Wild Side: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 7 (The Temple Chronicles)

by Shayne Silvers

  Instead? The Mad Hatter, one of the most dangerous people in the world, my ancestor…

  Had just watched me kill the only thing that mattered to him, the moment he was about to save him.

  Below, Matthias Temple lifted his eyes, and what I saw in them made even Wylde cower.

  Then he screamed, and the ground began to smoke around him. He stumbled to his feet, shambled up to his son’s body, scooped him up, and with tears streaming down his face, the two disappeared.

  “I think I prefer the broken old man over your broken ex-fiancée, anyway.” I turned to find Athena staring down at my hand, where a handful of sand was dribbling through my fingers. The Hand of God. I had destroyed it without even realizing it.

  Indie no longer had control of Athena.

  The Goddess stretched her arms above her head, sighing.

  Chapter 60

  I stood from the table, panting. “All this just to set me up?” I snarled. “Like a coward, you hide behind assassins? I thought you were the Goddess of War. Wisdom. More like pettiness and treachery.”

  She shook her head sadly, as if pitying me. “All is fair in love and war, my child.”

  “End this,” I snarled. “Just you and me. Enough with your games, Godlet.”

  She sighed. “Believe as you will, but as much as I loved that little drama, it was not my doing. That is the doing of a man hungry for power. This once-friend of your ancestor. Castor Queen. A Maker. He keeps his cards close, never letting his Beast fully join with him, even after all this time. Extraordinary willpower…” She waved a hand. “But he did this on his own. Why he chose your face as the vehicle can only be answered by him. If you ask very nicely.”

  I frowned at her. “But you think you’re going to kill me, so that wouldn’t seem likely.”

  Her blank face stared back at me, neither confirming nor denying. Instead, she turned her back on me, carrying her goblet with her to the center of the pavilion. “I have always found it odd that after waking from a long rest, oftentimes, all one wants to do is take a nap,” she mused, not looking at me. I brushed off the dust from the Hand of God, my mind racing.

  What was my situation, now? I pleaded with Wylde for insight, but he seemed wary. He didn’t know about the Hand of God, or what I called magic, or gods. What he did was as natural as breathing. One with the universe. It wasn’t something to control and dominate, but something to work with. Like one’s own arm. You didn’t battle with your arm. You simply made it do.

  Had Indie died from me destroying the Hand of God? Was the war over without Ichabod and her? Or was Athena in full control now, and with a single thought, had she simply killed all my friends? I didn’t have time to go look, because now that she was free from the Hand of God and Indie’s… partnership – because it was very obvious that it had never really been control – I wasn’t about to turn my back on her for one second. But she obviously had no problem turning her back on me, and she had insinuated that I should go ask Castor his motivations myself…

  “Wait a minute. You’re not going to stop me? You’re going to just let me go?”

  She turned, suddenly wearing armor. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I have time to manage a Manling before I go back to bed. Like a bedtime story. Except in this story, the Manling dies.”

  And the owl, forgotten by me, raked across my back with a scream, ripping skin open, catching my right hand in a talon, piercing a hole clear through my palm. Wylde, as if woken from a deep slumber, roared, and blasted the owl from the air. Charred feathers skidded across the polished marble floor, bumping into the table. I hissed, staring down at my hand.

  It was… scratched and bloody, but nothing serious like I knew I had felt. I frowned.

  Then I looked up. The other godlings were now openly staring. At me. And at Athena.

  Her face never changed. A cold, emotionless mask. Then a helmet of feathers slammed down over her face, like one of those famous Spartan helmets, but fluffier. Still, I knew that even though made of feathers, no blade would break it.

  I released my control, nodded back at her as if at a fencing partner, and then cut loose.

  I swarmed the helmet with pests, fleas, lice, vermin, and Athena shrieked, screaming and gasping as she struggled to tear it free. I immediately filled the dark space between her cheeks and the feather helmet with starlight, scorching her face with the radiance of a hundred supernovas. The helmet burst to flame, sparks showering the air, and she lurched back gasping, face a charred ruin, oozing golden ichor.

  The Blood of a God.

  “You should consider retirement. Reminisce about the good old days, while you still can.”

  She stared back at me with the hatred of Lucifer looking upon God, face a black mask, and hair entirely gone, looking like a smoldering chunk of charcoal. “I will not grow old in bed, but in battle. I am a warrior. We shall see if you are up to the task, Manling.”

  “Step right up, m’lady. This rogue – although no gentleman – will oblige you,” I said, tipping an imaginary hat and executing an overly subservient bow.

  She screamed in outrage, and lunged at me. Simultaneously, my mind was invaded by my own memories, and swarmed with a rolodex of facts, knowledge, and learning. Like a speed-read of everything I had ever stuffed into my brain.

  Too late, I realized it was an attack. Her fist struck me in the mouth, and I felt my war paint flash with heat as I went flying. I struck the table, but managed to roll away just as the marble slab crashed to the ground, barely avoiding a messy decapitation.

  Prime numbers, multiplication tables, philosophical rants, psychological profiles, spreadsheets, and the Periodic Table began reciting over and over again in my mind, competing to be heard over each other, in one symphonic orgy of a nerdgasm.

  Memories – scraping my knee in our labyrinth, seeing Gunnar shift for the first time when we were kids, driving my first car, using magic on purpose for the first time, my parents running into my room in the middle of the night to turn on the lights as I screamed about monsters under my bed, a dozen first kisses, my first heartbreak, and my first funeral – all zipped through my mind, scraping me raw.

  I shook my head, dazed from the blow, and exhausted as my own mind fought my body.

  I sought the emptiness inside of me, barring out all thought, and desperately gave in to Wylde, my pure self. He scooped me up like he was driving past me on a motorcycle on a long, winding road on a summer day, not a care in the world as he mentally cruised through her attack.

  Because he didn’t have any of that useless stuff in his head. No memorization of asinine facts for Athena to bombard him with.

  And he was a solitary sage, a creature of silence. When not in war, he sat alone by a fire and relived his memories himself – with the same tenacity many in our world watched reality TV.

  So, the second phase of her attack didn’t bother him, either.

  Athena’s boot slammed into the place where I had been lying, to find me suddenly standing beside her. I struck her with the exact opposite of wisdom, pulling deep from the brief look I had seen of that other goddess – the one I presumed to be Aphrodite. Pure lust and emotion rolled over Athena, halting her in her tracks as she began to shake her head as if at an army of gnats. Because she was the virgin goddess, and had no idea how to deal with this new sensation.

  Then I yanked the traits from another nearby god – Hermes – infusing her with his penchant for trickery and deceit. Basically, dosing her with an overwhelming sense of paranoia – because Hermes was known to con his fellow gods in favor of mortals. And I let her imagine this, that he was here simply to watch her fall to one of his elaborate schemes – and lose a war to a mere mortal. And that the reason Aphrodite was here was to celebrate with me, afterwards.

  Then I connected her to Wylde, that creature of pure instinct. He lived by memory, sure, but it was more of a supreme understanding of the world around him. Like a Zen warrior monk.

  He couldn’t comprehend her gathering of u
seless knowledge. He simply accepted what he saw, and utilized it.

  That was his core. His heart of fire, of passion, of conquest. Not just war, but a wild sense for domination that was very literally infused into his blood. He didn’t worry about how far away a star was, or how many people worshipped him, or how hot something needed to be to melt.

  He saw the world in pictures and video.

  Knowing that something melted if too hot. And froze if too cold.

  How hot or how cold? Didn’t really matter. He simply knew it, as if one knew his heart needed to beat to stay alive. He didn’t know how many beats per minute that was. Why would that matter? He just knew that it needed to beat.

  The mix of sensations dominated her.

  “What… is this?” she gasped, furiously slapping at her burned cheeks, laughing, shouting, and giggling in random outbursts as lust, paranoia, and wildness fought for dominion of her treasured mind.

  “Life, toots.” And I throat-punched Athena, which I have to admit, felt pretty damned cool.

  I felt cartilage crunch as she flew into one of the pillars, cracking it. Dust rained down on us, and for a minute, I feared the whole thing might collapse. But it steadied, and other than crumbling chips of stone, the pavilion remained.

  “Silly Godlet, life is for mortals,” I muttered to the tune of that cereal jingle.

  I briefly touched my face, wondering why my mouth wasn’t full of broken teeth where she had hit me. But my face was unharmed. I pulled my hand away to find blue chips of dried blood, and stared. The war paint was flaking off, and… it must have been an armor of sorts. But… only against a god?

  Athena was scooting away on her rear, no more armor. Her toga was ripped and torn, flashing skin here and there, and I felt Wylde growl with interest. I knew I was leering as I approached her, and judging by the terrified gasps from her lips, she sensed my thoughts as well.

  She tried to attack again, but I batted it away easily. I used my shadow to tie her arms together, and then rolled the lust I had felt for Aphrodite into a ball with silken whips fraying out from the edges, like a tattered ball of yarn.

  I set it to spinning directly before her, so that the threads of lust struck her in steady slaps.

  She groaned in pleasure, while struggling to scoot away at the same time, knowing it was an attack of some kind. She flopped onto her side, then her stomach, and tried to crawl away.

  Wylde very much liked this new development.

  I grabbed her by the back of the toga, and ground my knee into her spine, arching her back to hear me as I spoke directly into her ear. “End… this…” I gasped, struggling against Wylde’s surge of emotions, because he had only one thing on his mind right now, and it wasn’t for a family film’s audience.

  Aphrodite must have been enjoying herself, judging by the climactic moan I heard a few columns away. I didn’t look, using all my mental strength to dance that line between Wylde and myself. I needed him, but I couldn’t let him become me. I still had things to do.

  And I was pretty sure his idea of a good time would not be appreciated by the other attending gods. At least what I had in mind could be justified. A fight to the death.

  “Take me, Elpis…” she gasped.

  Wylde almost overwhelmed me at that, suddenly animalistic at hearing her begging in such a specific statement, because her words could be taken in multiple ways. Aphrodite did her thing, very loudly, again, as if urging Wylde on. I held onto my control by a hair, knowing what Athena had truly meant, even if she had said it in a way that appealed to Wylde, the one she knew had to be in control.

  So even though she wanted this over with, she was still playing games, trying to make me lose my inner struggle with Wylde.

  Take me… as in, kill me. But according to Wylde, take me meant something entirely different.

  Also, she had called me Elpis…

  The Greek word for Hope…

  She groaned, struggling against the lust whips still hitting her. I shut them down instantly.

  She gasped as the pain from her injuries suddenly replaced my whips. “Grant me what I wish, Manling… What I hope for…”

  To die in battle.

  Wylde roared up within me, and I used that surge – although for different goals entirely – to snap her neck. Somehow, she managed to utter one last thing before her soul fled her body.

  Thank you…

  Wylde roared in outrage, storming back into his cave, snatching up three women on the way as he shouted incoherently. A ring of power exploded around me, not physically altering anything, even though it should have incinerated every biological atom at contact, but a spiritual blow, that helped knock Wylde back, solidifying my line of control. I gasped, panting, not really understanding, until that point, how close we had been to merging.

  I had killed her, and in return… she had saved me. From myself.

  I stared down at the dead goddess at my feet, then slowly lifted my eyes to the watchers. Aphrodite was openly… enjoying herself, but I only saw this through my peripheral vision, not letting myself get a full look at the open wares she was proudly displaying. “Abstinence kills,” she purred, laughing. I shook my head. Poor taste, I thought.

  Hermes nodded at me, and – although still a blur – I saw his face for a very brief instant, and it looked understanding, not vengeful. A thank you for giving his sister what she had asked for. A clean death from a worthy opponent, rather than Wylde’s idea of a victory dance.

  I knelt by her side, and bowed my head. No warrior wanted to die in times of peace. They wanted to go out swinging. Well, true warriors. The ones that fought for the joy of fighting. Not those protecting something or defending something – although they were also warriors.

  I’m talking about those who truly enjoyed the art of war. Sons and daughters of battle.

  I thought about calling Charon, but hesitated. I had just killed one of his upper-level managers. Obviously not his boss, but someone above him, for sure. I glanced at Hermes, frowning. The blur nodded, and suddenly appeared immediately beside me, feet flashing golden with a unique whispering sound like a mechanical hummingbird.

  “Always so messy,” he murmured in a surprisingly normal voice, nothing that made my ears instantly bleed.

  “Thanks for the coin that one time,” I said, not looking up, fearing he would break my mind with some godly strength in my current state.

  When I did dare to look up, he was gone. So was Athena, and not a drop of Ichor remained.

  I propped myself up, still slightly dazed from the mental onslaught Athena had used. Echoes of calculations, passages, quotes from books, and other random facts still whispered in my ears. And the memories.

  But I had stuff to do. I climbed to my feet, turning towards the entrance.

  But it was gone. I frowned, spinning in a circle to find that the pavilion had no exit. Aphrodite began to clap. I slowly turned to face her, sure to use only my peripheral vision to see her. Still, that was enough to almost make me collapse into a puddle of drool.

  I actually found strength in the lingering aftereffects of Athena’s attack, using the useless facts to keep me distracted from the goddess of lust, allowing me to focus and be rational.

  I sensed her pouting. “You’re no fun. I’m sure I could help you find a way to pass the time while your blood cools. I’ve never bedded a Godkiller. Makes a girl downright forward.”

  “Girl or hussy?” I said in a faint whisper.

  Without missing a beat, she said, “Darling, I can be either, or anything else you desire… You already warmed me up, so I’m ready to—”

  I gagged her with my shadow, stuffing it deep into her mouth, wrapping it around her head, and then binding her hands and feet. Without looking at her.

  I stared down at my hands, shocked at the sudden flurry of motion, and wondered how the hell it was possible with Wylde still angry at me.

  No one wants an easy kill… he muttered angrily. If I can’t get what I want, I won’t
let you have it either…

  I blinked. Wylde had just… cock-blocked me? I began to laugh, turning my back on Aphrodite. Well, that was something. He had just saved me by trying to be petty.

  A few of the silhouettes around me clapped, but when I turned to look, they were all motionless, vague forms again, no way to tell who they were. No way to know if I had just killed their daughter or sister. If I had just hogtied their daughter or sister. I also ignored the sound of bags of coin being tossed my way. The gods liked to pay their debts, having lost their bet.

  I muttered to myself as I stalked up to the balustrade, wondering how the hell I was supposed to get home. But Aphrodite had been right. My blood was too hot at the moment. And even though Athena was dead, the war wasn’t mine to fight. And if I had been down there right now, I probably would have just ended it with one self-sacrificing blow to shake the world to its core.

  But one thing kept me sane. Either Indie was dead, or I would get to go kill her soon.

  Punish her for what she had wrought. But if she was dead, and Athena was dead, and Ichabod was dead, maybe the war was already – or soon would be – over.

  Chapter 61

  I stared down at the war, shifting my eyes constantly, but it was chaos. I didn’t see Hercules or Ashley, but I did see Gunnar still surrounded by a pack of wolves, as if I had only just looked away for a moment.

  Less wizards remained, and their attacks and defenses had less impact. Wolves and Greek soldiers fought more out of habit than anything, looking bored and confused. But the aerial fight had ramped up.

  Dragons flew through the air, blasting fire at hideous flying naked chicks. I grimaced. Harpies. Like mutant women, covered in scales or balding patches of fur, bellies distended as if pregnant, and birdlike talons for feet.

  Icarus batted his feathered wings, commanding the harpies from above, using some of them as a shield to guard him from the dragons as he directed his army. The harpies were fast, and didn’t hesitate to sacrifice their own for a kill. And there were a lot of them.