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

by Shayne Silvers

  The Greeks were shaped in a spear formation, driving right through the center of my property, pressing forward intently, rather than the block formation I had assumed. And they didn’t waste time fighting when they didn’t need to. They had a purpose. A target.

  Me?

  How long had I been gone?

  Dragons roared through the skies, blasting fire at pockets of flankers that tried to break off from the main body of Greeks, but arrows whistled up into the night sky, ripping through dragon wings, and explosions of green fire erupted into the night, washing the sky with liquid flame, rolling over the backs of any aerial assaults, and despite dragons’ immunity to fire…

  It seemed they weren’t resistant to Greek Fire. Basically, napalm.

  Dozens of bodies lay on the ground, but I saw Ashley and Gunnar, back to back, covered in blood as an army of over two hundred wolves darted around them like a school of fish, lashing out at random to hamstring and evade, rip out a throat, and evade.

  Blasts of power struck Ashley, but she always managed to turn her back just in time, and whatever power hit that fluffy blanket on her back, reflected right back into the enemy.

  The Golden Fleece was just so magically fluffy.

  Gunnar on the other hand, looked like a nightmare. He wore Hercules’ Nemean Lion Cloak, with the hood up over his werewolf face, looking like the lion had attempted to swallow him whole, and Gunnar was erupting out of his freaking throat.

  He also pulsed with power, looking bigger, thicker, harder.

  And his blue eye actually glowed as he struck with his claws, sending enemies flying at least twenty feet, or ripping them entirely in half. One poor bastard swung a spear length axe down at him. It struck his back and exploded into toothpicks. Gunnar glanced over his shoulder, snarling, and was suddenly holding the offending shit-stain a good fifteen feet away, gripping him by the throat. He twisted his wrist and the body went limp. Gunnar turned, and hurled him into a trio of soldiers approaching Ashley, bowling them over.

  But I glanced over at a sudden motion, not seeing anything in particular, but catching something out of the corner of my eyes. I was much closer to the ground now, and realized I had maybe ten seconds before impact.

  An invisible force hit me laterally, angling down, using my momentum to lighten the blow.

  Still, it felt as pleasant as being tackled by a random antelope while riding a Power Wheel on a quiet neighborhood street. Claws clutched my torso, but my vision was now swirling from the totally unexpected blow. I glanced down at my body, wondering if he had knocked off an arm.

  And I saw nothing.

  “Ack! He’s stealing my soul!” I yelled.

  A familiar voice panted with effort. “Toe-tah-lee saved you, yah?”

  Yahn, the candy-painted dragon with chameleon abilities. Meaning he had made us invisible. Or, blended us with the night, camouflaging us with our surroundings. I opened my mouth to thank him.

  “Hold on tight!” he shrieked. Then we hit about a dozen bushes in rapid succession, before tumbling and rolling across the grass. We groaned after coming to a complete stop.

  I opened my eyes to find my mouth dangerously close to a dark, blonde-haired nipple. “Ack!” I said, jumping off Yahn’s chest. He just lay there, unconscious or dead. And very naked.

  I let out a breath. My back and, well, my whole body ached, and I was liberally covered in scratches from the bushes. “No one saw. You’re still cool,” I said, staring down at Yahn. He was still breathing, but didn’t move other than that. I nudged him with a boot. Nothing. “Dancing time!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

  He lurched up into a sitting position, eyes wide.

  To find me grinning at him. “Master Temple!” he stammered. “We’re alive!” he whispered, inspecting his body anxiously.

  “Toe-tah-lee,” I agreed, holding out a hand. He accepted, and then covered up his naughty bits with both hands, face flushing.

  “Can you turn around and stuff?”

  “I’ve got one, too. Your secret is safe,” I said. But I did make sure I was in front as I began walking away, practically jogging, eager to enter the—

  I skidded to a halt, letting out a sigh. The fight.

  I glanced at Yahn. “Go do as you were commanded. Before you broke orders to save my pathetic life.” He looked embarrassed, but he nodded. “And Yahn?” he turned, shoulders wilted as if expecting punishment. “Thanks for saving me.”

  He smirked, and then jogged away. I shook my head, pacing as I watched the fight from a distance. Yahn had changed. Still the same in places, but he was harder. Less afraid.

  A product of war.

  I sat in the grass, crossing my legs, and rocking back and forth, knowing that if I stood I would run into the thick of things. Wylde kept me company, watching the distant battle through my eyes, and explaining things as he saw it. Some of it was startling, but a lot of it I got on my own. Still, it was very obvious that he saw things much differently than me.

  Instead of seeing a person was in danger, Wylde would describe it like Chess. That trio will be overrun any second, but the attackers don’t see the dozen men creeping up over their backs thirty seconds after that. And that man is too wide around the eyes. He will break at the first charge. Or that woman has fire in her, pointing at a plump woman carrying a bucket of water between tents, eyes out for danger.

  It was oddly academic. Like we were watching old footage from one of the World Wars, or a sports game, analyzing mistakes and successes, learning from them. And I could tell that to Wylde, this was the most invigorating thing in the world.

  Even compared to sex.

  Chapter 55

  The Huntress found me as dawn was rising. Well, Carl was leading her to me. She held a broken bow, and was covered in blood. Her quiver had no arrows, and she limped. She looked broken, like her bow.

  She looked up at me, and her face cracked. “They took Alex…” and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing.

  I raced towards her, my vision pulsing red. Not Alex. His life had already been so horrible. I had just saved him from a hellish existence.

  I squeezed her shoulders, ignoring her broken bow. “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t an attack. It was a surgical strike. To obtain leverage. Ashley caught on instantly, but the wizards showed up too late to help. She didn’t have the resources she needed, and with Hercules and that damned golden-haired wonder hurling spears astride Pegasus, they were pinned down. I used all my arrows, and switched to knives, but there were too many.”

  “Who?” I snarled. “Who took Alex?”

  She met my eyes, her own bloodshot. “Indie. And… Achilles.”

  I stared, dumbfounded. Achilles…

  “He could have killed me. Indie commanded him to. But he just looked at me. Sniffed with disdain, and broke my bow. She’s as broken as this bow, now…” she said, mimicking Achilles’ gruff voice.

  I turned to Carl, who nodded. “No one could find you. I know that was your intent, but Ashley still wanted to keep you updated. The wizards – both Academy and Syndicate – have plugged up the gaps, and we can now give them one hell of a fight. But…” He trailed off, looking uncertain.

  “What?” I rasped.

  “I don’t know if you want me to tell you. I don’t know if it’s what you want. You said you mustn’t fight here…” he said, sounding conflicted.

  I took a deep breath, reaching out to Wylde. Guide me. Keep me focused.

  With pleasure.

  I looked at Carl, and something must have been different in my eyes, because he took an instinctive step back, tightening his lizard lips. His tongue even flickered out uneasily, as if sensing the area between us, uncertain of what he had suddenly stepped into. I nodded. “Proceed.”

  “She’s waiting at the gates, calling for you. With the child. All of them are. She wants an exchange. The Syndicate for the boy.”

  The Huntress snarled. “Give them to her. Fuck the Syndicate,” she cursed.


  I considered all my options. No involvement in the war. But my conflict, my battle, was with Indie. And Ichabod. And the alleged goddess who had knocked me out of Olympus or wherever the hell I had accidentally stumbled to.

  I opened my mouth to reply, hating myself for it, when my pocket buzzed. I frowned, pulled out my phone, and read the text message.

  My heart suddenly began to beat erratically. But I hesitated, focusing on Wylde. He was silent, going over every outcome, and he finally let out a mirthless chuckle. Do this thing, you cruel son of a bitch.

  I felt my own face smiling, and it must have been a hideous sight, because even the Huntress looked suddenly concerned.

  “Let’s go see my ex.”

  I sauntered up to the gates, keeping my face calm. My friends watched me, confused. By now, they had all heard I wasn’t involving myself in the war, but that I would participate in some small part.

  To them, they probably imagined that one small part to be something cosmically violent.

  And that moment might just be right now.

  The gates were closed, even though the walls had two wide holes on either side of it. No more trust existed between our armies, not with Indie convincing everyone I had broken my truce with Ichabod. Achilles had a few dings and scratches on his armor, and several surface wounds, but overall, he looked clean. But the tips of two spears were bloody, as was his sword.

  Hercules, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered to hide his war-stained clothing, and from the whispers I had caught while walking through camp, he had tried very hard to get to Gunnar and retrieve his cloak. Even though he was the only Greek to break formation. He smiled at me, but his smile faded as I felt a presence behind me. I glanced back to see Tory and her horde of violent kids – still in monster form – licking their lips at what they considered to be a walking slab of fresh steak.

  I didn’t bother hiding my smile as I turned back to Hercules. The Minotaur was absent. In shame?

  I studied the two humans, Indie and Ichabod. Well, three humans. Indie held the kid before her, gripping him by the hair. He looked dirty and afraid, but unharmed. He also looked furious. Then that fury ratcheted up as he saw the Huntress behind me. Ichabod looked weak, standing beside Indie as if wishing he had a crutch. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Well?” I asked calmly. “We were waiting for a real war. Not a toddler trying to steal his superhero cloak back while the rest of your cretins devolved to kidnapping a tiny child.”

  Indie smiled, and I casually took a step to the side, as if trying to get a better view through the bars on the gate. Then I began to take a few steps closer. Until I was holding the gates in either hand, obviously not a threat. I even leaned casually, propping one leg up on the toes of my boot.

  “You break truce with us, and then have the audacity to chastise our actions?”

  I glared at Ichabod, who looked angry. At Indie. But he still kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m pretty sure you heard exactly what happened. Stop lying to your army. Leading them to believe a falsehood in order to help justify your actions. They are clever men and will see through your ruse. Painting me as something worse than you isn’t possible, and deep down, they know it.”

  She practically quivered at the blow. “Are you saying you have such poor management of your army, that you could overlook such a rebellious act? Either you broke truce, or you can’t control your army. I’ll let you pick which one to put on your tombstone.”

  “I’ve made it perfectly clear that they aren’t my army. I’m only here for… three deaths.”

  Her face flushed with anger. “We will exchange the child for the Syndicate. All of them. Consider it a favor, since you obviously can’t keep them in line.”

  “They’re busy right now. Can we get back to the war thing? We’re all rather bored. And although I do despise killing the ignorant, for what you’ve done, I’ll make an exception.”

  Indie took a step closer, yanking Alex by the hair. He gasped, following on his toes to avoid being scalped. “I will paint your gates with his blood if you don’t give me what I want, right now!” Indie screamed, spittle flying.

  I nodded, glancing to my left. Yahn materialized out of nowhere holding a cell phone. Shouts, stammers, and horrified gasps suddenly rolled over us as everyone who could, turned to look at the screen, and the very beautiful mature woman screaming at Indie in incoherent stutters.

  “Say hi to mom, Indie,” I said softly.

  Indie released Alex’s hair as if burned, mouth hanging open. She began to shake her head. “That’s… not possible. She’s dead.”

  “Mrs. Rippley,” I said, turning. “You are smoking hot for a dead lady,” I said, and then turned back to Indie. I thought I heard Achilles chuckle, but his mask made it impossible to tell. And a chuckle didn’t mean ally.

  “What… the hell is wrong with you?” Mrs. Rippley demanded. “He’s a child!”

  Indie suddenly looked twelve years old. Still angry, defensive, disbelieving, but also guilty as hell. “It’s not what it looks like,” she pleaded before turning to me. “Turn it off. Turn it off!”

  “Nah. This is fun. Watching you squirm while your mommy reprimands you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Nathin!” Mrs. Rippley roared.

  “Yes Ma’am,” I said, grinning. She wasn’t really mad at me. After all, I had been the one person to let her see her daughter after more than a year. Thanks to Sir Muffle Paws arriving on her doorstep.

  “How…” Indie whispered.

  Mrs. Rippley turned the phone to show Sir Muffle Paws sitting on the floor, lapping up a bowl of cream. As if sensing us watching, he turned, took one look, arched his back, and then ran away in shame. I tried not to laugh. I really did. Which earned another shout from Mrs. Rippley.

  “You must have forgotten what Hemingway told you so long ago. After Mardi Gras,” I elaborated, watching Indie’s confused face. Then I saw it dawn on her, and her lips began to quiver. I nodded. “That she would live a long life, dying of natural causes. Something like that.”

  Indie backed up a step, shoulders shaking, literally having a panic attack. Because while talking to Cindy, I had remembered Death telling Indie that. Trying to make her feel better after her mom had been attacked by one of my enemies.

  And you know what? I didn’t even feel bad. Not because I’m sadistic. I’m a pretty forgiving guy when it comes to honest mistakes. But cold, rational choices, where one weighed the outcome and decided death and war was a fair price to attain her goals? Nope. The pity train had left long ago. I was actually enjoying this. Letting her look in the mirror and see what everyone else had seen in her for the past year.

  What she had refused to see. Refused to admit.

  “Let the kid go, Indie. The Syndicate never did anything to you. You were lied to.”

  She began shaking her head in denial. “But Ichabod. The Fae…”

  “What?” I asked, frowning uneasily at the latter comment.

  Indie nodded to herself, latching onto it. “He took me there. To that dark place. To help me learn how to handle my Grimm powers.” Her eyes shot to Ichabod, pleading. He looked ready to run, but I knew none of the Greeks would allow that. Not because they backed her up, but because right about now, everyone was riveted by the story, and pretty much demanded to know what the hell was going on.

  I glanced over at Mrs. Rippley, who was openly sobbing now. Yahn had a satisfied smile on his face. Even though he wasn’t familiar with Indie, this war had changed him, and he was watching the cause of his pain suffer.

  “I came back… different. The Queens encouraged me. Told me about the evil Syndicate. The Fight Club they ran. The poor children…”

  I stood in silence, stunned. I had known Ichabod was an asshat with a shit feather in his cap, but this was something else. I thought he had just lied to her about her mom’s death – to motivate her to join him. But to take her to the Land of the Fae?

  And after that Fae persuasion, Indie
had gone to the Circus to take them down because… the Fae had made her see the Syndicate as evil. But at the same time, the Fae had been hounding me, attacking me, to get to Tory, the new Beast Master.

  “Indie… did you tell them about us? About our friends? Tory? Alucard?”

  She nodded slowly, lost in her own thoughts, but answering my simple question.

  I shivered, and felt Tory murmur under her breath, no doubt furious. That was why the Queens had come for us. Once again, because of Indie.

  All because I had let her become a Grimm. Something she was never equipped to handle. I had let my love convince me she could handle my world. Like War had warned me about. That small heartfelt choices could have unbelievably horrible consequences.

  Indie had believed the Queens. Told them all about us. And she had come back to our world as a heat-seeking missile, locked onto a new enemy. The Syndicate. But the Syndicate was really enemy to the Fae.

  Because the Syndicate had accidentally killed one of theirs.

  You had to hand it to them, the Fae were fucking ruthless.

  Alex broke the silence. “I saw them there. They were not… kind. They scared me more than my keepers.”

  Everyone flinched at that, because most didn’t know Alex’s story. Not my side, not Indie’s side. Ichabod flinched, staring down at the kid in sudden recognition.

  “You…” he whispered. Then his eyes shot to me, suddenly very, very concerned. I let a slow smile creep over my face, and gave him a single nod. He looked ready to vomit, understanding that this meant I had gone there, too. And that could mean any number of things.

  I heard a commotion behind me, and saw Tory physically restraining the Huntress from storming the gate and taking Alex back herself.