by KH LeMoyne
Rayven crouched suddenly, bringing him back to the present. He barely had time to brace her as she dry-heaved at the side of the tunnel.
“I should have refused this deal with you,” he said softly. He shrugged the backpack off and scrounged for another bottle of water.
“No. I…” She sighed, and when he pulled her against him, she sagged like a rag doll. He didn’t anticipate her next move. He should have. She twisted in his arms and stared at him.
“You know what happened. And not because someone told you, did they?” She waved her hand away from him. “You saw this and survived.”
“Survived? I lost everyone and fucking came out scarred and damaged, with a vengeful soul.” He stood again and hauled her up with him, shoving the new water bottle into her hands before he stalked down the tunnel.
“Left,” she yelled after him.
Confused, he turned back. She waved a hand to where the tunnel split. “Go left. But first, tell me how old were you? With several older brothers, you’d have been, what? Seven?”
He inhaled, grabbed the pack, and strode ahead where she’d indicated. “Four years, six months, and two days.”
“Breslin, wait. I can’t move that fast.”
Slamming to a halt, he felt her collide against him. Her heat fractured the sickening cold that numbed his extremities and brought on a rush of dissonance inside his eardrums.
She brushed her hand down his arm. The touch, her touch, anchored him as nothing had since that day. “We need some new rules for the deal,” she muttered and moved beside him.
He glared down at her. As usual, she appeared unaffected by his foul mood and instead raised a finger toward his face and gestured between them.
“This sharing deal doesn’t mean you can just run off. Don’t suddenly treat me like I don’t have a brain in my head either.” Lips pursed, she glared at him.
Surprised, he cocked his head at her and leaned closer. “I’m not treating you like anything.”
“Correct. You’re treating me like I don’t exist. Which is unfair since this was my question.”
“Ms. Judge-and-jury.”
“I’m not judging you.” When he didn’t respond, she huffed. “I’ll be the impartial person here.”
“Impartial! You’re his daughter.”
An expression flitted across her face, and he instantly wished he could roll back the words. Damn. Now he was the one hurting her. This was wrong. Telling her was wrong. Ever admitting to himself that he wanted his mate and she mattered to him was wrong. He wasn’t worthy of her, and she didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like him.
“You do want me dead. That’s why you came to pick me up for the tribunal. To make sure I pay for my father’s actions.”
He could see the damp sheen in her eyes. At least before she gritted her teeth and bowed her head so he couldn’t see her face, pulling herself into a tighter coil. Her pain wounded him, but he at least deserved this and more, because she didn’t know how hard he’d worked to purge his soul of goodness. That she’d finally acknowledge Gauthier as her father and not some nameless title said everything about how much he’d hurt her.
“I’m very good at the jobs Deacon assigns me. I’ve been his assassin, his ghost, the shadow no one sees coming—the lone wolf on the team as long as I’ve existed.” She angled her face as her mouth moved. A bit heartened, he continued. “I’ve killed for him. Granted, he always chose the marks, though he left the final assessment of the target’s guilt and whether they deserved execution to me. My hand ended their lives.”
“So Deacon holds no blame for their deaths?”
“There is no blame for ending the life of a serial killer or a child molester or a feral shifter. I carry the weight of the deaths I’ve caused.”
“Promise me you’ll kill me face-to-face and not with a knife in my back.” Her chin lifted with her visible swallow, and she stared him straight in the eyes as if challenging him.
Amazed that she could believe he’d do that to her, he paused. After all she’d endured, she remained incredibly strong.
He raised a hand to his head and closed his eyes. “No. Well, yes.” With a slow inhale, he opened his eyes. He grasped her chin with his fingers so she could find the proof in his face. “Until I actually saw you and experienced the woman you really are, I had a one-way ticket to hell. But as bitter as I may be, I know an innocent person when I see one. I’ve also never left a victim to their enemies. I’m not about to start with you—you deserve more. Much more, Rayven.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he wasn’t clear of hell yet. “What you’re implying is that I’m not enough of a villain for you to vent your anger against my father on me. Yet on the other hand, you consider me, what? Too naïve or just not smart enough to offer a different perspective about your story.”
“Ah…” She was good. He had to hand it to her. “All right. I admit my family’s death is not a good topic for me. With all other skills, I have practice. This sharing…is new.”
“I hope you never have practice dealing with these kinds of emotions again,” she responded vehemently. Gripping his arm, she moved closer. “My point was that you were very young.”
She canted her head and slid a side-glance his way as if he wasn’t already hanging on every word, though he’d become obsessed with rubbing his thumb over her lower lip. “Young children are notoriously bad at estimating their abilities. They all believe they rank in the top echelons as superheroes. They believe they can fly. I knew a child who got the bright idea that setting off an explosion in a coffee can while standing on a board on top was a good way to fly off the roof. Luckily, it only resulted in a few broken bones but that’s oversimplified kid logic.”
Superhero? No. He dropped his hand and backed away.
He’d only wished for the traits of his birthright. A cougar with power, strength, and speed, combined in a man who could control his beast with enough force to cripple and destroy an alpha. Of course, as she’d succinctly pointed out—he’d been a child. “I did nothing.”
“While you witnessed your mother and your brothers doing everything.”
Right or not, regrets and guilt had worked their way into the very fabric of his being for all the decades of his life. Rational discussion didn’t make his inner child accept being the sole survivor any more now than it had when he was four. It wasn’t as if no one else had tried to walk him down this road of understanding. He refused to engage with them.
She squeezed his arm. “The mothers I’ve dealt with who had children kidnapped were all prepared to trade their lives for that of their child. In a heartbeat. No debate involved.”
But Rayven did have a way of delivering that no one else ever had.
The she whispered, “I’m sure the mother you loved so much would feel the same.”
Swallowing got hard, or maybe it was the effort to look backward with something other than the eyes of a child that clogged him up inside. He wasn’t sure which. Frankly, he’d never gotten this far about this topic with anyone else, much less honest self-evaluation. Unless conversations came with weapons or a defensive maneuver, he wasn’t interested.
“Where were you?”
He stretched his neck as they entered a large cave and distracted himself by checking the perimeter.
“Breslin.”
“Up a tree.”
She continued walking and nodded, as if everything made sense. “Learning?”
“What?”
“How to climb,” she added. “But you couldn’t get down yet.”
“Something like that.”
“And what happened in your clan between the years your family was murdered and your failed attempt on my father?”
They’d entered another tunnel, the striations of rock showing a fault line break. The discussion still verged on unpleasant, but at least the tight pressure in his chest had eased at her light approach. “I’m not sure I’m liking your tone, Ms. Karndottir.”
“T
hat was my practical assessment, not a judgment on your lack of success in killing him. Since you ended up crawling through these caves at thirteen, you obviously failed. But that’s not the point. You don’t strike me as someone, even as a kid, who wouldn’t have tried to get help.” She moved before him as the path narrowed. “Did anyone in your clan attempt justice for you during those years?”
Why did everything sound simple coming from her lips? Oh, right, because living the story and listening to the story were two different things. He almost said as much until he remembered why they’d begun this deal. To find out why she bore scars on her back. Scars that should have healed were she leveraging her beast. Scars that warned him she was more fragile than she let on.
“Two days afterward, my alpha’s team found my father’s body at the border. It turns out that he’d been murdered before my mother,” he added before she could ask. “Alpha King promised he’d take care of Gauthier.”
She glanced back with a frown.
Pale again, she nodded and turned back. “I’m guessing your alpha didn’t exact revenge to your satisfaction.”
“Deacon’s father didn’t exact revenge to anyone’s satisfaction. And my family consisted of purebred cougars, not wolves. Our deaths didn’t rate war or conflicts.”
“So as a youth, you took matters into your own hands.”
Thinking back on it, even he had to admit it had been a stupid plan. “I was caught by Karndottir enforcers just over the territory edge. They beat me within an inch of my life, probably thought I was dead, then tossed me behind the stone into the tunnel.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “I’d forgotten about the stone, actually.”
“You’d never have seen it if you were unconscious.”
Good point.
“Which brings up the question of how you got out.” Taking a drag of the water, she stopped and leaned against the tunnel wall.
He braced a hand over her head. “Ever heard of Vendrick Harbard?”
Her laugh startled him, then she stopped and bit her lower lip. “You’re kidding, right? One of the Old Ones.” She added air quotes and then paused. “One of the fathers of our species. He’s a myth. A fairy tale, as in…fairies and vampires?”
“Bet you thought Ghost was a myth too,” he said, trying for a smirk. She only raised her brow in response. “And I don’t know about vampires, but I think fairy folk might be real, and I know witches exist.”
Pointing the water bottle at him, she pursed her lips. “You’re definitely no myth.” She took a strained breath and pulled his jacket tighter around her body.
“Cold?” Sliding one arm behind her back, he dragged her against him. Even as she shook her head in denial, she relaxed and laid her cheek on his chest. Unable to resist, he nuzzled her bare neck. She stilled against him but didn’t move. Encouraged, he kissed her there.
Her gasp echoed. Yet instead of jumping back, she raised her head. It was all the invitation he needed before he closed his lips over hers. A lick across the seam and she opened for him, yet instead of diving in, he savored and sipped. And tasted the unique honeyed sweetness of the woman meant to be his only other half. Tongues tentatively teasing, they stood there.
Reluctantly, he pulled back. The longer they stayed beneath the mountains, the longer it would take before Deacon found a way to halt the tribunal.
With her eyes still closed, she stayed in his arms. “You confuse me, Breslin Taggart. One minute, you’re more beast than human. And the next—”
“Are you saying you like me?”
Patting his chest, she moved backward. “This isn’t grade school. Not that I went to grade school. But I’ve heard about it. However, you’re growing on me.” Less bright-eyed than she was an hour ago, she spun slowly and continued down the path. “So, Vendrick.”
Right, the story. “He found me in time and made me a deal.”
She held up her hand. “Let me guess. The Old One offered you the wisdom of the ages and turned you into a silent ninja killer. At his command, you perform deeds heinous enough they are now legend.”
He held back a laugh, though his chest hurt again. Her humor attempted a light recounting of years that he’d spent killing people. Granted, not good people, but still. “Something like that. Except learning the wisdom of the ages took more like decades. First, he dragged me across states, countries, and territories. Then I was sent on missions until one day I—well. Let’s say I’d finally had enough.”
“Details?”
“No. That was a story in and of itself. But I met a couple fleeing from your father on my last mission and killed one of his many enforcers to save them.”
“Ah, the dozen or more brutes he enticed to do his bidding. What did graduation from Old One’s training look like? A Swiss bank account? Penthouse suite? Hideaway island?”
She’d gone so far off the grid from the truth, he suspected she knew the real answer. To add a little salt to his own wound of not realizing his fate sooner, he asked. “What do you think happened?”
Slowing to a halt, she waited for him but didn’t turn around. “Do you really want to know what I think?”
“You’re impartial,” he replied and grasped one of her shoulders lightly. “How do you already know?”
With a nod, she turned and held his gaze. “He sent you to Deacon. Where you found out that it was your new alpha who had saved you.”
Damn, she was so spot-on he couldn’t breathe. No response was necessary.
“So your life on the lam was really about training. All the deaths, every last one, were alpha-sanctioned kills.”
Numb, he just waited.
She shrugged as her gaze flickered over his face, her emotions open and honest enough his cat sighed with relief. “It’s what I would have done if I had someone to protect who was hell-bent on destroying themselves. Still. That’s a hard life and an awful burden to carry. How did Deacon earn your loyalty?”
Earn, not claim, she’d said, and just like that, he knew he was screwed. She would figure this out too quickly for him to apologize or explain. These few minutes of oneness and shared camaraderie were all he’d have. Served him right. He should have listened to Callum.
“Breslin?” She stepped away again, and he didn’t try to bring her back.
“He promised me another way to get Gauthier, more training.” Hell, now he couldn’t breathe, for he could see realization dawning on her face. But he had to tell her. This was his penance, to lose everything.
“What training?” she asked. Her voice had dropped a level from soft security to raw, harsh premonition.
If he could hold the image of her happy after their kiss for the rest of his life and never remember the horror as she looked at him now, he’d die happy. Immediately. But he couldn’t undo his deeds. He’d already learned that lesson.
After all the truths between them, he couldn’t lie to her now. He deserved her disdain after all. Better to rip the bandage off quickly.
“He taught me how to read financial reports and investigate businesses. How I could find chinks and weaknesses to bring Gauthier down.”
Her breath almost wheezed in her throat, and she turned even paler. “By sabotaging the financial holdings that kept my clan afloat. You were destroying the businesses that support my people?”
“Yes.”
“You ruthless, coldhearted coward!” She whirled back and marched down the tunnel, heedless of where she was going. Bastard. Her instincts were on autopilot from having raced through these paths for years. Still something nagged at her as she picked up speed and charged away from him.
“You should have killed me instead,” she screamed. Her heart was shredded into ragged, painful bits, but worse, she was furious with herself for wanting him to be hers. Devastated that in such a short time, he’d wormed his way into a place where she’d been certain no one could. “My bloodline would die, and you’d have your revenge. But my clan would at least have survived.”
“Rayven, slow down.”
His footsteps stomped close behind her, but she didn’t pause. “We had an agreement about not running off. Or do your rules only apply to me?”
She raced around a tight corner and kept going. His words barely penetrated her angry haze, but she caught them. Darn it, she hated when someone countered back with logic. That rarely happened. Her clan operated on deceit, denial, and subterfuge, not to mention she didn’t usually fight with her team, until today. Until he’d entered her life.
Why should she treat him with consideration? He’d openly admitted his plan. Targeting her people. They’d never done anything to him. He’d targeted innocent people out of revenge. Out of spite.
Well, maybe not spite. She considered spite petty. Having your whole family—mother, father, siblings destroyed—likely flipped his internal switch way past spite and directly into cold, calculated retribution. Still, she wasn’t ready to talk to him.
Her breaths came faster as she tried to distance herself from him.
No wonder the sawmills were closing and the coal mine had lost its main distributor to a competing company.
“Rayven. I won’t blame you for leaving me in this godforsaken place, but at least let me explain.”
And Alpha Deacon Black—the one she was supposed to trust—had set him on this path to destroy her clan. Why did that bother her so much? Because Deacon wasn’t supposed to be a maniacal alpha. Rumors claimed Breslin’s alpha accepted purebreds, half-breeds, and humans into his clan with equal status. Why would he allow her people to become targets for destruction? It seemed grossly out of character.
Still, she didn’t break her stride. Where her burst of energy was coming from, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t about to question the gift.
She couldn’t believe how she’d silently applauded Deacon’s approach for keeping a thirteen-year-old suicide victim alive. The alpha was smart, but devious, and farsighted.