senses open. His dragon half responded, rearing inside him, slamming against the limits of its mental cage. Hanging on by a thread, Zidane shut his beast down and turned inward to track the signal.
Jagged spikes smoothed into a steady blip.
A link into mind-speak opened.
Rapid-fire chatter came through the line.
A single voice cut through the chaos. As the clarifying force expanded inside his head, Yakapov left his position by the door. The heavy thud of boots came at him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Grounded by his friend’s grip, Zidane listened hard, concentrating on the orders being communicated through the link.
“What?” With a growl, Yakapov shook him. “What is it?”
“Ivar.”
“He on the move?”
“Something’s happening south of Portland.”
“Oregon?”
He nodded, so focused on the signal his vision wavered. He lost sight of Yakapov in the blur, staring at his friend without actuallyseeinghim. “The entire Razorback pack is flying out.”
“Nightfuries in the mix?”
“Unknown.”
“Sun’s down. Sky’s clear,” Yakapov said. “We going?”
Dragon half frothing, Zidane refocused on his first-in-command. Bright blue eyes full of hope collided with his. He bared his teeth as aggression cratered his control. Magic slipped his net. Fire broke through the surface of his skin. Zidane welcomed the burn, loving the feel as flames raged down his spine. Heat blasted across the war room. His eyes sparked, bathing Yakapov and the white walls in citrine glow.
Yakapov released him before fire scorched his hand.