Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  “I’m glad,” she said in a sultry voice. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too,” he replied. “See you in a couple of days.”

  Roc hung up the phone and sank onto the couch. Apparently, he hadn’t been missing Sylvia as much as she missed him. If she was starting to have feelings for him, he hated lying to her. But maybe those feelings were part of what caused the mind shifting the last time they made love. He wasn’t anxious to experience that again, along with the guilt over his dead fiancée that accompanied the incident. The question of why and how had gnawed at him for days. He had to find out the answer.

  He glanced at his watch. Falhman expected him in less than half an hour. Something about taking Owen on a field trip. Irritated, he pushed off the sofa. Babysitting Sylvia’s non-shifter son was not a job for a Promised One, even though he kind of liked the guy. However, Falhman was calling the shots, and if that’s what he wanted him to do, that’s what he’d better do.

  Dad would flip if he knew his ticket to the top of the rogue world was being trained this way. Better keep that knowledge under wraps for a while. His father wasn’t a patient man, and Roc was sure he would ask soon for an update. Not a conversation he wanted to have.

  Owen couldn’t stop talking and it was starting to get on Roc’s last nerve. He steered the car into a parking slot and shut off the ignition. “We’re here, Owen, and if you can manage it, I’d suggest you keep a lid on the questions until after we’ve had our drinks and left. This is a rogue bar we’re going to, and I don’t think they’ll take kindly to a babbling idiot.”

  Why Falhman had sent them to Rogueman’s Bar was a complete mystery. He’d protested, saying it wasn’t a safe place for a non-shifter, but Falhman didn’t seem to care. Finally, Roc had decided it must be some kind of proof test for him.

  “I’ll follow your lead, Roc. No questions. I’ll just observe.”

  “Do it discreetly. When people stare at rogues it makes them edgy.” He shifted into a mimic form and shoved open the door to Rogueman’s Bar.

  Eyes glittering with wonder, Owen stared at Roc’s new shape. “When do I learn to do that?”

  Guilt crept into Roc as he heard Sylvia’s protest over her son’s forced love of shifters ringing in his head. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Takes years to master this.” Disappointment drew down the corners of Owen’s mouth. “Besides,” he hastened to add, “it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, especially for a normal guy like you.”

  The buzz of bar noise coming out the opened door stopped and heads swiveled as they entered. Ignoring Roc’s earlier advice, Owen stared back at the onlookers. Roc jabbed him toward the bar. “Act normal,” he whispered.

  Nodding, Owen took a seat at the bar, propping his feet on the brass rail.

  “What’ll it be, mates?” the redheaded bartender asked. He gave the beer mug in his hand a swipe and set the polished glass on the countertop.

  “Two beers,” Roc said as he slid onto the barstool next to Owen. He jerked a thumb toward the still quiet tables. “Tell the clientele to mind their own business.”

  “Who’s doing the requesting?” the bartender asked.

  “Me.” Roc leaned toward him. “And Falhman.”

  The bartender paled at Falhman’s name then waved his hand at the crowd. “Nothing to see here, blokes.” One-by-one the customers returned to their own conversations.

  Roc scanned the crowd. Red and green flashed around the shifters like blinking traffic lights gone wild, a sign of low-level mimic shifters losing ring auras. He spotted a few steady auras, pulsing powerfully, mostly at tables with low-level shifters. Probably planning the kind of crimes his father had spent his life on, using other men to do his dirty work then throwing them away where they’d never be discovered when he’d finished with them. The sound of glasses striking the bar drew his attention to the bartender.

  “What does Falhman want this time? And who did he send to do his dirty work?” He held out his hand to Roc. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

  Roc contemplated Johnny’s extended hand for a minute, debating his answer. If Sylvia was going to have control of this bar he’d best not alienate the help. “Roc,” he said, shaking Johnny’s hand. “Roc Decker.” His sharp intake of breath told Roc his reputation had preceded him.

  “I heard we had real contender for a Promised One this Samhain.” He looked at Owen. “And yer?”

  Owen thrust his hand into Johnny’s. “Owen Jordan Riley.”

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed as he touched him. “Yer not a shifter.” He withdrew his hand from his grasp.

  “He can tell that? How?”

  “What’s he doing in here?” Johnny asked.

  “He’s my protégé.”

  “Without a ring?”

  Roc’s hand shot out and grabbed Johnny’s wrist. “Should I give him yours?” Johnny’s head shook vehemently. Roc released his grip. “Then don’t question me.”

  “No, sir. Yes, sir,” Johnny stammered. He moved the beers closer. “On the house.” He retreated until he hit the counter behind him then he sidled to the right out of Roc’s reach. “Let me know if you want more.”

  Admiration shone in Owen’s eyes. “Impressive. Glad I’m your friend.” He took a swig of his beer. “How did he know I wasn’t a shifter?”

  “Shifters can sense the presence of other shifters, especially if they are shifted. If they touch someone who’s not shifted, they can instantly tell if he is a shifter or non-shifter.”

  “These guys can sense I’m not a shape shifter?”

  “At this distance, it’s more likely they sense one of us is a shifter, rather than you’re not. Although special shifters-”

  “Like you?”

  “Like me, can tell the difference between shifters and non-shifters without touching them.”

  “How?”

  “High-level shifters can read auras.”

  “Can they read everyone’s and how high do you have to be?

  “Yes, they can read everyone’s. Usually only council members or potential Promised Ones have that skill. Although someone with a strong, original blood line and a ring cut from close to the center of the magic stone might have the skill.”

  “Is your ring like that?”

  “It is. You’re full of questions, aren’t you? I would have thought your mother would have taught you.”

  “She didn’t teach me much. Probably because I stood my ground and rejected her life style. I have to catch up now that I want to be a shifter, too. Besides, how else do protégés learn?”

  Roc tipped his head and studied Owen. “All in good time, my friend. There’s no rush.”

  The front door opened, sending cool air brushing against Roc’s back. He glanced at the mirror behind the bar and then did a double-take. Sylvia! What was she doing here?

  “Grab your drink, Owen, and head for the table at the end of the bar.” If he was lucky he could make the move, keep Owen out of her sight, and get out without her noticing them.

  Owen rose, sliding his beer into his hand. Roc took another peek at the mirror. Sylvia stood at the door, her mouth drawn into a tight line, staring straight at her son.

  “Busted,” Roc whispered to Owen. A quizzical expression came over Owen, and Roc nodded toward the mirror. “Your mother is here.”

  Upon seeing his mother’s reflection in the mirror, he waved her forward. “This is a surprise,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “You didn’t tell me Mom was coming.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She jabbed Roc in the chest. “What are you doing here with my son?”

  “Falhman’s orders.”

  She studied him. “Roc?”

  “Yep.”

  Gripping his sleeve, she yanked him away from the bar.

  “Damn the
man!” she said through gritted teeth. “Do you have to follow him like a lemming?”

  “As I’ve said before, he’s running the show.”

  “He’s exposed Owen to a host of shifters. He can’t read their auras. Won’t know if they are friend or foe, and he hasn’t any magical protection from them.”

  “Except you and me,” Roc pointed out. “Maybe that’s his game. He wants to see how far you’ll go to protect your son.”

  Black fire flashed from her eyes. “It’s a game he doesn’t want to play with me.” She stalked to the bar, her back ramrod stiff. “Johnny,” she hollered to the bartender. “Get me a martini.”

  He whirled upon hearing his name and paled. “Right away,” he said.

  “We’ll be at the back table.” She pointed to a spot in the corner. Sylvia grabbed Owen’s arm and dragged him toward the table with Roc trailing behind.

  When they settled into the seats Roc asked, “Do you know the bartender?”

  “More like he knows of me,” she said. “He’s done a few things for me in the past.”

  “He seemed afraid.”

  “Yeah,” Owen added. “He became the same shade of white when Roc dropped Falhman’s name.”

  Her gaze swiveled to Roc. “You name-dropped?”

  He shrugged indifferently. “He was giving me a hard time and it was quicker than persuading him.” He paused, his gaze swinging from Sylvia to Owen. “What are you doing here, Sylvia?”

  “Looking for you. Falhman said you were here, but he didn’t say anything about Owen.” She focused on her son. “This isn’t a safe place for you. Promise me you won’t come here without Roc or me.”

  “Ah, Mom. You worry too much.”

  “Owen.” She drew his name out in a warning manner.

  “Your mother’s right,” Roc said. “You should do what she says.”

  Johnny arrived with Sylvia’s martini, setting it on the table as Owen replied, “Okay, Mom.”

  Johnny’s hand trembled when he heard Owen address her and the martini sloshed on the table. He grabbed the towel hanging from his belt and swabbed the liquid. “She’s your mother?” Eyes wide, he stepped back quickly as if he were too close to a fire. “I didn’t know,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Did you do something to him you shouldn’t have?”

  “No, no. I’d never. Not to anyone close to ya.” He spoke to Owen. “Drinks are on the house for ya whenever ya come in.”

  “Thanks,” he said as Johnny backed away. “What’s with him?”

  Good question. Johnny retreated from her as if she was one bad-assed woman. Sylvia gazed innocently at him, but deep in her ebony eyes he saw the warning, which clearly said, No questions while Owen is here. He filed his curiosity away for later. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “Falhman wants you to persuade someone.”

  “Who?”

  She swirled the olive in her martini before speaking. “Owen, take a trip to the john. I need to talk to Roc privately. As you go by, tell Johnny to stand guard for you. My orders.”

  Owen settled back into his chair as he crossed his arms, staring at his mother.

  “Do it.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  Flashing an irritated glare, he rose. She watched until he was out of earshot and headed toward the men’s room with Johnny in tow.

  Roc frowned at her. “You need to stop.”

  “What?”

  “Bossing him around.”

  “He’s my son, and I’ll say what I want to him. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “I like the guy, and you should treat him with more respect. He’s a man, Sylvia, not a little boy.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. You don’t have to treat him as if he’s got nothing to offer. If you’ve done that to him all his life, it’s no wonder he wants no part of your shifter world.”

  “Who are you to tell me how to raise my son?”

  “He’s raised already, and how you did it shaped his opinions about shifters.”

  “Until you persuaded him,” she said in a disgusted voice. “You’re making him into something he doesn’t want to be. Don’t go all holy on me. You’re forcing him into this life as much as you claim I forced him away.”

  “I’m not going to argue.” He paused and took a deep breath, exhaling in an exasperated huff. “You’ve got a second chance here, Sylvia. My persuasion will wear off in six months, but he’ll remember what has happened to him. I’ll be his friend because of how I’m treating him, persuasion or not. Keep smothering and bullying him, and I guarantee he’ll run as far from you as he can.”

  “There’s a lot of passion in your words. Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Trust me, no man wants to be ruled by his parents, especially his mother.”

  “I’ll take what you’ve said under consideration. Now, about what Falhman wants you to do.” She sat silently for a moment then finally spoke. “You’re to persuade Rhys Temple to come to the rogue side.”

  “That’s going to interfere with our own plans for him. We want him on our side, not Falhman’s.”

  “You’re not thinking big enough, Roc. If we can make Rhys think you want to overthrow Falhman so the two of you can bring the world to peace, we can play both angles. He will think you’re for the good side, and Falhman will think you’re doing everything for him.”

  “What about the rest of Rhys’ side? How should I convince them?”

  “We’ll let him do the convincing. All you have to worry about is Rhys.”

  Roc shook his head. “Won’t work. Falhman has seen my persuasive power with Owen. If I can’t bring Rhys in as quickly he’ll become suspicious.”

  “Rhys has already shown me he has a lot of power. Falhman won’t expect you to persuade another Promised One as easily as you did Owen. We’ll be able to buy time. You don’t have a choice anyway. If you don’t agree to what Falhman wants, he’ll eliminate you, Rhys, and probably your whole family.”

  Sylvia was right. Falhman’s ruthlessness was well known in the rogue circle. “I guess I have no choice.”

  “I’ll make a plan for you and Rhys to meet after the funeral. Speaking of the funeral, don’t forget to stay a minimum of thirty feet away from the gravesite. Attending a shifter’s funeral when you’re shifted is a big no-no. If you’re detected it could cause all kinds of red flags. At that distance you won’t be sensed.”

  He grimaced at her. “I’m not stupid, Sylvia.”

  As Owen approached the table, she rose and hugged him. “We’ll talk soon. You guys have fun. I’ll see you both later.” Then she walked over to the bar, said something to Johnny, and left.

  “Have fun? Don’t think she’s ever said that before,” Owen said as he watched his mother leave.

  He moved his chair to sit but Roc stopped him. Too many eyes stared at them, and a disturbing current ran through the air. “Let’s blow this place. We’ve outstayed our welcome.” He pointed at Johnny as they started to go, and he rushed to the door and opened it wide.

  “I’d suggest ya not bring him back,” Johnny said. “There’s those here who don’t like a mere mortal coming into their midst, even if Falhman sent him.”

  “Really? They’d go against Falhman?”

  Johnny held his hand out, palms toward Roc, in a protective motion. “Not me, mind ya. I’ve a family to protect, and I do whatever Falhman and the she-devil want. But others think keeping our existence secret is the most important thing there is, and they have no problem shedding mortal blood in order to protect what they have.”

  He spoke directly to Owen. “If ya value yer life, don’t come back here again unless yer wearing a ring. It’s the only way ya’ll be safe in this bar.”<
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  Anger flashed through Roc. Falhman had to know the kind of danger he’d put Owen in. The kind of danger he’d put them both in. He hated being used this way.

  Why had Falhman done it?

  And what could he do to prevent the man from using them again?