by Nikki McCoy
Due to the low number of Vanaras, this hadn’t been a problem until the past fifty years or so. Warriors with unquestionable honor and integrity were falling to their enemies only to rise again as Vanaras. Men and women who Roshon had personally known to be avid followers of their faith. It didn’t make any sense for these warriors to renounce the afterlife.
Even more peculiar was the fact that none of them were carrying out vendettas, the only reason to become a Vanara. They were simply attacking their former kind, and Roshon was convinced it was by command of the Djinn.
While he knew in his gut the Djinn had everything to do with this phenomenon, he could neither prove nor prevent it. It was infuriating to be so helpless against the assault of their enemy, and the reason why the festivities held little joy for him.
“Roshon!” Brice clapped him on the back, a wide grin parting his red beard. “I had my doubts about this alliance but your efforts were a success. Our clan will flourish with the Mirkshaws at our side.”
Roshon tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’m glad you’re pleased. If you’ll excuse me, sir, it’s been a long day and I have other business to attend to.”
The leader screwed his red, bushy eyebrows down in a frown. “And forgo the feast and dancing? Where is your woman? She should be here to liven your spirits.”
“She’s upstairs putting the little ones to bed and I promised to help. Enjoy the night, sir. We’ll have plenty to do in the morning.”
He left before Brice could get in another word. Through the throngs of people, he caught sight of Kent’s tall figure and steered toward him. His second-in-command was easy to spot with straight ebony hair that fell to his waist and pale skin where most Rakshasas boasted a golden tan. He stood out among the other fair-haired members of their clan like a dark, avenging warrior with his unusual looks and constant, somber attitude.
Kent had elected to stay on duty for the night and was watching the celebrants for any signs of disorder. At Roshon’s approach, he gave a cursory nod. “Chief.”
“I’ll be in my office if you need me. Make sure Brice finds his way to his bedroom alone. I don’t want the other leader claiming ours was taking advantage of his Mirkshaw women without formal permission.”
A smirk twisted Kent’s lips. “You might as well ask me to stop the sun from rising.”
“If I did, I’m sure you’d find a way to pull it off.” He smiled at his friend’s grunt then turned to go down a hallway leading to a back staircase.
Trax ran swiftly ahead of him, a streak of tawny fur blending into the shadows. The panther was more than just a companion or birthright. He was Roshon’s geis. The other half of his spirit in the physical manifestation of an intelligent animal. All Rakshasas received their geis around the early age of three when their spirits divided into two separate forms. The human half retained logic and rational while the animal half became an entity of itself, containing all of the Rakshasa’s baser instincts. Together, they were two parts of one whole. Connected in all respects yet independent of each other.
He felt Trax’s relief mirror his own when they reached the second floor. Neither of them could stand the cacophony of large crowds, instead preferring the cool forests and company of his close-knit group of friends. Warriors all whom he trusted with his life.
He resisted the urge to go to the guest bedroom he shared with his mate and twin boys. They’d come for the night’s celebrations and would return home with him in the morning. Brice had asked him on many occasions to move in but life in the leader’s sprawling house was not one he would choose for his family.
At the door to the office reserved for his work, Trax sniffed then let out a low rumble, ears pinned flat to his head.
“What is it?” Roshon sent through their telepathic link.
Trax hesitated. “I don’t know. Something…”
Roshon palmed the small dagger in his boot then unlocked the door. Everything was as he’d left it except for the open window letting in streams of moonlight. Not a guest, then. “Whoever you are, state your business.”
Trax moved first, gliding into the deepest shadows on the other side and emitting a loud purr. His joyous contentment sang through their link. Puzzled by his geis’ odd behavior, Roshon flipped on the light then sucked in a sharp breath. A ghost from the past stared back at him. An almost spitting image of himself with long, ash-blond hair, a trim goatee and sinuous build. It couldn’t be.
“Cai?”
The man stroked Trax’s sleek pelt then rose to his full height. “I go by Phoenix now. It’s good to see you, Roshon.”
Roshon couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. Yet, there was no mistaking who stood before him. With only five years difference between them, his little brother appeared every ounce the warrior he’d always envisioned Cai would have become.
There was just one flaw that marked them worlds apart. The emptiness that shone from the depths of Cai’s gray eyes and spoke of unfathomable loss. To anyone else, it might look akin to madness. To a Rakshasa, though, the desolation of existence without a geis was plain to see.
For a fleeting moment, Roshon wanted to welcome his brother back with open arms. As children, they’d been inseparable. Even after Cai had been condemned for the deaths of their entire clan, including their parents, Roshon hadn’t wanted to give up on him. He’d loved his brother dearly.
That was the past, however. The man before him was no more than a stranger who housed one of his enemies.
He closed the door behind him and tightened his grip on the dagger. “If you have Drakon business with anyone here, you’ll have to deal with me first.”
“I’m not here at the bidding of my Drakonem.”
The choice of words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Don’t tell me you’re here because of that thing inside you. I know about the Djinn you keep.”
Phoenix’s face remained expressionless. “Not all Djinn are evil. You know that as well as I do. Besides, if Sasha were a threat, your geis would’ve sensed it.”
He ground his teeth, unable to argue with that. While Trax was essentially a projection of himself, the cat was also the embodiment of his intuition with a personality of his own. When Roshon tried to detect any sign of caution in his geis, Trax merely yawned and padded over to the throw rug in front of the desk, saying, “He’s got a point.”
Reluctantly, Roshon let his nerves settle and slid the dagger back into his boot. “I can’t be too sure anymore. The Djinn have found new ways to combat us.” After pouring himself a tumbler of liquor from a nearby cabinet, he leaned on the edge of his desk. “Why are you here, then?”
For the first time, emotion flickered in Phoenix’s eyes. Unease. “I came to ask for your help.”
“My help?” Roshon repeated in utter shock. “You’re asking for my help?”
“I am. A Drakon I know, Saden, is assigned to find proof of a Vampyre’s crimes against humans. I have good reason to believe this Vampyre is also involved with the Djinn.”
“That doesn’t concern me. I have my hands full fighting for my own kind against the Djinn.”
“The Vampyre, Gabriel Aikins, and the Djinn are working together to impregnate human females without the need for bonding. Gabriel is systematically kidnapping females and holding them against their will in order to procreate more of his kind. He gives half of the offspring birthed to the Djinn who raise them to become hosts.”
Ice spread like tentacles through Roshon’s veins. “It can’t be. The Djinn don’t possess that kind of power.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t looked into Gabriel’s experiments myself. Somehow, he’s found a way to harvest his own kind and is disposing of the females he uses. As far as I can tell, this has been going on for several decades.” Phoenix lowered his voice. “I don’t think I need to tell you what this could mean for the other demon races.”
Roshon was already ahead of him, his thoughts whirling at the implications of
what he was hearing. With countless Vampyres on their side as willing hosts, the Djinn would gain advantage over everyone who stood in the way of their quest for power. Add to that the Rakshasas they were somehow manipulating into abandoning the afterlife and all of demonkind could be facing the rise of an army.
And what if the Djinn didn’t stop with the Vampyres? He couldn’t rule out the possibility that they might also be able to impregnate the females of his kind for the same results.
The idea of Rakshasas fighting for the Djinn might’ve been ludicrous if not for the inexplicable rash of Vanaras attacking his warriors of late.
Roshon cleared his throat. “Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t. But I’m not doing this for me.”
“This is a lot to ask on behalf of a friend.”
Phoenix’s gaze shifted to the window, his body stiffening minutely. “Saden is no friend of mine, though he is a good man. He still needs to find irrefutable proof of Gabriel’s experiments and, as it is, he won’t be able to do that alone. The ruling Vampyre authorities in this area are under the impression that Gabriel is doing his work legally. They’re providing him with leisonguardes for protection. If Saden fails, the entire case against Gabriel will be thrown out.”
Roshon studied Phoenix for several tense seconds. Though it all seemed too unbelievable to be true, he couldn’t find any deceit in his brother’s demeanor. “What would you have me do?”
“I think Saden plans to infiltrate one of the facilities where Gabriel is holding the humans. It’s the only way he’ll get the proof he needs. Gabriel will be prepared for this. Saden won’t be able to do it on his own. That’s where you come in.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to pit my clan against a horde of leisonguardes and who knows how many Djinn to help a Drakon.” He gave a cynical laugh and shook his head. “It’s insane.”
“Not your whole clan. Just you and a small group of your men. If Saden’s Drakonem finds out he’s working with you, his assignment will be compromised and Gabriel will be acquitted of the charges against him.”
Well, that makes it a fuck of a lot easier, he thought sarcastically.
Phoenix withdrew a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and set it on the bookshelf behind him. “That’s Saden’s address. If you do this, you should also know he’s working with a member of the DCM. As far as I can tell, she’s on his side.” He went to the window and climbed onto the sill.
“Cai,” Roshon called, purposefully using his brother’s birth name. He wanted to ask for clarification. What really happened the day their clan was slaughtered and why Cai had betrayed them. Why he still hosted one of their enemies. The questions he’d wondered for so long sat like acid on the tip of his tongue. Yet none of them came out. “It was good to see you again.”
For the span of a few heartbeats, the mask of his brother’s stone countenance fell away. His face reflected the same churning turmoil Roshon felt inside. Then it was gone, and they were once more merely strangers with the same blood. “And you, Roshon.”
He leaped from the window, leaving Roshon to stare into the empty space left behind. Countless minutes passed as Roshon reviewed their conversation over and over again in his mind. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when his mate walked in and disturbed his thoughts by taking the tumbler from his hand.
“What bothers my handsome mate at this hour?” she asked demurely.
Roshon sighed and let the nuances of her British accent distract him from his reverie. The classic beauty of her soft angles, hazel eyes and chestnut hair captured his focus. Her warm breath mingled with his as he pulled her close for a lingering kiss then pressed his face to the curve of her neck. “You are my sun,” he whispered.
“Always and forever,” she replied softly.
He heaved another breath and drew back. “My brother was here.”
Emma frowned in confusion. “Cai? I thought he was dead.”
“So did I. Apparently he hasn’t finished his service as a Drakon yet.”
She turned in a circle then put a hand to her breast. “Is he here to—?”
“No. He, uh…” Roshon chuckled lightly. “He came to ask for my help.”
“And what did Trax think of this?”
A smile nearly broke through his grim cast. She had a way of cutting to the truth that still amazed him after their two hundred years together. As a geis, Trax was as close to a living lie detector as he could get. If Phoenix had harbored any ill will toward him, Trax would’ve known it. The panther’s golden eyes met his with all the conviction they’d held before.
“Trax greeted him as a lost brother.”
Emma nodded and squared her shoulders. “Then I think you should help him.”
Her faith and courage humbled him. She was so much more than he deserved in a mate.
“It won’t be so easy.” He explained to her the situation and danger if he were to get involved. While their kind wasn’t in current opposition with Vampyres, neither were they allies. In helping Saden, he ran the risk of drawing the attention of the house of Avram to his clan. Not to mention the Djinn in league with Gabriel.
There was more at stake than just the potential for further threat from their enemy.
His mate mulled over his words when he was done. Finally, she canted her head to the side. “What do you want to do about it?”
Roshon scraped a hand through his hair. “I honestly don’t know.”
Emma stepped into his arms and kissed him lightly. “Decide nothing tonight. In the morning, we’ll talk again. Okay?”
Her clean scent permeated his being and calmed his nerves. “You’re right. Why dwell on that when I have more important things to occupy my time with?” He lifted her until her legs wrapped around his waist then buried his face in the mounds of her breasts.
Emma’s bright laughter rang out above him. “At least you’ve got your priorities straight.”
He growled in answer and took possession of her mouth again, grateful for this woman that tempered his soul.
* * * *
Sweat trickled down Daneya’s temples and between her shoulder blades. Her muscles screamed in protest and arms ached from tension but she ignored all of it. The weight of the sword in her hands felt good. It had been too long since she’d practiced with weapons other than her guns. Going through the motions she’d mastered years ago brought her thoughts into focus like nothing else could.
She forgot about her stress and concentrated only on the blade moving as an extension of herself. It dipped and soared with her body’s twists and turns.
“Nice moves.”
She gasped and swung the sword down in a wide arc. Saden caught the flat of the blade between his palms only inches from his throat. If he was alarmed in any way at her slip, it didn’t show. Instead, amusement sparked in his eyes as she panted an apology and lowered the blade. His hair hung in wet locks around his face and the scents of musk and aftershave told her he’d taken a shower before coming to find her.
“We need to talk.”
Daneya reined in her swell of relief over seeing him up and about. She hadn’t left his temporary bedside until an hour ago, just after midnight, to work out her stress in the weapons room. Although some color had returned to his skin and his reflexes were obviously good, she couldn’t get the image of his deathly pallor out of her mind. It had shaken her more than she’d thought possible. She hadn’t cared about the fact that he couldn’t die or the information they’d managed to steal from Gabriel.
All that had mattered was keeping him alive and with her.
Sometime during the long hours of watching over him, that realization had hit her with daunting clarity. Instantly, she’d admonished herself for being ridiculous. It was Vincent she should’ve wanted at her side, or Erin or Floyd. Any of her friends in the DCM. But after a while, she’d stopped trying to convince herself of that. None of them had ever made her feel as safe as Saden did just by being
near. Or as accepted.
She walked over to the weapons wall and slid the sword into its hanging sheath. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Your daughter is a good healer.”
Everything in her stilled. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” His green eyes glinted with steely determination to get to the truth. As he slowly advanced on her, the softness of his tone made his words all the more compelling. “It should’ve taken me days to recover from my wounds. When I called Blade, he swore he knew nothing about a healing. I know you and Cherri are fully human. That leaves only Kennie. Who was her father, Daneya?”
He stopped at arm’s length, exuding quiet confidence that sent her heart pounding against her ribcage. The anger fighting its way to the surface was hard to hold onto in his presence. She backed away, needing more distance between them. “You have no right to ask me that.”
Saden’s jaw flexed in irritation. He seemed torn in conflict for a few moments then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was locked in the Drakonem realm for a two year punishment at the time Kennie was born. I had a friend who was helping me through it when he could. His real name was Marco.”
Daneya let out a startled breath. The name brought with it a rush of memories―some good, some bad. The Marco she’d known had been her friend, her family and her savior. It couldn’t be the same one Saden was referring to. That would’ve meant he had become a Drakon before Mckenzie’s birth, an idea she refused to entertain.
“I knew Marco was protecting a human in his off-time,” Saden continued. “A girl he considered a daughter to him. My punishment ended at the same time his began. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d done, but whatever it was, it warranted the highest punishment we have as Drakons. Marco was sent to a Drakonem in South Africa and made a warder. A guard who remains trapped in the Drakonem realm for the duration of his sentence and oversees the order and punishments of other Drakons. Before he left, he asked me to watch over you and your new daughter.”