Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

13. The Alpha Bloodline

Lydia lined her enormous eyes with heavy make-up like a pharaoh. This Egyptian gaze fixed on Volya before letting it slide above his head. Maybe she peered into the Beyond, maybe—into the abyss. At any rate, her eyelids opened wider and wider in response to whatever wonders she was gleaning in there. He wouldn't be surprised if a banner saying Priestess of a Mysterious Cult would have floated over her head like in a video game.

Volya scratched his ear with the hand that wasn't linked to Liam's. Were it up to him, he'd never let go of Liam's hand... and he'd eventually self-immolate. Or, more likely, won't be able to dress himself, bathe and the like.

"To answer the questions you harbor," Lydia said with a dream-like smile, "we must look through the veil of time into the ancient past."

It was frigging surreal, that's what it was.

"Before Genghis Khan's Horde ravaged Eurasia, and before the nomadic Huns knocked on the gates of the Roman Empire, way before that, millennia ago, from the same steppes rode out the very first nomads on the very first tamed horses."

Volya stifled a sigh. This family had an affinity to starting their stories from the events that had happened long ago. He didn't share this conclusion with the room. Nobody likes a smartass.

"Today's name for those horse-lords is the Yamnaya," Lydia said.

Would there be a test later? Because Volya couldn't spell that.

"I saw them in my dreams, terrible, but spellbinding in their savagery. The impact of their conquest was devastating," Lydia kept spinning her tale.

A hush fell over the gathering, despite everyone being familiar with the narrative.

Even Marina's icy eyes softened, her chin resting on the intertwined fingers, elbows propped indecorously on the tabletop.

Though with her, it might not have been Lydia's tale. It could have been because Damir, in his efforts to distance himself from her, ended up sitting right across the table. His gaze changed too, despite very obviously looking to the side. Damir-ship notwithstanding, Marina's translation echoed Lydia's yarn in a breathy, whispered stream without fail.

"Culturally and genetically, they whipped out every human culture in their path by slaughtering every man they came across."

Honestly, these Yamnaya sounded just like a horde of Bruisers.

"Linguistically, their language still echoes down the generations as the ancestor of the Indo-European language family. We call it Proto-Indo-European, or PIE."

Volya jerked his head at Marina, and she nodded, confirming that the dead language he had somehow spoken with Liam, was, in fact, PIE. He has a perfect recall of the PIE, his memory supplied Liam's earlier words. Why couldn't he have an ancestral recall of something useful? Maybe one day...

Meanwhile, Lydia pointed to Young. "Despite this genocide on the unprecedented scale, Vincent's team made an unprecedented discovery."

"Absolutely, absolutely!" Young exclaimed. "For some time we found relic populations within the Pontic-Caspian region that had these distinctive mitochondrial markers..."

DaSilva coughed, and Dr. Young gestured for him to take over the explanation with an audible sigh of regret.

"Without going into excruciating details," daSilva said, "it's the DNA that is passed down matrilineally. Despite some new evidence, we generally assume that the mitochondrial DNA is not conferred on the offspring by men. An unbreakable line forms since the dawn of time from a maternal ancestor, inheriting the same mitochondrial set—as long as they give birth to daughters."