Men And Beasts (Fate - Fire - Shifter - Dragon Book 6)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  “We’ll get you a burger.” They’d discussed food. The Burner had promised he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  The Burner let go of the wheel and clenched his fists. “I don’t eat people anymore. Not you, not a random normal. Not a Fate either, though right now a nice, juicy future-seer would do a body good.”

  Ladon zipped his jacket. “You were going to eat a Shifter in Texas.” He’d talked about eating a Seraphim, a member of the Shifter’s paramilitary cult. They’d been around for centuries causing problems for most of the world and wouldn’t be going away any time soon. Perhaps allowing Burners to eat the worst of them wasn’t such a bad idea.

  The Burner snickered. “Got to impress the minions.” He winked and tapped his temple. “Though I figured if I could get a Seraphim to come at me, I could claim self-defense.”

  Ladon chuckled. “I won’t come at you.”

  The Burner shook his head. “You or your machete.”

  “Machete?” He didn’t have a machete.

  The Burner’s face twisted up, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils pinching as if he smelled something foul. “You have threatened me with your big knife many a time, lover boy.”

  “Right.” Times like this, best to agree and not upset the walking bomb. “Sorry.”

  The Burner laughed. “I will get you home. You’re no fun like this. Not remembering.” He tapped his temple. “You’re too much like me and I don’t like it.”

  Ladon didn’t like the comparison, but the Burner had a point. He stuck out his hand. “Give me the keys. Don’t want you running off.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  Because, Ladon thought, you might forget where we’re going. He might forget why they were going where they were going. Someone needed to remember the princess. “Don’t call me lover boy. My name’s Nate.”

  The Burner stuffed the keys into his pocket. “No, it is not. You, my immortal friend, are Ladon.” He wiggled his fingers in Ladon’s general direction. “Human to your dino-dog.” He sniffed. “And the great love of her life, though for the life of me, I don’t see why.” He clicked his teeth. “You are what we call ‘high maintenance.’” He air-quoted the last two words with his glowing fingertips.

  “High maintenance?” Ladon could take care of himself. Mostly.

  The Burner laughed. “You need to buck up, Ladon-Human, oh Man of the Dragon, He Who Walks This World as Half the Dracos. Act your age and not feed the young ones’ drama.” He laughed again. “That’s what my mum told the neighbor ‘cause my da weren’t around. The neighbor, he should have had work, you know? Steady pay. But he hung around with us kids and got into our trouble because someone needed to watch over us. That’s what he said. But how was he gonna help us if he couldn’t take care of hisself?”

  The Burner’s accent had thickened into a syrupy blend of Manchester and America—many parts of America, but mostly the warm parts. “I think he was using us to distract himself from something he didn’t want to look at. Using the energy of youth to keep his heart from seizing up.”

  The Burner flung out his finger and twirled it directly in front of Ladon’s face. “She don’t need your Old Man whining, Brother Ladon Dragon Boyfriend.”

  The names didn’t make sense, and once again Ladon found himself on the edge of the hole in his mind waiting for a whipping tentacle to strip away yet another strip of understanding from his fragile and sensitive skin.

  “You smell different when you get that locked-up look on your face.” The Burner inched closer and sniffed. “It’s not good. Even I can tell that it’s not good.”

  Ladon only frowned.

  “Check-in, then food, aye?” The Burner pointed at the building. “Then we leave as soon as the roads are clear enough to drive.” He sat for a moment. “But I’m taking you to Rock Springs, got it? We need to find Captain Russia.” He nodded once, for emphasis. “Captain Russia will help us get you to the princess. He’ll help you and he’ll help me.”

  “Captain Russia?” There were Russians, now? The Russians he knew about were all higher-ups and scary types, not that Ladon was ever scared of anyone. Most of the Russians he knew were Shifters, scientists, and witches.

  Though when the Burner said “Russia” it carried the same lack of experience, lack of comprehension for Ladon that everything carried—like he knew about “Russians” only from reports.

  The Burner rolled his eyes back into his head. He looked like an exasperated six-year-old. “Scary Girlfriend’s man? The guy with the hat? He’s fast, like you, and a thousand times better looking.” He made an exaggerated disgusted face. “He’s so freaking pretty even I was impressed.” He smacked his lips. “I think the princess did something to him to make him so pretty.”

  The Burner seemed jealous.

  “I don’t think the princess’s abilities work that way.” Making actual, physical cosmetic improvements was beyond all but a few of the healing Shifters.

  The Burner shrugged. “Come, Boyfriend. Let us ride out the storm in the comfort of a Cheyenne, Wyoming, hotel.” He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and did an annoying cowboy chest-out scowl.

  Ladon scowled right back at him. “Why are you doing this, Burner?”

  The ghoul pulled the door handle. “My name is Billy. It’s been Billy for a long time now.” He pulled a duffle and a blanket from the back seat, then his sword from the door. Quickly, he wrapped it up, then stuffed it and its scabbard into the bag.

  The Burner opened his door. “Come.”

  Ladon stretched out into the storm. The wind bit his cheeks and lips, and blasted ice crystals into his eyes, but at least it made him remember that he was alive.

  Mostly alive.

  The Burner—Billy—watched him as solemnly as one of the normally frantic ghouls could. Like his mostly-under-control stink, Billy was not a normal Burner. Not normal at all. Not that Ladon remembered what “normal” meant.

  He did, though, know that they weren’t friends.

  Billy had a motive and being “the best man” at whatever “wedding” he liked to talk about wasn’t it. Because they weren’t friends.

  He’d said something about Ladon threatening him with a machete. If he had, how could they be friends?

  Ladon stuffed his hands into his pockets and trudged through the snow toward the motel’s office. A strong beat of some pop song or other pounded from the restaurant and several cars were in the lot, even with the storm.

  At least he wouldn’t be alone with a Burner tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the bed next to Gavin, curled against his side, Daisy sighed. She had wanted to cuddle after their epic sex, which had been just fine with Gavin. Time with his girlfriend made everything better, especially when she wanted it as much as he did.

  And yeah, it had been epic. Not in a marathon kind of way, but in an oh-hell-yeah, this is what I want kind of way, even if he was a bit irritated that it took her as long as it did to admit her feelings.

  But that was his problem, not hers. She had been understandably cautious, considering what Aiden Blake did to her. He would have been cautious too, if someone had layered on the fuckery the way that bastard had with Daisy and Rysa.

  Daisy had felt that she had no choice, which had, more than anything else, caused Gavin’s anger. What kind of doctor would he be if he couldn’t help his girlfriend find her way out of what that evil douchebag inflicted on her?

  Wind buffeted the hotel window but the hum of the heater blocked the high-pitched screeching that came with blizzards—snow rubbing on snow was not a pleasant sound. Not when you knew if you went out into it, it would kill you.

  Daisy now drifted in and out of sleep but sniffed any time another guest walked by their room door. He did as well—which was why he’d put the aids back in. Better to deal with a little storm-sounds-caused vertigo than not know why Daisy stiffened ever so slightly every fifteen minutes or so, even if his aids did make it difficult to sleep.

  She’d also
frown a little and glance at the two stinky, empty food containers sitting on the dresser.

  Gavin carefully wiggled out from under her arm. She sighed again, as content as she could be considering the circumstances that brought them to this hotel, and buried her face in her pillow. Gently, he kissed her shoulder, and dropped his legs off the side of the bed.

  Jeans, socks, shoes, and t-shirt on, he felt around for the room key and quietly gathered the trash. He stopped for a moment at the foot of the bed just to look at the cascade of black curls streaming out behind her head and at the curve of her hips under the blankets. The new aids picked up her soft, steady breathing and, thankfully, pitched it forward, in front of the storm, where it needed to be.

  She’d be here when he got back, still asleep and still perfect. Still his.

  He slid through the door, opening it only as much as he needed to pass through, and stepped into the hallway.

  This hotel looked like every other chain hotel he’d ever been in—beige vinyl wallpaper covered the walls. Beige and green industrial-strength carpet, the floors. The bright but diffuse lighting in the hallway lit every corner without lighting anything at all, so as to cause the least amount of annoyance for the guests.

  It was late enough that few guests moved around. Somewhere on the floor below, a shower started. In another room not too far away, a bed banged rhythmically against a wall.

  Gavin shook his head and smirked, wondering if he and Daisy had been as loud.

  No wind shear occurred with the building the way it had on the bus and he could walk without his new aids messing with his vestibular system. What would happen if the wind moved downward? Would he feel as if the atmosphere was drilling him into the ground?

  He walked along the hall toward the elevator bank and the room with the vending machines and the ice machine. He’d seen a big trash bin in there when he came up, and would dump the two foam clamshells there.

  The elevators were around a corner. He stopped and glanced back at the room. The hallway looked—and sounded—clear. Brandon and Ben were bunking three doors down in the opposite direction, and he’d seen Amir—or Asar, he didn’t know—on the floor as well. At least one other room on this side of the bend held a security team, but he couldn’t remember the number.

  Gavin padded along the carpet toward the corner, happy and content. The trash bag rustled and he glanced down at it. The new aids really were marvelous.

  He needed to spend more time with Brandon, though. Get a good handle on listening for voice enthrallers. Brandon had an entire bag full of miniaturized acoustic equipment and devices, and seemed to enjoy his job.

  Gavin rounded the corner into the elevator lobby.

  The man standing in front of the bin wasn’t all that different in build from him—they were both tall and slim. Both young-looking, and strong and wiry. The man, though, stared at Gavin with his cold, iron-gray eyes.

  He wore a white dress shirt and expensive-looking jeans. A leather satchel hung against his side. A jacket hung over the satchel’s top, tucked in for easy carrying. A silver stud gleamed in each of his ears, and a gray stocking cap sat on his head. The juxtaposition of the frat-boy clothes and the hipster head gear made him look oddly old.

  The long immortal in front of Gavin only pretended to be young.

  He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been able to get by the security detail, or the unnamed triad, or Rysa. This place, this floor, should have been safe for everyone.

  Yet it was not. A supervillain got in.

  The shifting velocity of the world took the hotel and changed its cardinal directions again. What had once been true north now became hot, blood-sweltering south. What had once been their true path west should have become Gavin running for his life.

  Gavin dropped the sack of garbage, but he didn’t move. Maybe he was too terrified to make a dash for Amir’s room. Maybe he really was a pathetic normal who couldn’t handle this life.

  Or maybe he’d enjoy killing Aiden Blake with his bare hands.

  Aiden licked his lips. “She never told you, did she?” He cocked his head as if listening to a whisper and his eyes did the focus-on-my-corneas stare so many Fates did while using their seers. “No, no she didn’t. I’d know.”

  He grinned the way both Daisy and Rysa described a Burner—his upper lip curled back more than pulled up, and he thrust his lower jaw forward to accent his teeth.

  He moved fast, also like a Burner.

  “You fight me, I kill her first.” Aiden clamped his hand over Gavin’s mouth. “I gave her a secret, eleven years ago. I told her how we marked you.” He tapped Gavin’s ear.

  This man and his sisters engineered the hit and run that almost killed Gavin’s younger brother? That took so much of his hearing?

  Aiden leaned closer and the tip of a knife or a needle pressed through Gavin’s t-shirt to his skin. Piercing pain radiated over the surface of his skin but he didn’t wince. He would not give this psycho any excuse to gut him.

  “Nice Praesagio Industries hearing aids you have there.” Aiden glanced around before tapping the bud in Gavin’s ear again. “Praetorian Guards. Cutting edge tech. I see that the Emperor Trajan smiles upon thee, little normal.”

  Praetorian Guard? He’d heard that term before. They were the Roman Imperial bodyguards. Was Aiden referring to the security detail? Mr. Pavlovich sent them, not Trajan Upton.

  Aiden sniffed. “My triad could have been the new Draki Prime. We could have been the Progenitor Prime if my uncle hadn’t interfered.” He pushed Gavin toward the stairwell. “But the what-was and the what-is no longer matter. Only the what-will-be.”

  Gavin stumbled but kept his footing. “The building is full of Praesagio security.” He should have run when he had the chance. But no, he had to charge headlong into yet another storm that might yet kill him.

  Aiden yanked Gavin closer. “You will walk ahead of me. You will not make any indication to anyone that our stroll is abnormal. You will do exactly as I say or I will kill you where you stand.”

  Gavin nodded.

  “If you disobey, I will leave you in strips on the floor for our lovely Daisy to find. Then I will fillet her, as well. Do you understand?”

  Gavin nodded again.

  “That’s right. You understand.” Aiden pushed him forward. “I told my flower that I’d come for you. I said that I’d kill you in a way full of blood and booms and optics so powerful the entire world will know.”

  The hotel was overbooked tonight. Several of the security detail had given up their rooms to families driven off the interstate. Families, with children. Babies.

  And outside, a sick dragon who could not fight back.

  Slowly and with great care, Aiden Blake placed a finger on Gavin’s cheek. “I no longer need that shard of the First Fate’s talisman.” He twirled his fingertip in a tight circle. “Vivicus gave us something much, much better.”

  The needle or pin or blade Aiden pressed into Gavin’s side slid through his t-shirt and into his flesh. Bright agony flared through every nerve in his body.

  “My Progenitor’s talisman is the gateway to the whole of the what-was-is-will-be. It grants the bearer visions. But eleven years ago, she kept it from me.” The needle curved through Gavin’s muscle along his rib, gouging and scraping and hooking into the bone. “Little bitch.”

  Gavin breathed through the pain. He had to stay conscious. Aiden Blake couldn’t hurt Daisy. He couldn’t kill everyone in the hotel.

  “That shard had been encased in hard, Ulpi-made glass until Vivicus was kind enough to splinter it for us.” The needle slid in deeper. “Glass picks up properties. Impurities, if you will.”

  Aiden Blake pierced Gavin with a needle of glass split from a cage that once held the piece of the First Fate’s talisman.

  “Why?” He shouldn’t talk, but what Aiden did made no sense.

  The pressure along Gavin’s rib stopped. “It took Vesuvius to break the First Talisman.” Aiden drew another ci
rcle on Gavin’s other cheek.

  Each breath screamed. His t-shirt felt sticky, but he couldn’t look down to see how much he bled. His heart thumped in his ears more as pressure than sound and he knew that each beat forced another pulse of his blood to the surface.

  Aiden pressed his jacket over the wound. “Hold this like you mean to carry it.”

  Gavin wadded the jacket against his side. He couldn’t run now. He’d have to walk slowly to not jostle the needle of glass sitting on top of his rib. If it stayed on top, he’d be okay. But if it worked its way deeper, it might pierce something important.

  “There’s a fog between us and the what-will-be.” Aiden pushed Gavin into the hallway. “I will see. I didn’t fight through the spike in my head only to open my eyes again in waters muddied by the ash of a burning world.” He snickered. “You’re going to help me clear the stream, young man.”

  “How?” Gavin walked as stiffly and as straight as he could, to hold the agony in his rib in place. “I’m not a Fate.”

  “Walk.” Aiden directed him toward the room he shared with Daisy. “No, but you are transformed. You are one of the phoenixes who has risen from the ash clouding my seers. You are new.”

  He spoke the word new as if he addressed God himself.

  When they reached the door of the room Gavin shared with Daisy, Aiden shoved Gavin against the wall, and again a white-hot, blinding flash burst from his rib and into his chest cavity.

  Aiden grinned and pressed on the needle of glass in Gavin’s flesh. “Feel that? You will never touch ma marguerite again, do you understand?”

  Gavin nodded.

  Aiden stood up straight and wiggled the bloody cuffs of his shirt. “Now,” he said as he straightened his collar, “let’s have a chat with my Daisy, shall we?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ladon walked between tightly packed tables into the dimly lit bar area of the restaurant attached to the dingy motel. The main section, which wasn’t much larger than the bar seating, had been blocked off by a stack of chairs and a fabric divider. A lone female employee wiped and mopped, and turned seats upside down.