James had been caught up in her games and tangled webs, and though Mercer had never understood why James couldn’t see her for what she really was—a lying manipulative bitch—he almost got it now.
When he stared down at the woman who meant the whole goddamn world to him, he thought he finally understood why James had been so weak. If Scar had Isobel’s temperament, Mercer wouldn’t have cared. He would have caused the streets to run red with blood if she’d asked it of him, would have betrayed all he was and all he would ever be to make her his. That’s how strong the mating instinct was. It wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t loved him back because that wasn’t how the mating bond worked, not in interspecies romances.
He could have had the misfortune of being devoted to someone as flighty and silly as Isobel had been and who would never have been capable of loving him back. Love meant nothing to the wolf. Only the claiming did. It was to the man that feelings of fealty and love belonged. His fate could have been as unfortunate as James’s own had his wolf not chosen wisely.
In the end, it was James himself that had ended Isobel’s life. His reasons were his own, and Mercer had never pressed him about them. And because she’d been a vampire, no shifter council had given a damn as to the outcome of her fate. Her clan couldn’t rise up against James for what he’d done either. They’d cut ties with her. If they mourned her at all, they could never have shown it publicly. To the majority of shifters, her death had been a relief. The only one who still bore the scars of that night was James himself.
Mercer swallowed, unable to pull his fingers away from Scarlett’s marble-smooth skin. Scarlett wasn’t Isobel. Scarlett was the complete and total opposite. She was everything to him and always would be.
But she was right. If Mercer knew his father at all, he knew Clarence was far from done. He hadn’t kept hold of the McCarrick rule for so long to just roll over and accept this assault on his rightful claim as leading Alpha.
There’d been ample evidence to sentence him to death, but he’d escaped that fate. Mercer knew his sire had orchestrated the whole thing, somehow.
“You’re right, of course.” The deep, familiar voice had Mercer’s hackles rising. Without moving from Scarlett’s side, he glared toward the deepest depths of shadow in the corner of their room.
There, staring down at them with his glowing, tricolored eyes was Scar’s daddy dearest, no longer wearing the body of Harlen, the kindly junker, but the arrogant and prideful Dean. Dusting off his jacket, Death took a seat in the chair opposite the bed. He glanced briefly at Scar’s unmoving form and frowned, but quickly smoothed out his features as he looked back at Mercer.
“We haven’t much time left, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Mind telling me what it was you said to make her cry that way when she came back to me?” Mercer growled, as the wolf in him grew more and more distressed by his need to guard his mate.
Dean flicked long fingers at him. “If I wanted to harm her, I would have. And yes, I mind very much telling you what she and I spoke of. It was personal. Why the hell do you think I banished you and Dora both? For shits and giggles?”
Mercer pursed his lips in frustration.
Dean’s entire body seemed to be bristling, as though Death were feeling just as cagey and restless as Mercer was. Dean crossed his legs, tapping out a constant rhythm with his fingers on his kneecap.
Mercer was sure he’d never before seen Dean’s demeanor as anything but cool, calm, and collected. Seeing him like this, like a restless lion on the prowl, made his own nerves start to zing and snap.
Then those tricolored eyes burned like hell worms through him, making him rigid and tense. Nostrils flaring, the wolf in him knew it was outclassed and outmatched, but still, it would fight to the death, if it must, to guard that which it held dearest.
“Listen to me, dog, and listen well.” Dean leaned forward, eyes intense. “What I’m about to do, I’ve never done before. Not even for my Dora. But times have changed, and I’m forced to change with them. War is dangerous, more so than she’s ever been before. She’s forgotten her role in this game we play. She’s made it too personal, so now, I will too. I’m going to tell you exactly what you’re going to do. And then, when I snap my fingers, you’re going to awaken with no memory of this conversation ever having taken place. There’s a reason you are not supposed to remember this. Not your conscious mind anyway. It is to your wolf I speak now, that dark beast within you that lives on instinct alone. You see, you will face two paths. One path will utterly destroy you and all you love. The other will not leave either of you unscathed, but the victory will be yours.”
Mercer clenched his jaw, heart hammering, the wolf within him listening keenly. “Why can’t I remember this? What’s the purpose of telling me how to win this war if you steal from me the means by which to win it?”
Dean glanced at Scar, dropping the façade of an uncaring, unfeeling automaton for just a moment and giving Mercer access to the truth. Death or no, the man Mercer had always considered a remorseless machine did actually feel. Deeply.
Whether he’d ever say the words or not, it was clear as day to Mercer that Dean didn’t want to protect his daughter just because she was the means by which he would defeat War. It was far more than that. He wanted to protect his daughter because he cared deeply for her.
Death snorted. “So, you see my secret. I’m just as pathetic as you.” The words were said with a bitter laugh, but it was that fleeting and rare moment of vulnerability in the man that caused Mercer to finally trust him.
Squaring his shoulders, he dipped his head once.
“War is crafty. Wily. She’s had to be to stand toe-to-toe with me as long as she has. If she knows you know what to do, the outcome will change, and everything I tell you now will be moot.”
“So we can’t win this?” Mercer growled, clenching his fists.
Dean chuckled. “Do you think I’m here because I’ve suddenly grown feelings of fondness for you, beast? I’d as soon gut you as shake your hand. If it wasn’t for Scarlett and Tenebris, my beautiful darkness, you’d have never been. Don’t forget that.”
Against his will, Mercer’s lips twitched. “Yeah, warm and fuzzies here, too, pops.”
Grinning, Dean exposed the sickle-sharp fangs of his canines in a threatening posture. This time, it was Mercer who chuckled.
Dean settled back into the seat with a long-suffering sigh as he ran a hand over his head. For the first time, Mercer saw him not as an invincible foe, but as one who was weary and exhausted by the constant schemes and machinations that were his lot in life. He was seeing Death in a whole new light, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. Did Dean mean to kill him afterward because he’d seen too much? Or, as he suspected was the actual truth, did Death feel as if Mercer was family now, like it or not, and with family, Dean could drop the façade for just a while?
Death glared at him, letting Mercer know his thoughts were clearly not his own. He just shrugged, refusing to apologize for it.
Curling his upper lip and no longer looking quite so exposed, Dean said, “No, War is vulnerable. She thinks too much with this”—he pointed a finger to his heart—“and not enough with this.” He pointed to his temple. “I shut myself off from feeling because, in the game of life and death, emotions make no difference. Whether I care for the outcome, whether someone I like wins or loses, means nothing. If their living or dying will advance my grip on the chessboard, then I will do what I have to do, feelings be damned.”
“But you saved Pandora. She was one of your players, wasn’t she?” Mercer asked. He’d never even considered that could be true until just now, but suddenly, it all made so much sense to him. Why she was always around. Why she and only she seemed to have the ear of one of the mightiest of Veilers in all the worlds. “You thought with your heart that time. Am I wrong?”
Dean’s jaw clenched tight, but he gave a silent nod of agreement. “Yes. And a moment of reckless need has led us directly her
e. I saved Pandora, and War’s rage knows no end. I’ve never interfered before. Pandora was meant to die, she and all her cronies. The board would have reset, but War would have gone on as she’d always done after one of our epic skirmishes. But my evolution has been going on slowly for some time. I stole our daughter away from War centuries ago, keeping her hidden in the many worlds and timelines that existed. That pissed War off to no end, but god knows I’ve done far worse to her before. No, she would have eventually forgiven me for it because I could have always claimed that keeping Tenebris away was just another one of my schemes. She could hate me, but she couldn’t have faulted me for it. This time though, with Pandora...” He blinked, staring with a mile-long gaze into a past Mercer couldn’t see. “There was no reason for what I did other than selfish need. I wanted her, and so I took her. And to hell with anything or anyone that tried to stop me.”
He shrugged, finally looking back at Mercer with frank sincerity.
“And War’s vanity couldn’t take it,” Mercer said. It wasn’t a question, because he already knew the answer.
Dean’s raised brow was only further confirmation of the truth.
“She still loved you, then?”
“In her very sick and twisted way, yes. And my taking Dora was a slap in the face to her because it meant I’d moved on while she’d stayed stuck in the demented quagmire of her feelings. We Horsemen don’t handle sentiment well, so much so that half the time we deny even having emotions. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”
Mercer snorted. “Not especially.”
Dean stood, walking slowly over to Scarlett’s side, and stared down at her with something that looked like longing in his strange eyes. Mercer couldn’t believe that Death had so fully dropped his guard around him that he would allow him to witness what was clearly so painful. Maybe Death wasn’t the bastard he’d always thought he was. Maybe, just like Mercer, Death had his own demons to bear, and only a very rare and lucky few ever got the chance to peek behind the curtain.
“Gods, if you break out in princess song right now, I swear I’ll skin you alive and hang you by your toes. I’m in need of a good coat,” Death said with an evil grin.
Mercer laughed, shaking his head. “I still think you’re an arrogant son of a bitch, Death. That’s never going to change.”
“Good,” he said with a sly smirk, but Mercer knew that something between them had changed forever. Death was no longer his enemy.
“Listen to me now, not as the man. But as the wolf.”
He nodded, and something happened inside him. His world stilled. All sounds ceased. Only the rapid beating of his heart sounded in his ears as he listened in horror to the path Death laid out for him.
MERCER FROWNED, LOOKING around. Why was he kneeling and staring at the wall, and why the hell was he drenched in sweat?
He sniffed, blinking as he studied the room.
“What the fuck happened to me?” he asked, hearing gravel in his voice as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling a little bit like he’d just been run over by a semi.
There were no scents in the room other than his and Scar’s. But his wolf was restless, cagey, pacing back and forth inside him. Mercer’s skin prickled with millions of goosebumps, and he felt sick to his stomach. His hand was on Scarlett’s thigh.
He trembled. A sense of terrible foreboding and urgency ran through him. Time was running out for them both. How much longer did they have? When would Clarence finally show himself?
Feeling desperately weary and soul sick, he knew the only thing that could make him feel better right now was the touch of his mate, the feel of her pressed up tight to him, that sense of rightness and belonging he felt whenever she was near him.
He needed her now more than ever.
Crawling over Scar’s unmoving body, he lay down beside her, aligning his body along the hard, cold curves of her own.
He hated the moments when they were apart. Hated seeing her so dead. He was always terrified that she might never wake up from this stupor, and even though she always had, the days apart were absolute hell for him. Where he was hot to the touch and flowing with life, she was cold and dead to the world. It was in these moments, when he keenly felt their differences, that he was reminded why shifters and vampires shunned one another.
But Scar was so much more than just a Cold One, so much more than a filthy fanger. She was his. His woman. His mate. His only love.
James had given his love away to a female who did not deserve it. There were no second chances for shifters. Only one could ever fill the hole in a shifter’s soul, and when they were gone, there was nothing and no one that could take that person’s place. Mercer didn’t doubt that James had cared for Scar. He was pretty sure James felt as much for her as he possibly ever could again.
But Isobel had ruined James forever. And it was sometimes terrifying to realize that Scar was his Isobel. That was a lot of power to give to anyone, but he’d do it again and again and again, without hesitation or question.
Whimpering, he lowered his head over the spot where her heart would beat when she rose. He draped an arm and a leg over her, keeping her warm as best he could, knowing it did absolutely nothing for her. But instinct drove him to care for her even when he knew there was nothing that could be done.
The phone on her nightstand rang.
He frowned. The only people who had access to that number were James and Carter.
Reaching for the rose-gold iPhone, he saw it was James.
For half a second, he considered not answering it, wishing like hell he and Scar had just one more day. But they’d run out of time, and they both knew it. Inhaling deeply, he answered.
“What?”
James’s deep chuckle filtered down the line. “So, it’s true then? You did mate wi’ her. Yer a damn fool, Mercer, but then, ye always were.”
Mercer caught the hitch in James’s words. Even though he’d just been thinking about how shafted James had been in his choice of vampire bride and maybe even been feeling a hint of pity for it, the second he heard the bastard’s voice, his wolf wanted to tear his gullet out for daring to touch his female.
“You got something to say, say it. Otherwise, hang up.”
He sighed loud and long. “I knew she’d be in the death throes, ye fecking bastard. I didn’t call to woo yer mate away, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“James, I’m two fucking seconds away from hanging up this phone,” Mercer growled, in no mood to play nice with the shifter who’d once been a rival for his mate’s attention.
“Yeah. Fine. Laughs are over. I’m calling to tell ye there’s been a change in plans.”
“’Bout what?” Mercer sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
“Yer fecking father, that’s what. I don’t know what the hell happened last night, but suddenly, he’s in tight with Declan Campbell, locked away, the two of ‘em, in the chambers room for near half the night. Tensions are running high here. Something’s not right, man.”
“Fuck. That’s not good.”
“Aye. There’s been murmurings of a possible alliance. I don’t ken what.”
“Screw talk of an alliance. I’m mated, dude. There’s no way in hell I’m marrying that Campbell bitch. Scar and I made damn sure that couldn’t happen.”
“Aye, weel, somethings up, and that’s a fact. There’s murmurings all through the castle, talk of the games. Don’t know what. Been hearing the word vampire too. Got me thinking they’re talking of our Scar.”
Without thought, Mercer growled, displeasure rolling like thunder through his chest.
James sighed. “Your Scar. Hell, ye know what I mean, ye bastard. I don’t know what’s coming down the pipe, but whatever it is, it’s coming, and it’s coming soon. I figured ye’d want to know.”
Rubbing a hand roughly down his face, Mercer nodded. “How much time do we have?”
He could almost hear James shaking his head. “Dunno. But I’ll wager it’s no
much.”
“She’s in stupor, man. They can’t come here yet. That’s not protocol.”
“So far as they’re concerned, protocol can hang. Ye think it’s a coincidence they come now, do ya? We all heard the rumors of what she did at the Infantes castle. I don’t think they’re taking any chances. And ye have to know she’s a vampire, so what applies to us never will to her.”
“She’s my fucking mate!” Mercer barked down the line. “That should afford her some kind of protection.”
James snorted. “Yeah, and how’d that go for my Isobel? Fuck, man. Use yer damn head and think. What the devil is she, Merc? What the hell have we gotten mixed up with?”
Mercer’s nostrils flared. Scarlett’s secrets were his, too, and not even threat of death would pry them from him. James might be Scar’s ally, but trust only went so far when it came to the life of his mate.
James growled. “No that I expect ye to answer. But I did my part. And not for you, you fecking arsehole. For her. You’ve mebbe got minutes to spare. Do what ye got to do, but keep her safe, for fuck’s sake. Keep her safe. They’re coming for you, Merc. The Wolf Pack’s coming.”
The line went suddenly dead.
Wetting his lips, eyes searching the walls of the room, Mercer knew he couldn’t keep her here. Yes, her room was warded by level-ten witch magick, but the Alphas had their own witches. If they were coming with guns blazing, as Mercer knew they would be, those bitches would tag along for the ride.
Instinct had never failed him, and the fate of his mate only ratcheted up that inner voice that had never led him wrong.
Whatever Clarence and Declan were up to, it wasn’t just Mercer they were after. The big prize, the grand prize, was her. Now that the cat was out of the bag, the world knew Scarlett was so much more than just your average vampire. There was only one way the two of them could have escaped the fate Cole Infantes had planned for them both, and that was power. Sheer, absolute, breathtaking power.
The Vampire Went Down to Georgia (Southern Vampire Detective Book 3) Page 6