by JL Madore
“How’d things go?”
He closed and locked the door behind them and unbuckled his metal studded belt. “It was dicey a few times, but Howton had his say.”
“He went today? He was shot last night—twice.”
“He said, if bad guys didn’t take days off, how could he?” Zander laughed, peeled off his jeans, and headed to the bathroom. Ronnie ripped a strip off him when he’d come down in his suit and asked the twins to escort him. She was a handful, that one, and a great match for Danel’s stubborn pride.
“The vote went his way, but who knows if anything will change. Still, it’s in the books, and Howton’s tenacious. He’ll stay on top of things.”
“And Kang?”
“Caesar got the metal out of him and he’s on his feet and pissed. He’s working with our Otherworld agent in the D.C. to ensure that Alice Wringly gets what’s coming to her.”
“Can’t they just arrest her?”
He shook his head. “It’s Ronnie’s word against hers and since she can’t bring up the Leviathans who kidnapped her, all they have are the pictures Phoenix took on his phone. With someone of her level of importance, it’s not enough. She’s on Howton’s radar now and Kang’s taking it personally. They’ll settle the score in time.”
“But Duxel and his men are dead, right? Ronnie’s safe?”
“Yeah, but Gregor had seventeen children, many of them males. It would be foolish to think we’ve heard the last of the Leviathans.”
“And Danel?”
He washed his face and grabbed a towel off the heated rack. “D is staying with her. She goes back to the specialist tomorrow for another round of tests and the following day, they’ll plan the course of treatment. It’s not good, though. It’s palliative at this point, not curative.”
“And Lady Divinity won’t help?”
The pain in Austin’s voice shredded him. He’d do anything to keep her from suffering, but this was out of his control. “She said she can’t intervene. Things must take their natural course. And we must be ready when they do.”
Austin’s hazels got glassy and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, cowgirl. I know you really liked her.”
Austin wrapped her arms around to his back and pulled in tight. “Will she come back here or stay there?”
He laid his cheek on top of her head and closed his eyes. “I don’t know, love. I’m sorry.”
Kyrian set the drinks on Katie’s tray and headed down the bar. He snagged a half-drained bottle of Jager on the way because Rayvn, the local dragon shifter, looked like he needed a top up. Other than meeting Jules to walk her home in the wee hours, the dragon didn’t come by much—like, never.
Made a guy wonder what was brewing.
“Business is good, eh Greek?”
Kyrian nodded and tipped the bottle. O-Zone was killing it tonight. They were at max capacity, and Meck said the line of hopefuls wrapped down the building and around the corner. “Sex and booze is a win-win industry. You here for Jules?”
The colored lights from the dance floor reflected off his tinted sunglasses as he shook his head. In a human setting, sunglasses in a dimly-lit bar may have seemed odd. In an Otherworld gathering place, no one blinked an eye.
“If Jules asks, yeah, that’s why I’m here. You need to hire another server ’cause she’s overworked and needs more staff. Between you and I, though, I need a favor.”
Kyrian popped the tabs of two Strongbow and handed them off. He followed up with a damp cloth and gave the granite surface a wipe-down. “What kind of a favor?”
“You boys keep your personal shit close to the vest—and I respect that—but I’m asking you to make an exception.”
Checking that they were alone in their conversation, Kyrian leaned onto the bar. “I’m listening.”
“Our oldest, Andrew, began his transition a few weeks back. Historically, Jules and I would spend the next year hosting a couple dragon ‘uncles’ in our home to help absorb the massive influx of aggression and turmoil he’ll be bombarded with.”
“But as the last of your race . . . you don’t have that option.”
He nodded. “I hoped to be strong enough to compensate but I can’t be with him twenty-four-seven. Jules underestimates how dangerous he is. She looks at him and sees her son, not a preternatural unable to control himself.”
Kyrian eyed the feisty human across the sea of half-naked patrons. Jules was family. That made this a family problem. “How can we help?
“I need a dark priestess.”
Kyrian blinked. “What the fuck would you want with one of those duplicitous bitches?”
Rayvn emptied his glass. “I ran the options frontwards and backwards. Andrew needs a binding ring or amulet, so he can go to school and continue with his life. A white witch won’t have enough juice to contain his Darkworld powers.”
But a dark priestess? That was the baddest of the bad. He wouldn’t want one of those women anywhere near his family. Kyrian topped up the man’s tumbler and shook his head. “I’m not going to be much help, I’m afraid.”
Rayvn pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills on the bar. “Rumor has it that the twins’ mother was a dark witch. That they were brought up in those secret circles.”
Kyrian would neither confirm nor deny that to any member of the Darkworld, no matter who they were.
“Relax, Greek. Jules said they weren’t available tonight. If you could relay this conversation to them, I’d appreciate it. Ask them to contact me if they can help.”
Kyrian gathered the bills and rapped his knuckles on the bar. “I’ll do what I can.”
When the man made no move to step away, Kyrian knew there was another shoe to drop. “What else is on your mind?”
The muscles in the man’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth. “No magic will be able to stave off his powers for long. At night, maybe you or Zander could help me take him flying somewhere secluded? He’ll need to burn off his anxiety or he’ll be a danger.”
Kyrian nodded. “I can’t speak for Zander—with the baby coming, he’s wearing thin—but I’ll help. I don’t get to stretch my wings much and need to burn off some anxiety myself. If needed, I have a friend who might help too—a drake—if you don’t mind me asking him.”
“I’d prefer to keep it between you and Zander for now.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Kyrian ducked into the stockroom and hooked up a new keg. When he came back to the bar, a woman sat facing the dance floor.
“Can I get you anything, sweetheart?”
The female turned on the stool and he just about lost his mind. The makeup, the hair, the bustier . . . shit, the scrap of denim posing as a mini skirt. “Cassi? Damn, baby. What have you been up to?”
She studied him, and his Nephilim early warning started tingling at his nape. “I wanted to see where you work on the nights you’re at the club. I realize now why you’ve never brought me here. I don’t fit into this part of your life, do I?”
He leaned across the span of granite separating them and took her hands in his. “Cassi, there is no part of my life you don’t fit into. You are my life—every part. You don’t have to change yourself to please me. I am completely and utterly absorbed by you.”
She pulled her hands back and dropped them to her lap. “But this is how I looked that first night at the RedRum. This is what you’re accustomed to, right? What turns you on?”
There was no winning answer to that. “You turn me on, Cassi. Long hair or short. Long skirt or short. You are all I see—the only woman who turns me on.”
She looked down at herself and blinked, her eyes far too glassy. “I feel so stupid. I am stupid. I don’t know . . ..”
He smelled her emotional erosion coming fast and signaled for one of the bus boys to take over. Jumping the bar, he landed beside her stool and pulled her to his side. The stockroom was the closest place to find some privacy, so he headed there. With a finger under her chin,
he lifted her gaze to meet his. “Cass, sweetheart, what’s this about? What do you need? Is it me?”
She melted against him, her tears turning into sobs.
Shit. For all the centuries he’d lived . . . he’d never loved. He didn’t have a clue what to do to make this right. So, he did nothing but hold her. Was this because he moved her to this realm? Was it the Serpentine attack? Was it him?
For all his training and strength and skill in battle, he had never felt so powerless. He wished he could kill someone for her. Fight her battles. Slay her insecurities.
“Whatever this is, Cassi. We’ll get through it, love, I swear. I love you. I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere.”
Thank the heavens they had a lifetime ahead of them to sort things out. Danel and Ronnie weren’t so lucky.
His thoughts drifted to Danel and what his brother faced. He couldn’t imagine. His chest ached at the mere idea of losing his mate. How could D stand it? Before he started blubbering along with his wife, he sucked a labored breath through his lead lungs and wished Danel strength.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Danel fucking hated doctor’s offices. He’d never been in one until this week, but he’d made up for lost time. Ronnie had waited at the specialist, been sent for tests, waited there, had the tests and been sent to the lab, waited there to give blood and urine, and then been sent back to the doctor’s office so they could wait some more.
He totally understood why she named herself Storme and moved away. He had no idea how she’d done this for more than twenty years and hadn’t lost her mind. He needed a drink after one day and they had to do it all over again tomorrow to get the results and her dialysis schedule.
They’d headed out of the hospital and to the nearest pub. He would have taken her somewhere nicer, but she craved buttered chicken. He didn’t care what he ate—he didn’t even taste it—but assured her he loved it.
He watched the animation in Ronnie’s expression as she talked and sat there, mesmerized. He’d say or do anything to keep the smile on her face . . . for as long as he had the honor of caring for her.
“I resisted the urge to pee on the carpet before I left, though it would have given the place some character.”
Danel choked on his beer, his sinuses burning. “You actually considered copping a squat on some asshole’s Persian rug? Okay . . . so what stopped you?”
She cast him a wry smile. “The guy was the entitled son of one of Daddy’s business connections. He always told me not to piss on his reputation. I figured, that was a figurative order, but it likely covered the literal translation as well.”
Danel laughed. It rang off the booth walls and he realized that never, in two thousand years, had he enjoyed such care-free amusement.
Man, this was going to wreck him when it ended.
It really would.
When she’d pushed her dinner around in the bowl for five minutes, he knew she’d stalled out. “Let’s take that and go.”
“Don’t you want dessert?”
He licked his lips and sent her a look. “The dessert I want will get us both arrested if we stay here.”
Ronnie’s blush was far too funny. She leaned out of the booth and waved down their server. “Can we get a take-out box and our check, please? Yep, as soon as you get a chance.”
Thrash loaded the bolt into the cross-bow and took aim across the indoor range. The release was swift and silent, the red-metal rod piercing the air and sailing true until it buried into the human they’d pinned up to serve as a target. “The bolts and bullets take Watchers down in battle, but it’s the blades that allow you to eviscerate and dissect them.”
She handed the weapon over to the head of the Rugaru clans and turned to the Wendigo, handing him her side arm. “After Watchers kill one of ours, there’s a brief moment when they become incapacitated. That’s when my father believed they were most vulnerable. That’s when he struck to capture Zandros and kill Tanek.”
“Stryker did what no Darkworlder thought possible.”
Her heart swelled with pride, even as it ached for the loss of him. “Stryker’s vision opened the door for a new life for the Darkworld. All we have to do is organize and take advantage.”
“And you have a plan?”
She nodded. “Stryker had every strategic move mapped out; the obstacles and the answers. All we have to do is follow his lead and kill them off—one by one.”
Phoenix pulled the Navigator to the curb in front of the club and tapped the horn. The place was rocking, the deep bass of the dark-electronica thrumming into the street. Considering the bite of the February wind, it amazed him that people stood out there in line, just in the hopes of getting inside before close.
But they did. Zander had created a safe-zone hotspot for Otherworlders—and the three realms was a better place for it.
He popped the door open and jogged around the hood of the truck to the passenger side. While he tossed the suitcases from the back seat into the back of the truck, Seth headed inside to take over on the bar.
“Thanks for the ride, my brother.” Kyrian met him for a fist bump with a hot ginger—holy shit, that was Cassi—on his arm.
He offered Cassi a smile, trying not to gawk. There was a whole lot of exposed flesh there. It wouldn’t do Kyrian’s beast any good for him to be eyeing his brother’s mate. Besides, by the red-rimmed eyes and the scent of her emotions, the night had already been a challenge for both of them.
He stepped back and let the Greek get his female settled. When the door thunked closed, they walked around the back of the truck together. Kyrian caught his arm and stopped him from getting in. “Rayvn was here earlier. He’s looking for an intro to a dark priestess and heard rumors about your mother. He needs a binding spell for Andrew ASAP. I said I’d relay the message.”
Phoenix raised his hands. Did you mention this to Seth?
“I’ll leave that to you . . . if you choose to share.”
He dropped his chin in a quick affirmative and slid back into the driver’s seat. Dark witches were like gangrene. You cut off your toes to be rid of their taint, but by then, your foot is infected. When you lop that off, you realize they’ve claimed your leg. Before you know better, you’ve hacked yourself to bits to be rid of their poison. Either that, or they realize you’re trying to escape and rip your fucking throat out.
He gripped the keys and cranked.
The beefy engine roared to life. He shifted into gear and pulled into the deserted Toronto street. Fuck. The dragon must be desperate if he considered a Dark priestess his best option.
“Thank you for the drive, Phoenix,” Cassi said from the back. “You must be tired from your flight.”
Kyrian’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. “Hey, Dougal . . . yes, she’s with me . . . No, I didn’t know anything . . . We’re on our way home now . . . Okay, see you in a few.”
The tension in Kyrian’s voice was obvious. Cassi venturing off on her own was a genuine panic point for the guy. And after last week, why wouldn’t it be?
At least he had someone to worry about.
“When we get to the hotel, Dougal wants a word,” Kyrian said, meeting his gaze in the mirror from the back seat. “You okay to come inside for a minute?”
Phoenix hit the indicator and nodded.
He was in no rush to go home. Watching his brothers build lives with their women, it struck him hard how empty his life remained. He and Seth hadn’t evolved much in three thousand years. They lived within two circles of existence, fighting and fucking—and wasn’t that pathetic.
Ronnie sat next to Danel in Dr. Scathardi’s office, her breathing tight, her stomach aching. They’d been waiting almost ten minutes, and there was a good chance Danel might lose his cool and stab someone with that dagger he kept sheathed on the inside of his long jacket.
“Why designate an appointment time if you don’t intend on honoring it?”
She squeezed his hand and chuckled. Worrying
about him going postal actually helped her keep her mind off what was coming. “He’ll be here soon enough. Enjoy the last minutes of not knowing, Broody.”
“Why the hell would I?”
Her smile faded. “Because once it’s said, it’s real. Once he gives a timeline, it’s the beginning of the end.”
Danel’s jaw clenched so tight, she worried about his teeth. “Whatever he says. I’m staying for the duration. Whether we’re here or in Toronto, I’m all-in. Got it?”
She both loved and hated that idea. “Got it.”
Dr. Scathardi joined them, an electronic tablet in his hand, a deep frown marring his face.
Danel growled. She squeezed his hand but suspected there wasn’t much he could do to control it. He was angry and upset. She’d been there. Remembered how he felt. She’d just had more than a decade to work through that to find her acceptance.
What would be, would be.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Dr. Scathardi sat on the edge of his seat and adjusted his glasses. He blinked up at them and his frown sharpened into a scowl. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Veronica. I’ve double-checked the results and they are truly upsetting. I’m sorry.”
She winced as Danel’s grip crushed her fingers. Wriggling her hand, he seemed to realize and eased up on his hold. “What’s my percentage?”
“Eighty-three.”
Eighty-three percent function loss? “I don’t feel like I’m at seventeen percent function.”
“No. Eighty-three function. Seventeen loss?”
“What? I don’t . . . How is that possible?”
The doctor sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “It’s not. I confirmed it twice but can’t explain it. And there’s more.”
She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling lightheaded.
“Your potassium level is regulating and the crystallization in your cornea is greatly diminished. It’s as if your body started healing itself faster than the disease can attack you . . . faster than is humanly possible.”
She turned to Danel, the term humanly possible thrumming in her head. He looked as confused and alarmed as she felt. Could his Nephilim healing somehow be transferring to her?