by JL Madore
Kyrian shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest. Honestly, I don’t think Z does either. You’ve had a gun pointed at his head from the moment you arrived and joined the team.”
“There must be a reason.”
Kyrian shrugged and pointed the way as they reached a fork in the tunnel. “I’m sure there is. I just don’t know it.”
Zander forwarded the information the twins gathered about the car rental drivers to Colt and watched the cop across the wood veneer desktop at the police station. “The three in the loft didn’t have ID on them but it’s them. I’d bet my left nut on it.”
Colt downloaded the file and opened things up. “Who am I to argue with your testicle. Stone and Hankard . . . wait, I know that name.”
He rolled his chair backward and grabbed a stapled bundle of papers from an avalanching stack on the deep window ledge. “Yeah, here. In the morning’s Metro Alerts, there’s a James Cooke Hankard. Says here . . . he’s some shady associate to several of the U.S. big money manufacturers.”
“Manufacturers of what? Drugs? Guns?”
Colt flipped the page and read on. “Guns, yeah, and more recently, looks like he might have moonlighted as an enforcer for big money industry.”
“What industry?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“Fabulous. So how does Coffee Girl fit into it?”
He clicked a few lines of text on his screen and a picture of Ronnie popped up. A passport picture issued over a year ago. “Veronica Rose Hennington. Daughter of Howton Hennington and Scarlett Flynn-Hennington—deceased. Sister to Clara-Anne Hennington—also deceased.”
“Did the mother and sister die together? An accident?”
Colt read on and frowned. “Nope. The sister died of natural causes at the age of four. The mother died a few years ago when her Cadillac blew up in the courtyard of their plantation home. Car bomb . . . remotely detonated.”
“Man, someone’s got it in for this family.”
Colt leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Seems that way. So, an old money patriarch sends his daughter to live under an assumed name in Toronto to work the night shift in a coffee house . . . and what?”
“Lay low? Run a search on the father. I talked to the guy. He’s autocratic and used to people following his orders. He’s a hot-shot in some sandbox somewhere.”
Colt tapped his fingers on his keyboard and whistled. “Shit, Z, this guy has almost as much money as you.”
Zander rolled his eyes. “What else?”
“Oh shit.”
Zander inhaled and rubbed a hand over his face. This would bite him in the ass, he just knew it. “How bad?”
“Howton Hennington is a heavy-hitter in half the southern states. He’s pushing to remove big money from politics. He’s whipped up a hornet’s nest with his opposition.”
“People like the status quo to spill into their bank accounts.”
Colt nodded. “He appears before a congressional committee next week to state his case.”
“So, one of those opponents tries to grab the daughter for leverage and Danel fucks up their plans. Then, they try again, and the boys and I snuff that out. What was the, ‘oh shit’ for? That’s not so bad.”
“Daddy Warbucks is hosting a majorly swanky event. Like heads of state, foreign dignitary, senators, and congressmen type of event, in opposition to pharmaceutical companies jacking up prices of life-saving meds.”
“And?”
“He fights in the name of his daughter. When the television coverage digs into the ‘Who’s who’ of the Hennington camp, I guarantee Coffee Girl will be put on full display.”
“She’ll be gone and forgotten by then. No biggie.”
“Ha, that’s best-case scenario. I’m thinking along the lines of you boys bonding and mating like horny little rabbits. Danel is aggressively protective of the woman. If his beast stakes a claim, there’s no way he lets her step into the line of fire without him at her side. Which puts all of you in the spotlight.”
Zander stood to leave. “Never gonna happen. No way Danel’s beast bonds with a human. He detests them even more than he hates me.”
“Yeah . . . but he doesn’t remember that.”
True. “Okay, so we ship Cinderella home for the ball and get Danel’s memory back on track. Wham-bam, he hates humans again. Crisis averted.”
Colt closed the files on the desktop, genuine amusement sparkling in his turquoise peepers. “When has Danel ever cooperated with you, Sumerian? Even with his historian’s mind drawing a blank, I bet his beast still wants you fucked over.”
Kyrian stepped out of the examination area while Drina gave Danel the onceover. She’d x-rayed, scanned, dinged him with the Reaper tuning-fork tool she used, and now was rocking the hands-on. His cue to leave them to it.
“How’s the Persian?” Zander asked, his shitkickers beating out a steady rhythm as he strode down the wide clinic corridor.
“G. Minus the memory thing.” He drew on his hand-rolled cigarette and exhaled a silver cloud of sweet Turkish heaven.
“Any sign of our Danel rising to the surface?”
“He still hates you.”
Zander rolled his eyes. “I was actually looking forward to not being the shit wedged in his boot tread for once.”
“Yeah. No. Sorry.”
Zander filled him in on what he and Colt found out, and their worry about exposure. “I’m with you, Zandros. I can’t see Danel claiming her. If his beast still hates you, I’d bet he still hates humans too. It’s duty, not desire, driving his train.”
“That was my take on—Hey, cowgirl.” Zander met Austin, Seth, and Phoenix as they exited the tunnel and joined the party. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s doin’, darlin’. What brings you down here?”
Kyrian straightened, taking in a whole lotta grim and worried. “You okay, sweetheart? Is it the baby?” The moment the words came out of his mouth, he knew that wasn’t it. The twins would never let her walk to the clinic if something happened with the baby.
When she bypassed her husband and beelined straight for him, his stomach dropped like a stone in the depth of the sea. “Something’s happened, Kyrian . . . it’s Cassi.”
The world drained around him. The blood rushed from his head as his hearing fritzed. Seth and Phoenix moved to block him from Austin and he knew it was bad. “Tell me.”
“One of her Hunters is outside. He was tasked to find you if she and Dougal didn’t return.”
His beast surged forward, his wings flaring as his blood burned with rage. “Return from where? Where is my wife?”
“Gregor’s nest. He took her and Dougal both.”
Ronnie’s alarm went off on her wrist and she reached for her glasses. The disorientation of waking up in a strange place lasted only as long as it took for the past days and nights to catch up with her. Gawd, she needed to get back to her routine. With that thought fresh in her mind, she clicked on the lamp, forced herself to rise, and headed to her duffle to grab a bottle of water.
She hadn’t kept track of her intake but could feel that she was way behind on her fluids. The last thing she needed was to dehydrate and end up in the hospital right when her father arrived. He’d never let her out the door again.
The plush carpet squished beneath her feet as she rounded the bed. She jumped and squealed. “Danel, you scared the stuffing out of me.”
Propped with his back against the wall, he’d wedged his broad frame between the dresser and the vanity table. He looked tired . . . and sad.
She snagged a water bottle and grabbed one for him as well. “Why are you sitting there in the dark?”
He waved off the fluids and sighed a long, suffering breath. “I didn’t want to disturb you. Kyrian received upsetting news, and everyone took off.”
“Is everything all right?”
“No.” The hopelessness in his tone spoke of more than Kyrian’s current worries. She hated to see her broody man so beaten down by the world.<
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Sinking onto the floor, she leaned against the bed and faced him. She stretched her legs alongside his and squeezed his ankle beside her hip. “I’m listening.”
His gaze skittered around the room, his expression dark. “This place feels empty to me. This life feels empty. And when something actually breaks through the void of nothingness that’s suffocating me, it’s anger and violence. I’m a monstrous piece of shit. I know I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“What do you see that I don’t?”
She honored his question and took a moment to really take him in. Danel was a beautiful man, no argument, but beyond his physical perfection, she saw things others might not. The hurt and anger which haunted his warm, whiskey-colored eyes spoke of suffering. He’d endured something terrible. In response, he’d become a wounded dog that snapped and snarled at anyone who came too close.
“You saved me in that alley. No matter how surly you are, or how hard you push people away, I see a man who’s brave and heroic.”
His brow tightened as he frowned. “In all the nights you served me, did I ever offer you a kind word or ask about your night? I’m not a total ass, am I?”
She drank deep and took her time swallowing. “When my mother was killed a few years ago, my father was inconsolable. He locked himself in his study and buried himself in work. I was left alone with massive loss and anger, and no one to help me through it.”
“It’s hard to imagine you angry.”
What a wildcat nightmare she’d been during that time. “My father’s head of security found me breaking things in the garden shed one night, and said something I’ll never forget. He said trauma left holes—holes in your heart and holes in your life. But the thing about holes was . . . you could fill them. If you want the emptiness to end, that’s all you can do—fill the holes.”
Her alarm went off again and she cleared the notification. She left Danel to think about that and grabbed her duffle. The regiment of pills and liquids that she usually kept private had become public knowledge when they’d packed and left her loft.
No sense worrying about it now.
Lining up the bottles, she organized her meds and set up shop on the dresser.
“Is Cystinosis one of your holes, Ronnie?”
She stiffened and glared at him through the dresser mirror. “Been busy while I napped, have you, detective?”
“You hide things from me. Things I want to know.”
“I didn’t hide anything. I just don’t think it’s necessary to tell a man I’ve only spoken to for two days my life struggles. Veronica Hennington is sick. Ronnie is not . . . or at least she doesn’t admit it.”
“And pretending helps?”
“It helps me. My father wants to wrap me up to keep me safe for whatever time I have left. I was dying more from that than from the disease.”
“That’s tough . . . on both of you.”
She nodded. “He watched my sister die before I was born. There was nothing his money, power, or position could do to stop it. When they tried again, and I got sick too, he threw all his efforts into finding out what we had.”
“The doctors didn’t know?”
“Cystinosis is rare—like, only 2,000 people in the world rare. They missed it with my sister but diagnosed me by the time I was ten months old. I wasn’t gaining weight at the normal rate, and then I headed into renal failure.”
“And now?”
She sighed and plunked down on the end of the bed. “Two renal transplants, eyedrops up to ten times a day to correct cystine crystals building up in my cornea, meds every six hours. Medication to slow progression, potassium chloride, electrolyte supplements, sodium phosphate, medication for ulcers due the other medications, vitamin D supplements for rickets, fluids constantly or I dehydrate . . . and on and on.”
He shifted from the floor and settled next to her. Shoulder to shoulder, she felt dwarfed by him. Insignificant. Intangible. His broad, strong hand swallowed hers up, her skin pale against his rich, olive complexion. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her skin and she had to blink back tears.
His touch felt good. Too good. Whatever this was, it would end in a few hours.
It would have ended anyway, either on his side, when he regained his memory, or on her side, when her disease claimed another win against her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s not for you to be sorry. My parents hit the one in a two-hundred-thousand gene pool lottery. Pity doesn’t do either of us any good.”
“All right, no pity. How about, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with the weight of it all on your own.”
She offered him a smile. “Okay, I’ll accept that.”
He swung a heavy arm over her shoulder and hugged her against his chest. His arms, so thickly banded with muscle, held her with a gentleness she didn’t expect.
The heated strength of his body enveloped her and made her feel stronger herself. It dawned on her that she hadn’t been held in someone’s arms since her father hugged her goodbye a year ago. “The research and meds are advancing fast. I have a good chance. In the meantime, I’m well enough to live and I’m not going to waste time moping and worrying when the disease may or may not take me down.”
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and she wondered if maybe he took comfort from holding her as well. “The way I see it, there are things that happen to you and things that happen because of you. There’s nothing you can do about the first, so let it go and focus on the second.”
He pulled back, and with the chuck of a gentle finger, lifted her chin. Gawd, his lashes were so enviably thick and long, the perfect backdrop for those soul-searing eyes. She licked her dry lips, their mouths hovering just inches apart.
Danel was so . . . male.
His thumb brushed over the corner of her mouth and a heated ache moved through her. He breathed in deep and smiled—truly smiled. It was an expression so beautiful, yet unexpected from him, she became even more mesmerized. She didn’t know if he leaned in first or if that was her, but their mouths met in a soft touch of mutual agreement.
The strain of the past two days disappeared as he pulled them back to stretch out on the bed. Lifting up on his elbow, he draped a powerful leg over her and kissed her again.
She cupped his jaw, his goatee soft against the palm of her hand. When he let himself open up to her, she saw the same desperate need for connection that she felt aching inside her. “I won’t be sorry for where we are.”
He fingered the hair at her temple. For the first time, the haunted shadows in his eyes were replaced by the sparkle of something new. Affection maybe? Attraction?
“We’ve got six hours. How’d you like to spend them?”
Zander dropped from the night sky and landed in a silent crouch next to Kyrian. The two of them straightened, shoulder-to-shoulder, armed and ready to cull the entire Serpentine species. His brother clung to his cultured, Greek wits by a thread, his beast tethered by the flimsiest rein. He couldn’t blame the guy.
He’d been in exactly his position last summer. He prayed to the heavens and back that they didn’t find Cassi in the same condition he and Kyrian had found Austin all those months ago.
The Greek would lose his mind.
Zander certainly had. “How do you want to play this, Adelphos? Are we diplomats or declaring war?”
Kyrian flexed his wings, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “I’m the wrong one to answer that. You take point and I’ll hold back as long as I can.”
Seth, Phoenix, Bo, and Brennus materialized beside them. Hark took sentry and set up a sniper position on the brick three-story across the alley.
“Okay, weapons locked and loaded. We ask nicely, and they get one chance to let Cassi and Dougal go. After that, all bets are off. Priority one is the retrieval of Kyrian’s mate. Greek, can you sense her?”
Kyrian nodded. “She’s inside, and she’s scared.”
Seth rolled h
is shoulders and outed his brass knuckles. “You think Gregor is throwing his hat into the rebellion ring?”
Zander shook his head and checked the fluid in the center chamber of his Crystalline dagger. “I think he knows Danel killed his son and is declaring himself our enemy, regardless of the rebellion.”
Bo unsheathed his dagger and frowned. “Tanek always said, ‘A true enemy doesn’t wait out the storm, he brings the storm.’”
Zander drew a deep breath and gave his beast more control. “Tanek was never wrong. Right and tight, my brothers. Kyrian leads us to his female, and then she’s escorted out, safe and sound. No matter what, agreed?”
“Agreed,” they answered in unison.
He nodded. “Let’s getter done.”
The echo of his knuckles on the warehouse door rang loud enough to wake the dead—or the soon to be dead. “Open the door, asshole.”
Without hesitation, the slab of steel swung out of their way and they headed inside. Each of them held their Moonstones in one hand, their weapon of choice in the other. When dealing with creatures of the dark, sometimes a beam of holy light could be deadlier than anything sharp and pointy.
“Knock-knock,” Zander said, projecting his voice into the void of darkness which surrounded them. “Gregor, you have something that belongs to us. Two somethings, actually. Return Cassiane and Dougal to us now, and things will go better for your people.”
The hit came without warning. One moment, they were making their way into the snake’s nest; the next, someone collided into Zander’s chest and knocked him back.
“Game on.” Seth lunged into the fray.
The putrid air around them surged to life, hisses rising in volume as Serpentines flooded in from all sides. Zander got his groove on. He hacked and sliced his way deeper into Gregor’s lair. Heaven’s Grace erupted through his bloodstream almost immediately—as if Lady Divinity herself intervened, to ensure they fought at the height of strength and power.
The tidal wave of sweet-fire lava fueling his cells was the only perk to him being the bastard offspring of an archangel. Grace was fortitude—a lethal force that honed their muscles and coordination to precision.
