Black

by Donya Lynne

  Hunter eyed them warily as he took a backward step, as if he wanted to ensure they wouldn’t follow him.

  “You can run, Hunter,” Rameses said, “but Memnon will find you.”

  Hunter’s top lip pulled back as he growled. Then he spit on the ground. “Memnon can try to find me, but he won’t. You and I both know it. He can fuck himself for what he did to me.” His black eyes swept over the three of them. Rameses, Dain, and then Priest. “For what you all did to me. You knew it was wrong, and yet you let him do it, anyway. Not one of you stood up for me when I’ve caught every one of your backs at least once. I’ve saved all your lives, and yet, you let Memnon take mine away from me.”

  An uncomfortable pit opened inside Rameses’s gut. Guilt made a cruel mistress, and Rameses carried his share of it, especially where Hunter was concerned.

  Rameses hadn’t agreed with the punishment Memnon had leveled on Hunter, but he was not the imeut. Memnon was. Rameses’s power only went so far. His brother made the law and ordered its enforcement, and Rameses had no doubt Memnon would issue a kill-on-sight order once he learned Hunter had returned.

  The question was, would his lycan brothers follow the command. Hunter had been a beloved warrior. A strong warrior. The strongest among them. His tracking skills were unparalleled, and he was unrivaled when it came to kills. His banishment had been a tremendous loss, and it was an even greater one now.

  They needed Hunter, now more than ever with motleys replacing common werewolves.

  They’d seen too much pain and loss in their lifetimes. Too many lovers taken away from them. Too many mates. One in particular. Memnon’s. It’s why he was the way he was, because when she died, a little piece of each of the lycans had died as Memnon mourned. He still mourned, but he would never admit it. He would rather channel his mourning into something cold, dark, and sterile.

  But that one death had been enough for them all to know the pain of loss. A pain Hunter had lived firsthand for the past twenty years and would continue to live as soon as he knew his Annalise was gone from this earth to dwell in the other world.

  “What is done is done, Hunter.”

  “Fuck you, Rameses.”

  His brow hardened as he stared Hunter down. “Where are you going to go?”

  Hunter held up his ankh. “I can go anywhere I please.”

  “You can’t go home.”

  Home. The dimension they’d all come from so long ago it almost felt like a dream. The one place none of them could return to until the threat on earth was destroyed. And now that they had the motleys to contend with, they would never be allowed to go home.

  Hunter’s jaw clenched. “Oh, I can go home.” He said it like he had it all figured out. Like he had formulated a devious plan that not even Memnon, with all his foresight and wisdom, would consider.

  “If you do, they will kill you. And if they don’t, they will strip you of your ankh and send you back here to our doorstep, bound in chains, and then Memnon will kill you. Either way, you’ll be dead.”

  “I’m already dead.”

  The quiet proclamation came with such calm it stunned Rameses. He recoiled and snapped his jaw closed.

  “What d-do you mean?” Priest asked.

  Rameses turned to find that Priest had managed to pull himself to his feet, but his skin held the deathly pallor of an overcast sky.

  “My beloved . . .” Hunter’s voice took on a reverent tone. “My Annalise . . . she’s no longer of this world.”

  The fact that Hunter knew of Annalise’s death came as a surprise. How had Hunter learned of her death already? He hadn’t been back long enough to have made the trip to Louisiana, track down her family, learn the truth, and return to Chicago. Besides, Annalise’s family despised Hunter. They never would have talked to him about her death. Kill him? Yes. Inform him of Annalise’s fate? Not a chance in hell.

  Hunter’s scarred face turned away, but not before Rameses saw the pain and sadness flicker through his dark-brown eyes. “She is dead,” he said softly, “and so is my son. My son . . .” His voice took on a faraway quality, as if he were considering all that he had lost, and then he pulled himself back into the present and lifted his gaze defiantly to Rameses’s. “I only wish to mourn them, and then I will release myself from life to join my beloveds in death.”

  He didn’t know. Hunter had no idea his son was still alive.

  What to do with this knowledge? If he told Hunter the truth, he would be enabling the banished male to remain on earth, where, despite Hunter’s defiant remarks to the contrary, Memnon would hunt him down, find him, and kill him. But if Rameses said nothing and let Hunter believe his son was, in fact, dead, Hunter would take his own life.

  Either way, the outcome was unacceptable.

  He needed to buy time. Once he told Memnon about the motleys and the accord he’d struck with the vampires, he might have a chance of convincing Memnon that welcoming Hunter back into the family was a good thing. That the twenty years of banishment was enough punishment. At the very least, they could keep Hunter here but banish him from the family. Surely, Memnon would see how vital Hunter was now. With new enemies breaking into the fray, they needed Hunter more than ever, and even if he had no contact with the family, Hunter would still hunt werewolves. It was in his blood.

  Rameses was still contemplating what to do about the situation when Priest said, “Tell him, Rameses.”

  A flash of heat shot through Rameses’s body. Priest was only two steps removed from the role of imeut, but that didn’t give him the right to speak out of turn. He met Priest’s gaze with an angry look he was certain could turn mortals to stone.

  Priest remained composed and determined. “Tell him, or I will.”

  “Tell me what?” Hunter glanced between them, bristling.

  “Priest, this is neither the time nor the pla—”

  “Your s-son is alive,” Priest said to Hunter with a sickly shiver. His color was worse than before.

  Silence.

  Not even a breath sputtered out among them.

  Then the top blew everywhere all at once.

  “Priest!” Rameses admonished the fair-haired lycan and started toward him just as Hunter rushed forward, caught him like a viper, and put him in a choke hold.

  “You knew my son was alive?” Hunter hoisted Rameses off the ground.

  Dain lunged forward, grabbing the scarred lycan. “Let him go, Hunter!”

  But Hunter wasn’t having any of that. “You knew?” he yelled. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”

  Rameses scraped and grasped at Hunter’s fist, trying to free himself, but Hunter had him dead to rights.

  “Hunter!” Dain’s voice growled ominously. He was on the verge of the change that would shift him from man to beast. “Let him go! Now!”

  Rameses didn’t need Dain to save him. He called on his lycan form while using the special powers granted to him by royal birthright to block Hunter from doing the same.

  Fabric ripped, shredding into ribbons as his body swiftly metamorphosed into ten feet of pure, pissed-off lycan. Hunter lost his grasp then stumbled backward as Rameses rose sharply above him, fangs bared.

  Do not ever put your hands on me! He pushed forward.

  Not one to shrink away from a beast who could fillet him in less than thirty seconds, Hunter pushed out his chest and sneered. I’m not afraid of you.

  That’s your problem, not mine.

  Why didn’t you tell me about my son?

  Because telling you wasn’t that simple.

  Hunter barked out a caustic laugh. “Not that simple? Are you fucking kidding me?” He glanced toward Dain and Priest then back to Rameses.

  I only just discovered him an hour ago. We haven’t had time to fully investigate. What if he ends up not being your son? What then?

  Highly unlikely. The boy at AKM held Hunter’s scent. He resembled him in coloring and facial features, even though he had yet to go through the change. Still, there was the slimmest chanc
e that, upon closer analysis, the boy wouldn’t turn out to be who Rameses and the others thought he was. He could end up being some other mixed-blood creature who only smelled like Hunter. Again, not likely, but who the hell knew with all the shit popping up in the supernatural world recently?

  Hunter frowned as if he hadn’t considered that. Then he glanced at Priest. “How certain are you that he’s my son?”

  Priest paid a deferential look at Rameses then addressed Hunter. “He’s yours. I am certain of it.”

  Damn Priest. Rameses knew he meant well, but this was not his call to make. The two of them would have words when Priest was better, and Rameses would remind him of his place within the clan.

  Rameses took a menacing step toward Hunter. And now your plan is to remain here, isn’t it? Because of your son.

  Hunter squared his shoulders, his jaw set, eyes determined. Yes.

  Fool.

  And that puts your life—and his—in danger. Memnon will kill you both.

  Not if I kill him first.

  Rameses’s hackles went up. This was his brother they were talking about. The imeut. Royalty and leader of their people. Memnon wasn’t perfect, and he had his problems, but simply thinking about killing him was a crime.

  That would be a death sentence.

  Hunter glared at him. I will do whatever it takes to protect my son, even if that means killing the imeut. His gaze swept the group. Even if it means killing all of you.

  You would damn the human race to the werebeasts? Because it wasn’t just werewolves they fought now, but motleys and Osiris only knew what other creatures that were being cooked up in Bishop’s lab.

  You and I both know Memnon cares not for the humans.

  Ever since the humans turned on the lycans and killed his beloved, Memnon had taken a more hostile attitude toward them. But he still abided by his oath to Anubis. They all did.

  That may be true, Hunter, but he honors his pledge to protect him, and he will kill you to continue doing so.

  Then let him kill me if he can.

  They were at a stalemate. Rameses knew Hunter well enough to know that he wouldn’t give an inch. And neither would Memnon if Rameses couldn’t convince him they needed Hunter.

  I don’t want to see you die, Hunter.

  Then change Memnon’s mind.

  Easier said than done.

  You’d better find a way, or it’s war between us.

  One against an entire race seemed like severely uneven odds, but Hunter was not to be underestimated. He was skilled enough to make good on his promise and kill them all. It would take time, but Hunter was as patient as he was lethal. If he had to wait fifty years to take down every last one of them, he would.

  Hunter—

  “This conversation is over.” Hunter turned away from Rameses to address Priest. “Where is he? Where is my son?”

  Priest hesitated as if he finally understood it wasn’t his place to speak, but it was too late for that. The damage had been done.

  “He’s at AKM,” Priest said.

  “AKM?” Hunter scowled, his gaze slowly dropping to the ground as if he were playing back a memory.

  Rameses concentrated on his human form and shifted back. “He’s in their medical unit.” He ripped what remained of his shirt and pants from his body. He cared not if anyone saw him naked.

  Hunter’s head shot up. “Medical unit?”

  When he, Dain, and Priest simply stared back at him, Hunter continued, his voice panicked. “Is he okay?”

  Rameses recalled the bandage wrapped around the boy’s torso. He had looked fragile. Too fragile. Thin, gaunt, deathly still. A feeding tube had been taped over his mouth, and an oxygen tube under his nose.

  “Truthfully, no. When I saw him, he looked quite ill.”

  Concern and worry flashed over Hunter’s expression, and he began to pace. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “That I do not know.” He thought of Dr. Snow. She was impressive as far as doctors go, even if she was a vampire. “But he is getting the best possible care.”

  Dain looked at him like he was talking foolishness, and maybe he was. But he had to try to persuade Hunter from going wrecking ball on AKM just to get to his son. That wouldn’t bode well for the new alliance he’d struck tonight with the vampires.

  Hunter continued pacing, grumbling under his breath in angry murmurs. Rameses could just barely make out what he was saying. “She lied to me. She was there, and she lied to me.”

  Could she be the female Rameses had encountered outside the boy’s room?

  “Hunter.” Rameses stepped forward and dropped his hand on Hunter’s shoulder.

  Hunter jerked around and grabbed Rameses’s wrist before calming himself and letting him go. Whoever she was, whether the female who had warned him away from Hunter’s son’s room was her or not, she had better prepare, because Hunter looked like he was about to go on a warpath.

  Rameses slowly drew his hand away, careful not to make any sudden movements.

  “Let the doctors do their job,” he said. “He needs medical care right now. If you tear in there and take him, he could die.”

  Hunter recoiled from the word. Rameses hoped that meant he understood and wouldn’t try to be a hero.

  Rameses backed away then gestured for Dain to open the mausoleum.

  “Let the vampires heal your son, Hunter. I will buy you time with Memnon, and I give you my word that I will try to persuade him to recuse you from the remainder of your punishment. But don’t expect any miracles.”

  Hunter nodded, but his gaze remained vacant, as if he’d returned to running whatever memory he’d been obsessing over a moment ago through his mind.

  Rameses silently directed Dain and Priest inside the mausoleum, ready to return to the compound. Priest was still too weak to take more than two or three steps without assistance, so Dain propped himself under Priest’s arm and shouldered him inside.

  Hunter wouldn’t follow them. Rameses was certain of that. But it was best not to chance it. Hunter didn’t appear to be himself.

  “I’ll be in touch, Hunter,” Rameses said, stepping into the mausoleum. “Just don’t do anything stupid before then.”

  Hunter didn’t even acknowledge him.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Hunter was murmuring to himself again, his demeanor growing more and more agitated, an increasing edge rising in his voice.

  “The bitch lied to me,” he snarled.

  Then, without another word, Hunter spun on his heel and bolted into the cemetery’s depths, disappearing into the shadows.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Dain asked.

  Rameses shook his head, gazing in the direction Hunter had gone. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that female vampire who warned me away from his son’s room is going to be getting a visit.” He turned and bobbed his head toward the keyhole. “It’s not our problem. Take us home.”

  Dain passed Priest off to Rameses then crossed the small interior to the corner. “What are you going to tell Memnon?” He slipped his ankh inside the hole and stood back.

  Rameses held onto Priest with one arm and pulled the door shut with the other. “I’m going to tell him the truth. He’ll find out, anyway.”

  The portal opened, and they returned to their compound out west in a shimmering flash of light, appearing in the pyramid room.

  “That’ll go over well,” Dain said, without missing a beat.

  “I’ll handle it.” Rameses hooked his arm around Priest, who was growing weaker by the second now that the excitement was over, and started down the grand, gilded hall toward the healing chamber. He was still naked as a jaybird except for the cartouche hanging from a gold chain around his neck.

  Dawn would be upon them in a few hours, and there was much to do before they woke Memnon.

  “Dain, assemble the families,” he called over his shoulder.

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Tell them we’re going to wake t
heir kin and that we’re pulling Memnon out of Osiris’s Sleep.” He shuffled Priest a little farther down the hall then added, “And tell them to prepare for war.”

  Because whether the war came from Hunter, the motleys, the drecks, or all of the above, a war was coming.

  Chapter 22

  Micah sat across from King Bain in the back of his limousine as it pulled up to the royal mansion. A uniformed servant standing at the side of the drive stepped forward and opened the door then stood aside to allow them out.

  He stared up at the royal mansion, but his mind was still obsessing over what King Bain had said to him less than fifteen minutes ago.

  Because I’m on it.

  Bain was on his family tree?

  What did that mean? Surely, that was code for something else, because if Micah and King Bain were on the same family tree, that would mean . . .

  Micah didn’t want to take that thought to its natural conclusion.

  King Bain had said nothing further on the drive here, instead taking the opportunity to read his emails and text messages. A king’s job was never done, but Micah got the impression Bain was biding his time. That he wasn’t in any rush to spill the details about his hospital room confession and was, in fact, not looking forward to it any more than Micah was.

  Micah wordlessly followed Bain up the steps to the imposing double doors, which had to be at least ten feet tall and made of thick slabs of wood not easily breeched by an enemy. Once inside, they passed through the main foyer with its twenty-foot-domed ceiling and enough splendor for the queen of England. They were greeted by gold walls, hand-carved tables, and matching floral arrangements that perfumed the vestibule.

  Bain strolled past it all as if he’d seen it a million times and no longer registered just how grand his home was.

  “This way.” Bain directed him out of the foyer and into the main hall that split the home into two equal halves. The wide passage from the front of the building to the back reminded him of the inside of a giant cathedral, with intricate murals painted on the arched ceilings and priceless works of art lining both walls. Their heavy footsteps echoed in the large, open space.