|Those who say time heals all wounds are correct, in essence, but Iíd have bet dollars to donuts they werenít talking about elves when that trite statement had first been made. When you live hundreds of years, time does heal most emotional wounds, but itís still an awfully long time to carry the scars.
In his own way, Jordan helped and hindered. As much as I loved his company, he was the spitting image of his father, as a wolf and a man. I loved my son dearly, but his visits were a double edged sword of happiness and regret. My only consolation was that Jordan was a soldier, not a leader. He would never be the alpha his father had been, and that was entirely fine with both of us. The life expectancy of an alpha werewolf left a little something to be desired.
Jordan was his own race of soldier, the Vereticus, a perfect blend of elf and wolf that made him an intuitive diplomat and a fantastic fighter. Rumor has it there were many like him at one time, but as the werewolves slowly destroyed their race by fighting amongst themselves, and the elves faded into extinction, the hybrid their fragile union had created disappeared as well. Of course, human legend painted Vereticus as a Welsh king cursed by Saint Patrick to live forever in werewolf form, an event they seemed to celebrate with parades and green beer. But what did they know? As far as humans were concerned, elves and werewolves were creatures of fiction, folklore and myth. It was no wonder theyíd distorted the creation of a hybrid they couldnít begin to fathom.
Using his mercenary career as a cover, Jordan traveled the world in search of other lycans. Under normal circumstances, any decent werewolf worth his pelt could smell another within a certain range. Unfortunately for them, Jordan wasnít just a lycan. A Vereticus had no smell or scent, one of the many reasons they were once the assassins of the Pack.
When Gabriel had been killed and our Pack overthrown, Iíd fled before they even knew I was pregnant. Forty-seven years later, I was still hiding in the Scottish Highlands, and quite happy to remain. Jordan had other plans, and damn him for inheriting his motherís obstinate and fiery temper. He was determined to find a Pack for us to join, and was convinced a healthy Pack didnít need to be bloodthirsty to survive. Who was I to argue? It was what his father had envisioned some hundred years previous, but never lived to see.
Gabrielís theory had been that lycans were merely surviving, instead of thriving. From studying lycan history and legends, he believed that every Pack required a Doppelhaken, or Wolfsangel. These were said to be the mates of a true alpha, and mother to the Vereticus. A true lupa, the Wolfsangel was thought to bring order and reason to the Pack, while the Vereticus restored power and strength by assassinating only those who were considered an extreme threat. Together with the Alpha, these three were the essential core of every Pack, and without them, werewolves were little more than bloodthirsty creatures ruled by the phases of the moon.