Black

by Donya Lynne

  He hadn’t. But . . . um . . . what the hell was this shit?

  Rule had lied to him? Had been lying all along? What for?

  He scowled, his anger pushing through the chilly layer of dread still coating his skin in gooseflesh. “You’ve been lying to me? All this time, you’ve been lying?”

  Rule—Rysk—or whatever the hell his name was leveled him with a glance that sliced straight through the heart of him. “You mean like you’re lying about the ankh in your pocket. I know it’s not just a simple trinket, Ronan. I know what it’s used for. And I know you’re playing with fire. You have no idea how dangerous that thing is . . . what you’ve done by—”

  “Fuck you, Rule . . . Rysk”—Ronan slashed his hand dismissively through the air—“or whatever your name is. You’re in no position to preach to me about lying.” If he had lied about his name, he’d probably lied about a whole lot of other shit, too. “I don’t even know who you are, so how about you fuck off.” He turned and paced away, his body trembling as he tried to regain control over his anger.

  Was he destined to be disappointed by everyone in his life? Even those he thought he could trust? Was Alexis the next person who was going to let him down? He couldn’t imagine she would, but he never thought Rule would end up being a liar, either.

  “Ronan, don’t make this harder than it already is. We need to talk. There are things you need to know. It’s time you knew the truth.”

  Ronan whirled back around, not ready for friendly chitchat. “No, the time for me to know the truth was the moment we met. When you told me your name. When you told me who you are.” He pushed his mentor. Hard. “You’re all liars, aren’t you? Every last goddamn one of you.”

  He spun on his heel again and began to march away from the tomb.

  “Ronan, wait.” Rysk came after him. “Would you fucking stop!” He grabbed Ronan’s arm and forced him around to face him.

  “Get your hands off me.” Ronan yanked his arm free of Rysk’s hold. He knew he couldn’t take Rysk down if it came to fisticuffs, but it would feel great to land at least one punch, so the ensuing beatdown would be worth it.

  “Then quit behaving like a juvenile delinquent and man up!”

  Okay, sure, Ronan was only forty-six, which was still considered juvenile by vampire standards. Forty-six for a vampire was like sixteen or seventeen for a human. But, like a seventeen-year-old human trying to find adult footing and build a case that he was no longer a child, Ronan didn’t appreciate Rysk’s low blow.

  “Fuck you, Rysk!” He whirled and began his had-it-up-to-here march through the cemetery again.

  Then shit went sideways.

  One minute he was upright and plowing away from Rysk like a linebacker returning to the huddle. The next he was facedown on the ground, tackled from behind, pain exploding through his bones as Rysk cranked his arms behind him and pinned the side of his face to the cold damp earth.

  “Fuck you, Ronan.” Rysk’s voice came from so close to Ronan’s ear, he felt the male’s hot breath all the way past his eardrum to his nasal cavity. “You’re in danger, asshole, and I’m trying to save your life!” Rysk’s weight lifted off his back, and then he manhandled Ronan to his feet. “Now, are you going to shut the fuck up and listen to me, or are you going to keep mouthing off? Because if it’s the latter, tell me now so I can knock your ass out and save us both a lot of time.” He released Ronan’s wrists and gave him an abrupt shove that felt like a wake-up call instead of aggression.

  Ronan whirled and spit on the ground at Rysk’s feet, unwilling to back down an inch. If Ronan had learned nothing else from his hard life, it was that you never showed weakness. “You’re an asshole. I can’t believe I actually looked up to you.”

  This had to be some kind of sick joke. A nightmare Ronan was beginning to fear he would never wake up from. First his father, then Micah, now Rule—Rysk, whatever. Were all the significant males in his life destined to be monumental, untrustworthy, cocksuckers?

  “Believe what you want, but there’s a reason we lied to you.”

  “We? So now it’s we? Who’s we? You and the Mickey Mouse Club?”

  Rysk fisted Ronan’s sweatshirt at the neck and jacked him up close and personal so they were nose to nose. “Stop being such a fucking goddamn diva! You’re in danger!”

  Ronan glared hard into the male’s dark-blue eyes, seeing a stranger where he once saw a mentor. And that’s what hurt the worst, knowing he’d lost someone he’d looked up to. Someone he’d seen as an example for the type of male he wanted to be.

  “How do you expect me to believe anything you say after you lied to me?”

  Rysk searched his eyes. “You’re right. I did lie. We all did. But we did it to keep you safe.”

  Ronan took a step back. “Keep me safe?” He’d get back to who these “all” were in a minute. First, he’d punch holes in this idea Rysk had of how lies keep people safe.

  “Yes.”

  “What a joke.” He rubbed his wrists, avoiding Rysk’s eyes.

  “Why? Because people actually care enough about you to not want to see you die? Because they want to ensure your survival?”

  Scowling, Ronan flicked his eyes quickly to Rysk’s then looked away again. He hadn’t thought of it that way. That there might be people looking out for him. Some of the fight blew out of him as he considered the possibility he’d never been as alone as he’d thought he was all his life. Then he considered who “we” were. Was his father included in that select group?

  Not that it changed how Ronan felt about his dad.

  Nope.

  Not in the slightest.

  He lifted his chin. “So, what’s changed? You obviously don’t need to keep me safe, anymore, or you’d still be lying. So, tell me. Why now? Why the sudden need for all this fucking honesty?”

  He sounded like a petulant preteen even to his own ears, but goddamn it, he was done trying to be the bigger person. He was finished holding in his anger, having Alexis as his only outlet, and never being able to punish those who’d hurt him the most.

  Rysk gritted his teeth and glanced side to side, scanning the darkness like he was looking for someone . . . or something. Then he met Ronan’s gaze again. “Because you forced the issue. That’s why. You confronted your brother. You made yourself known, which forced your father to reveal himself to save your life. And then you used that goddamn ankh and opened the portal, and now God only knows what’s going to happen to—”

  “I never opened the portal.”

  Rysk frowned at him like he was an idiot.

  “It never opened,” he repeated, holding his hands up, palms out, as if swearing his innocence.

  “Ronan . . .” It was the singsong tone that said you can’t be that stupid.

  What was Rysk saying? That the portal opened and he never realized it? But if it had opened, how did he not know? There had been no indication that anything had opened. Nothing. Nada. The air hummed and vibrated. There had been a shimmering light. And then silence. No gates or tunnels had revealed themselves.

  “Look,” he said, scowling at Rysk as he paced a step to the side then back to the other, “nothing happened. I swear.”

  “The portal opened, Ro. Trust me. It opened.”

  Ronan’s mouth fell open, but before he could speak, Rysk raked his hand through his so-brown-it-was-almost-black hair and said, “There’s more.”

  “More?” Honestly, Ronan had had enough, but his curiosity wouldn’t let this go. “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” Rysk’s eyes didn’t just lock onto his, they bore into them, his whole face growing taut.

  “Well . . .?”

  Rysk took an ominous step closer, his expression grave. “Ronan, you’re my grandson.”

  The scraps of fight that remained inside him left Ronan’s body in a rush. His mouth fell open. Shock replaced anger. Denial replaced dread. He searched Rysk’s face, seeking signs of deceit. He found none. “What are you talking about?”

&n
bsp; His father had told him that the two of them and Micah were the last of the Black line. Had those been more lies? Or was Rysk the one who was lying now?

  “You heard me,” Rysk said. “You’re my grandson.” His gaze remained hard, but his face softened. “Actually, you’re my great-great-great-grandson, but at a certain point, it’s just easier to say grandson.”

  Ronan shook his head. This was all too sudden. “How can I believe you? My father told me we’re the last. If that’s true, how can you be my grandfather?”

  Rysk blew out an exasperated breath and glanced impatiently behind him again. “Drake told you that because that’s what we told him to tell you.”

  Here they went with the we again.

  “Who the fuck is we?” This situation was growing more convoluted by the second.

  Rysk bristled as if he’d caught a scent on the wind. “I’ll tell you everything, but not here. We have to go. Now. They’re coming.” Rysk grabbed him by the arm and tried to push him in the opposite direction.

  Ronan dug his heels in, resisting. “Who’s coming?” He wasn’t going anywhere with Rysk until this roller-coaster ride stopped. “Either you come clean right now, or I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Rysk gripped his arm and began to usher him to the south before coming to an abrupt halt. Everything stopped. No movement. Not even a flinch. Rysk even appeared to stop breathing, his eyes focused on something over Ronan’s shoulder. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “We’re too late.”

  Before Ronan could turn to see what had spooked his former mentor, a low, malicious, growl split the silence. Whatever made that noise was big. Bigger than a dog, for sure.

  Then a creature unlike anything Ronan had ever seen stepped from the shadows behind Rysk. Black, on all fours, with glowing yellow-orange eyes. It snarled, bearing a mouthful of fangs dripping with venom. Another slinked in from the left, and two more from the right.

  They were surrounded.

  Surrounded by a pack of werewolves.

  The night just got better and better.

  Chapter 10

  Sam remained rapt as Micah relayed the events of the night. How he had gone to Ronan’s home, ready to kill him, only for his father to come back from the dead to announce that Micah and Ronan were half brothers.

  Surprise! Happy family reunion!

  To her credit, Sam seemed to keep up and not go into a shocked stupor the way he had.

  Throughout the recap, Sam listened intently, nibbling peanut butter, not interrupting until he was finished. Then, all she said was, “Wow.”

  Micah grinned. “Wow? I tell you my dad has come back from the dead and that I’ve got a brother, and the only word that comes to your mind is wow?”

  She set down the peanut butter jar and pushed away from the counter. “What am I supposed to say?” She crossed the kitchen to the fridge. “What did you say when you found out?” She pulled out the carton of orange juice and snagged a glass from the cupboard.

  He rose from the barstool. “I didn’t say anything. I could barely think. My head was too fucked up to think.” He entered the kitchen and smacked her ass as he passed her on his way to the fridge for a refreshment of his own. One that wasn’t orange juice and contained alcohol. “But thanks to you, I’m once again able to form complete sentences and coherent thoughts.”

  “And . . .?” She filled her glass and handed him the carton as he opened the refrigerator.

  “And what?” He returned the juice to the lower shelf on the door and pulled out a bottle of Corona.

  He didn’t drink alcohol often, and he drank beer even less, so he was obviously still off-kilter.

  She used her glass to gesture side to side, making the bright-orange liquid slosh this way and that. “Have you accepted that your dad’s still alive and you have a half brother . . . who happens to be a thief, by the way?”

  “Um, no.” He twisted off the bottle cap and tossed it in the trash as he took a quick swig. “I haven’t accepted either, thank you very much.”

  She laughed as she took her seat back on the barstool and waited for him to round the counter and sit beside her again. “Ah, come on, I heard how you talked about Ronan just now. You’re impressed with him. Admit it. He got into your home and evaded you, Trace, and Cordray for days until you finally tracked him down with Brak’s help. Deep down, that tickles you silly, especially because you know he’s family.”

  Micah took a swig of his beer as he stuck his finger in the open jar of peanut butter that still sat on the counter and dragged out a dollop on his fingertip, which he promptly sucked into his mouth “Okay, I’m impressed. He’s got skills. I guess kick-assery runs in the family. But to learn my father has been alive all this time and didn’t tell me?” He shook his head. “That shit hurts, baby.” He took another sip of beer. “And I know there’s more. I can feel it.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea. I just know whatever it is, it’s big.”

  “How do you know?” She sipped her juice.

  He flashed her an are-you-kidding-me glance. “Call it my sixth sense. After all, I haven’t made it this far in life on my good looks alone.”

  Just then, a wave of energy touched his mind. It was the same static-like fuzziness that had hit him earlier, in the bedroom, while Sam was sleeping. He had assumed it was her dreams, but he couldn’t use that excuse, anymore. Not with Sam sitting right beside him, wide awake. Something was trying to communicate with him. Or something invisible was in the apartment with them.

  He stiffened, fell silent, and glanced around the apartment.

  Sam set down her glass, immediately on alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He slowly placed his beer on the counter then stood. “We’re not alone.”

  “What?” Sam leaped to her feet, her head turning this way and that as she peered into the shadows of the living room and down the hall to their bedroom.

  “I felt it earlier,” he said, prowling toward the hall, keeping his senses open.

  The subtle wave of energy weakened but didn’t disappear.

  “What is it?” Sam crept up behind him.

  Whatever was tapping his mind grew stronger.

  “I don’t know.” He’d never experienced anything like this. There were no words to the thoughts. No direction. Just a haze of energy that ebbed and flowed, taunting him as if someone were playing a game.

  “I swear to God, Cordray,” he said to the shadows in the hallway, “if that’s you and you found a way to fuck with my head, I don’t care if you are Trace’s mate. I’ll kick your ass.”

  The swell of energy remained undiminished, growing stronger, almost like it had just awakened from a long sleep and was pulling the morning-stretch routine while considering its first cup of coffee.

  Peeking into the bedroom, he reached behind him and gave Sam a gentle nudge. “Go back to the living room,” he whispered.

  “No.”

  “Sam, don’t argue with me on this. Go back to the living room. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  She sighed but relented, taking a step back as he pushed the bedroom door all the way open.

  “Fine, but if I hear anything that sounds even remotely like war breaking out, I’m coming back in here.”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

  “Too bad.” She gave him a stern look. “I’m as protective of you as you are of me.”

  Reluctantly, she retreated down the hall and disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone with whatever had been watching them.

  He entered the bedroom and scanned the shadows. Nothing. No movement. No shadow figures. No foreign scents or sounds. Nothing felt out of place at all. Not in the bedroom, the walk-in closet, or the master bath.

  But wait. The current he’d followed to the bedroom was gone. Well, not gone, but weaker, like it wasn’t with him, anymore.

  He swung his head toward the hall.

  Sam!

  It had foll
owed her!

  Bolting from the bedroom, he rushed to the living room, expecting to find Sam in some kind of ghostly choke hold with an invisible demon. All he found was Sam pacing by the window, nibbling on her thumbnail.

  Her whole body jerked as she spun and faced him. “What? What was it? Did you find it?”

  What the hell was going on? The static-like sensation was stronger here. And with each foot he closed between him and Sam, the white noise in his head grew louder.

  “Micah . . .?” She took a hesitant step forward.

  “It’s you . . .” His gaze swept her from head to foot and back. “It’s coming from you.”

  She froze, the whites of her eyes consuming the space between her eyelids. “What’s coming from me?”

  “The noise.” He gave his head a tight shake, trying to quiet the murmur of energy caressing his mind. “Whatever is here, it’s coming from you.”

  Sam swallowed so hard, he heard the gulp. “Am I okay? Am I sick? Is this something to do with Apostle’s venom? Like a delayed reaction or something? Oh, my God.” She looked down at herself.

  The acidic scent of her fear made him want to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew what was wrong with her and where this strange anomaly was coming from.

  “Micah . . .?”

  “Ssshhh.” He circled her, scanning her systems. Had she been infected with some kind of parasite? A nanobot? Apostle had failed to kill her once before. Had he found a way to get to her that allowed him to go undetected. Had he hurt his precious Sam? So help him, if he had, Micah would spend the rest of his life hunting that fucker down and make him hurt, never killing him, always torturing, only to free him, give him a head start, and then continue the hunt.

  “Micah . . .?” Sam whispered, her voice breaking as she trembled.

  He shook free from his fantasy of vengeance and skimmed his palm over the back of her shoulders, trying to reassure her. “Try to stay calm, baby. I’m looking.” He continued circling her, searching, reaching out with his senses, letting his intuition guide him.