“Pim’s not here and he didn’t answer my texts,” Imre said after scanning the parking lot.
“Do you think he ran?”
“No, I don’t. The blood we found, the bank account with all the money still there… I think he was killed.”
A ragged, dirty child ran toward them, determination etched on her small face.
“I know where the gold man is.”
“Aranka, this is Cezille.”
“You know where my father is?” Hope flooded her, but rather than being a comfort, it only made that knot in her gut tighten.
“They’re keeping him at the jail. I saw him through the window. You have to come or they’re going to move him. They say the Hunter himself is coming for him.”
“When he’s coming?”
Cezille shrugged. “Don’t know. Just heard the guards talking.”
Aranka’s first instinct was to travel the gold, but she even if she could get to him, she didn’t know how to get the collar off and they’d need that to help him escape. She could just go see, just get a look at him—
“—nasty things. Snarling things. I think they’re ghouls. Ain’t like no zombie I’ve ever seen,” the little girl said.
“Wait, you’ve seen zombies?” Aranka couldn’t help but ask.
“Oh yeah. Loads. Especially living out in the swamp and the grandmother is a hoodoo woman. They’re mostly harmless.”
“That’s cool.”
Cezille rewarded her with a big smile. “I like seeing new things. What are you? Are you like the gold man?”
“I’m a gold nymph and the man is my father, Glorfindel, King of the Orlaith.”
“That’s even cooler.” The little girl smiled again. “I’m sorry they took them. The Hunters are bad people. The one they work for, I used to think he was just a story the elders told us to make us behave. But then people started dying in the swamp.”
Aranka knew that they had to help this girl, and the people of Loup Marais. That meant making her father wait and dealing with whatever waited for them inside Devil’s Due first. It was what her father would want her to do, it was what Imre needed to do—this was what being a princess meant.
Didn’t that just suck?
Cezille looked up at Imre, stars in her wide eyes. “You could just burn it down. You breathe fire, right? Just burn it all down and make them die, like in The Howling.”
“You’re a loup garou and you like werewolf horror movies?” Imre eyed her.
“Who doesn’t?” She shrugged.
“That’s not how it works. A lot of the people they took, they were Drago Knights. That means something. I’m not going to kill them all. That’s not who I am.”
“Yeah, I know. But it was worth a try.” Her little shoulders slumped. “Fanchon has people here, if you need them. Like she promised.”
Imre looked torn and Aranka could feel his indecision, his concern for the waif wolf. “Can you do something for me?”
“Probably.” Cezille grinned again. “I can do lots of things.”
The little girl pulled her heart strings like nothing else. “If it’s safe, can you get a message to my father? Tell him that we’re coming.” She eyed the determined child. “Only if it’s safe.”
That would get her away from the bar and hopefully give her some measure of protection if shit went down ugly like they expected it would. She supposed sending her to the jail where more of these bastards were holding Aranka’s father wasn’t the best idea, but it was all they had at the moment and it was something she desperately needed someone to do.
“I can do it.” The girl ran off before either of them could say anything else.
“Thanks, Aranka. If we survive this, I’m thinking of asking Ondrej if we can give her the safehouse. She doesn’t have anyone.”
“No one? What about her people? The grandmother she spoke of?”
“The grandmother is more like a tribal chief. They believe in survival of the fittest and if she can survive, she’ll end up leading the tribe.”
“It’s just as likely she’ll end up—” Aranka shuddered.
“Yeah, and that wild sense of adventure? She reminds me so much of you.”
“If she wants to come, we’ll take her with us when we leave this shitburg.”
“A life on the road is no place for a child.”
“No, but Hidden Mountain could be.”
“A loup garou among the Orlaith?” he sounded doubtful.
“After what she’s done to help us, my father will make a place for her. And if for some reason I’m wrong, I’ll give her enough gold to buy her own town.”
“I couldn’t do this without you by my side. You make me better, Aranka.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“That you make me better?” He arched a brow.
She grinned. “Of course.” But she knew he understood what she meant.
“Let’s do this.” He held open the door to the bar and when she stepped inside, it had gone silent as the grave.
Every eye was on her.
She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Let them stare. Let them see the mate mark on her neck and know who she was here with.
Gold dust began to flutter from her fingertips and she didn’t bother to try to stop it.
A big male approached her. He wore a Headhunters’ jacket covered in patches. “Hey, sweet meat. You lost?”
Chapter 8
When he saw Charlie Squire approach Aranka, Imre immediately rethought his whole “can’t kill everyone” policy.
Fire bubbled in his throat—literally. He had to swallow the smoke so it didn’t shoot from his nostrils and that would play his hand.
“No, she’s not lost. Are you?” he asked the Headhunter president.
“Well, if it isn’t the baby Tatsu off his leash. They take the training wheels off your bike yet?” Charlie asked.
“I wouldn’t know, you’re the tricycle sniffer. You tell me.”
His eyes flashed amber and his nails grew three inches. “You’d best watch what you say in here. In case you hadn’t noticed—” his voice dropped an octave “—this ain’t Knight territory no more.”
“It’s obviously not territory where grammar is welcome either, you ignorant fuck.” Imre said this in a conversational tone, unfazed by Charlie’s display of aggression.
A couple of men at the bar laughed and Charlie snarled at them and they quieted.
“This sit down here, it ain’t a negotiation. It’s me telling you this ain’t your turf and you’d best get out of town.”
Imre looked around the bar and saw several faces he recognized. He made them all meet his eyes and when he did, their eyes all turned amber.
“Oh, I see. Am I supposed to be intimidated by your display?” The temperature in the room rose by twenty degrees. Everyone started to sweat, except Imre.
“We’re about to show you just how much things have changed.” He tapped his nails on the bar. “But don’t worry. We’ll let you live so you can tell your brother there’s a new boss in town.”
Imre laughed. “Your hunter left you ill-prepared.” He allowed his eyes to reveal the truth of what he was—his dragon shining through.
Charlie narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a wolf.”
“No, I’m a dragon.” He shot a stream of fire from his mouth and singed the tips of Charlie’s ears.
Peter Breslin knew what the Tatsu brothers were—he was the one who’d been running the witch who sicced the ghouls on them. He had another angle.
Sharp spears of gold pierced up through the floorboards of the bar and toward the wolves who’d gotten close to Aranka. “Bad dog,” she growled.
The gold dust was a constant stream from her fingertips and for the first time, the gold didn’t even interest him. Only Aranka—her safety was his priority.
“You sure this is your territory, mutt? See, I think it belongs to the loup garou, the natural born shifters who live here. The Knights liv
ed here in harmony with them, but you… you’ve shed blood on their sacred ground. You’ve destroyed alliances that kept them safe. They’ve got nothing to lose now. Except you, and those who’ve chosen to ride with you.” He shook his head. “Headhunters. Bah.” He spat on the ground.
Charlie launched himself at Imre, and Imre surrendered to his Change. He trusted Aranka could hold her own and his dragon form erupted. He was too big for the bar and blew the roof off, sending it flying to the abandoned junkyard in the next lot.
Fire bubbled in his throat and he let it burn—incinerating Charlie Squire.
And the loup garou, who’d waited in the shadows crept forth, ready to take their home back. Howls split the night and the fire spread to the rest of the bar, to the neighboring houses until the town was ablaze.
There were no firemen, no police, they’d all been Turned, or killed. The town would burn to the ground.
Including the jail.
Aranka fought, just like the rest of them. She called spear after spear of gold up from the earth to impale the werewolves, but it didn’t hurt them. Not until silver answered her call, the golden weapons now bearing silver tips.
He could feel the strain on her body, her life-force, because it pulled on his as well. He summoned another wave of fire and sprayed it along the front of the fight where the Headhunter soldiers, those who used to be Drago Knights, surged in force.
Imre burned with them. Each one of them who died screaming, he endured his pain with him and it was as if his bones had turned to brittle ash. Part of him died with each one—and he might’ve faded with them, if not for Aranka who kept him anchored. Kept him strong.
His arm burned hotter than the rest of him, like lava and acid where the scales of an Alpha erupted. The fire that rose in him now was Alpha fire and he had a feeling he’d need to save it for whatever they’d encounter at the jail.
He spread his wings and grabbed Aranka in his claws and scanned the burning town for the jail.
Imre found it quickly and landed on the roof, changing to his human form right as they touched down. He was getting damn good at this.
There was something wrong, something dark here. He could feel the poison seeping up from the ground. It felt much like the ghouls.
“This Peter Breslin. He isn’t here, but something else is.”
“Ghouls.” Imre nodded. “But… different.”
“My father is in there. If he’s been bitten—”
“Don’t even think about that.”
“But I have to, don’t I? What if he’s been infected by the ghoul? Or worse, Breslin himself? My father has been left here, wrapped like some juicy present. He has to be bait. So what else is waiting for us?” She shook her head. “He didn’t think twice about leaving the Headhunters vulnerable. He knew what you are. He knew you’d come. He did nothing to protect what was his because he had a much more important end goal in mind.”
“Don’t you think his end goal with your father was to increase his wealth?”
“Maybe.”
He squeezed her arm. “You’re not alone. You can do this—you’ve already done it. And if the worst has happened, you know what your father would want.”
“Let’s do it.”
He ripped the door off the hinges and flung it down and ghouls surged up from the dark and spilled out onto the rooftop.
The only thing that would kill them was the Alpha fire and he thanked the gods he’d evolved to fight them—he didn’t have time to think about what that meant for him and his brothers. Only that he could fight in the here and now—only that he could burn them to ash with Alpha fire.
Imre had to weigh that with the building integrity, and how likely it would be that they could Glorfindel out, provided he hadn’t been infected.
In the end, when he saw them closing in on Aranka, and she was without enough juice to call gold up from so far below, he chose the fire. He could fly and get them to safety if he needed to, and he knew Glorfindel would always choose his daughter’s life.
So Imre allowed the fire to erupt from him spraying the ghouls and reducing them to ash. But they kept coming, kept filling that dark pit of a hole from somewhere beneath.
The foundations of the building began to shake and he didn’t know if it was more of the ghoul army, or the gold nymphs.
It didn’t matter, because as soon as there was a break in the tide, Aranka darted for the doorway, thrusting herself down toward the spill of ghouls.
Imre rushed after her, breathing dragon fire until the Alpha fire recharged, knowing the ghouls would regenerate, effectively closing off the path behind them. He knew their odds were shit, but he refused to believe that they wouldn’t make it, because if he gave in to doubt, he might as well lie down and let the ghouls have him now.
“Dad?” she called.
“Aranka? Is that you?” The voice echoed through the walls, but came from somewhere deeper. It was as if—yes, gold veins crisscrossed through the walls of the jail, put there by Glorfindel himself.
Aranka plunged forward, trusting he was behind her, trusting he had her back—and he did. Whatever came, he would fight for her.
Their path was suddenly suspiciously clear. Whoever controlled the ghouls at the moment wanted them to go to Glorfindel.
Imre played out every scenario in his head and the one he kept coming back to was the one where Glorfindel had been bitten.
He made up his mind then what they would do. They’d take him back to Hidden Mountain. Ondrej had been cured, so they’d have to try with Glorfindel.
Enough life had been lost. The Drago Knights had chosen to be bitten, Glorfindel had not.
They’d betrayed the Knights and that punishment was death.
Imre and Aranka emerged in a room where they were faced with an impossible choice.
The key to Glorfindel’s collar hung high above the cells, but it was attached to a pulley system that would lower Cezille into the opposite cell of slavering ghouls.
“Oh gods, Imre!” Aranka grabbed his hand.
Imre would incinerate the ghouls. He drew on his Alpha fire, but Glorfindel called out. “Don’t. If you breathe fire, there’s a curse that infect both Cezille and myself.”
The building began to burn around them. Timbers crashed to the ground and even the concrete began to char.
“Aranka, you have to get out.”
“Not without my father.”
“No, Aranka.” Glorfindel said quietly. “Not without Cezille.”
“Daddy,” she whispered.
“I can fight. I’m not afraid!” Cezille cried out as she struggled.
“Look at me, daughter. You know what’s right. She’s a child.” Glorfindel smiled at her. “I’ve had my years, and they were many. Don’t ever doubt the greatest thing I ever did was raise you, Krysanthe, and Voshkie.”
Aranka’s lip quivered. “I can’t.”
He nodded slowly. “You can, and your sister will need you to help lead the Orlaith back to peace and prosperity after I’m gone. Take Cezille. Give her a home among our people knowing this is what I wanted. This is what I choose.”
Her grief washed over him in a tidal wave. Imre didn’t think he could stand much more. He grabbed her hand. “Do as he says. We’ll make it right.”
Aranka shook her head. “There’s no making this right.”
Cezille fought against her bonds, seemingly fighting this sacrifice. “No, don’t do this. I don’t need this. I can do it. I can fight! Let me go out fighting. I’m fit. I’m strong. I’ll survive!” she squealed.
Aranka stared at the key while the building burned around them.
“Do you want me to do it?”
“I don’t want anyone to do it.” She wiped the back of her eyes with her fists. “I love you, Daddy.”
Glorfindel closed his eyes and smiled. “I’ll see you in the end.” Then he looked to Imre. “Protect her. Finish this. Don’t put that on her.”
“I swear.”
Aranka g
rabbed the key and unlocked Cezille’s bonds. She crawled over the scaffolding and toward the exit.
And Glorfindel was King of the Orlaith no longer.
His golden eyes turned black and his veins stood, dark like vines against his golden skin and he charged the cell, snarling and salivating for flesh.
“The Alpha fire…” Aranka whispered.
“No.” Imre said. “We’re taking him back to Hidden Mountain and the gold chambers that healed my brother.”
“If we take him back and we fail, we put all of the Orlaith at risk. How are we going to get him back?”
“Not we. You, Aranka. You can travel through the veins of gold faster than I could fly. He still has the collar on and we have the key. Use the magick to make him sleep until you get him to the mountain.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“But I know you can.” He kissed her. “I believe in you.”
He cupped his hands over her around the key and willed Glorfindel to sleep. When he collapsed, Imre turned Aranka to face him.
“You ran the veins just to see a ghoul. Don’t tell me you can’t run them now to save your father’s life.”
“It matters now.” As if that somehow explained everything.
“It always mattered. See yourself the way I see you. The way Cezille sees you. And I’ll meet you at the mountain. I’ll be right behind you.”
She stood frozen.
“I love you, Aranka. Believe in yourself.”
And then, she and Glorfindel were gone.
Chapter 9
Hidden Mountain
Three Weeks Later
“You never did listen to me, Aranka.” Her father croaked from his sick bed. They were the first words he’d spoken since that night in Loup Marais.
“Nope. And I never will when I think you’re wrong.” She threw her arms around him.
“You can be right, this time.” He coughed. “My throat’s so dry.”
“You swallowed a lot of gold dust on the trip home. I’ve never scaled the veins so fast.”
“I didn’t know you could. Not like that.”
Imre: Drago Knights MC (Mating Fever) Page 6
