Undead on Arrival

by L. A. Banks

  “Nor I,” Shogun said, his hands trembling.

  Hunter quickly looked over his shoulder. “Where is that man’s food?”

  He stepped away from the cell bars as two Fae guards lugged in a freshly killed deer. Shogun charged the bars and then fell back with a yelp that became a roar as his skin popped and sizzled.

  “How the hell are we gonna get it in there?” the lead guard asked as they all stood, weapons at the ready.

  “Give it to me,” Hunter said.

  “Bull,” one of them said, dropping the antler end of the carcass on the floor.

  A crimson tide slowly spread at their feet, sending Shogun into a frenzy. Hunter stooped down, grabbed the animal by one hand, and yanked it into a shadow with him, then was gone. He appeared behind a blind of destroyed furniture inside the cell and was back on the other side before the dead deer hit the floor and Shogun rushed him. Blood covered his clothes; shotgun barrels and crossbows moved from him to Shogun and back as edgy guards scrambled away from him. Shogun covered the deer in a possessive, snarling crouch before tearing into its belly and coming away with entrails. Hunter turned to stare at the guards, who stood with mouths agape.

  “For the love of God, man . . . you could’ve been slaughtered in there!” the lead guard shouted, slapping gun barrels away from Hunter’s chest. “What did you do that for?”

  “Because he’s not heavy. He’s my brother.”

  The howling had stopped. She didn’t know if that was a good omen or bad one. But she’d left Doc to go have the conversation she needed to have. Problem was, the armed escorts told her Hunter wasn’t in his room. That was all they’d say. Her assumption was that he was still in heavy conference with Silver Hawk. Were else could he have been? She knew all too well that hearing your lineage wasn’t what you’d assumed all your life was not a quick and casual conversation. Especially if you were clan leadership and not just the son of a beta as previously assumed—but the progeny of the taboo combination of Werewolf and Shadow Wolf. Her mind could barely take it all in.

  Sasha walked in a daze, headed for the dungeons. There were things she needed to say to Shogun, things she needed him to understand before the last vestiges of his human were gone. Questions she needed to ask. But the sight of Hunter surrounded by four armed escorts, shoulders bent from fatigue, clothes bloody, made her snarl.

  Gun barrels pointed at her and she squared off on her escorts, prepared for battle.

  “What have you done to him?” she demanded. “You tortured the man!” It was a statement, not a question.

  Hunter began running toward her as bewildered guards backed up and began calling for reinforcements.

  “No, Sasha! It’s not what you think . . . don’t call your wolf!”

  Too late. Powerful jaws locked around the closest forearm, ready to rip the limb out of the socket if the man didn’t lower the weapon. Hunter was in front of her in seconds, ripping off his silk shirt and shoving it close to her nose. He kept one hand up, his body blocking positioned archers who were readying on catwalks and staircase banisters to get a shot off.

  “She saw the blood; back off and she’ll come back to herself,” Hunter yelled. “She’s my pack enforcer—thought I’d been attacked by your men in the dungeons.”

  No one moved. But the scent of deer blood slowly broke through the fury haze in Sasha’s mind. Her jaws slowly relaxed until the stricken guard could yank back his arm and flee. She looked up at Hunter. He stooped down and encircled her neck. In the span of a slow blink she was on her knees hugging him.

  “I thought—”

  “I know,” he said, helping her up.

  Weapons lowered. Guards muttered curses. Hunter swept up her clothes.

  “How is he?” she asked tentatively, placing a hand in the center of Hunter’s chest, all modesty gone.

  “Not good. I fed him, that’s the best I could do until morning . . . he’ll hopefully sleep off night one.”

  “But by tomorrow . . .”

  Hunter shook his head and placed an arm around her shoulder to begin walking them back toward his room, ignoring their escort.

  Sasha stopped abruptly. “I should go speak to him, let him know he’s not alone . . . we’re going to try all we can.”

  Hunter’s palm cradled her cheek. “I’m saying this in all sincerity—he’s not himself. If it were me, I wouldn’t want you to ever see what I’d become.” Hunter let out a long, weary breath. “That was part of the thing that killed me about what happened between you and me. If you go down there, Shogun will forever lose face in his mind. There are some things, Sasha, that a man never wants a woman to see. Right now, if you care about him at all, even as a friend, you’ll allow the man his dignity.”

  What could she say to that? She accepted her clothes back from Hunter and slipped them on in the hallway. She watched the guards dispatch a message to send him a clean shirt and pants, along with more bathwater, and was left awed at the efficiency of the castle’s miniature staff. The tall Fae guards looked so weary that she actually felt sorry for them, and as she and Hunter entered his room, she wondered if they’d seen this much action in a hundred years.

  She waited by the door for his clean replacement clothes as he stripped off his boots and bloodied pants—and didn’t say a word as he sat down heavily on the side of the bed and hung his head. She knew where he was at.

  Silence whispered through the room as small Elves took out spent bathwater and refilled the tub. Fresh clothes with a new leather scent, along with a thick, warm, white terry towel, were carefully loaded in her arms as nervous castle staff slipped past her and shut the door with a bang. Both she and Hunter waited until they heard the tumblers turn in the locks, courtesy of the armed guards just beyond the door.

  “Did you talk to your grandfather?” she asked quietly, bringing his clothes to a wooden chair by the steaming tub.

  Hunter nodded and stood, his majestic dark frame rising from the edge of the bed like a shadowy mountain in the mist. “Yeah . . . did you talk to . . . Doc?”

  “Yes. And it’s okay to say my father.”

  “You’re not angry with him?” Hunter hesitated, waiting for her reaction.

  Sasha shook her head. “When you listen, put your own hurt aside, walk a mile in another person’s shoes . . . and see their humanity, their fears and flaws, you come to understand that they did the best they could at the time they could.”

  Hunter stepped into the tub and she watched the thick network of sinew move in graceful ripples beneath his mahogany-hued skin.

  “It is wise, because I suppose we all do that . . . the best we can at the time we can.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, taking up his clothes and towel again and holding them in her arms as she sat on the chair staring at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, not looking at her and lathering soap in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  She hesitated. “Why?”

  His gaze met hers and then slid away. “I finally saw, really understood, what you were dealing with when I went into that dungeon.” He spread the soap over his neck, arms, and chest in a hard scrub as though washing away more than animal scent and blood, and then doused it off in large, angry splashes. “You lived through my contagion purging more than once, and are still here. That’s enough for me, Sasha. Don’t define it.”

  “I need to explain what happened,” she whispered.

  He stood up like a sudden dark geyser in the tub, glistening wet, sculpted and beautiful. “I already know and apologize for that as well,” he said, lathering the bricks of his abdomen and then his thighs, flinging water and soap everywhere in an agitated flurry of jerky movements.

  “Shogun told you?”

  “Yes,” Hunter muttered, turning away from her and looking around for his towel.

  She studied his back, the power of it, and the way long, lean muscle flanked his spine to dip low in the small of it to quickly rise into a stone-cut, gorgeous ass. She stood slowly,
almost mesmerized, carefully placing his clothes onto the chair and walking forward with his towel. When he finally turned to face her, she enfolded him in the thick terry cloth.

  “It was a shadow dance . . . encouraged by the enchantment of very bad fairies. I know it sounds like a line, but I didn’t trade sex for blood.”

  “You would have,” he murmured, staring into her eyes. His voice held no judgment, just very deep pain.

  “Yes,” she nodded, “for you, I would have.”

  Two large, warm, slightly callused palms gingerly held her face. A kiss so tender that it brought tears to her eyes took her mouth, the consumption of it gentle and reverent.

  “I love you, Sasha Trudeau,” he murmured against her lips and then pulled back to stare into her eyes. “I’m doing the best I can at the time I can.”

  She nodded and sniffed, splaying her hands against his damp body through the terry towel. “Me, too.”

  “A shadow dance is almost more intimate than . . .”

  “Shush . . . ,” she whispered, closing her eyes and laying her head against his damp chest. “Until I . . . Hunter, I didn’t realize that until after. I thought in human terms it was better, less of a betrayal, I—”

  A swift kiss stopped her words. He pulled back and stared at her. “I know. We do the best we can at the time we can, and look at what I’d left you to confront alone . . . contagion of the worst sort. You were not raised in the ways of the wolf. You didn’t know.”

  “I swear—”

  Another deep, punishing kiss stole her breath as hands that held her face slid up and into her hair.

  “I know,” he whispered harshly against her cheek as he broke their kiss. “And I thought I’d lost you forever when I came upon planted evidence in the bayou—I’m so sorry, Sasha.”

  Powerful arms enfolded her as he stepped out of the tub, his towel falling away, crushing her body against his.

  “Do you realize what I’ve done? I’ve taken an innocent man’s life on the ruse of Vampires. A man whom I respect . . . my brother will die tomorrow night because that demon contagion he fights was within me. Great Spirit, lift this damnation.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said quickly, holding him close, her hands spreading healing touch against tense muscles in his shoulders and back. “You both rushed each other, one way or another, you both would have fought. The blame lies with the ones who orchestrated this entire horror.”

  His breaths were coming in short, agonized bursts of pain as he nodded and nuzzled her neck.

  “First light, I’m going to ask for an escort out to rendezvous with my human squad. Me and Doc need to get to NORAD by chopper and bring every technology we have at our disposal to bear on this problem. Meanwhile, you and Silver Hawk can do what you can to keep trigger-happy UCE members in a fallback position . . . and maybe our combined clans can get some ground intel to provide evidence at the tribunal.”

  This time when he pulled back to look at her, there was something very different from hurt and remorse burning in his gaze. Amber rimmed his irises; his wolf was ready for war. And she knew from past experience, as well as natural instinct, that an adrenaline-boosted testosterone rush played itself out very strangely in the species called male.

  Her mouth became an instant target, as smooth full lips consumed hers with an urgent brutality. Teeth and tongues went to war, dueling, struggling, tangling in a breathless twine. Rough hands battled blouse buttons and pant fastenings, each small victory won heralded with a deep moan. She was walking backward, giving ground, stepping out of her boots then pants in frantic tugs. To be conquered now would slay all the demons in her mind, erase time for a moment, and obliterate every problem they owned.

  A blanket of muscular heat covered her as she fell back into goose down and surrendered. His shadow strangled hers with pleasure, a triumph that she knew he needed—a sign that he was back to himself and would never be lost again. Arching, reaching, she fisted his spill of midnight hair, allowing him to claim territory and plant himself within her hard. Out of respect for the fallen, the one in the dungeon, who was still a prisoner of war, they both swallowed a war cry and buried their faces in warm shoulders . . . mouths burning skin, teeth grazing it, both agreeing to that as a compromise, a treaty made on the fly as they moved to one accord, palms splayed over backsides and hip flesh till heads lolled back, eyes sealed shut, and bodies braced for the imminent blast.

  He took her mouth before she could cry out. Her legs fought his waist, circling it, squeezing it, lifting her to slam her belly against his, breasts bouncing, nipples hard and throbbing . . . it was mortal combat that made him tear his mouth away from hers to gulp air, arms trembling not from his weight but his need to release—and she saw it a second before it happened, catching the cry, muffling it like a silenced gunshot, a stealth assassin, killing him softly, killing him swiftly, cruelly . . . brought down hard in the prime of his life, her life . . . his fists pounding the mattress for mercy and just one breath as her palms held his face. He dropped, hot stone against her sizzling, wet heat. She let him go, her arms rubbery masses at her sides. She stared up at the ceiling, dizzy and sated. His haggard breaths told her that he was all right, too.

  The only thing that disturbed her, but she decided not to mention it, was the twinkling miasma of colored lights that scattered with a delicate, pleased giggle. Damn those Fairies!

  CHAPTER 16

  “I understand why it has to be this way,” Hunter said, pacing to the dawn-filled windows, “I just don’t like you being out there with me being in here. If anything happens to you, Sasha . . .”

  “I know,” she said, stepping out of the fresh tub and wrapping a new towel around herself. “But they’ll never let you out of here to go with me, which I don’t want anyway. Your hands have to remain clean. You have to have deniability, just like the Vampires have now. Hell, I barely got them to agree to let me out of here with Doc to collect our evidence, and only could under the proviso that Sir Rodney is our discreet bodyguard. How we’re gonna get him into NORAD is anybody’s guess. But traveling by day oughta cut down on some of the Vamp shenanigans.”

  Hunter kept his gaze out the window. She came up behind him and hugged him, wondering how the Fae managed to include pastel-hued, mist-covered mountains in their oasis.

  “You know the Vampires have human helpers, and the Cartel isn’t our only threat, Sasha.” Hunter issued her an annoyed, sideline glance. “There’s at least one North American Werewolf alpha whom we know wants both Shogun and me executed at midnight, plus a strong member of the Fae Parliament who’s hedging his bets on our deaths, which leaves me suspicious of any of the Fae, regardless of surface hospitality . . . and there’s still a very dangerous demon with vengeance in her black heart.” He turned to Sasha and placed a palm on each of her shoulders. “So you be careful out there, Trudeau. Come back to me in one piece, or I swear I’ll personally hunt you down till I find you.”

  “You little bitch,” Buchanan said between his teeth, kicking in the motel door. “Took me all night to find you, but sure as rain you knew I was gonna.”

  Dana was up and countercircling the angry beast before her. “Daddy, you listen here, I’m not gonna be treated this way when what I was doing was for the good of the entire family!”

  “What you was gonna do was sell my ass all the way from where I’m standing to Georgia’s Chattahoochee River, darlin’. At least that’s what it looked like to me,” he hollered, making a lunge for her and missing.

  “You think I’d do that?” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m appalled.”

  “Then why’d you run? Only the guilty run!”

  “I ran and found me a place where I could eat and go to sleep in peace because I didn’t wanna hear any of your drunken bullshit last night!”

  “You’re gonna be dog meat in a minute. I’ll kill ya quick as look at ya, and make another one that look jus’ like you, sweetie pie. You know that.”

  “See, t
hat’s exactly what I’m talking about and why I took to a motel,” she shouted, not seeming the least bit afraid of him. “Violence only begets violence. Sometimes you gotta use your head! And what I know is, it’s easier to install my father as alpha if I marry the man and then a tragedy befalls my husband . . . but, noooo. You just had to come all out in the bayou when I told you I had learned a thing or two from my mama.”

  “Your mama was a whore!”

  “Absolutely true,” Dana said without shame or apology, folding her arms over her ample chest. There was no fear in her eyes. “So I learned from the best.”

  Her father straightened and came out of his rush stance. After a moment he smoothed the bristled hair that had risen on the back of his neck and smiled a toothy grin. “You was gonna do that for your old pa?”

  “Till you messed things up and got my future husband arrested!” She turned away from him with a pout.

  “Aw, now sugah-lump, I’m sorry. Don’t be like that.”

  “How’m I supposed to be, Daddy?” She whirled away from him with tears in her eyes. “This just ain’t working out as planned and you don’t trust me—I’m hurt,” she wailed, shrugging away from him as he tried to approach her.

  “You jus’ as purty as your mama used to be, you know that,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Don’t even start that,” she said, gathering up her belongings. “You messed things up! Even if Shogun had the contagion, I woulda been his mate, then the clan coulda put him down . . . that is, after the big alpha from the North Country went down first. I’da called in my marker—you, to fill the void, and we coulda had this thing all sewn up. His sister is crazy as a bedbug, and nobody likes her . . . only a matter of time before her own demon-possessed mama rips her face off. That other bitch, Miss Sasha-thinks-she-so-much-Trudeau, probably gonna catch what her boyfriend got and will have to be shot soon anyhoo. We’da had us an empire, Daddy. I hate being second and I’m tired of being poor! For once, why didn’t you just stay out of it?”