Wild Side: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 7 (The Temple Chronicles)

by Shayne Silvers

  Wylde would be there to put boot to fucking ass.

  Alex finally climbed off of me, looking embarrassed as he wiped his nose. I didn’t acknowledge his emotions. Not a smile. Not an empathizing nod. I simply stared at him, letting him know that he was mine.

  And that no one ever took something that was mine.

  A deep part of me began reminding me of all the times someone had taken something of mine, but I squashed that mouthy little bastard with Wylde’s testosterone boot.

  “I… can help. Let me help. Somehow,” Alex pleaded.

  I nodded, scratching my beard in thought. “I always hated it when people looked at me with sad eyes, felt sorry for me, buried me with sweetness and concern,” I said absently. “You, too?”

  Alex nodded with the typical arrogant look of an adolescent, finding part of his backbone.

  I gave him a wolfish grin. “Do you like to play games?”

  He nodded slowly. “The Fae liked games…”

  I growled angrily, not at him, but at the reference to what he had survived. “Not those kind of games, Alex.” I gave him a very level look. The Huntress was watching us thoughtfully, like studying a lecture in college. I gripped Alex’s shoulder tightly. “Alex, I want you to promise me something.” He nodded, and I took a long, steady breath. “You will never again consider or bring up what was done to you. That part of your story is over. It’s time to turn the page. It will not shape the man you will become. At least, not as a handicap. It will only strengthen you. Metal, left too long in the fire, can weaken. But do you know how swords are made?” I asked, treating him like an adult.

  He shook his head.

  “With fire,” I said, smiling. “Just the right amount of fire. And it must be hot.”

  He considered that, slowly nodding. “Okay.”

  “What you went through was just the right amount of fire. Just the right level of heat. You will become a sword, not a weakened piece of metal, am I clear?”

  I saw his back straighten, and he looked me in the eyes as he gave me a firm nod.

  “That fire is not a crutch. You will not complain about it. Swords do not complain. They become stronger. Better. To make sure that what happened to them will never happen to anyone else. Ever. Again.”

  A slow, confident smile grew over his face, and I saw the Huntress staring at me as if she had never seen me before. “Yes, Wylde,” Alex answered reverently.

  I jerked my head. “No, Alex. Nate. My name is Nate Temple.” He looked slightly confused, but I smiled at him to let him know I wasn’t upset. “In order to save you from the fire, I had to… become a bit like the fire. The people you saw here a few minutes ago?” I asked. He nodded, looking confused. “They were the same people protecting you under the tree. We all had to change… to save you. You’re worth it, kid.”

  The smile and blush that rolled over his face was priceless. “The Huntress is one of the bravest people I know, despite what you saw over there. I trust her with my life, and you should, too. Now, here’s the game I was talking about earlier…” And I began to explain what I wanted him to do, giving him something to latch onto in place of his fear. They both began to grin, and then dashed out of the Sanctorum in search of fresh clothing. Tory and her students should be able to help with that. The Huntress wouldn’t be leaving his side anytime soon. Coincidentally, this would put Tory and the Huntress together.

  Because I was pretty sure I understood one thing about their flight from the Fae. A taste of love had allowed them to leave. The shoes had allowed Ashley and Carl to leave. Talon – being part of the Fae already, could come and go at will. But me? And the kid?

  I wasn’t entirely sure about that part yet, but I had my suspicions. When I had my feet back under me, I would have Othello start looking for his parents. But I wasn’t in any rush. Because dumping him off as soon as I saved him might be the worst thing imaginable. He needed time.

  Even if it was in a warzone. But the Huntress would keep him safe.

  I headed up to my rooms to clean up, but not before pointedly glancing at the two pairs of beady eyes silently watching me from the third tier high above. They watched me leave, thinking unknown thoughts. Maybe remembering unknown thoughts.

  At least to me.

  I didn’t care. I had a war to fight. Or, at least some people to kill. Three of them, to be precise.

  And for some strange reason, this made me deliriously happy. Anxious, even.

  Chapter 42

  I had cleaned up, taken a shower, and scrubbed the stink of the Fae off my flesh. But my mind wasn’t in it. Because my mind had been a constant inner dialogue of war. Discerning what Wylde knew, how he might be able to help.

  And even though this war concerned my friends, and that they had been fighting it for weeks, perhaps, none of it had hit me on a personal level yet. I hadn’t asked if anyone had died, been injured, or how we were holding up. Or if it had even begun.

  Who might have already died was irrelevant to Wylde.

  Other than their use as an asset. Part of me felt concerned about that, but never for long. Because it was honest. Cold, but honest. We needed to win. And to make an example doing it.

  Which meant Indie had to die.

  I realized this with a stunned grunt. I turned the water from warm to cold, remembering some article I had read about it helping you, or being good for you.

  Also, it felt more primitive. Honest.

  The cold water didn’t feel good – but honesty rarely did – and that article must have been right on some level, because it did help me. Cleared my head. Woke me up. I didn’t deserve a warm, luxurious shower when death was knocking on my front door. And had been for seven weeks or so.

  Indie… I thought, placing my palms on the wall of the shower, letting the icy water run down my back, ignoring the shivers it gave me.

  This was all her fault. She had been offered a resolution time and time again, and although I had been angry before, furious even, I hadn’t decisively put her on the kill list yet, as if subconsciously hoping to see the woman I remembered finally reach out for help.

  Because the more I thought about it, the more I realized that things didn’t add up. She had told me that the Syndicate had killed her mother, but something about that didn’t sit right in my mind. But even if it was true, it didn’t justify the number of lines she had crossed.

  Innocent people had died.

  She and her minions had tried to kill my Greek friends.

  And then she had taken my Greek friends from me – against their will.

  And Ichabod had lied to me. He had taken me out to dinner, pretending to be friendly, saying he didn’t know where Indie was. Either he had told the truth, and Indie had decided to wake a goddess of her own, or he had set her up to succeed in case he failed – and he had failed.

  But had it been some complicated scheme, or had Indie gone rogue?

  Because manipulating a broken person was easy. You just had to continue feeding their fears.

  I had tried reason with Indie, and it hadn’t worked. I was betting that feeding her fears was the only way to get through to her, now. And Ichabod had a Blood Debt against the Syndicate, and would do anything to make good on it. To avenge what they had done to his father so long ago. The Mad Hatter. Matthias Temple.

  The one that I had to make a deal with and release from his prison.

  I sighed. Talk about a dysfunctional family.

  I needed to get my cane back and release the Beast inside it. There were plenty of warnings regarding that. Primarily that it was the worst decision ever considered.

  But without fulfilling it, I knew my power was going to be severely impacted. At the worst possible moment. Sure, now I had some attachment to Wylde’s version of Fae Magic – but whether that was temporary or not, I didn’t know. Also, what were the ramifications of using it? Would it change me? Change my world? Open up the gates between our worlds? Knowing the Fae, there had to be something in it for them.

 
And, to be honest, it scared the shit out of me.

  It was like suddenly knowing how to tap into Quantum Physics…

  If Quantum Physics had its own Quantum Physics.

  It was magic like I had never seen. Nothing like the Maker ability, and nothing like a wizard’s ability. It was… like its own force. Not even magic, really. More like tapping into an element that the rest of the world didn’t know existed. Like the first army to discover gunpowder. It had always been there, if one only knew how to look.

  And using that new discovery had changed the world.

  All I had to do was let go of my control, and let Wylde have his way.

  Although I knew I needed to maintain our relationship, give and take, I was leery of granting him carte blanche access to my body again. It might become necessary in this war, but that didn’t mean I needed to lead with it.

  I turned off the water, shivering slightly.

  I climbed out of the shower, and began tugging on clothes. Jeans, boots, a random tee, and a quick dab of product in my hair, raking it back with my fingers. It was much longer than it had been before my trip to the Fae. Long enough that I could almost consider doing a topknot.

  If I didn’t ooze so much manliness that this option was impossible to me.

  I felt a smile tug at my cheeks as I left my rooms, heading to my office. I was early. The others wouldn’t be there for thirty minutes, at least. Whoever the others were. I hoped none had already fallen, but if they had, I could do nothing about it.

  Other than rain such annihilation down on the Greeks that the world would hold their breath, no matter what War had told me.

  I would make an example of them. Even if everyone died in the attempt.

  This war would be remembered.

  But first, I needed to release the kraken – Matthias Temple, the Mad Hatter. Because I had finally understood what the crazy bastard had been talking about with his comments on serendipity and my Invitation.

  He needed wild magic, Fae magic, to abscond from his prison.

  And guess who metaphorically sported shiny new pointed ears?

  This fucking guy.

  Chapter 43

  I sat at my desk, breathing deeply, clutching a book in my lap. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt like I may have a little more protection if I held it.

  Through the Looking-Glass.

  Wylde grumbled in anticipation.

  Rather than thinking about it, I let my eyes close. I needed to be quick. The others would be here, soon. I reached through the book, using it as a door, to enter the White World physically.

  I opened my eyes to find myself in a familiar white room. Matthias Temple sat in a chair, sipping what appeared to be milk, but I was sure it was actually liquor of some kind. Everything here was white. Even the drinks.

  This unjust prison where the Syndicate had sent Ichabod’s dad, my ancestor.

  And thanks to Obie, I now knew it was part of the Fae World. And that I would be paid for doing him this service.

  Since none had apparently gone on their walkabout to the Land of the Fae in quite some time, none had been able to break Matthias out of his prison. But now?

  The youngest Temple had received an Invitation, and come back stained with their magic.

  Their Wild Side.

  Because you couldn’t leave the Fae without a burning love for something there, or by adopting their way of life into your heart. Or, if you stole the Queens’ shoes.

  Which made me chuckle out loud, remembering Carl stealing the red heels from Ashley. Color preferences. For cross-dressing. Fucking Carl. At least they weren’t my problem anymore.

  Matthias studied me, curious about my laughter. He waved a hand at me. “Is the paint and beard necessary?”

  I frowned, glancing down. And blinked.

  Not just at his mention of the beard. Because that was growing on me. But the fact that I wore the same clothes I had worn at Chateau Falco. Never before had that happened. I had always found myself here in a set of silver or gray clothing.

  Also, I saw the blue painted designs on my chest through the thin light shirt. Like a tattoo. But I had scrubbed my body raw in the shower. I turned to look back at the Mad Hatter.

  “My face, too?” I asked hesitantly.

  He nodded. Very slowly. And then his face morphed into a huge grin, guessing what the symbols implied, and savoring the hope of upcoming freedom.

  “Huh,” I said, hiding my concern by walking around the room instead of speaking, letting Wylde get a feel for the place. I could sense him thinking, analyzing, considering, and discarding plans. I let him as I continued to walk, touching a book here, a painting there, encircling the Hatter, giving myself one last chance to change my mind. I was very sure to keep my mind guarded so that Matthias didn’t sense this from me. Because he was nosy about things like private thoughts.

  But I couldn’t think of anything else enticing enough to make him give me the cane.

  Force wouldn’t work, because although this was his prison, he was utterly in control here, almost able to control the place itself. No matter how powerful I was, he had a freaking palace to back him up. For all I knew, the paintings and chairs could come to life and attack me.

  Or he could just imagine me imprisoned.

  And I would be imprisoned.

  Because he was a Maker in his prime. One of the most knowledgeable to possibly ever live. His son, Ichabod, was strong, but he hadn’t received the training, assistance, and years of study that his father had. In fact, you could say that the reason Matthias Temple had been trapped and imprisoned was because of his power, and the threat he embodied to those who wanted to take over that power.

  I finally walked back before him. I stared at him, no emotion on my face. Wylde grunted satisfactorily at the situation, then grew very silent staring into the Hatter’s eyes. I wouldn’t say his silence was concern… but I wouldn’t say it wasn’t, either.

  The Hatter… impressed Wylde. I shivered at that.

  Then again, anyone who required a prison this intense kind of demanded respect.

  “The cane,” I said.

  The Hatter held out a hand, and a box suddenly rested on his lap. He carefully opened it, revealing my silver, eagle-headed cane. And the moment he did, the power hit me like a brick. The Beast was… frustrated, to put it mildly.

  I reached out a hand, watching as it shook. The blue war paint – Fairy blood – on my arms stood out starkly in this white world. The Hatter watched me, staring through me as if observing Wylde in my soul. “Original terms,” he murmured. I nodded, and then he reached inside the box, gently picked up the cane, and handed it to me.

  It felt like grabbing a live wire, although it wasn’t necessarily painful. It was just… noticeable. Agitated, angry, and demanding. I sent out a thought. Soon. So very soon, I promised. This day, I swear it.

  The buzzing dulled in an instant, and the sensation suddenly changed to satisfaction. Also, I realized that it was sending another sensation at me. Devotion.

  Letting me know I had nothing to fear from it.

  And… I believed it.

  I had spoken with the Beast, and had seen his true nature. He was definitely dangerous, but me promising to grant him freedom had changed things. He looked at me as… family, almost. A younger Brother, perhaps. A younger sibling who had done him a great service.

  I just hoped it was sincere.

  But it didn’t matter. I still had to follow through.

  “My turn,” I said in a rasping snarl, eager to take something from Oberon.

  Wylde seemed to stretch through me, and…

  Well, I don’t really know how to describe what he did – what I did – but I’ll try.

  We wove the cosmos: Stardust, dark matter, the core of our planet, mist from dew drops, glitter from fairy wings, troll breath, and zillions of other things. And… it was so damnably simple. Not easy, but simple. We wove those forces together into three perfect ribbons, creating a new force with
each of them, something the universe had never seen. And we cackled madly at the euphoria of cutting loose. Matthias sat on the edge of his seat, stunned.

  Those three perfect ribbons were born into this white world with the wailing screams of new life, each distinctly different, and piercing.

  Light, like we had never believed possible – that of a million suns.

  Dark, that seemed to make pitch-black look like a dull gray.

  Nothingness, that seemed to want to eat anything and everything… forever.

  The three ribbons snapped together in an intricate braid with not a filament out of place.

  And like the Hydra, a dozen braids suddenly exploded out of us like new heads, creating spokes of a wheel centered on us – Wylde and me – the hub.

  And those braids shattered unseen pillars of finality that encased this White World. The ground shook as a loud gonging sound hammered the air.

  Then another, followed by the sound of shattering glass, this time.

  I gasped, the crashing and gonging striking louder, deeper, and then I punched the floor with a fist, breaking entirely through it. A ripple of force rolled away from the blow, and I could feel the world screaming in outrage and pain. I panted, and power drained out of me like the world was one giant leech attached to my fist.

  Then it was done. The drain instantly ceased, and I sucked in a deep breath, feeling Wylde fall over in satisfied exhaustion. I stumbled to my feet, the ground still shaking as I clenched my cane.

  Because although my Fae magic had ceased, the chaos had only just begun.

  Color splashed over the room. The Hatter’s drink was suddenly a greenish hue – absinthe. And then he was washed in colors, too – tan pants, a crimson shirt, and shining black boots.

  The color hurt my eyes. I quickly tugged on a pair of sunglasses, tossing an extra pair I had brought with me to Matthias. He squinted, fumbling them before slamming them into place. I shambled over to the window, staring out at a mad world.