Hunter Moon (The Moon Series)

by Jeanette Battista

  She tore her eyes away from the boat to look at the figure about midway up the dock. Her heart stopped beating, then started up again with a stutter. Laila blinked, feeling the tears come to her eyes, tears she hadn’t allowed to flow.

  “Mebis!” she cried, launching herself at him at a dead run.

  He caught her in arms that felt as real and as strong as ever. She buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him. It was Mebis—he even smelled like him. She didn’t know how this was possible, but she held on tighter in case it all faded away.

  Her brother lifted her off of her feet in an enormous hug. When he put her down, he wore a huge smile. “You’re real,” she said in wonder.

  “Not quite,” he amended. “But here, I’m the closest thing I can get to it.”

  Laila looked down at him. Both of his hands were whole. It was like the hyena bite had never happened. Her face fell. “You’re still dead.”

  “Of course I am.” He shook his head. “Don’t be dim, Laila.”

  “I just thought…” she trailed off, not even sure what she thought anymore.

  “That if you just clapped your hands and believed hard enough, I’d come back?” Mebis tilted his head at her. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

  She aimed a smack at his head, which he dodged easily. “I know that! You don’t have to make it sound so stupid.”

  He took her hand in his and walked farther down the dock. Closer to the funeral barge. “I don’t have a lot of time. But I wanted to see you again. To say goodbye.”

  Laila felt the tears stream down her face and she didn’t try to hide them. She didn’t care who saw them in this dark place. She was losing her brother all over again. Mebis brushed the wet tracks away, pulling her into his shoulder as they walked.

  “You’re at a crossroads, pest. I know my death has been hard on you, but that’s no reason to throw away everything you’ve worked for.”

  “But he said,” Laila started, but Mebis cut her off.

  “Do you really think that infernal scam artist could circumvent our master?” he asked, a slight smile on his face.

  Laila didn’t answer. For a moment, just a moment, she’d wanted to believe it was true. If it meant having Mebis back, she’d believe anything.

  He stopped walking, pulling her to a halt along with him. “Look, Laila. It was my time. Do I wish I had longer? Of course I do. Do I wish I could have done some things differently? Yes. But that’s the way the scales balanced. Anubis called me home and he’s waiting for me.”

  “But the trophy,” Laila began, taking a step away from Mebis. “There was no service, no heart. I thought you’d be stuck, unable to move on. How?”

  Mebis laughed, bright as a shooting star. “That’s just trappings and ritual. We don’t really need that stuff to be judged.” He flung a companionable arm around her shoulders. “I appreciate the effort, Laila, but that stuffed jackal is just that: a stuffed trophy. It’s not any part of the real me.” He looked down at her fondly. “You always were so literal.”

  “Hey!” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

  He laughed again and she with him. Then he looked up at the barge. “It’s almost time for me to go.” Mebis took her upper arms in his hands, staring into her eyes. “I’m not allowed to say much, but I can tell you this: Anubis is watching you and he has plans for you.” He smiled broadly, his scar crinkling like it always did in life. “Make me proud.”

  “Always,” she whispered, feeling the tears gathering again.

  “No more of that,” Mebis admonished. “I love you, little sister.”

  “I love you, big brother.”

  “And let that guy Finn take care of you some. Now that I’m gone, you need someone to watch out for you.”

  “Wait, you like Finn now?” Laila gave her brother a dubious look.

  “No one will ever be good enough for you, sis. But he’s tolerable.” This was said with a grin.

  “I’ll be sure to tell him of your glowing recommendation,” she smirked.

  “You do that.” He leaned down until they were nose to nose. “Never forget who and what you are, Laila.”

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her right above her eye, where the scar that marked her as Anubis’ began.

  When Laila opened her eyes, the barge, the dock, and the water were all gone. She was back in the Everglades.

  * * * * *

  Finn didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew he didn’t like their odds of getting out of this unscathed. First there was the hunter, who’d apparently been shot somehow while he’d been aiming for Laila. Then there was the tall, skinny dude with the painted-on suit who had suddenly appeared and was talking like a lawyer. And finally, as if they didn’t have enough going on, Sebastian finally grokked the plot and showed up being all Keeper-y.

  Finn was going to need a flowchart to follow what exactly was going on and who was working for whom. But that could wait until later. He was worried about Laila.

  She wasn’t in the best headspace. Finn knew that—he’d known that since she’d found out her brother died. But now she was standing here, holding a sword that looked more than capable of cutting an able-bodied man from crotch to crest, looking like she might carve up a guy who was already dying. And the skinny dude was acting like they’d met before. Finn wasn’t jealous by nature—honestly, he’d never had cause to be—but this guy filled him with every territorial and protective instinct he’d ever known.

  Finn stood, blocking her strike at the hunter. Not that he wanted to help that guy; as far as Finn was concerned, he could go rot. But Finn knew that Laila wasn’t herself at the moment and he didn’t want her doing something that she’d regret. Especially with Sebastian there to witness it.

  She was distracted, her attention pulled in too many places. Finn could see she wasn’t paying attention to him; it was almost as if she were listening to a voice only she could hear. He eyed the skinny guy who stood nearby, off to the side of Lukas and Laila, but close enough to still be a factor, unsure of where he fit into all of this.

  As Finn watched, Laila blinked, almost as though she were coming back to herself. Where she might have gone mentally, he couldn’t say, but when she looked at him, she looked at him like the Laila he knew and loved—however unwisely.

  Sebastian was ordering Laila to drop her weapon. He had dropped into a fighting stance. Kess had also positioned herself in a stalk, ready to attack the Anubis Knight if she needed to. Cormac was hunched, hesitating before transforming into a wolf. Rafe hung back, but Finn knew the kid could be counted on to throw in where he was needed if things came down to it.

  Finn nearly swallowed his tongue when Laila winked at him. What the hell was she up to?

  He watched in amazement as Laila spun in a tight arc, her sword swinging down, not on Lukas but on the tall man in the tight suit off to the side. Shock registered on the man’s face before he exploded into black sparks.

  “Anubis sends his best,” she said to the swirling bits of black. She lowered her sword, then turned to face the others.

  Finn agreed. Anubis certainly had.

  Chapter Forty

  Lukas floated in a sea of pain. It hurt to breathe, but it scared him more not to. He forced air into his lungs, tasted the blood on his lips. Something was wrong. The tide of his blood pounded in his ears, sounding so much like the waves crashing into the shore that he loved to watch from his window. He just wanted to have it all be over, terrified at the same time of what came after…

  Seventeen years old, soon to be eighteen. Lukas stood for a picture with the bear he’d just killed. It was a big brown, at least 600 pounds from the looks of it. His friends pounded him on the back and then they posed with him for a picture. All of them with the dead bear.

  Lukas thought it would make a good trophy. He would give it to his father. His father would have to be proud of him then. His father would have to acknowledge him then.

  He’d surpassed bot
h his father and his late brother in height, not to mention in hunting prowess. His friends all said that he must have some kind of sixth sense with the animals, some nearly psychic way of knowing where they were going to be so he could position himself for the best shot. He denied it, but his friends only half-believed him. How else could they explain the game he took down, and how he never seemed to miss a shot?

  Telling them that he practiced in as much free time as school allowed him wasn’t nearly interesting enough. He’d long ago given up hope of impressing his father with high marks or sports achievements. After Peter died, his father seemed to have forgotten—or didn’t care—that he had another son. Pop barely looked at him. Any communication took place with his mother as the intermediary.

  Pop had stopped hunting altogether after Peter’s death. Lukas had tried to interest him in it, had tried to forge a new bond with the man, but his father would have none of it. Lukas didn’t understand, but he didn’t let it stop him. He would make Pop notice him, make him proud of him. He could show him he was a better hunter than Peter—that he was the best ever in the family. So he practiced shooting until he was perfect.

  Lukas grinned at his friend Thomas. “How are we going to get this thing home?”

  Thomas flashed a similar grin. “Leave that to me.” He handed Lukas his rifle as he dug in his jacket pocket for a phone.

  Lukas was hopeful as he walked up the steps to his house. Hunting was the last tie he had to his father. Peter had never shot a bear this size. Pop had to be proud of him.

  He made one stop at the mudroom to remove dirty boots and jacket. His mother was out doing the shopping—she’d left a note for him—so this was a good time for a quiet father-son talk. Lukas squashed the nervous twitch in his stomach.

  His father was sitting in his favorite chair, reading the paper. Lukas cleared his throat, feeling like a schoolboy called before the teacher’s desk. Why did talking to his father always make him feel like that? He was nearly a man grown now. He wanted to fidget, hop foot to foot, but forced himself to stand still and wait for his father to look up from his paper.

  His father kept on reading. Finally Lukas said, “Pop?”

  Slowly the paper was lowered. His father stared at him, waiting.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” Lukas kicked himself. He shouldn’t have phrased it as a question—he looked weak. He should have made it a statement. “I’ve got something to show you.” There, that was a little better.

  His father folded the paper into thirds and set it down on the table next to the chair. “Let’s see it, then.” His voice was resigned, as if he knew he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until he listened to whatever it was Lukas had to say.

  Lukas pulled his phone out and scrolled until he found the picture he was looking for. He held it out to his father. Pop took the phone with a sour look—he was distrustful of technology, said it made things too easy—and glanced at the picture of Lukas with the bear. He handed it back.

  Lukas felt like he had been punched in the guts. “You barely even looked at it.” He pushed the phone back at his father, trying to keep his voice steady. “It was a pretty big bear. At least 600 pounds.” He swallowed hard, unsure if he should say the next part. “I’m having it stuffed for you.”

  His father looked at him, his eyes flinty. He didn’t smile, didn’t even look happy about it. “Why?”

  Lukas was at a loss. Why what? He had no idea what his father was really asking. He stared at the man, stiff as a general in his chair, and wondered if there was anything he could do that would ever be enough for his father. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. But he was afraid he did understand. All too well.

  His father looked away, eyes straying back to the paper. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  Something inside Lukas snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far. There was pain at first, so sharp it left him breathless for a moment, then a calm came over him. It was as if he’d been waiting for that snap his whole life, like he’d been dreading it and building it up inside his head, and now that it had come, Lukas found it wasn’t nearly as bad as he was expecting. He walked in front of the chair so he could look at his father directly. He would make his father see him.

  “Why do you hate me?” It was a question he’d been wanting to ask for years. Ever since that night in the bathroom after the horrible weekend hunting trip.

  His father looked into his face with eyes as dead as winter. “Hate you? I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

  “Is this about Peter?” They never spoke of his dead brother. Lukas knew better than to mention it, but it wasn’t going to stop him now.

  Pop surged from his chair, forcing Lukas to take a step back. “Don’t you say his name!” When Lukas tried to speak, his father cut him off, slashing his arm down. “It’s your fault he’s dead.”

  Lukas stared at his father, stunned. “I’m not a boar. That’s what killed him. Not me.”

  Tears began to fill Pop’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “You might not have killed him, but you didn’t save him either.”

  Lukas stepped closer to his father, peering into his face. Pop couldn’t actually believe that, could he? That was just crazy. He’d dragged Peter all the way back to the car, he’d called the ambulance, he’d killed the boar. What else did the man expect him to do?

  His father murmured, “You’ve got the devil’s own eyes.” He paused, weeping outright now. “Peter was my good boy. You’ll never be him.”

  And I’m not a good boy? The hurt was there, but more than that was the anger. It was like the hunting weekend all over again. Lukas thought he had come to terms with all of that: Peter’s preferential treatment, his father’s dismissal, the deer hunt, and the fallout from his decision to let the deer go. But the anger was still there, simmering this long while. Peter may be dead, but he was still standing between Lukas and his father and not letting Lukas get past him. His father still didn’t see him.

  “I’m not trying to be him. But I’m still your son.” Lukas was surprised by how calm and in control he sounded. He stared at his father, his blue eyes dry as dust.

  Pop met his gaze. They stared at each other, neither blinking. Finally, his father said, “Yes, you are. My son.” The words sounded lifeless on Pop’s tongue. “But you aren’t Peter.”

  Lukas felt something harden inside of him. It’s true, he wasn’t Peter. He was better. He was alive. Lukas hadn’t been the one who got careless and let himself get gored by a boar. Lukas hadn’t bled out as his brother dragged him through the woods. Lukas hadn’t failed. But how to make his father see that? Every time Pop looked at Lukas he saw Peter’s ghost. And Lukas didn’t know what to do to change it. But he would find a way. He would find a way to show Pop that he was better than Peter; that Lukas was a man worthy of being called his son.

  “Okay, Pop.” He turned away slowly, feeling like the entire world was different but somehow the same. “I understand.”

  Lukas took himself upstairs to wash the stink of bear from him.

  In the present, Lukas moaned, knowing where that conversation had led him. Maybe his father had seen him after all. Maybe his father had seen how it all ended.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Laila sheathed her sword. She looked at the people gathered around her and smiled. She singled out Sebastian for an especially wide one. “Hey, Sebastian.”

  “Laila.” The Anubis Knight inclined his head toward her in greeting.

  “So I guess you’re here to take me home.” She tilted her head, fixing the older Keeper with a knowing look.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” The Keeper gestured to the fallen hunter who was still gasping for breath behind Finn.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” Laila answered, and there was enough steel in her voice to warn Sebastian that things hadn’t changed that much. “He’s all yours.”

  The Anubis Knight met her gaze, looking for what, she didn’t know. All Laila kne
w was that seeing Mebis had restored some fundamental balance that she hadn’t known she’d lost. And while she knew she wasn’t done grieving for the loss of her brother—she didn’t know if she’d ever be done with that—she did feel more like herself than she had in weeks. She smiled to herself. Trust Mebis to know what she needed, even when she had lost sight of it herself.

  “Not to interrupt this little détente, but perhaps you should ask the ruling council of Miami if they have a claim to him before you start divvying up the pieces,” Rafe noted from his spot on the sidelines.

  Laila turned to the black leopard. Kess had been waiting patiently, but now she stalked front and center. She gestured with a paw at her collar. Laila saw Cormac look to where Lukas lay. The hunter must have the key on him somewhere.

  She walked over to the dying hunter. The rage Laila felt was still there, but it was a dull simmer, like a pot on the stove rather than the roiling volcano she’d been before her meeting with Mebis. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. She thought that he might have passed out; the pain in his chest must be agony.

  Laila bent down, intending to feel in his pockets for the key to Kess’ collar. Lukas’ eyes opened as she searched the first pocket of his shirt. “Zamiel?”

  “He bugged out.” She kept her voice quiet, not wanting the others to hear for some reason.

  Again the blood tinged smile. “He’ll be back. He still has to collect.”

  “Oh yeah, your deal.” She found the key on a ring in the opposite pocket. “Was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted?” Laila was curious, despite herself, to know what on earth could be worth selling your soul for.

  “Does anyone?” His voice was weak now, and fading.