Wolf Teeth || Book I : Summer {M/M} ❄

Chapter #7

The high ceilings of the throne room bestowed an eerie quality to the air. Every noise was amplified. As his brother's words reached the ears of all assembled, it seemed the walls themselves had gasped and held their breath.

They called him Lazro, but for Oryen it was his brother Ezra descending those steps. It was a long way, and he only walked a few before he started running. Oryen could hardly process what was happening or how to feel as his brother, whom he hadn't seen in years, rushed toward him and enveloped him in a fierce embrace. They'd been plucked out of time and transported into childhood. The last time they'd hugged, Oryen had been no older than thirteen. A string bean full of hope for a future that would soon dash apart against the blunt expectations of their parents and the grief of his brother's disappearance.

He smelled different. The sharp, heated smell Oryen had begun to associate with werewolves clung to his skin. Beneath that though, there was something so familiar and nostalgic that it prickled behind Oryen's eyes like tears.

Throat tight, Oryen raised his arms and hugged him back. He heard the murmurs grow more feverish and heated, a little louder. One of the people standing on the steps to the throne hissed an unintelligible whisper into the ear of her compatriot.

Ezra—no, Lazro—pulled back, holding Oryen by the shoulders at arms length and looking him up and down. "Last time I saw you, you definitely weren't taller than me."

"Last time I saw you—" He'd run out the door, screaming at their parents, and he'd never come back. "—Weren't the Alpha of the most powerful werewolf pack in the sector."

Lazro laughed dryly. "A lot has changed. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

Oryen said, "Me too," but it sounded hollow. A question burned his throat, but he couldn't ask in front of everyone. If that's true, why did you leave without telling me where you went?

Lazro read his discomfort. "We should talk."

Oryen was led past the staring eyes of the assembled leaders and new recruits through a passage behind the dais. They emerged into another smaller chamber. The whispers followed them all the way, in barely disguised tones of indignation and alarm. Once inside, he couldn't hear them anymore.

The room itself looked like a modest shrine. A wolf statue stood at the back, tall, proud and carved from the stone around it like so much of the architecture. An assortment of flowers and candles lay at its paws. Lazro turned to face Oryen. It was the first moment he had to really appraise his brother's face. Age had sharpened the edges of his features, once soft with youth. A razor thin scar scored his cheekbone where his umber skin had once been unmarred. His eyes and smile though, they were the same.

Lazro's expression crinkled, mirroring Oryen's hesitation. "I don't even know what you call yourself now."

"Yeah. Bit weird. I'm Oryen?"

"This is so strange. To not even know my brother's name."

An awkward silence fell between them, which Oryen hastened to break. "No big deal. Not like I've had it for long. We're here now, right? Lots of time to catch up."

He didn't know why he said it. As a boy, he'd missed his brother so viciously that he'd broken off pieces of himself in the search. He'd wondered if maybe he was at fault. He'd carried that with him for years.

Lazro shook his head. "It's not right. I wish— There's so much I want to tell you." His voice cracked. "I wish there had been a way to keep in touch."

Oryen felt the silent weight of guilt settle on his shoulder. That it was his responsibility to absolve Lazro of that failing. People can write letters from quarantine, he thought. Or was that just another lie he'd been told? Could they have kept in touch?