Stygian (The Dark-Hunter World Book 28)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

He teleported into his father’s office. “You rang down the temple?”

  His father gave him a cold, murderous glare. “Don’t even. Are you aware that the bastard Dante Pontis killed our informant?”

  Urian gaped. “Dante murdered his own brother? Damn, that’s cold even for a Katagari Were.”

  “Do we have anyone else in his club we can call on?”

  Urian scratched at his neck as he considered his sources. “Not really and probably not after that kind of tantrum. Pretty sure anyone who might be bought would have a serious sphincter clinch after that.”

  His father moved to stand in his face. “I want a spy, Urian. Find me one.”

  “Yes, sir.” Urian stepped back and spun on his heel to put as much distance as he could between him and crazy. Because as much as he loved his father …

  That was nuts and in case it was contagious, he didn’t want it to jump on him.

  Letting out a deep breath, he left the hall and tried to think of whom he could call in to try to get information. The Weres as a rule were always a bit shaky. They had to tread a fine line between Daimons and Dark-Hunters. And because of that, their loyalty couldn’t always be trusted or relied upon. Some had been known to hand them over without a second thought, if they thought it could buy them favor with Acheron or Savitar.

  Urian racked his three brain cells.

  A shadow moved to his right as a couple of Daimons headed toward their home for a feeding.

  Strangely, that gave him an idea …

  Teleporting to the nebulous no-man’s-land that hovered between the realms, he went to find the one creature who could walk just about any place he wanted to.

  “Shadow?”

  “No.”

  Urian snorted at the gruff, disembodied voice. “No, what?”

  “Whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want it. Take your ass and go.”

  “C’mon, don’t be that way.”

  Winds whistled in his ears. The shadows beside him solidified into a man who eyed him with malice as he crossed his arms over his chest and tsked. Just above average height and well built, Shadow had eyes of steel. And like his very soul, his shoulder-length hair that he wore pulled back into a short ponytail was neither light nor dark, but strands of varying shades that were trapped squarely between his two dueling natures.

  The demon was fearless as a rule, hence his personal motto that he feared no evil, for he was the most evil thing that stalked the darkness and called the deadliest night home.

  “Good to see you, Shay.”

  “No, it isn’t, and I’m not your fucking date. What do you want, asshole?”

  Urian smirked. “Really? Do we need all the profanity?”

  “What you call an overuse of profanity, I call sentence enhancers.”

  “Of course you do.” Urian shook his head. “I lost my spy at the Inferno and I could really use someone else.”

  He burst out laughing. “Are you fucking crazy? ‘Hey, Shadow, long time no see … got a dude killed. Could you go replace him? ’Cause I don’t like you at all, which is why we haven’t talked in a few centuries. So if you die, I really don’t give a shit.’ ” He pursed his lips. “Gee, thanks, Daimon.”

  Urian had forgotten just how sarcastic Shadow could be. “The reason I’m here is because you have a unique skill set.”

  “Yeah, I keep out of other people’s shit. You know, no soweth of the discord among the brethren. My feet do not head to mischief. They’re quite happy here at home.”

  “Shay …”

  “Uri …” he mocked. “No.”

  “Please?”

  “That only works if you’re a grown female. Naked. And in my bed or writhing on top of me. And brother, you’re none of those.”

  “You really won’t help me?”

  A tic started in Shadow’s jaw. “Maybe, but only if I get bored with reruns, have no more belly lint to pick, and something causes me even more brain damage than I already have, maybe, just maybe I might—might—do it. So what is it?”

  Closing his eyes, Shadow lifted his crossed fingers and said under his breath, “Please let it be to spy on a hot woman in her underwear.”

  Urian slapped him in the chest. “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

  “The hell I am! You know, I could do that any time I wanted, and notice that I never have. That makes me a saint.”

  Urian rolled his eyes. “Find out what Wulf Tryggvason is up to for me.”

  “That burly Viking Dark-Hunter bastard?”

  “Yeah.”

  He screwed his face up. “Couldn’t even give me Corbin. Effing figures.”

  As he started to disintegrate, Urian called out to him. “Thank you, Shadow!”

  “You can thank me by not getting me killed, too, Daimon. Really, that’s all the favor I need.”

  Oddly enough, Urian would settle for that himself because as he headed back to Kalosis, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

  That feeling only intensified as soon as he returned home and his cell phone lit up with Wulf’s and then Phoebe’s number. The Muppet could wait. He called Phoebe first, but for some reason, he couldn’t get through.

  Weird. So he tried Wulf.

  Again, no signal. Frustrated, he went through his messages. The first one was Phoebe’s hysterical screaming, “Your father has mine! He wants Erik! What the hell have you done, Urian! What the hell! You better call me as soon as you get this! Oh my God!”

  Um, yeah. What the hell was right.

  He listened to the next one, which was Wulf.

  “You motherfucking, worthless Daimon bastard! So help me, Thor, when I lay hands on you there won’t be enough left to flush, you hear me? You shitstain! You better call me back! Right now!”

  Well, that was certainly not the way to motivate someone to want to dial you back, buddy. In fact, Urian had the urge to lose his phone.

  And change his number.

  Yeah …

  Damn, Solren, what have you done? Gone for five minutes and what? You summoned the Furies? And their brats?

  Disgusted, he headed for his father’s office, but Trates caught him in the hallway. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Trates let out a tired sigh. “He’s on a rampage.”

  “He’s been on one for days.” Ever since Erik’s birth.

  “Yeah, but he’s all out of sorts at the moment. He had a conference with Apollymi. I don’t know what the goddess said, but he is fit to be tied. We’re all lying low for a bit.”

  Rubbing his forehead as he listened to furniture hitting the walls, Urian grimaced. “Did he kidnap Jefferson Peters?”

  “Who?”

  “The heiress’s father.”

  Trates shrugged. “If he did, I wasn’t in on it.”

  “Is that Urian?”

  “Run,” Trates whispered. “Just stay low till he cools off. I’ll cover for you.”

  Thanks, Urian mouthed before he vanished. While he wasn’t a coward, he just wasn’t in the mood for anyone else to shout at him tonight.

  His head throbbing, he strangely found himself in Xyn’s cave. Sighing, he sat down on her bed and hung his head in his hands as he remembered simpler times.

  God, how he missed it. Those nights of lying here with her. Of stretching back on her scales while she heated them to keep him warm. In all his life, she was the only one who’d ever really taken care of him.

  While he loved Phoebe to distraction, it wasn’t the same. She was his responsibility. He was forever worried about her. Sighing, he forced himself not to think about things that were long gone. This was the present.

  If only he could see some kind of future. But with every heartbeat, that was getting darker and darker. And less likely as a possibility.

  Urian had done everything he could to get word to Phoebe and Cassandra not to panic. Jefferson was safe. He’d made sure of it. Shadow was guarding him.

  But his
father was in such a state that he didn’t dare try a more direct line of communication. Not the way Daimons were dropping. Right now, Stryker was taking a shot at anyone who looked at him cockeyed.

  And even a few who didn’t.

  His phone vibrated again. Urian glanced at it. This time it was Shanus.

  What were they doing? Swapping his number around for shits and giggles? They were about to get him killed if they didn’t stop. This was the fifth time Shanus had called.

  Not the time or the day …

  Eyes wide, he exchanged an annoyed stare with Davyn, who rubbed his back comfortingly.

  Until his father neared them. The kill-them-all-and-let-Zeus-sort-them-out expression on his face caused Davyn to shrink away.

  “You ready, pido?”

  “Always.”

  His father nodded, but something in his eyes made Urian’s blood run cold. What had happened? He glanced over to Davyn, who looked as freaked out as he felt. For the merest second he had the thought to go exchange his black jeans and shirt for the armor Xyn had made for him centuries ago.

  And to get his shield, too.

  With no choice, they followed his father into the portal that was to take them into Dante’s Inferno, where Wulf would be waiting with who knew how many Were-Hunters and Dark-Hunters. While Wulf had been told to come alone, none of them were dumb enough to believe for one yoctosecond that he would. Not while Acheron was alive. He would protect his Hunters at all costs. Since Dante Pontis owned the club, they knew the panther Were-Hunter would be there, along with his large number of brothers and cousins.

  The rest was anyone’s guess.

  Urian took a deep breath and stepped in. Sure enough, as they appeared inside the nightclub, it was loaded for Daimon. Hunters abounded. Urian saw Wulf immediately and made sure to keep his expression stone and unresponsive, or else they’d both pay for it. He immediately moved over to the side so that in case that was his infant son Erik Wulf had strapped to him, he could help protect the baby.

  His father looked around with an evil, gloating smile. “How nice … you brought dinner for my men. If only everyone could be so considerate.”

  Several of the Daimons laughed. Urian wasn’t one of them.

  But one of the Dark-Hunters laughed. A tall, dark-haired one who looked about as crazed as his father had been acting lately. “You know, I almost like this guy, Acheron. Pity we have to kill him.”

  His father slid a sideways glare to the Dark-Hunter before his gaze went to Acheron. The two of them stared at each other without a word or emotion.

  Urian, however, lost his composure as he realized how many times he’d seen Acheron over the years. More than that, he had a sudden epiphany of who and what he really was.

  And why Katra visited them.

  Holy shit!

  Acheron was Apollymi’s real son!

  How had he missed it all these years? His father thought of himself as Apollymi’s son, but he wasn’t. He was just her adopted child. That was her full-blooded Apostolos. The child she mourned for.

  Acheron was why she sat by the mirror all the time. She was watching over him!

  Everything was so clear now.

  Why they’d been called back. The no-touch laws …

  Everything.

  Urian had to let him know. “Father?”

  “It’s all right, Urian. I know all about the Atlantean. Don’t I, Acheron?”

  “No. You just think you do, Strykerius. I, on the other hand, know your every flaw, right down to the one that enables you to believe in the Destroyer while she toys with you.”

  Urian gave the Dark-Hunter leader credit. Bastard just laid it all out on the table better than he could.

  “You lie.”

  And his father chose not to believe it. Damn … what could he do? How could people be so blind? Urian didn’t understand it. He never would.

  How, when given all the true, absolute facts, people would still blatantly choose to ignore them all.

  “Perhaps. But perhaps not.”

  Stryker turned to Wulf and dropped his gaze to the baby. He cocked his head. “How sweet. You went to so much trouble, didn’t you? All of you did. I should feel flattered.”

  A bad feeling went through Urian. His father was acting really, really peculiar. He glanced over to Davyn, who appeared equally concerned. Meanwhile his phone was vibrating again. He reached to silence it as his father headed toward him.

  ’Cause that wasn’t unnerving at all.

  To his instant chagrin, his father draped an arm over his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

  What the fuck was this? While it wasn’t unusual for his father to be affectionate, he’d never done it right before battle and in such a public manner. Urian scowled even more at the action and grew rigid as he waited for some shit to go down.

  “Children are the very thing we live for, aren’t they?” His father played with the leather laces that held his blond braid. “They bring us joy. Sometimes they bring us pain.”

  Was he blood-high?

  “Of course, you’ll never understand the pain I mean, Wulf. Your son won’t live long enough to betray you.”

  Urian opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, his father slashed open his throat with his dragon claw. Then he shoved him away.

  Stunned and unable to speak, Urian fell to the floor gasping, holding his hands against his neck to stanch the blood flow. But it was useless. It ran through his fingers and spread over the floor.

  “You didn’t really think I was stupid enough to fall for this trick, did you?” His father’s gaze bored into Wulf. “I knew you would never bring me the baby. I just needed to get the guardians away from Elysia for a while.”

  Wulf cursed at his words as he moved to attack.

  His father vanished into a black cloud of smoke while the Daimons attacked.

  “Ak’ritah tah!” Acheron shouted.

  The portal opened.

  One of the Daimons laughed. “We don’t have to go through—” Before he could finish the sentence, the Daimon was violently sucked through the opening.

  The others quickly followed.

  Meanwhile Urian lay there, blinded by his tears as he tried to breathe. He had to get to Phoebe. He couldn’t die like this.

  Ash ran across the floor and knelt by his side. “Shh.” He covered Urian’s hands with his own. “Breathe.”

  Warmth spread from Acheron’s hand through Urian’s body as the Dark-Hunters moved to surround them. With each heartbeat, Urian’s breathing became easier and the pain receded.

  Until it was gone.

  Urian took a deep breath as he realized that for reasons unknown, Acheron had healed him. “Why?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Acheron stood up and lifted the hem of his shirt until his stomach was exposed. “Simi, return to me.”

  The baby shot out of Wulf’s hands immediately. She turned from an infant into a tiny dragon, then laid herself over Acheron’s skin until she became a tattoo.

  A blond Dark-Hunter snorted. “I always wondered how your tattoo moved.”

  Ash didn’t speak. Instead, he raised his hands.

  One second they were in the Inferno. The next they were in the middle of Elysia.

  Urian shot to his feet as he ran to find his wife. Horrific screams and pleas for mercy rent the air. Bodies of Apollite men, women, and children lay everywhere. He hadn’t seen anything like this in centuries. Not since the days when humans used to raid their villages.

  “Phoebe!” Urian headed straight for his apartment. Fear tore him apart as every instinct he possessed told him what he’d find. And he was terrified of being right.

  Why hadn’t he answered his phone? Why?

  And the moment the door opened, and he saw the destruction in his apartment, he knew.

  He knew.

  Everything had been torn apart. Their furniture was overturned. The stereo had been ripped from the wall and Phoebe’s records, tapes, and CDs were litt
ered everywhere, as if his father had wanted to punish them for trying to have a life without him.

  Urian choked on his tears as he tried to come to terms with this moment.

  With this reality.

  Life with no Phoebe.

  It was like the day he’d lost Xyn. Sinking to his knees, he threw his head back and cried out in fury. How many times in his life was he going to lose everything? Why? Was it too much to ask to be loved? To have one person he could keep in his heart?

  One person for himself?

  Was that really so selfish?

  Damn you, Acheron!

  The bastard should have let him die! Why couldn’t he have left him where he was?

  This was so much worse. Phoebe was dead and it was all his fault! He’d done this to her. Caused it.

  Blinded by tears, he heard the others outside who shared his grief. That, too, was his fault. He’d failed them all.

  Shaking and heartbroken, he paused as his gaze fell to something glittering amid the wreckage on the floor. At first he thought it was a reflection caused by his tears until he realized it was something else.

  Something metallic.

  Phoebe’s necklace!

  Incredulous, he scooped it up and let it dangle from his fingers. This was all he had of her. Such a paltry trinket for a life so vibrant. And yet it was worth more than the Taj Mahal. More than all the gold and diamonds of the earth. Because it had belonged to her and it was all he had left.

  He would kill anyone who ever laid a finger to it. That was how dear and precious this worthless trinket now was. Because it was Phoebe’s.

  And he wished himself dead to be with her. Not here and now to feel this pain wrought by her absence.

  I can’t do this without you, Pheebs. He didn’t even want to try. Because honestly, he was too old and too tired to have one more fresh start in him. He was done with this life.

  Done with trying.

  Honestly? He just wanted to die and be done with it all.

  Ash found Urian on his knees in the center of the trashed living room. There was a small gold locket in his hands as the man wept silently.

  “Urian?” Ash said in a low, steady tone.

  “Go away!” he snarled. “Just leave me alone.”

  “You can’t stay here. The Apollites will turn on you.”

  “Like I care.” He looked up and the empathetic pain Ash felt from Urian made him take a step back. It had been a long time since Ash had come into direct contact with so much hopeless grief. He remembered a time, long ago, when he’d felt the same way, and it staggered him for a moment. “Why didn’t you let me die too? Why did you save me?”