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?

He shrugged. "Hey, it's all ancient history, right?"

Lazro's smile lightened. It looked just as Oryen had remembered it—just as disarming. Comforting. It should have been no surprise at all that his charms led him into the position he held now.

Oryen still wanted to know how. "Cozy appointment you've got here. Seems pretty lush for quarantine."

"It's a long story. I didn't mean to leave without a word like that. I've been in here the whole time, or I would have reached out to you." The explanation came out of him in a rush and, though it made sense, failed to erase the hurt Oryen was determined not to feel. Lazro rubbed his jaw. "Getting turned into a werewolf was... a surprise."

Oryen gave a rueful smile. "Same."

"I'm meant to receive the rest of the recruits. You'll need to get your stripes. And I should really explain the situation to the other Alphas," Lazro said.

"The scowling brigade on the throne with you?" They hadn't seemed pleased about Oryen's arrival.

Lazro winced. "Yes. They won't take kindly to your appearance and your—" Lazro paused, and Oryen saw his nostrils flare just a little. "—current state. When were you bitten?"

"Three days ago," Oryen said. "Wait, four now. What's their problem with that?"

Lazro hesitated, clasping his hands together then reaching out with one to take Oryen by the shoulder. "I'm afraid it's a little bit of good news, bad news. As the Alpha, my kin are usually considered Deltas. Of high rank and high influence. Normally, you would inherit my role if something were to happen to me. You would be equally responsible for the wellness of the pack. It runs in families."

Oryen's stomach sank. "Then how did you get to be—"

"Explaining how I got here would take a while, but for now let me put it to you this way. As a newborn werewolf who hasn't even reached his first full moon, they won't like you inheriting that sort of status automatically."

"That won't be a problem. I don't want it."

The corners of Lazro's smile dropped a fraction. "I know it's a lot to take in. But it would actually be... better, in a lot of ways, if you could join me." He paused and looked sidelong at the wolf statue, with its treasure trove of offerings. "It's not easy to keep the peace on my own. Things have been...tense. To have you by my side through it, well—"

Oryen's insides felt weighted with lead. Power and responsibility would not afford him the anonymity or discretion he sorely needed. The tattoo on his chest felt inked by acid. He didn't know how Lazro would react if he knew about Oryen's history as a Fen. He didn't know Lazro. Yet, the yearning to know him once more drew him in. It coaxed him with every fond childhood memory tainted by Lazro's absence.

Perhaps he could remember them fondly again.

It was too dangerous to find out.

"That'd be swell," he said carefully. "But you said it yourself, they're not going to be happy about it."

Lazro's smile returned in force. "I'm pretty sure you, of all people, can win them over."

"It really has been a while if you think as much. How?"

Lazro rubbed his chin. "Let me think it over. We should get you assigned a regular role in the mean-time. Something to dissuade them thinking I'm just gonna throw you up on that gaudy throne with me right away. What did you do on the outside? For a living?"

Oryen's rehearsed lie tasted like sandpaper on the way out. "I was a police officer."

"Perfect. I'll make you a Kappa then, assign you to Serove. He's in charge of our, er, I guess you'd call it a military division. Sad as it is that we need one in here." He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "I'll have Aryeta introduce you. Has she briefed you on the whole hierarchy thing?"

Oryen shook his head.

"It's a bit complicated. Mardero is composed of many allied packs. Serove's a Gamma, head of defense. He takes his role a bit too seriously. Address him with respect and he's a peach though."

"He tells me to jump, I ask how high, and could I make him a cup of tea while I'm at it. Gotcha."

Lazro beamed and embraced him again with a slap on the back. "I should get back and smooth any raised hackles, but we'll talk more later. I'll come find you."

After leading him back to a deathly silent throne room, Lazro passed him off to Aryeta.

For a split second, Oryen could see the star struck gleam in Aryeta's eyes as Lazro gave her a warm pat on the shoulder and instructed her on their plan.

He was more than an Alpha to them. He was an idol. An idol who knew them by name.

She nodded and started to lead Oryen away. Just as they left, Lazro said, "I can't tell you how good it is to have you back."

Oryen returned his grin, but fear poisoned the warmth of the reunion still. Would he be so happy to see Oryen if he knew?

Aryeta led him through an adjoining tunnel, which wove through the mountain like mine shafts. No torches lit the dark passages. The werewolves who built them hadn't needed them. Oryen saw nearly as well here as he had in the open daylight. Aryeta walked with her head bowed and her eyes averted, quiet.

Recognizing it for deference, Oryen adopted a sarcastic tone. "Since I'm too good to be seen with the unwashed masses, I suppose our budding friendship has to end."

Aryeta shot him a look of surprise. "You didn't tell me you were related to the most beloved man in the whole sector."

"Eugh. You don't have to rub it in. It's like I'm five again."

"Sibling rivalry?" she guessed.

"No." This was the unvarnished truth. "He was my big brother. I looked up to him."

Her expression remained confused. He couldn't blame her.

"Trust me, I'm just as shocked as you. I didn't know he was here."

She subsided a little. "It must have been a long time since you'd last seen him then."

It had been twelve years. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that. "Just promise you'll still take the piss out of me for being an ignorant vellup. Keep me humble."

He could see she appreciated that he remembered her lycanthropic vocabulary lesson. Vellup, she'd said, could be used affectionately to address someone young, or derisively to mean someone immature or witless.

When she replied, "All right, vellup," it felt an appropriate mix of both.

They emerged into a long, open chamber with tall columns supporting the high arch of the cavern ceiling. With second floor galleries and decorative friezes wrapping the balconies, it felt impossibly grandiose. A hearth stood at one end and natural light fell in shafts at intervals from more oculi in the roof.

In front of the hearth, a man with a bowl of gold paint in his hands waited for them. He wore a fur-trimmed cloak with elaborate embroidery—clearly ceremonial in nature, given it was far too hot even in the caves for something like that. Seeing Aryeta with only Oryen, he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I'll bring the others soon," she told him. "Lazro gave me special instruction to have Oryen here initiated into the Kappas."

At Lazro's name, he asked no more questions. Nodding, he dipped a finger in the bowl of paint. It had a chemical scent that burned the inside of Oryen's nose. With the paint on his finger, he drew a stripe along the tag attached to Oryen's collar.

Oryen tried to look down at it but couldn't tuck his chin in enough to see. "Does it make me look fancy?"

Aryeta rolled her eyes.

The man raised a hand and said, "In Lazro's name, I hereby assign Oryen to the Kappas. Welcome to Mardero."

Now that he was an official initiate, Aryeta hurried to take him to meet this 'Gamma Serove', leader of the Kappas. She took him through tunnels, climbing their way through the labyrinth hidden beneath the mountains here.

"Almost there," Aryeta said. "Then I'm afraid I've got to hurry back to initiate the other recruits."

Distantly, many footsteps pounded the rock. The path turned and suddenly they were in a curved hall with light plunging through archways in the stone. It was difficult to get a sense of the architecture until they passed under one such archway into the open air beyond.

It was an amphitheatre, larger than any stadium Oryen had been to and carved like a bowl into the rock. They stood in the dusty arena, baking in the high-noon sun. Running the perimeter were men and women in very few clothes. What they did wear, they'd soaked through with sweat.

At the centre of the arena stood a grizzled man in his forties. His mouth had a sardonic slant, the kind you expected to bark 'woman!' when addressing his wife. His greying beard was in need of a trim. A number of scars nicked his features, including a missing chunk to the shell of his ear. Everywhere visible, he was covered in coarse hair, as if he was halfway transformed already.

Oryen knew his type, but hoped he was wrong.

Aryeta said, "Serove! Got a new recruit for you."

"Yeah?" Serove turned around, taking in Oryen with a critical eye. "I owe you a drink, Cupcake. He's a big one. Hardly smells like a wolf though."

"Cupcake?" muttered Oryen.

"He likes his nicknames." Aryeta nudged Oryen forward.

"Welcome to Mardero." Serove shook his hand. Oryen might have been taller, but Serove's hand seemed to swallow his.

"He's something special," Aryeta said, and in the space of a heartbeat Oryen realized with a sense of cold dread that he hadn't asked her not to reveal— "He's Lazro's brother."

A breeze whispered through the arena, audible now because the stamping of feet jogging around the perimeter had slowed and, in some cases, stopped.

Serove's eyebrow twitched, his smile gone brittle and glued on. "Yeah?"

Aryeta smiled back, pleasant in a pointed sort of way. "Yep. So make him feel welcome."

While Oryen knew that she'd said it with the intent of having his back, he doubted she understood how testosterone-fuelled meatheads like Serove operated. This would not stop his new comrades from hazing the shit out of him, it had guaranteed they would. Telling his brother about it would make him a rat and a pariah to boot.

As soon as Aryeta left, Serove's smile dropped. "Well, ya dandy eight-foot giraffe, don't go expecting an easy ride. You've got two-hundred laps to catch up on. Beat it."