Kershov did not slacken his tense position until Skeletor finally gave in and took a meager bite from the tiny corpse. He waited patiently for her answer, black eyes focused coldly on the tightness of her jaw muscles, the way her tired red-brown windows seemed dull and lifeless. An instinctive need to protect this young wolfess surged like a blizzard inside the glacial gladiator. Whatever Skeletor told him, Ker was determined to set things right. No wolf had the right to upset one of his own - and Skeletor was clearly quite upset. He had to suppress the urge to snarl in anger at some possible foe so that he might still hear her speak.

Her reply stole his breath and replaced the air in his body with a stony, heavy rage. Oh yes - he remembered the pathetic bastard that had fathered Skeletor. Kershov said nothing, white-marble face impassive . . . but the more Skel talked, the denser the King's fury became. It rolled to the bottom of his gut and scorched his insides like a chunk of dry ice. His talons clenched the rich soil beneath his paws. When Ker ripped another bite from his dinner, it was a savage and ruthless gesture, nearly tearing what was left of the rabbit in half. Skeletor's perfectly triangular ears started to perk atop her skull, yet her Alpha remained dissatisfied with her present state of mind. How long had this callow warrioress been carrying that bitter disappointment?

When the sooty lass finally finished her soft explanation, Kershov stood and resolutely stalked closer to his subject, pausing to sit next to her as if they were equals. He made no move to touch her; Ker wasn't a compassionate monster. "Your lineage does not define you," he rumbled, "so there is no need to waste your energy fretting yourself over how your parents have failed you. There is no shame on your soul. If you want nothing to do with your . . . sire, then I see no reason to worry. He is forbidden in Abendrot." The tundra terror paused, obsidian gaze resting on Skeletor's smooth brow and wondering if his wisdom had reached the aching part of her heart. "Ruhani owns his life, as she is his victim: therefore I cannot simply erase him from this world without a word from her. Is that what you want, Skeletor? Do you want him dead?"

Now his eyes narrowed, a sharp growl making his next words grate like abrasive stones against one another. "Or is something else tormenting you that you refuse to tell your King?"