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

by Shayne Silvers

  His legs, although a blur, shone with golden light.

  Hermes?

  I scanned the other pillars and noticed a handful of other odd silhouettes. They all stared back, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place them. But they were big. Bigger than me.

  A female shape actually hissed at me, and I grinned back. Hera, perhaps? I’d read she was just positively lovely to spend time with. As if sensing this thought, her form rippled in agitation.

  I caught a flash of silken fabric, utterly transparent, and a stunning mental image that would stick with me until the end of my days. Pale skin shone through the sheer fabric, with not a stitch underneath. I actually felt like I had trailed my hand over every square inch of that body before I even thought to look up at her face.

  And my mind stopped.

  Wylde grabbed a hold of me and shook me, hard. I groaned, snapping out of it to find Athena leaning towards me hungrily, licking her lips. I had no recollection of what I had seen, other than my memory of the body. I began to consciously recall it, but Wylde stopped me in an instant. Don’t. Trap.

  I gripped the table, and took a deep breath, slowing my pulse and trying to subtly readjust my pants a notch or seven. If even Wylde thought getting his freak on was a bad idea, I could scarcely imagine how dangerous it would be.

  Athena was grinning at me. She opened her mouth, but I interrupted her. “I feel suddenly, overwhelmingly, sorry for you.” Her mouth clicked shut, and her eyes looked confused. “I mean, if I had a sister like that, I probably would have gone tomboy, too. Started playing with the boys. Less competition. Maybe study up on my books…” I said, as if realizing some deep epiphany.

  She actually snarled at me, but I ignored her, staring out at the last figure I had seen. I avoided those silken fabrics, and the amused laughter from that corner of the pavilion as I stared out towards the sky.

  And I saw a wild-haired man, white hair whipping in the wind as he leaned on a thick, aged spear of sorts. Two dark, feathered shapes sat on his shoulders, and two monstrous wolves hunkered at his booted feet.

  Oh, and he was hovering in thin air about a hundred feet away from the pavilion.

  Those birds were recognizable anywhere. Unless there was some other god with feathered sidekicks. And he obviously wasn’t welcome on the pavilion, judging by the sharp looks cast his way from the other gods watching my table.

  I turned back to Athena and grunted. “Felt like you needed to have bouncers? Very brave.”

  I actually saw her grind her teeth at that. “They are not bodyguards. They are family. And they don’t have a Maker in their pocket like I do,” she taunted, eyes flashing.

  “Things change,” I said, noncommittally. “Toys can be broken.”

  “They all placed bets, you see…” she offered in an amused whisper.

  I frowned. “On who?”

  She shook her head. “You’ll see…”

  I pondered that, swirling my wine. Then I topped off my glass, letting out an annoyed sound that I had to do it for myself. “I’m willing to bet that some of them actually see you for the arrogant brat you are, and are simply here to see you brought down a notch. Maybe six notches.” I chuckled, feigning an embarrassed look. “I’m sorry. You Greeks might not know what a notch is. It’s like a foot. A form of measurement. So, when I say six notches, I mean—”

  “I know very well what you intended, ignorant child!” she spat.

  I blinked, looking startled. “I was just trying to be polite. What are we without courtesy?”

  “Gods. Olympians.”

  “Even Gods can fall, cutie-pie,” I said, taking a big gulp of my drink. “In fact, there was even a video game about it. This crazy albino bastard killed all of you. Everyone plays it, and… huh. He had these crazy designs painted all over his face and body. Imagine that…”

  She rounded, eyes livid. “I’m well aware of that vile trash. I think I shall rectify the world’s misperception.”

  I shrugged. “Not today,” I said, glancing over a shoulder. “Unless you want to phone a friend.”

  “Enough talking. Watch. I want you to see this.” I didn’t move, not wanting to turn my back on her. She chuckled. “Oh, there would be no fun in that. You’ll know when it’s time to die.”

  I leaned over the railing.

  And let Wylde watch, listening to his analytical mind decipher what I was seeing.

  And… it wasn’t looking as good as before.

  Chapter 58

  Indie stood alone, blasting anyone who got too close, but her heart wasn’t in it. She looked lost, shaken, and desperate. She stared up at the sky, waiting for her savior, murmuring under her breath.

  I knew this, because the sounds of war rolled over us as if we were in it. And when I focused on someone, I heard them over the din. But I heard not a peep from Indie, just saw her lips moving. Maybe she was just saying mommy over and over again.

  I felt nothing for her. She had brought this on herself.

  I turned to see a contingent of Greeks led by Hercules, pounding against a shifting tide of wolves. Wizards stood further back, splashing lone warriors with fire whenever they could, but their attention was mostly taken up by the enemy wizards that I hadn’t gotten a clear sight of yet.

  I idly wondered if the enemy wizards were members of the Academy sucked away at the last minute by their Greek heritage, simply unlucky enough to be born Greek. It didn’t really matter. They were just walking corpses if we did this right.

  Right away, I could tell the difference between the Academy Wizards and the Syndicate. It seemed that everyone had sworn, because the number matched the number of Syndicate who had first come to our camp. The Academy stood before them, all hatred momentarily forgotten as they fought to keep the Syndicate alive. With fire, ice, and magic such as I had never seen before.

  The Syndicate, although standing further away, dished out plenty of carnage of their own.

  It almost seemed like the two groups were competing with each other to kill as many Greeks as possible. And, oddly enough, they seemed to be working together.

  A dozen Academy wizards suddenly launched balls of fire up into the air, straight above their heads. But about a hundred feet in the air, those balls suddenly hit some unseen wave of power, and blasted towards the Greeks in a rain of fire, like tennis balls hit by rackets on a serve. Or someone setting up a volleyball for the spiker to come hammer down on the other team.

  They were working in concert, and as I thought about it, the move was actually more efficient than each wizard trying to throw their own fireballs. One, because it took effort to cast high and then zip it back down on top of the enemies – which was the only way not to hit your own men – the wall of werewolves Ashley was commanding in a defensive line right in front of them.

  But the Greek wizards weren’t too shabby, either.

  They threw up a wall of water directly before the onslaught, and I groaned.

  Athena chuckled, shaking her head.

  Then we both froze.

  The Greek wizards fell screaming, collapsing, writhing in agony behind the wall of water. Then I saw it. The steam hovered in the air like a dense fog where the fire had blown through, but it wasn’t regular steam. It was almost as if it were acid, because the victims had no skin on their faces or arms. I glanced over to the Academy and Syndicate to find them grinning smugly.

  Not just fire. My wizards had expected the wall of water. And had made their flames acidic, and somehow able to stick to the steam, changing it. Sure, the fires extinguished, but it turned the water to acid, and the shields the Greeks had thrown up to block out steam hadn’t protected against a mist of acid.

  It ate through their shields.

  And their flesh.

  Athena pounded the table in frustration as she watched a third of her Greek wizards taken out in one fell swoop. I saw them shouting at each other and I knew the mistake wouldn’t work a second time. That was the thing in war magic. Often it was sporadic. Atta
ck, fail, attack, fail, new idea that suddenly works, and then the second time is counteracted by the other side. And eventually, you would be a victim to that one successful attack as well.

  So, they basically did their best to counter and defend their warriors. With the occasional, epic, lucky strike.

  All that to say that chaos and destruction screamed over the heads of the normal soldiers. While they struggled to fight their own enemies with blades, arrows, and claws.

  Hundreds of wolves shifted and swarmed, rolling with the occasional bulges in the line, able to speak with each other in their minds, and react to changes much more efficiently than regular soldiers. Hercules made up for this with sheer might, batting wolves aside with his great big club.

  Through one of those holes, appeared a lone wolf. Almost as tall as Hercules, and although large, nowhere near as muscular as the Greek Hero. His fur was white, but the splatters of blood kind of ruined that. He stood on two massive paws with the Nemean Lion Cloak draped across his shoulders – the lion head hood covering his own single-eyed glare.

  He grinned a wolfish smile, and said in a falsetto voice to the demigod, “Meow.”

  Hercules roared, face turning bright red.

  Then Gunnar was running straight at him. Hercules lifted his club high and tried to bludgeon my dog, but Gunnar suddenly wasn’t there. He was at Hercules’ hip, slashing with his claws, slicing along his hip bone and tearing the string of his pants.

  Hercules snarled in pain, and then his pants fell down.

  I burst out laughing. “I didn’t think it was that cold out, today.”

  Athena was now gripping the table in fury, but she didn’t respond.

  Hercules looked so angry I almost felt bad for Gunnar.

  Then Gunnar was suddenly behind him, and judging from Hercules’ grunt, he had scored a direct blow. Hercules spun angrily, backhanding his club at Gunnar.

  Gunnar didn’t move, staring down his death, and I heard Athena begin to laugh.

  At the last moment, Gunnar drew back his claws, squeezed them into a fist, and then punched Hercules straight above the elbow. His elbow dislocated with a horrendous cracking sound, and Hercules roared in pain as his arm bent the wrong way, his club sailing into a crowd of wolves who had been watching.

  Several went down. For good.

  Gunnar didn’t anticipate the kick to the chest, and I heard ribs shatter as Hercules’ huge foot crunched into my best friend’s chest, sending him flying. Ashley darted out of nowhere, spun, and let Gunnar hit her in the sheepskin back. He struck like hitting a mattress, and fell to the ground, wheezing, eye closed.

  Ashley checked him over, sniffing his bleeding chest where I saw a rib poking out, and then slowly began unlatching his cloak. She set it on the ground beside her, and calmly unsnapped her Golden Fleece. She draped it over Gunnar’s chest, and if not for the subtle rise and fall of his labored breathing, I would have thought him dead.

  Ashley clasped the Nemean Lion Cloak around her shoulders, and slowly lifted her eyes to stare at the demigod. He had pulled up his pants, and torn off his shirt, using it to tie a makeshift sling to hold his arm close to his body. He didn’t have his club any longer, and he turned to look for the fallen Wolf King to finish him off.

  Instead, he locked eyes with the Wolf King’s Queen.

  Wulfra.

  And he took a fucking step back on instinct.

  I’ll say this. I would have actually run away screaming if in Hercules’ shoes. And I don’t think anyone would have made fun of me for doing it.

  She stared at him, not just with the deadly aura that she had picked up from the Fae.

  But with the mantle of a ruler. A protector. A famed warrior. A Queen to a fallen King.

  She stared at the man who had just severely hurt the one thing she loved more than life itself.

  A demon flew down from the skies, surprising everyone as he used human hands to try and snatch up the Golden Fleece from Gunnar. He immediately had a pack of wolves lunging for him, snapping at him.

  He took back to the air, flapping great big feathered wings. Upon closer inspection, I saw it wasn’t a demon, but a man. He didn’t look happy at losing his prize, and circled the air above Gunnar like some massive vulture. A ring of wolves began to circle their king, eyes to the skies now, as well as the ground.

  I turned to Athena. She nodded at me.

  “Icarus,” she smiled. “But you’re going to want to see this next part. Not the dog fight.”

  I turned back to the war, gritting my teeth. What other secret warriors had she scooped up?

  Icarus flapped his wings as a trio of dragons suddenly dove towards him, blasting fire at him. Feather boy hauled ass, not wanting to ruin his wings. The dragons pursued, but couldn’t keep up, and in turn, they were assaulted by lobs of Greek fire when they tried to chase him over enemy lines.

  Against my will, the scene changed, and I found myself above Indie. Ichabod was shouting at her, shaking his hands, pointing at the skies in frustration. Probably wondering where the hell Athena was. I wondered that, too. Was I keeping her in place? Where she was unable to act until our showdown? Some cosmic balance? One with the power to destroy a god forcing the god to confront me?

  Or… was Athena simply preferring to be up here, finally facing a foe that might be worthy of her interest? Someone worth fighting. A Godkiller.

  Neither sounded likely.

  My attention suddenly riveted to an older man creeping from bush to bush, sneaking up on Indie and Ichabod as they argued. I hid my smile. Someone was trying to assassinate them. Which would pretty much wipe out the rest of my to do list.

  The light caught his features for the first time as he glanced up at the sun, no doubt checking to make sure he wasn’t leaving a telltale shadow. I had seen him earlier tonight somewhere in the camp, but couldn’t place him. A plain-looking, medium build, gray-haired man. I had simply seen too many faces, men ready to give up their lives in this senseless war.

  But he suddenly shifted like a mirage, and I gasped in disbelief.

  My own face stared back at me. A doppelganger.

  And Indie and Ichabod had no idea.

  Part of me was surprised, but another part of me wasn’t. Because… I had planned on killing them myself when I was finished here anyway.

  I heard Athena speak. “Look behind the tree,” she said in a too-sweet tone.

  I did, seeing another figure hiding behind a tree opposite of the not-Nate assassin, with Indie and Ichabod between them. It was a very sickly-looking Matthias Temple. “Fuck…”

  Chapter 59

  Athena chuckled wholeheartedly. “Fuck, indeed.”

  Without any buildup, the two men stepped out at the last second, faces intent on their separate goals. But what the hell was Matthias doing there? I had seen him, still recovering from his prison sentence, unable to hold his own against Castor—

  I froze, suddenly remembering. How had I missed it? The man who had changed his appearance to look like me was… Castor Queen. The man who had betrayed Matthias Temple hundreds of years before, stealing and poisoning the newly-formed Syndicate, and banishing Matthias to a life of imprisonment.

  Matthias was staring at Ichabod, eyes begging, not seeing the man behind him, so focused on his son. Sensing something, Indie and Ichabod spun to find him standing before them, and entirely different versions of astonishment plastered their faces.

  Indie looked suddenly confused and wary, recognizing him, and not knowing friend from foe.

  But Ichabod…

  In that moment, I watched as Ichabod Temple made his decision. His Blood Debt was no more. His father was back. He had no ties to the Greeks. Indie was on her own.

  Matthias smiled in relief, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

  That’s when Castor Queen – looking like me – blasted a hole in Ichabod’s spine from behind.

  Indie immediately disappeared with a shout, Shadow Walking to safety.

  Matthias sta
red through the hole in his son’s chest to see a man on the other side.

  And the face he saw was mine, smiling at him. Then I – Castor Queen – disappeared.

  And I watched a man’s soul slowly wither away and die. Matthias Temple fell to his knees, body racked with pain, agony, and betrayal.

  In the pavilion, I began to shake with rage.

  Castor Queen… had just made my shit list.

  Waves of power began coursing through my body, fueled by Wylde, not knowing what I intended, but strengthening it, empowering it, making it something stronger than I had ever created on my own. A force to kill a god, perhaps.

  I ignored Athena’s laughter, knowing that if I felt her body even shift towards me, I would end her. And I wouldn’t even have to look at her to do so.

  Wylde cackled inside me as the beautiful orb of power began to grow, like a volcano about to erupt. I ignored him, too.

  I had tried going to Ichabod, to warn him away, to flee with his father. And I knew that before Castor had initially attacked us, that he might have even been ready to make that decision, then. Hell, I had defended him from Castor Queen, after Matthias had been taken down.

  But Matthias hadn’t seen me do that. He had been unconscious, or delirious.

  All he saw was that I called him to the tree. Ichabod appeared. Castor Queen attacked. Then Matthias fled and Ichabod was carted away, injured.

  But Matthias had come back, to save his son.

  And instead?

  He saw what looked like me finishing the job I had attempted the night before. But rather than using a proxy through Castor Queen, I had decided to take Ichabod out myself.

  The shitty thing was, I had intended to kill Ichabod if he didn’t abandon his cause. But tonight, he had chosen his family over his feud. His eyes had told me better than words that he was willing to run away with his father, forget the world, enjoy each other after a life of being held apart. Several lifetimes of being held apart.

  I would have let him walk. Right there. Scratched him off my list of the three people I intended to kill.