Bearclaw Valley peccato meo munda me

I don't care about you, your firstborn, or whatever my father promised you. You forget yourself, he snarled in her face, seething over her. He could believe that Merrick made such a pact, but Bernadette's first mistake was thinking his son would have any part of that. The second was expecting him to have some prescient knowledge of the agreement. He didn't care so much that Arielle was apparently aware of it, though he was annoyed she was brought up. You expect respect and recognition for some pact you made with a dead man? I care about your actions, not your psychopathic brand of worship, and you have done nothing here but laze about like a fat toad.

Aventus straightened and stepped back. What esteem Bernadette previously held with Merrick and Ursus was demolished in an instant. Do not ever let me catch you behaving that way to a superior again, or you'll wish for wolven legs to flee with. Your days are numbered. You best find some way to make yourself useful that doesn't involve killing newborns for your sick pleasure.

With a last long, withering look, Aventus turned in disgust from the dog, his gut roiling at the idea that his father would make a pact on the lives of newborns, and anger simmering that Bernadette would assume he was anything like his father, or that she would speak of Arielle as though his mate was as bloodthirsty and insane as his father. That was the worst part, he thought. He gave Cyril a meaningful look on the way past and cocked an ear back to listen for protests, but did not look back at the dog on the ground.

There would be no sacrifice of newborns, only the impending death of a useless dog if she did not shape up in time for their birth.