Disloyal Souls: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 8)

by Jamie Magee

  Did it matter that it wasn’t? Could she not feel the waves of lust he had for thousands upon thousands of females? Did it matter that it was only lust? Fuck yes, it did, at least the bile in her gut said it did. Betrayal, by far was the sickest of emotions any soul could feel. When someone or something rips the veil from your eyes and robs you of every ounce of security you have, when they show you that you were nothing more than a fool...it burns deep. It changes everything. Nothing can be trusted, ever again. Innocence is lost.

  A curse or a blessing, no matter what it was, Zosime Lambros, craved an end to the visions and to the molten swell of emotions she felt throbbing through her. She prayed to the Gods that they would rip her from the realities that were dragging her back to life.

  ***

  “Necromancy. Necro-fuckin-mancy!” Thrash growled in frustration. “Of all the fucked, vile crafts your mother could’ve taught you—this is your fucking specialty? There are enough dead assholes walking around as it is!”

  No one was particularly listening to the wolf barking the same curses they’d heard nearly moment to moment as the last hours had ticked by. Shade was too busy prowling the windows and doorways, glaring down the illusion they were all stuck in. Illusions powerful enough for him not to entirely believe that Bastion had done anything at all. Gwinn’s brow was drawn as she sat perched on her knees watching the impossible.

  And Bastion? Well, Bastion was sporting his classic shit-eating grin, the one that said he had outplayed the old people once more.

  “If you wanted a fuckin’ woman there are better ways to go about it, son. This is fucking asinine!” Thrash chanted on.

  Shade tossed a cynical glance in his direction. Out of all the fucked shit they had been through, Thrash was hung up on some chick on the floor, a chick Bastion poured out of a cigarette pack. Well, he poured her ashes out of the pack—then did some mojo shit to turn said ashes into a body. Shade still wasn’t positive how Bastion managed to get the smokes on him when they’d all been in lock up, but he supposed if he were a witch, he would have come up with something along the same lines.

  Shade couldn’t go there with that line of thought, though. If he did, he’d have to realize Bastion prob knew they were going to end up where they were. Shade liked Bastion and all, but like with all oracle type fucks, Shade would just assume not notice their weirdness. If he let himself think of one odd thing, it would lead to another. Then all the fucking sudden, shit wasn’t black and white any more. Keepin’ it simple was how Shade had landed where he was in life. Good people and a good woman. No need to complicate shit now. Especially considering life liked to get all fucked up on its own lately.

  The most Shade had said to the kid was, “You better not be smoking. I told you to quit that shit.” Hypocritical or not, Shade wasn’t so sure how mortal or immortal Bastion was, and the kid was kinda growing on him. Sucking in toxic poison didn’t make much since when it could end up being a nail in your coffin.

  Shade’s one and only priority was getting the fuck out of the trap they were in. It felt too familiar for his comfort. Plus, his head was still twisted on how any of it happened.

  It was a normal fucking day; they had Church, a jacked-up vote, then Shade was doing mortal shit, fixing a bike for a legit fuck. Then what? The law shows up with some bullshit warrant. He smelled shifter bullshit all over that front, and did his part to express his levelheaded opinion on the matter. Thrash was feeling the same vibe right about the time Bastion was thrown down on the ground like a common criminal.

  They were all sure no matter what this shit was about it would be over within the hour. So what if Akan knew a shapeshifter or two, so did the Sons. The only bullshit that happened across the next hours were more charges added. By the time they were brought before a judge (that was not a fucking Judge!), Shade was over playing the mortal game. He was going to take them all out. He couldn’t care fucking less if a courtroom full of mortals watched all the skinwalkers change form before their eyes. It served them right to be scared shitless after what they had put him through.

  That didn’t work. Obviously. Gwinn called him off. He could do just about any fucking thing—anything but ignore a desire of hers. When they were transported, and they all heard the fucks freaking out because apparently, they didn’t crash or some shit, Gwinn’s grin was a bit too all-knowing for Shade to swallow. He was just glad it was over. But it wasn’t over. They rolled up to a Castle. Yes, a castle. This joker wasn’t big enough to make Queen Elizabeth’s crib look like a shack, but it was damn sure giving hers a run for her money.

  Rooms after room were filled with precious artwork, furniture and banners that if Shade or anyone else took the time to look at closely might recognize. Instead, Shade and Trash had invaded the armory and taken inventory, they pulled every sword down from their places of honor on their way there and back. Gwinn found a living greenhouse full of herbs and plants that would make any witches heart skip a beat.

  The snakes, owls, and every other oddity of an animal were settled close enough to the waterway under the castle and garden to make Shade question the reality of them. Who could sleep with snakes in their house? A witch could. Sure enough, they’d snuggle right up to that joker. Shade? Hell fucking no – anything without legs was just as evil as that book everyone talks about accuses them of being. A shiver ran down his spine just thinking about the ones he had seen in the garden alone.

  The urgency Shade and Thrash had used to explore the castle took away the ‘wait a fucking second’ aspect of what they were doing. A castle. A big ass castle. In the Ninth Ward? Please, aliens made more sense. But according to the asshats outside, they were in the Ninth Ward. At least that’s what they said when they pulled up to the historic crib, stopping at the drawbridge, that extended over a moat. You know the kind with alligators and snakes. The devil’s den!

  Thrash and Shade both shared a glance as they listened to their guard’s yammer on about how this was a bad deal. Bastion and Gwinn cracked half smiles like they just got the joke. So far the joke was still on Shade. They were pushed over the drawbridge days ago. The fucks outside sat on the other side of the water in their van armed to the hilt waiting and watching. No matter how they tried, the fucks couldn’t get in—the kicker was Shade and his crew could not get out.

  So the question was, if they didn’t seal the prison Shade was in, who did, and why for fuck’s sake? He wasn’t buying Gwinn’s comment that this was a good thing, nothing that took his freedom was a good thing. Ever.

  The assholes outside were all Shade or anyone else inside could see beyond the thick fog that lay over the grounds. It was like the castle was planted in the middle of a black hole. To some degree, it was both a witch and warrior paradise. The witches had all they could ever need to do their craft, and the warriors had a fortress that was impenetrable.

  But it was hell to Shade. It was a mad fucking joke someone was playing on him, and he just wanted the fuck out. He wanted his swamp house, his woman, and peace and fucking quiet. Was that so hard to accomplish? Apparently, it was.

  It was literally like someone had plucked them from reality and stuck them in the middle of a mind fuck. The castle was pristine, built for elegance that most assuredly clashed against Shade and Thrash’s kuts and shit kickers. No one else cared, but food appeared three times a day, and there was plenty of whiskey too, but it took Gwinn until today to get anyone beyond her and Bastion to trust the garb.

  Shade doubted Thrash would have popped the top on Jim, John, or Jack if he didn’t watch his son pour a chick out of a cigarette box. By now Thrash had worked his way through all but two swigs of Jack. The spirits did nothing to still his mind or mood, if anything it gave him something to do and the others a vacation from his ranting.

  Shade tossed a slow glance at the girl on the floor. She was all right, he guessed. Too damn white if you asked him. The shaved sides of her head, and the long locks that were shaped like random snakes did nothing to flip his on switch. As far a
s bodies go, she had one. As in she had one now, and for a box of ashes she could turn a head or two. Not his, though.

  Shade’s glare slipped to Bastion trying to figure the kid out. No offense to Bastion, but if Shade had to guess, this female could swallow him whole. That whole ‘do not fuck with me’ attitude bloomed right along with all her other features; high cheekbones, narrow face, and a sharp nose met by a sophisticated chin. This female not only screamed bitch, she also screamed high maintenance.

  “Bastion, look at me. Did ya hear me?” Thrash said slamming his empty bottle down so hard on the table that the wood split in two.

  The female on the ground flinched her fingers that were gripped on the stone floor, but she stayed still in whatever illusion Bastion had her in.

  Bastion reluctantly looked up at his father.

  “Is this your mothers doing? Is it? I need an answer.”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really,” Thrash snapped.

  Bastion shrugged. “It’s our family’s duty. If she were here, she would’ve done it.”

  “Done what? What have you done?” Thrash pushed.

  “Helped,” Bastion said with a lopsided grin.

  “I need more than one-word explanations. I’m damn sick and tired of you and your mother pulling strings behind my back, thinking it’s funny as fuck to twist my head. I’m not an idiot. I want answers and I want them now!”

  Shade stopped glaring at the van sitting in the fog outside and turned his attention to Thrash. He was right there with him, but as it stood, if Shade acted out like Thrash was, he was likely to get the cold shoulder from his female. It was too dangerous when she was pissed at him. Better to keep her happy and at his side, at least then he could focus on what had to be done— which was get the fuck outta here.

  “It’s a creed Mom signed, forever ago.”

  “A creed.” Thrash repeated.

  “Maybe an oath, I don’t know the wording. I just know that people were pissed at Reveca and Mom called them off with this promise.”

  Shade was into this convo now. He already knew this bullshit was dripping with witch mojo, but knowing it was part of some mess Reveca left behind just gave Shade all the more reason to have his guard up. His mind was clicking through all the rooms he could scour through for more weapons.

  Over the years, he’d been blindsided enough by Reveca’s forgotten foes to know the drill. As the youngest with the Sons, the others had sworn to him that he hadn’t seen anything. Taking a hit once a year or so was nothing compared to how it once was.

  “She hasn’t always been the witch you know,” Thrash had warned. He’d been with the Sons the longest, arguably he made the Sons the Sons, because before him, Talon was the only undead marching with a mortal army.

  “Before us,” Thrash said as he nursed a blunt, “she was out of control, or at least her coven claims she was.” He averted his eyes from the curious stare Shade had landed on him. Not willing to tell him from day one he’d been in love with Evanthe, a woman far more mysterious than Reveca, and as far as he knew, much more balanced. “They say one minute she was a depressed fool, the next she was a crazed warrior goddess hunting a dark god. She’d provoke the God, then use the closest army she could find to aid her mission to kill the un-killable.”

  Thrash drew in deep on the smoke as Shade’s stare questioned why. Shade wasn’t one to look for trouble, just the man that stood up and gave trouble second thoughts when it came knockin’. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to be saddled with a female who was into stirring the pot for kicks.

  “Don’t worry about it, they gave her medicine or some shit,” Thrash said clearly regretting he opened up as much as he did.

  It took Shade decades of quiet conversations, usually right after they’d fought a gruesome battle on Reveca’s behalf to get Thrash to admit that he was aware that her coven had spelled Reveca to forget her rage, or rather, they quieted it down a bit. “That’s why she doesn’t talk about it with us. I don’t reckon she remembers what she was pissed about.”

  The askew, sardonic smirk dripping from Shade’s lips said it all. She may not remember, but her enemies sure as hell do.

  Judging from how old the castle was, along with the weapons, all from before Shade’s time, some from before Thrash’s, the youngest and the oldest Son shared a quick glance that assured them both they were on the same page. Undoubtedly they were fighting an ancient enemy that neither of them had heard of.

  Furthermore, if they had some stroke of fucking luck and were able to ask Reveca what was what, she wouldn’t know either. Her not knowing would spin a few wheels in her paranoid mind and have her going to war with her coven. And no, she would not care that the last thing anyone had time to do was fight with witches as of right now.

  A cold calm came over Thrash as he stared his son down. Discovering his existence had changed everything in Thrash’s long life. Pretty much ‘shit got real.’ Before, dying didn’t mean much to him. He’d had his fill, more than he deserved. Going into battle, for whatever reason, was something to do, a moment in time that made him feel, a reason to be awake and aware of the world around him.

  Now it was different. He’d never wanted to live more than he wanted to now. More so, he had something to lose. Not a woman he had never understood, but a son that he ached to know. “Who did your mother appease, and when?”

  Bastion tilted his head to the side, over exaggerating himself pondering. When Rome was beneath the Greeks, before they got all you know, assholish and decided to take over the globe.

  “B.C.” Thrash said without moving his lips. “Is that what you’re saying? During the time when your mother’s crafts were not all that odd.”

  Bastion lifted a shoulder then went back to staring at the female who was now breathing, they were soft and very far apart breaths, but they were breaths. “She was hush-hush about it for the most part. This is a debt, one I was to pay if she wasn’t able.”

  “And how did you know when to pay this debt?” Gwinn asked carefully, knowing the other males in the room were about to combust with rage.

  Bastion glanced at Gwinn, baffled as to why she was confused. “When Talley and Mia came back ‘round, not when they were crazy and shit. Right after. When they became primordial.” He tilted his head, “I was supposed to bring her back as soon as there was someone in place to protect her...when the universe made way for the dead to rise.”

  It was hard to agree or disagree with Bastion calling Talley and Mia anything. Primordial was a term reserved for the first, most would give the first few generations the same title. They were the beginning. The deal was, no one was ready to wrap their head around what Talley and Mia were the beginning of.

  It was a win that they stopped Zale from coming back and that Akan, whatever his role might have been in the last battle, walked away empty handed. Yes, there was a throne to be claimed as a spoil. But what did a throne gain? Was Talley now capable of raising the dead? All dead, or some? Did he have to do some mojo like Reveca, or was his gift more gruesome, like the zombie shit that was all the rage with the mortals now?

  Some of the Sons blamed the mortals for all of this, said they attracted it. Myth becomes a reality with belief. There were enough people waiting for zombies to appear to damn well make sure it happened.

  For now, the Sons had all silently agreed to watch, wait and see. For immortals, wait and see could take them hundreds of years into the future. It had only been weeks, perhaps months— no one was counting. Talley was still trying to figure out how to bounce back. Until he found his feet, the last thing he’d be trying to understand was a throne he shared with Mia.

  “I got the ashes the night little Dove came home. I was waiting for the moon to shift. The best I can figure, it was time to rock and roll.”

  “The best you could figure,” Thrash said turning and looking hopefully at the bar, so far no more bottles had appeared. With a grunt, he took off looking for another bar. He knew his l
imits, and he’d passed them. He was going to have to find a chill zone before he could finish this conversation.

  Gwinn waited until his footsteps were far in the distance before she spoke. “Did Reveca hurt this girl or her family?”

  “Would hurting her not hurt her family?” Bastion said keeping his eyes focused on the girl. He didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but he did. “I’m not entirely sure. Mom was vague about everything accept how and when these ashes must rise.”

  “Did she see this? Did she know this day was coming?”

  Bastion settled himself so he was leaning against the base of a high wing backed chair. “She thought her gift was shit. Said she was the weakest of all in her bloodline.” A tiny smirk dangled from his lips. “I told her she just skipped the madness, only saw what really mattered.”

  “Did that help?” Gwinn asked quietly. She still wasn’t so sure how she felt about the haunt that was becoming her and Bastion’s only teacher in Reveca’s scattered absence.

  He was quiet for a long moment. “I’m not sure if it helped her, but it helped me to know what to study.” He nodded at the girl. “Mom had never seen as far as her before. When she died, the world was new. Mom said when she rose the world would be weary. It would be the age of change.”

  “You don’t know who she is?”

  “I have suspicions.”

  “Is she dangerous, Bastion?” Gwinn asked more forcefully.

  He glanced back at her. “To who? You and me? More than likely not.”

  “Dangerous to Reveca and whoever stands up for her?” Gwinn asked thinking of Shade and how he had no rest from the constant battle of trying to decide who to stand behind when all he wanted was his family back the way it was.

  Bastion pursed his lips in thought. “I can’t say she would be besties with Reveca.”

  “What can you say, Bastion?”

  His grin grew. “That the dullness of this estate is now gone, we should be well entertained until our gates open.”