He'd been waiting.

Not since the little ghost on the border. Not since wave after wave of refugees came seeking sanctuary. Not since Coven's shadow cast over Iron in the dim light. Not since Kekkai cursed and threatened at the border of a foreign pack. Not since he took up the scent of Kol Nidre's lost children and trailed them through the wild.

He'd been waiting.

Since crossing the ravine. Since the flames licked the space hanging between them.

Shadon said "goodbye". Shadon was a liar, then, now, forever.

He'd been waiting.

---

Zeke's rancorous cry bounced from lowland flats to rolling hills, and at the gap in the wall stood Akki, eyes focused on his son as he leapt from on high (falling, falling, purple like purple flowers). He whistled like all bodies whistle as they cut through the air, flying toward rock, earth, teeth. His violent, horrible son, who lived like the blood in his veins demanded.

"— WORTHLESS. COWARD. YOU HEAR THAT AKKI?! I LET YOU GO AND YOU RAISE A WORM?! DID I TEACH YOU NOTHING?!"

Let?

Long legs devoured the space between where there was no fire, would not be fire, and even if there was fire he would chill it, kill it, blow through it. Behind him whipped a long tail—his heritage— and on his skull shone two horns—his birthright. In the mouth that lips pulled back to reveal glistened long fangs and a tongue as silver and wicked as moonlight.

Let?

He was silent under the whistle of Zeke's body as he had been silent while leading the swarm of red poppies and tattoos down Inaria's woods. They spread, they blanketed, they smothered, they tracked in the snow and tramped fresh grass desperate to feel spring's heat. But Shadon would feel HEAT this time. Shadon would feel HEAT pooling, congealing, sticking.

Let?

Zeke circled his grandfather and like any novice struck at the long healed weakness, a handicap overcome long ago (didn't I teach you better, he thought, while his legs gobbled, don't you see the scars and how they've healed?). Shadon knew. Shadon unhinged those jaws that carried the flesh of wolves and aimed the cleaver towards his SON—

Let?

His narrow head lowered and behind it came the body (does it whistle?) straight for Shadon, any part of him—neck, jaw, ribs, he'll take it—with the weight of so much piled, piled, PILED behind it. The hideous crunch of bone on bone and a body whistling announced Hel Wendigo, who, full of FIRE, did something he had not before. With jaws glistening and eyes wide, he hissed, like a cat, like a snake, like something that was not a wolf.

LET?

He slunk in front of his son, ears flicking towards him once. Stay back.

"This is your only chance to leave."

LET?

"Take it."

LET?

As if Shadon could have stopped him.

In the narrowing time bought from a well aimed tackle, Akki shot Zeke a chilly look. Nothing his son said was untrue. Shadon had an army behind him once and even if the old war dog had fallen from publicity, there were loyal monsters always waiting in the wings. He thought of Seven and her group of child killers, cozy beneath Shadon's chin. A clever, ruthless creature would have tried to kill this living blockade back when he stood in the way of the ravine.

Akki was a lot of things—occasionally clever and ruthless—but he was rarely rude.

"You pay your debts," he told Zeke in a low, measured  voice while Shadon scrambled through old, stale visions. He had a score to settle with his father.

Like all narcissistic power mongers, Shadon believed he was owed love and forgiveness because he compared the weight of his gifts to the slights against an abandoned child. To him, the scales were tipped. He might have left the child, but he had given it training. The promise of prestige. Assurance of placement. And the most delectable, the most mouth watering, the most savory of all:  the grooming to replace himself, for what could be a better prize than to be made in the image of the Father? What did neglect matter in the face of all that? Did he not make up for it? Did he not collect enough chips to cash in? When Akki felt grief for leaving his personal monster behind and told him he had his forgiveness, did Shadon think it was bought?

It didn't matter, in the end, what prompted a throwaway boy to reconcile with a creature he never expected to see again.  Akki had no illusions. He knew the scales, and he knew the weight on either end. Kol Nidre once suggested that if Shadon truly loved him, he wouldn't track them down, as if love was ever part of the equation. Shadon didn't fight Akki when he tried to leave. It was a loan. And now, Akki returned the favor, with interest.

What Shadon did with it was his own problem.

"No," his father, predictably, growled.

"Stay on the edge," Akki told Zeke. "If he tries to run, follow him."

"I’m here for Poltergeist."

"Don't get in the way."

The monster left wounds in the earth as it barreled towards them. Akki lowered his head, shoulders squared, and waited. He saw the red webbed whites in that healthy green eye. The chords of foam and spit bouncing at the chin. The edge of teeth that had shaved flesh of his kin.

He waited until hot breath and the tip of fangs sliced into his  shoulder before slipping left, with the wall behind him. The cut across his upper leg was worth the hold he may have found—Akki tried to clamp down on Shadon's scruff and, using his father's momentum, tried to drive him face first into Gemini's wall like some kind of horrible crash test dummy.