Family Isn’t Always Blood

It was a nice enough night, Surreal supposed. Hard to tell, trapped in sprawling Tokyo as she was, but she thought she would have had a fine view of the stars if the artificial lights hadn’t drowned them out. Not that there was much comfort in the still unfamiliar patterns…

She sighed quietly, dangling her feet absently, eyes turning down toward the streets.

“Why did we come here?” she whispered. “Why can’t we find a way back?”

Graysfang stirred on the window seat, shifting a little closer so he could lay his head on her lap.

*Darkness brought us here,* he said simply. *Darkness keeps us here.*

“But why?” Surreal insisted. “What room is there for Blood in this Realm?”

The wolf didn’t reply, and she hadn’t expected him to. They had discussed this so many times before, gone through every detail of the incident over and over until she’d grown numb to it all. Until the horror of the disappearing Wind faded and the frantic need to go back became nothing more than a bitter ache. There were no answers to be gained from reiterating the old argument.

“I don’t even call it home anymore. I say ‘go back’, not ‘go home’.” Pointing it out brought a twinge of pain; regret rather than loss. ‘Home’ had been little more than a word since Titian died.

They looked out into the night, the bond of Darkness and Jeweled strength a comfort in the distinct otherness of the Realm. Blood and Kindred. Human and wolf. Gray and Sapphire. Witch and Warlord. Equal castes, different ranks. Familiar titles, straightforward relationships. Surreal wore the Gray, and Gray’s Fang followed her.

This landen Realm had no such simplicity. Not like Terreille, not like Kaeleer.

Surreal looked over her shoulder, gaze lingering on the sleeping man curled up on the bed. The sight brought a fond smile to her face. Sometimes a fellow hunter, sometimes a pup to be protected, he was always important. Always family.

*Pack.*

The warmth of Graysfang’s mental touch brought her attention back to him. She hummed her agreement as she ran her fingers through his thick fur.

“But not Blood,” she said wistfully. “Not like us.”

The mental nudge was Graysfang’s equivalent of a shrug. *Does he need to be?*

Surreal blinked. She’d never thought about it like that. Did it matter that Farfarello would never wear Jewels?

No, came the decisive answer. Titian, broken and forever cut off from her Jewels when she was still a child, had been Blood. In death she had been Queen of the Harpies. Jewels had no bearing on that. Farfarello was Blood in his soul, as truly as Titian had been, and outer trappings of power had nothing to do with that.

He wasn’t a blood relation either, but Surreal didn’t care. Kartane and Dorothea had been blood, and she’d had nothing but hatred for them. She’d loved Titian, yes; but she also loved Daemon, Jaenelle, Saetan, and – Darkness be merciful – even Lucivar, and they weren’t blood.

Farfarello was pack, family, hers. That was enough.

The minute relaxing of her posture was enough to tell Graysfang that she’d reached a conclusion.

“Not like us,” Surreal repeated, “but still Blood.” She glanced back at Farfarello again. “He understands us too well not to be.”

They were quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. When Surreal spoke again it was on a psychic thread, the idea too private to voice.

*Do you think the Darkness brought us to him?*

*Blood calls to Blood.*

Surreal chuckled at the non-answer, some knot of tension loosening. Perhaps Graysfang was right. Perhaps they didn’t need to know why after all. Perhaps she should count her blessings and move on with her life. A decade was a long time to mourn a home she hadn’t really had. She hadn’t belonged at the Hall or among the Dea al Mon, no matter how welcome she’d been.

She gave a last pat on Graysfang’s shoulder and they left the window seat by unspoken agreement. Surreal slid under the covers, spooning against Farfarello’s back as Graysfang jumped onto the bed and settled behind her. She put one arm around the man and smiled softly when he made a contented sound and pressed closer.

It was warm, comfortable… maybe even home.

We might not belong in this Realm, but I think we belong with our pack, she thought drowsily.

And in the room one door down to the right, a precognitive clutched his head in pain as a world of possibilities opened to his sight…