“He’s stable.”
Everyone turned as Priest pushed open the double doors and stepped into the hall.
Micah was still recovering from what Rameses had just said about werewolves being their new worst enemy, but at least now he didn’t have to worry about his brother.
Given the drawn, gaunt nature of Priest’s face, it looked like the lycan had paid a heavy price to ensure Ronan’s recovery. The front of his shirt was soaked with sweat, and he staggered once before catching himself and leaning his back against the wall.
Micah had to admit that seeing how weak Priest was made that blond-tressed lycan’s stock value rise. Priest hadn’t been obligated to help Ronan, but he had chosen to, anyway. And that went a long way toward making Micah see him and the other lycans with a little more respect.
Priest rubbed his mammoth hands up and down his face and looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. “Praise be to Osiris, but that nearly killed me.” His tired, deep voice cracked as if he’d just awakened from a week-long nap.
“The werewolf venom in the boy’s veins?” Rameses asked, still showing next to no emotion in those black holes he called eyes.
Micah considered telling Rameses that Ronan wasn’t a boy but figured it wouldn’t make any difference, so he snapped a lid on his snarky retort. Yes, that crackling sound was hell freezing over.
Priest took a heavy breath. “Gone.”
“You killed all of it?”
“Yes.” Priest’s eyes peeled open. “But it’s worse than we thought.”
Micah and Bain both perked up.
“Worse?” Bain said. “What do you mean?”
Rameses turned away from Priest to address Bain. “We’ve been monitoring the dreck known as Bishop for a long time. Until recently, he resided in our territory.” He gave Bain a pointed look. “As you know.”
Bain tilted his head in deference, his face flushing. “Yes. We tracked him there and conducted a raid of his facility.”
Rameses studied them both for a long moment. “You should have contacted us before entering our territory.”
“My apologies, but the situation was rather dire. Speed was of the essence, and the situation was . . . personal.” Bain’s face pinched tightly. Thinking about Miriam’s abduction no doubt troubled him.
“Yes, I know your daughter was involved, as were the lives of many vampires.”
Maybe Bain felt obligated to dance this political waltz with Rameses, but Micah didn’t. He turned angrily toward Rameses.
“Don’t you think you should have contacted us? If you knew about Bishop and what he was doing—killing vampires as some form of fucked-up science fair project or recreational activity—don’t you think that was something we should have been made aware of?”
“Micah . . .” Bain slowly reached toward him as if he were prepared to hold Micah back if he lunged for Rameses’s throat.
Rameses appeared unfazed. “We had been monitoring Bishop,” he clarified. “We had only recently become aware of what his residence was being used for. We were going to take care of it on our own. We were planning our attack even as your people invaded and rescued his test subjects. Some of them, anyway.”
Micah frowned. “Some of them?”
“Yes.” A flicker of annoyance passed over Rameses’s face. “He took his most prized subjects and brought them here when he moved back into your territory.”
“And you didn’t think to warn us?”
“We’re warning you now.”
Micah pointedly glanced in the direction of his unconscious brother. “A little late, don’t you think?”
Rameses’s expression remained smooth and even as he glanced between Micah and Bain. Then he drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out.
Micah wasn’t sure if Rameses was about to go all lycan apeshit on his ass or if he was actually going to admit he’d made a mistake.
“You’re right, we should have warned you sooner.” Rameses seemed to stand a little taller, as if by boosting his physical appearance, he could save face.
“I bet that was hard to say,” Micah said.
Rameses’s black eyes slid to him. “You have no idea.”
There wasn’t much that lycans disdained more than admitting they were wrong and that vampires were right. As equal as they claimed their two races to be, lycans possessed one helluva superiority complex that put them at the top of the food chain.
To Bain, Rameses said, “Truthfully, we had hoped to track him down and contain the situation quietly, eliminating the threat before anyone knew of its existence.”
“In other words,” Bain said, “you were planning to secretly enter our territory without alerting us to your presence, as well.”
“Yes.”
“Touché.”
The two males stared at each other, neither moving. Then Bain grinned, and a glimpse of respect and humor crossed Rameses’s features, even though not a single muscle moved.
Micah wouldn’t exactly call it a lovefest, but at least an icebreaker.
“So,” Micah said, impatient with their royal do-si-do, “what are these favorite test subjects of Bishop’s? The ones you had hoped to eliminate without our knowledge?”
Rameses took two measured steps to the side. “They are genetically enhanced werewolves. We call them motleys.”
“Motleys?” Micah scoffed. When Micah thought of the word motley, he saw dancing jesters in a king’s court. That or Mötley Crüe. “Sounds like a stupid name to me,” he said to Bain under his breath.
“Micah . . .” Bain sighed and shook his head as he briefly dropped his gaze to the floor. He looked like he’d given up trying to muzzle Micah but wished he could.
Rameses tilted his head at Micah. It was the first sign of impatience he had let slip past his stony veneer. “We have called them a lot of things. Super werewolves, bastard werewolves . . . then one of our brothers called them ‘mottled werewolves’ a few months ago. That led to motley weres, and now we just call them motleys.” He stared Micah down. “Does that answer your inane question?”
If only Micah could slap that guy. Instead, he plastered on a gooey smile. “Yes, thanks for the history lesson.”
“Micah, please show some respect to our guests,” Bain said.
“I’m just—”
“You’re just being you. I know.” Bain held up his hand before Micah could reply. “Rameses is not our enemy, so how about you be a little more welcoming.”
Micah held up his hands in surrender. “Fine.” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to Rameses. “Please . . . do continue. I promise to keep my editorial commentary to myself.”
At least Bain wouldn’t have to put up with his mouth much longer. As soon as he got the chance, he would let Bain know of his decision to quit AKM. Sayonara! It was family man for him from now on.
“How generous of you.” Rameses regarded him a moment longer then continued. “These motleys were once regular werewolves. Bishop captured them, conducted his demented experiments, changed them.” His tone fell ominously as shadows crossed his eyes. “But what Bishop didn’t know was that someone else had beaten him to the punch.”
A bottomless pit opened inside Micah’s stomach, and a cold chill ran up his back. He had a bad feeling about where this was going. “What do you mean?”
“Your friend Searcy . . .”
An aggressive jolt shot through Micah as he exchanged troubled glances with Bain. “What about him?”
“He had already created an army of motleys.”
“How do you know this?” Bain asked.
Rameses hesitated. “Because we’ve been killing them for over a year.”
Had Micah really heard that right? “A year?”
“Yes, and Searcy’s motleys are stronger than Bishop’s.” Rameses let that sink in for a second. “We think the ones we killed early on were simply test subjects used to see how much work needed to be done to make them battle ready and willing to take orders from a vampire. But now . . . the tests appear to be concluded. The motleys we encountered tonight were stronger than any we’ve ever come up against. Not strong enough to defeat us, but certainly strong enough to defeat you. It seems Searcy and Bishop have joined forces and shared their knowledge with each other, because Bishop’s motleys are now as strong as Searcy’s.”
“How can you tell which belong to whom?” Micah asked.
Rameses tapped his nose. “By scent. Bishop’s creations carry the scent of expensive tobacco. Searcy’s don’t.” Rameses made a point to glance toward Ronan’s room. “But both are deadly to vampires, and you will not be able to destroy them without our help.”
Bain crossed his arms, opening his stance. He looked both imposing and pissed off. “What are you saying, Rameses?”
“I’m saying it’s time we discussed a more formal, militarized alliance.”
“What does Memnon think of that?”
“Since Memnon is currently in hibernation, he can’t render an opinion, but I think I can safely say he won’t like it. It’s not a secret that his opinion of your race is more soured than mine.”
Bain made a derisive sound. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that.”
“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t hold a high opinion of any bipedal species that isn’t lycan. But he will eventually see the benefits of an alliance between our races. Vampires and lycans are both committed to saving humanity. Yours from the drecks, ours from the werewolves. Now that our common enemies are working together—because we know, as do you, that Bishop is in league with not just Searcy but Premier Royce, even if they deny the alliance and try to hide it—it’s time we form a counterstrategy. If they manage to destroy the vampire race, we know where they’ll strike next.”
“They’ll go after the lycans.” Micah was beginning to sense his days as an enforcer might not be over after all. Not with the enemy growing stronger.
“Precisely.” Rameses returned his focus to Bain. “The time for putting aside our territorial borders and joining forces is upon us. Memnon might resist at first, but I know my brother. He will see the wisdom of this plan. Fighting alongside one another will make us stronger. We will teach you what we know about these motleys, and all we ask in return is that you share your knowledge with us, as well.”
“I think we can manage that.” Bain cast Micah a pointed glance. “Can’t we, Micah?”
Micah studied Rameses. He was an emotionless bastard, and his black eyes looked like something out of Jeepers Creepers, but he could put aside his personal feelings for the greater good of the vampire race, especially if it meant keeping Sam and his unborn young safe.
He shrugged, glancing from Rameses back to Bain. “I can play nice with the lupines.”
Besides, Rameses and his lycan Furbies were the least of his problems. The greater problem was that shit was happening in his world he’d never been aware of. “Super werewolves” were threatening all that he loved. Motleys, as Rameses called them. And they’d been created by that bastard, Searcy. And here he’d hoped they’d seen the last of that prick when they chopped off his son’s hand and maimed his female fuck buddy, Lorena. Wishful thinking.
If Searcy was still hanging around, and he’d built an army of motley wolves with the power to kill vampires, there could be only one reason. He intended to declare war on King Bain and overtake the throne.
And wouldn’t that work right into the drecks’ hands. If Searcy and Premier Royce had formed their own alliance and had this super army at their disposal, that gave them the upper hand. And upper hands were hard to overcome when you were caught with your pants down and your hand around your pecker, which was exactly where the vampire race was right now. Joining with the lycans, who seemed to be more aware of what was happening, leveled the playing field.
The vampires been weakened by cobalt addiction. Royce had strung Bain along, pretending to be working with him, when he’d been working with the enemy all along. Now, thanks to both Searcy’s and Bishop’s experiments, the drecks had an army of venomous werewolves ready to finish the job cobalt had started.
Micah couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let his race be wiped out. He had children to protect now. And a mate. And friends he would fight to the death for.
This wasn’t how he thought the rest of his evening would go. He wanted to get out of enforcing and enjoy the life of a family man, but he couldn’t deny he’d been born to fight. He’d always been a warrior. He would always be a warrior. He couldn’t take some safe, pencil-pushing job now that he knew what was at stake.
“I fear our respective worlds are about to be severely challenged.” Bain took a step toward Rameses. “I’ve sensed unrest and disruption closing in from all sides for months.” Bain gave Rameses a crooked grin and uncrossed his arms, holding out his hand. “So, yes, I would be honored to fight alongside you and your brothers, Rameses. I think we’ll be much more powerful as a united front than as individual armies battling the same enemy.”
Rameses clasped Bain’s hand. “The honor is ours. Consider this my word that we will fight alongside you and yours. I will take responsibility for getting Memnon on board when he awakens.”
“Better you than me.”
With a soft chuff, Rameses released Bain’s hand. “God Osiris help me, Memnon will not be pleased, but there is more at stake now. An alliance must be struck if we are to do the job we were placed here to do and survive. All of humanity depends upon our success.”
And so it began. The new war. Micah had known peace would last only so long. It always did. The war between the vampires and the drecks was neverending. It just changed faces every time it surged back to life.
And, once again in only a few hours, Micah’s whole world shifted.
How many more times would it shift before dawn? Because he knew there was more to come.
Hadn’t Bain told him they needed to talk after Ronan stabilized? Well, Ronan was stable. Time to see what else the night had in store for him.
He just hoped his mind wouldn’t be completely blown when the dust settled.