At Death’s Door

by Kenyon, Sherrilyn

  “Because you brought me back for a mission. And I know you better than that.” He kicked Thorn’s feet. “Up with you. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Fine, but only because if I quit it would make my father happy.” Thorn stood up and sighed. “All right. New game plan. To our deaths!”

  The crew grumbled in protest.

  Nibo shook his head. “New game plan. Reach Acheron. Stop the Apocalypse. Club me brother in the head and lock Adarian down.”

  “For the record,” Will said, “we like that one better.”

  Thorn scoffed. “You say that like it’s easy.”

  “Your father had him neutralized. I’m thinking that means you know how to do it, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe isn’t going to cut this, Leucious. You better go find us something better than a maybe.”

  Thorn mumbled under his breath before he let out a begrudging “All right.”

  But even as he said that, Valynda heard the doubt in his tone. More than that, she felt it in her heart. Worse, she saw it on the beloved faces of those around her.

  Please, don’t let this be a mistake.

  Because now that she was human again, she had so much more to lose. Not just her life, but a heart that could break again, and that was the last thing she wanted. This was no longer about her, and it wasn’t just about Nibo.

  This was about the crew that had become her family, and it was about the survival of the entire world.

  “We won’t fail.”

  They couldn’t afford to.

  There was much that Nibo had in common with Acheron, who sat outside a rundown brothel, drinking alone while ignoring the women and even a few men who were trying to entice his business.

  A twin brother he couldn’t stand who wanted to kill him. A past he tried not to think about. People who were always trying to bargain with him, and not just for sex, even though those lined up for blocks to the point it was more tiresome than flattering. And more responsibilities than he’d ever signed up for.

  More than that, Nibo was intimately acquainted with that expression of supreme disgust etched on the Atlantean god’s face as he saw him approaching, because there were so few either of them could trust that they both had an instinctive need to pat down anyone who dared to come near to ensure they weren’t packing one of the few weapons that could kill them. Not that they really cared, as death would be a welcome respite from the misery that served as their pseudo-existence.

  It was so ingrained, Acheron’s hand actually headed for the sword he had strapped underneath his plain black buccaneer coat. Though Nibo had to admit, those clothes looked good on the ancient being, right down to the red scarf over his waist-length black hair and the gold hoop in his ear. Acheron had a silver ring on each of his fingers that scraped against the hilt of his sword as he gripped it.

  Amused, Nibo picked up Acheron’s black tricorne hat from the chair and set it on the table between them before he audaciously took a seat. “I know … I know. What the fuck do I want, and why the hell am I here?”

  That succeeded in shattering the grim expression on Acheron’s face as it melted into a rich laugh. Shaking his head, he held his arm out to Nibo. “I would apologize, but …”

  “You only see me when I need something, so I don’t hold the hostility against you. One day, me brother, we need to spend the night doing nothing but swapping nightmares and getting shit-faced.” Nibo held his rum out to Acheron, who took it.

  “Too good to shake my hand now, eh?”

  “Too tired.” Nibo winked at him as he toyed with the white plume feathers that trimmed the edges of Acheron’s hat. “Besides, the rum’s better.”

  “That it is.” Acheron took another deep draught before he passed it back. “Compliments to the producer.”

  “Yeah. Damn shame me irritable brother gutted him.” Nibo took a drink and sighed. “Where’s Tessier?”

  Acheron pointed up at the sky and the bright sun shining down on them. “At the moment, not bursting into flames. Why?”

  Nibo poured whatever Acheron had in his mug out and confiscated it for his rum, then poured himself some before handing the bottle over to his friend. “There’s a crew heading this way who wants to avenge him. But more to the point, we’re going to guard your body.”

  Acheron choked on his drink. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Guard me from whom?”

  “Sadly, my idiot brother.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he removed the small round spectacles with dark lenses he’d been using to conceal his inhuman swirling silver eyes from the mortals. “Is Qeenan out of his mind?”

  “All the time, hence my severe concussion.”

  “Sonofabitch.”

  Nibo let out a small hiss. “I would agree, but I do love my mother and have no wish to insult her in such a manner.”

  “Sorry … asshole.”

  “That, I will drink to.” Nibo held the mug up for Acheron to clang the bottle against. “May his testicles rot off.”

  Acheron choked again.

  “You’ve got to stop wasting me rum, Atlantean. It’s too good to spew.”

  “Then stop catching me off guard.”

  “Didn’t think that was possible.”

  Acheron laughed. “Normally, it isn’t. You have unique skills.”

  “So they tell me.”

  The wind around them began to stir, and with it came a rhythm that wasn’t found in nature. Nibo cocked his head as he heard a faint drumbeat off in the distance.

  Acheron tensed as if he heard it too. “Heartmen?”

  “That or dupey. But neither should be active this time of day.”

  Snorting, he handed the bottle back to Nibo. “Freaks come out whenever they want. Haven’t you learned anything during all these centuries?”

  “Oh, I’ve learned lots. More than I wanted to, most days, as it was shoved violently down me throat.” Nibo stood up and began to scan the horizon for the source of what was tormenting them. The temperature dropped.

  A chill ran up his spine. How he hated portents. They were the gods’ way of sending an obscene gesture at them all.

  He manifested his staff at the same time Acheron did his. The winds picked up a howl that sounded more like a pack of banshees.

  That sent the natives packing, and they scrambled for cover, thinking it some kind of tropical storm.

  If they only knew. …

  Nibo exchanged a peeved grimace with Acheron. “I’ve got the shit-stains on the left.”

  “I’ll toss whatever comes from the right.” Acheron rolled his shoulders. “Simi? Human form.”

  His Charonte demon that existed on his skin in the shape of a dragon tattoo over his heart peeled herself off as a shadow that twisted and twirled in the wind until she became an adorable human teen who stood at his side. Dressed as an islander with dreadlocks that were held back from her face with a purple scarf, Simi smiled the moment she saw Nibo.

  “Ooo! Baron Sexy! It’s so good to see you!” With an adorable squeal that flashed a bit of her fangs, she ran at him so that she could give him a huge hug. “How you been!” She tugged playfully at the feathers he had braided into his hair.

  Only Simi was allowed to do that.

  And Vala.

  Anyone else would be sent straight to the floor and then their demise.

  “Good to see you, Sim. How have you been?”

  “Better if akri ever let his Simi eats his heifer goddess, but no he say. Simi no eats the heifer.” She shook her head sadly.

  “Aye, well, Sim, feel free to eat any of that.” Acheron pointed with his staff toward the horde of creatures moving toward them.

  Gasping, Simi clapped her hands together with glee. Her eyes widened. “Really, akri?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  With an ear-piercing scream, she manifested a giant bottle of some condiment Nibo could only guess at before she sprouted wings and fl
ew out toward them.

  Nibo laughed at her enthusiasm that he definitely appreciated. “We need more of her.”

  “No, we don’t,” Acheron said drily. “While I love and adore my girl, trust me, one is enough. Charonte are like piranhas. You really don’t want to unleash a murder of them if you don’t have to.”

  Nibo arched a brow at the thick mass of creatures headed for them. There were so many that they blotted out the daylight. He smirked at Acheron. “Really? You think that’d be a bad idea right about now?”

  Acheron let out a tired breath. “Yeah, that was a stupid comment, wasn’t it?”

  “Far be it from me to call you a dumbass, Atlantean, but … you’re a dumbass.”

  Acheron caught the first one that reached them. He batted it away and split it in two with his powers. “Definitely resembling that criticism. Not even going to attempt to refute it.”

  With a growl, Nibo engaged his lovely opponents. For once, he was grateful he was dead. While their bites hurt, there wasn’t anything they could do to him.

  Other than piss him off. Which they were doing.

  Acheron blasted them with a wave of god-bolts … lightning-like shock waves that went through the demons and scattered them. Even better, they lit the growing darkness with bright colors that caused their attackers to arc up and flip through the air as they were barbecued for Simi.

  “Don’t you have any more friends to summon for reinforcements?” Acheron asked in an irritated tone.

  “Not really. Don’t you have an immortal army to fight these things?”

  “At night. Hence the whole dark in Dark-Hunters. There’s a reason why Artemis didn’t name them Noonday-Hunters or Morning-Hunters.”

  “How about Mute-Hunters? Would like a little silence in this fighting, Ash.” Nibo grunted as one of the bastards took a bite out of his shoulder.

  Growling, he flipped it over and stomped it. “Little concentration goes a long way.”

  “For you, maybe. For me? Bad idea.”

  Nibo ducked a blast that came too close to his head. He spun and kicked one back into a nearby wall, where it exploded. “Ooo! Shiny!”

  Acheron passed him an irritated glare as he staked another one. “What is it with loas and shiny objects?”

  “Ask your demon. Besides, I’m more attracted to rum and other illicit things.” Nibo caught two more, flipped them with his staff, and was about to stab them when something caught him hard across his back.

  He stumbled.

  Then fell hard against the ground. Before he could regain his footing, he was hit again and knocked senseless. His ears rang from the blow.

  What the hell? More hard knocks came. So fast and furious that he wasn’t able to recover or regain his footing. He hadn’t been hit like this since Qeenan killed him.

  That memory didn’t help, as it caused him to panic as he was struck again and again.

  Badly. He was completely unprepared for the surge in emotions this beating caused, especially fear. He couldn’t breathe or think. All sanity fled. The only shred of it he had told him to protect his staff. Shrinking it down, he hid it, but that was all he could manage against the onslaught that left him covering his head so that they didn’t split it open the way his brother had.

  Fire exploded close to him. Nibo held his hands up to deflect it.

  It didn’t work.

  An instant later, he was consumed.

  Valynda was completely unprepared for the sight of a wounded Nibo as Acheron appeared out of the blue by her bed with Xuri in his arms. Until now, she hadn’t even known that he could become harmed.

  In any way.

  Her heart sank and then pounded as she saw him raw and bleeding. “What happened?” She rose from her bunk and pulled the covers back.

  Acheron laid him down on her straw mattress. “We were attacked. He wanted me to bring him here.” He met her gaze. “To you.”

  Those words brought tears to her eyes. “You should have gone to Masaka. She’s a real healer.” All she could do was bandage him.

  Xuri took her hand into his. “She lacks empathy.” Then he gave her a weak smile. “And you’ll kiss my boo-boos.”

  Acheron snorted. “Are you saying you don’t want me to heal you?”

  Nibo turned serious and his eyes flared as he turned his attention back to the Dark-Hunter. “You better heal me, you arse. This shit hurts.”

  Acheron took the insult in stride. “Just checking. Didn’t want to upset you if you were some kind of secret masochist. You know, the gods forbid I should ever interfere with that.” Acheron pushed the sleeves of his coat back before his hands began to glow.

  Xuri let go of Valynda as Acheron placed his hands on the center of his chest. The glow ran over him until it encircled his entire body. With a curse that questioned the legitimacy of Acheron’s birth, he grabbed the Dark-Hunter leader’s coat. “Last time I share rum with you, asshole!”

  Acheron laughed. “And here I was actually beginning to like you.”

  Xuri shoved him back. “Next time, I’m feeding you to the thing that wants a piece of your sorry ass.”

  “Sounds about right. I’m only surprised when I don’t get shoved into the jowls of whatever is coming at us.”

  Valynda didn’t speak as she caught the pain that backed those words and realized what really bonded both the Dark-Hunters and Deadmen together. What made them family. The fact that none of them had ever been able to trust anyone in their human lifetimes.

  Ever.

  Not their families. Their best friends. The people who were supposed to protect them, the ones everyone said they were supposed to be able to put their faith in had all let them down, time and again, in the most brutal of ways.

  Never once had they ever come through for them. Not even for the most basic necessity or need. In the end, they’d all been hung out to dry and left to die alone from the worst sort of betrayal.

  So in death, they were there for each other. Hell or high water. Because they knew what it was to have no one, they made sure that they never dealt that to those who wore their colors.

  It was what had made her love Xuri.

  “Call my name, mon amour, and I’ll come. Night or day.”

  He’d never failed her, until the one night when she’d needed him most. The night when her soul had been ripped from her body. When she’d screamed out the loudest.

  It was what made forgiving him so hard. Because those screams still burned raw in her throat. Echoed in her head and haunted her nightmares. Both waking and sleeping.

  Just as he was haunted by the fact that his own twin had brutally murdered him over so petty a reason as hurt feelings that had nothing to do with anything Nibo had done. He hadn’t intended to slight his brother. He’d been utterly innocent in the matter, and it was the fact that he’d been so lackadaisical about the competition, not caring if his brother took the win that he’d have forfeited had Qeenan asked him about it that had angered Qeenan most. Meanwhile Qeenan had been so intent on victory that Nibo’s attitude had driven such a rage inside him that he’d killed him over it. And that had upset Qeenan the most. Because Qeenan had been trying to win and had lost while Nibo hadn’t cared at all. …

  That was the worst rub that had driven Qeenan over the edge and made him feel as if Nibo didn’t deserve the praise. Didn’t deserve to live.

  Rather than strike out at the ones who’d hurt Qeenan and who had made him feel inferior to his brother, he’d attacked the one person who had actually loved him and who would have protected him. The only person who’d been willing to fight and die for him, no matter what.

  Qeenan had killed the one true innocent party that he held responsible for his pain for no other reason than Qeenan had been in an unending competition with his brother that Nibo hadn’t even known was taking place. Because Nibo had never felt competitive with Qeenan at all. To him, they’d been a single unit, brothers united against the world, and when one succeeded, they both did. In his mind, they we
re supposed to help each other without question or failure. Nibo had never cared about credit or seeking praise, nor had he cared who got it. He was just as happy for Qeenan to have it as for himself.

  To Nibo, the only thing that mattered was getting the job done well and done correctly as quickly as possible. Praise be damned.

  Qeenan only cared about taking credit and getting all the glory for having the job done and didn’t care who did it or how well. Just so long as he could strut and swagger, and pretend he was the big man in the room, that was all-important to him.

  That was why Nibo’s gifts had been better received that fateful day when they’d offered them up. Because he took pride in the work he did and sought no fame or fortune for it. Praise was irrelevant to him.

  Taking credit had never been his goal. People, and the matter at hand, were all he cared about. The most selfish thing about him was that he liked to have fun. To laugh and enjoy himself while he worked, because he liked his work and was innately happy. A free spirit who sought to make others as happy and carefree as he was.

  Unlike his spiteful brother who was given to bouts of extreme depression over the fact that he felt persecuted by the world at large. Rather than make people laugh, Qeenan spent hours ranting about how he’d been done wrong by everyone around him.

  Qeenan forever looked to the past.

  Nibo to the future.

  A single tear fell from her cheek as she realized how badly she’d misjudged Nibo. She’d let her anger and hurt overshadow her common sense that knew his true nature and beautiful spirit. But then, it was sadly too easy to take someone for granted, especially when they didn’t bemoan their fate or tell other people what they owed them.

  The fact that he’d fought for her meant everything. She just wished that she’d known it sooner. The pain of betrayal stung so deep.

  So foul.

  No wonder the lowest level of hell was reserved for betrayers and thieves. They deserved it and more. And though she knew in her head that he’d done his best to get to her, she still couldn’t shake the memory of being tortured.

  The horror of being alone and needing him. She wanted to get past it. She did. But it wasn’t that simple. Her heart was broken and bleeding. They had torn her soul into shreds. Valynda had never been all that keen on trust to begin with, and now having given her trust to him and then being left to cope on her own …