He had gone out to fight; that was what his entire attitude expressed.
“Dad!” he yelped once we reached the second floor. I could hear Sasha crying, and for a moment I was scared. “Han! What’s going on?”
“Andre, go back to the room! Your sister is crying—stay with her and protect her!” his father ordered, and the little one went very stiff without a word, perhaps also intimidated by the ferocity stamped into the tone of that voice. “Close the door properly, and don’t come out! Stay there!”
The boy lifted his muzzle into the air, searching for some scent.
“It smells like blood! Is Han hurt!?” he exclaimed, and tried to come toward us.
Alexander growled again from deep in his chest and gave him another sharp order, this time in Russian. Whatever it was, Andre nodded very quickly and wen
