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of the humans appeared awed by Lazarus as if he was an angel, but others smelled of fear. Worse, resentment. The prophet’s hope was to raise a human army against the witch’s pack. But would his humans rebel against their Benandanti masters? Fortunately, the silver ammo weapons, he’d trained the humans with were kept locked until the next time they confronted an enemy pack.
    On seeing Maddox, Lazarus rose from his throne, smiled and said, “Rise, my flock and return to your chambers. Freshen up before we ring for the evening meal.”
    In unison, they raised their arms to him and chanted, “All mighty Hound of God, Prophet Lazarus, we praise you for guarding God’s flock.”
    Maddox pressed his lips together into a hard line. Lazarus practiced idolatry. Pure sacrilege! This was no different from how the human hating Vircolac pack had enslaved human survivors to serve them as slaves. He narrowed his eyes at high priest Obadiah, who lowered his gaze as if in shame. How had Lazarus convinced the high priest he was a chosen prophet?
    The humans left in silence, their heads lowered. In fact, since he had arrived, no human had spoken. They communicated with nods and simple hand gestures. Were they commanded not to speak since they were obviously not mute? There were no zombies around, especially in the snow-covered territory, so there was no need to maintain silence.
    “Templar, approach,” said Lazarus.
    Maddox lowered his gaze and kneeled on one knee. “My lord, we must talk.”
    “Rise. We’ll talk in my meeting room.”
    Maddox stood and turned to Obadiah. “Will you come as well, sir?”
    The old priest gave Lazarus a forced smile and spoke in a monotone voice as if he too had been indoctrinated. “Shall I, Prophet Lazarus?”
    “No stay, Obadiah. You will preside over the meal blessings for our human flock.”
    “As you wish, my lord,” said Obadiah, sounding like a juvenile omega. Old Obadiah had always been argumentative and ornery. Was the fiery high priest sedated with a low dose of wolfsbane? No. The use of the witch’s flower would indeed have been the devil’s work. A Benandanti alpha would never stoop that low, not even to gain power.
    Maddox followed Lazarus into his sanctuary quarters, which at one time had been a library for lodge guests. The bookshelves were empty except for one copy of a Benandanti Holy Bible, resting on a podium. “What happened to all the books?”
    Lazarus grinned, displaying his large sharp fangs. “Burned.”
    Maddox raised a brow. He imagined a lodge in the Montana wilderness would have books on fishing, local history and other practical guides. “All, my lord?”
    “Most books written by humans have been deemed blasphemous.” Lazarus sat and gestured for Maddox to take the chair next to him.
    “What about books on how to fly an airplane or how to repair plumbing?” Certainly, some fiction had to be acceptable for leisure reading. Maddox enjoyed books with suspense and action. Did Lazarus consider all human accomplishments evil?
    “No worries, Templar. I have set up a censor committee to survey books deemed helpful in this end of times world. However, we now have opportunity to save the worthy of God’s mercy, while sinners are punished.”
    “These humans you saved, are they not allowed to speak?”
    “They can speak when we enter the battlefield against the children of Satan and during prayer services.”
    “It’s human nature to speak. They will rebel.”
    “Not likely. They are grateful to have been rescued from the undead scourge. If they don’t agree with our ways, let them return to their cities.” He smiled as if such examples had been made.
    “I see.” Their obedience was based on fear not faith. At least here, they were fed, housed, and kept safe from being eaten alive. However, it was wrong. For thousands of years, the Benandanti were commanded to protect humans from real evil, demons, witches and Godless shifters. It was never their duty to