Randel sneered. “I’ve fought and killed Generals, and one night I will fight and kill a Prince if the gods are good to me. I have nothing to prove and I don’t react to the insults of curs like you. But today, to pass the time, I want to face a Cub. I’ve been told you’re slow and soft. Can any of you prove me wrong?” Wester’s eyes flashed and again he tried to strike.

Larten blocked him and said without emotion, “If you fight, he’ll slay you and you’ll never be able to take revenge on the one who murdered your family.” Then he stood aside, letting Wester make the final decision, as was his right.

As Wester agonized — he wanted more than anything to kill the stranger, but he knew Larten spoke truly — Randel gazed with disgust at the war pack. “Surely you have a leader,” he teased. “Vampires love to be led. Will not even the mighty pack leader meet my challenge?”

Al eyes turned to Tanish. He had demanded the right to rule and they’d granted it. If he didn’t meet this challenge, he would be disgraced. Any vampire of good standing in his position must step forward. Even the wayward Cubs had standards to uphold. The members of the pack expected Tanish to face this purple-skinned villain, put up a good fight and die with honor.

But Tanish didn’t move. His cheeks were burning and he stared at the ground as if he could never look up again. When they realized he wasn’t going to react, their faces hardened. Several puffed themselves up for battle — even the wounded Jordan struggled to his feet — but Zula Pone was the first to step forward.

“I will face you, Randel of the vampaneze,” Zula said, taking off the overcoat in which he had been sleeping. “And when I kill you, I will honor your corpse and say a prayer to the vampire gods to accept your wayward soul.”

Randel laughed, but the sneering tone was gone from his voice when he said, “I accept your challenge.