“Olivier was my father’s name.” It was impossible to miss the startled expression that crossed the werewolf’s elongated face. Bernard continued to hold out his hand as he waited to see what the werewolf would do. Finally, the creature raised his beefy paw, engulfing Bernard’s hand.
“I am Émilien.” The werewolf’s rumbly voice vibrated all the way through his paw and into Bernard’s trapped hand. After a very awkward silence, Émilien let go.
“I don’t remember hearing your name before,” Bernard said. “Are you a new recruit in Raisa’s group?”
It was surreal when a werewolf smiled, but Émilien’s black lips widened, more off to one side, as if giving him a crooked smile. “No, I am not part of the new recruits. I, unfortunately, have been in this form for some time. Centuries, in fact. I am here as a liaison to the co-regents and to help, if they need.”
Bernard had no idea what to say to that. No one had ever mentioned werewolves prior to what Himmler created during the war, but now that he thought about it, it was more than possible. It was probable, since there had been reports of such creatures almost the entire time mankind had lived on Midgard.
He also remembered something Mikhail mentioned after Bernard’s resurrection, that a druid experimented, using dark spells and curses to create them. It was the druid’s spells that Himmler discovered and used to turn fallen or kidnapped enemy soldiers into those now under Raisa’s care.
“I know I speak for both my brother and I when I say your advice will always be welcome, Émilien. Our father trusted you, and so do we,” Ailuin said, catching his twin’s gaze.
“You worked for their father, the Black King?” Bernard asked.
“I did, along with my own brother. I was the Black King’s right hand in strategy and my brother, his left. Olivier was better with the financial side of things.”
“Olivier—the same man you thought I was? Why?”
Emilien’s unblinking black gaze held his long enough to make Bernard want to squirm. Calling on his many years as a soldier, he held himself still and returned the creature’s steady stare. “You are the spitting image of my brother, whom I haven’t seen since the Great War here in Alfheimr.”
“I’m sure Bernard wants to hear the entire story, as do I,” Alva said as she stepped up to stand between Lamruil and Bernard, who gave her a surprised glance. He had forgotten she was there. Ignoring him, she motioned for everyone to take a seat on the dais before turning to Lamruil. “If you tell me where the kitchen is, I’d like to round up food and drink. I haven’t eaten in over a day, and I’m starving.”
Ailuin sat, cross-legged, on the dais and patted the space beside him. “Come and sit. I’ve already asked Raisa to send something. I’m starving too.”
“You’re always starving,” Alva said, laughter filling her voice, but she sat beside him and gave Bernard a questioning glance. “Bernard?” She patted the space on her left. “I don’t bite. Sit.” Her beauty took his breath away.
“Too bad,” Émilien said, pulling Bernard’s attention back to reality. “Biting can be quite the turn-on if done right.”
Alva gave him a droll glare, her sea-green eyes framed by thick black eyelashes that looked as if they’d been dipped in white paint. “Seriously? You sit down, too, but on the other side of Ailuin, so I don’t get a crick in my neck from looking up.”
Émilien let out a bark of laughter but did as he’d been told. “I like you, Huldra. What is your name?”
“Alva.”
His bushy brows rose. “I thought you seemed familiar. You’re Taeral’s daughter.”
Her delicate white eyebrows rose. “You knew my father?”
The werewolf nodded. “Before I was cursed, he and I used to get into all kinds of trouble—until you arrived. I will never forget the expression on his face when he held you in his arms for the first time. I knew then what true love looked like.”