Beast Master: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 5)

by Shayne Silvers

  Copyright © Argento Publishing, LLC 2017

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  The family classic, Grimm's Fairy Tales, is not the collection of bedtime stories Nate Temple thought it was, but actually the keys to a veritable prison housing the most dangerous bloodthirsty hit men of the supernatural community. This reckless wizard must find a way to lock up the prison for good before his city becomes a buffet table for the Brothers Grimm…

  Discover Nate’s origin story, and get a sneak peek into the events that lead up to GRIMM, Book 3 in the Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series. To get your copy of FAIRY TALE, and lots more exclusive content, all for FREE, you just need to tell me where to send it. Click HERE to get your book today!

  Nate Temple Series

  Obsidian Son

  Blood Debts

  Fairy Tale (FREE DOWNLOAD LINK)

  Grimm

  Silver Tongue

  Beast Master

  Copyright © Argento Publishing, LLC 2017

  Epigraph

  He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man…

  — Samuel Johnson

  Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.

  — Francis Bacon

  All things share the same breath – the beast, the tree, the man…

  — Chief Seattle

  Chapter 1

  It was madness, bullets, arrows, and even a spear, flying every which way, pelting antique portraits of long-deceased family members, priceless vases, and other worldly objets d’art. A nearby glass-paned cabinet of curiosities was struck twice in quick succession.

  The cabinet was filled with dozens of random artifacts – an antique pair of spectacles, a watch, several figurines, a bullet casing, and a shot glass – to name a few. Another bullet winged off the corner of the cabinet as I ducked. Luckily, it didn’t break, the glass made of something stronger than your typical window. Magical glass, apparently.

  Amazingly, nothing had been broken.

  Yet.

  But dozens more cabinets filled my ancient mansion – Chateau Falco – and they were now all in danger of being destroyed. Dean was going to kill me.

  But there was no time to wonder what my Butler would say about the damage.

  All that mattered now was surviving.

  I saw a lock of red hair behind the couch and unleashed a barrage of bullets at Ashley Belmont. In rapid defense, her fiancé – donned in a crisp navy blue suit and tie – rained down bullets on my position, sending me ducking back behind the furniture. An Alpha werewolf like Gunnar was not so easily taken down. Especially when someone was trying to plug their fiancée with bullets. At least neither of them had shifted into wolf form.

  We had been friends, once, but no longer.

  This was war. But my magic wouldn’t help me now. It was off limits.

  I caught the swish of a dress out of the corner of my eye as Sonya and Aria – affectionately known as the Reds when together – silently closed in on the Alpha werewolf to cover me. The twin teenagers gripped overly large pistols in each dainty hand, fingers resting on the triggers as their eyes danced with feral instincts. Which looked comical given their cute dresses. They weren’t lethal only because they were female teens, but because they were also weredragons, and the crimson glint in their horizontal-pupiled eyes – like demonic goats – dripped with murderous intent. I quickly rolled to my left, finding new cover behind a Guardian statue. The stone sentinels were also useless in this battle; they no longer knew friend from foe.

  The world had been turned on its head, pitting friend against friend. I thought about bringing this one to life just to up the chaos factor, but knew it wasn’t a good idea. As soon as I upped my arsenal, my enemies would do the same. And for now, we were evenly matched.

  I nodded at Achilles as he stalked the shadows with two short spears that somehow complemented his pressed-jeans and cardigan. He barely acknowledged me as he hunted for the missing assailant. But I didn’t have time to join his search, because out of nowhere, Tory – wearing a racy green dress – shouted out in glee, discovering my hiding spot. I bolted down the hallway as she levelled a ridiculously large shotgun my way, and began unleashing round after round, her bullets hammering into tables, the wall, and even smacking the Guardian’s nose to no effect. One of Achilles’ spears sailed from the hallways, but she dodged it at the last second, swinging her shotgun around. She pointed it down at the legendary Greek warrior’s feet and began to unload. He panicked on instinct, hopping up and down frantically. But one of the bullets scored a direct hit to his heel and he collapsed, spear falling to the ground beside his now lifeless body.

  A legend had just died.

  But there would be no pyre.

  Not today.

  Tory belted out a shout of triumph at slaying the infamous warrior.

  Then she began yelling for Gunnar to intercept my flight, but Othello emerged from the shadows directly behind her, wearing a nice black dress. “Die,” the international hacker grinned, unleashing an arrow from point blank range straight into Tory’s kidney. The ex-cop (thanks to me) gasped, collapsed, and rolled onto the ground with sounds of anguish, managing not to flash the whole room in the process, despite wearing the low-cut green dress.

  I smirked in relief at Othello, who quickly melted back into hiding.

  I dove behind another couch, only to find myself directly behind Alucard – master vampire, and onetime friend – who was fidgeting anxiously with his pistol, cursing lightly. “Fucking jammed!” he hissed to himself, not noticing my arrival. The body of Greta’s literal Guardian Angel, Eae, lay before him, eyes closed in death. Even now, he had a smugly pious and judgmental look about him. The undertaker-like suit only added to the effect. I would have laughed at the irony of a soldier of Heaven being slain by an agent of darkness, but my gun slipped from my sweaty palms and clattered to the heated marble floor. The vampire rounded on me, startled, but still managed to use his superhuman speed to aim his gun at me. I leaned to the side, just in the nick of time, and his bullet flew wide.

  On reflex, I stabbed him in the damn forehead with my knife. His eyes glittered with disbelief from beneath the dagger, no doubt stunned at my choice of targets, before they fluttered closed and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. I dismissed his body as just another casualty of war, and risked a quick peek over the edge of the couch, trying to discern who still survived.

  A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I ducked back down.

  I knew the Reds were closing in on my once-best-friend, Gunnar, but his beau, Ashley, wouldn’t let them get away with it. I still had Othello and the Reds on my side, against Gunnar, Ashley, and the Huntress, whom I hadn’t seen for some time now. I ducked back down, thinking furiously. Where is she? I thought to myself, remembering Achilles had been trying to flush her out before he had been slain.

  Just then, I heard a loud scuffle as one of the Reds screamed in fury, “Die, wolf!”

  I attempted to load my gun, but spilled the fistful of bullets on the ground. Cursing my clumsiness, I risked another glance as I fumbled a few stray bullets into the chamber. Aria was standing in plain sight near the fireplace. Gunnar and Ashley peered around opposite edges of the same couch, teeth shining in the lamplight. I tried to shout a warning, but I was too late to help the tween.

  The wolves unfolded from their crouch to hammer her with way too many bullets. She groaned and grunted, falling to the ground. Sir Muffle Paws – a
ll twenty pounds of my adopted Maine Coon kitty – chose that moment to dart between Gunnar’s legs, and he flinched, reacting instinctively as he unloaded his gun at the feline.

  The cat bolted under a table with a hiss, and a flash of movement behind the panicked wolves let me see that Aria’s sacrifice had not been in vain. Sonya stood silently behind the mutts, a pistol pointed at each, like a female James Bond villain. “Bad puppies,” she cooed before squeezing the triggers of both semiautomatics. Bullets sprayed the wolves, sending them flipping over the couch and into a chair. Ashley landed in Gunnar’s lap with a loud expulsion of air as she died. Gunnar stroked her face one last time, a sad smile on his bearded cheeks before his eye closed and he let out a drawn-out death-rattle. Sir Muffle Paws darted out from beneath the table, glanced up at the fallen wolves, and then pounced up to land on Gunnar’s chest, settling in for a nice nap before his body cooled.

  Heartless little bastard.

  I stood, winking at Sonya, only to see her eyes shoot wide as her gaze flinched behind me.

  But I could tell by the look on her face that it was too late.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this,” a cool voice murmured in my ear as I felt the barrel of a pistol press into the base of my neck.

  I sighed, dropping my hands in defeat.

  Death entered the room, studying the fallen bodies with a detached look on his face. The Pale Horseman of the Apocalypse was, of course, no stranger to death. Literally. He leaned to the right to get a better look at my murderer. “Dead to rights,” he murmured, a dark grin briefly flashing across his face. I had seen his mask before, the skeletal one, and it was downright terrifying. “Dinner is ready,” he added. Then he turned without lifting a hand of support, and left the room.

  He had once been my friend, but even he had turned against me this day.

  “Time to die, Maker,” the Huntress whispered before pulling the trigger.

  Chapter 2

  The bullet hammered into the base of my skull, and I flipped over the couch, landing on a luxuriously soft pillow with a bajillion sequins that sliced through my tough, manly skin. Like a freaking decorative cactus. And it briefly made me think of Indie, who was partial to the Martha Stewart torture devices known as throw pillows…

  I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to think about Indie, my fiancée, but there it was.

  In my dying breath, I glanced up at my murderer, who was grinning victoriously, pistol raised in the air. “I win—”

  A Nerf bullet struck her right in the forehead and Othello burst out laughing. The Huntress blinked in surprise, staring down at the fallen bullet, and then a tiny smile swept over her stunned look. “No, I win,” Othello roared. The Huntress turned to Tory – who had just emerged from the shadows – and the rare look of joy on the assassin’s face made the whole thing worth it. Her smile turned hungry, suggestive, as she openly admired Tory’s cleavage.

  Tory blushed, which made me smile.

  Everyone began climbing back to their feet, chuckling and grinning as they patted each other on the back. We were all dressed up, foregoing street clothes for the day. After all, it was a family dinner, and Dean kind of required it. Speaking of Dean, I rolled off the couch as I spotted him entering the room, face a mask of disapproval at the mess of bullets and toy guns strewn across the living room. He didn’t say a word. I strode over to Othello to give her a big hug.

  “My lady hath avenged my death. How shall I ever repay you?” I laughed into her neck, chuckling as I pulled away, still gripping her by the shoulders.

  She rolled her eyes, covering a faint blush at our brief physical contact. “How about you carry your weight next time. I saved your ass twice. And I’m just a Regular.” She used her fingers to mime quotation marks in the air at the last word.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Sonya and Aria sauntered up to us. I couldn’t quite place how I could tell them apart, but after spending more time with them lately, I had acquired some kind of sixth sense about it. Also, Aria was more emotional than her sister, Sonya. More outspoken and rebellious. Sonya was less fiery, and more prone to mix up her words a bit, so that totally innocent statements could often be interpreted in a crude manner. Which was just fun, fun, fun for me.

  True to form, Aria took center stage. “She has a point. I had to sacrifice myself to give us a shot, and you did nothing. It took two teenagers and a Regular to save your as—”

  “Language,” Tory belted out.

  “But—” Aria began to argue.

  “Don’t argue with me,” Tory warned, tone now a pitch darker. I hid my smirk. Tory was doing well as a new mother.

  “She’s right! There’s nothing wrong with a little ass!” Sonya began to defend her sister, repeating the curse word, and giving me a perfect opening for an object lesson in embarrassment.

  Tory snapped a finger, her eyes pulsing a bright green like tiny fires, ruining my chance.

  The tension in the Reds’ shoulders immediately evaporated and their faces went slack with unconditional obedience. “Yes, Mother,” they murmured in unison.

  Othello looked from the once-fiery Reds to Tory with a shiver. “That is incredibly unfair,” she said. One part of me thought it incredibly impressive, but another part of me was cowering in fear that she could so easily control the two teenage weredragons – creatures that harnessed mind control powers of their own – without even the slightest effort.

  This was in addition to her already creepy super-strength that allowed her to Hulk Smash anything and everything around her. And now that she had these new green powers, the metaphor was even more appropriate.

  Her new abilities were thanks to me bringing her to a fight she had no business being in, but I had been desperate, and had needed her strength.

  During my fight with the Brothers Grimm a few months ago, Tory had lost a lover – the mother of the Reds who now stood before us, mute and obedient as Labradors – and had decided that the only acceptable cure for her grief was to stand by my side as I battled a veritable army of Grimms – supernatural assassins from beyond our world.

  Tory had lost an arm during the battle, and a woodland sprite fighting alongside us had decided to cast the last of her powers into my friend before she succumbed to her own injuries. Tory had regrown her arm within minutes, bone and tendon melding with vines, branches, roots, and a pulsing green glowing power. The savior sprite hadn’t survived, whether from her own injuries, or her choice to grant her powers to Tory, I didn’t quite know.

  Shortly after, Tory had been volun-told – not volunteered – to stand in for the dead sprite in a trifecta of power with the two other surviving sprites – seeing as she now commanded their fallen sister’s powers – and together, they managed to imprison the leader of our enemies, the legendary Jacob Grimm. Since that time, Tory had shown remarkable powers at controlling, well, creatures. She had already been inhumanly strong before, able to lift cars, shatter trees, you name it. Like a pint-sized Incredible Hulk. But now she did it with glowing green eyes.

  And after the battle, she had shown an entirely new affinity for wood.

  Heh.

  Whenever she touched a wooden bannister, or tree, or tabletop, the wood was likely to suddenly begin sprouting new growth: leaves, branches, or even moss. She had also managed to control the inner beast of Ashley – Gunnar’s fiancée – who had then been struggling with her new powers as a werewolf – again, thanks to me bringing her into my fight against the Grimms. She had been unable to determine friend from foe, harboring only an instinct to kill any and all threats. Whether it was the unpunctual mailman or the pizza delivery guy casting a disappointed frown at a low tip.

  Tory had also managed to control the powers of my own fiancée – a newly-minted Grimm – during our altercation with Rumpelstiltskin, or Silver Tongue, as he was more commonly known.

  A particularly clever person might begin to notice a theme here.

  I had brought each of my friends into a deadly battle, and that battle
had changed them.

  All of them. And often not in good ways.

  I vanquished that brief flash of guilt, and pondered Tory again, recalling the times I had seen her use her new abilities.

  She had nullified Baba Yaga’s magic, and then things had gotten even stranger.

  My Master Vampire pal, Alucard, had been off the blood-drinking bandwagon for a few days, trying to become a better-behaved monster. During our fight with Rumpelstiltskin, he had gotten his ass handed to him, and an injured and semi-conscious Tory just happened to be lying nearby. His instincts had kicked in, and he managed to take a quick sip from Tory’s wrist in order to regain some of his strength to rejoin the battle.

  But it didn’t pan out like anyone had anticipated, least of all, him.

  He drank for a few seconds, but then a sudden explosion had sent him cartwheeling a dozen paces away. He came to his feet, newly energized, and… sparkling.

  He now no longer had a thirst for blood.

  And he seemed to be pretty much in her thrall – by choice or obligation, I wasn’t quite sure which.

  As if to emphasize this, the once-vampire approached us now, unconsciously checking Tory with a concerned look. Even though it had all just been a harmless Nerf battle. Alucard wasn’t a Revenant or anything, still the same old snarky vampire… except, I wasn’t sure if he was a vampire any longer.

  Even though he now sometimes sparkled. Heh.

  “You stabbed me in the forehead! What the hell, Little Brother?”

  I rolled my eyes at his annoying term of endearment. “It was a reaction. Next time I’m killing you, I’ll try to be more heroic about it.” I turned to Eae, who was glaring at the vampire. I hadn’t seen him approach. “You were literally less than useless, Feathers. You find it ironic that a vampire killed you? Because I find it immensely satisfying,” I teased.