After watching Micah leave with Bain, Rameses turned his attention back to Priest, who had gone from being able to stand on his own two feet to resting on his haunches against the wall, his head down. His whole body shivered so violently his bones rattled. He was getting worse, not better. They should have left earlier. They would have if they’d known Priest’s strength would be this slow to return and that he would only get worse the longer they remained away from the compound.
He pulled a blanket from a nearby stack, unfolded it, and draped it around Priest’s quaking form before kneeling in front of him.
“You need rest, my brother.” He placed his hand on Priest’s shoulder. The other male was burning with fever.
“I’ll b-be f-fine.” Priest clutched the blanket to him, but his bright-blue eyes remained laser-focused.
Rameses squeezed Priest’s arm. “You could be on your deathbed and still tell me you’re fine, my friend.”
Priest smirked proudly and let out a throaty chuckle, which set off a wave of violent tremors throughout his body. His teeth chattered so loudly they sounded like a woodpecker knocking on a tree stump.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Rameses peered up to find the female doctor who had been tending to Ronan standing over them. Her name tag revealed her name to be Dr. Cora Snow, and worry tugged at her expression.
He was impressed. Here they were, lycans infringing upon vampire territory, and this vampire doctress was more compassionate than resentful. So sympathetic to their plight, in fact, that she wished to ease Priest’s suffering.
Rameses rose to his full height. Once standing, he had to angle his head down to meet Dr. Snow’s eyes. She was a good foot and a half shorter than he. “Thank you, but there is nothing your medicine can do for him. We must return to our home, where he can heal.”
Priest would require a week, if not two, in Osiris’s chamber to recover from his efforts to save Ronan’s life.
Dr. Snow offered a friendly smile. “How about a bottle of water? He sweat out a lot of fluids in there.” She pointed toward Ronan’s room. “He has to be dehydrated. Getting fluids in him could go a long way to making him feel better.”
Rameses liked this vampire. She was smart, assertive, warmhearted, and didn’t treat them like diseased vermin the way some vampires did. In fact, she seemed not to fear them at all, even though he could fit three of her inside one of him.
He offered her a smile. A rarity, to be sure. “Water would be good.”
She smiled back, and what do you know? He couldn’t see her fangs. “I’ll be right back.”
His eyes followed her appreciatively then stopped on the patient in one of the other rooms as she disappeared around the corner. The patient was a young male. Approximately twenty years old. His features were familiar. The boy sort of resembled . . .
His smile faded.
No, it couldn’t be.
But the age seemed right.
There had been rumors Hunter had created a child with the female vampire who had been his ruin. Could this boy be Hunter’s son?
Rameses took a step closer and drew in a deep inhale. He had to know if this was Hunter’s progeny. Much could be at stake if it was. He inhaled again then gasped.
Blessed be to Osiris, it was Hunter’s son.
Memnon would not be pleased. They had tried to corroborate the rumors of a child ever since Hunter’s banishment, but had been unsuccessful. Which meant someone had helped hide the boy. And anyone who was protecting him likely knew who he was, who his father was, and what would happen to him if he were ever discovered.
And now Hunter was back, which upped the stakes even more.
Rameses had felt Hunter come through the portal when Ronan activated it. Not that Rameses would mind having Hunter’s superior tracking skills back with the family, especially given the motleys now wreaking havoc, but Memnon’s decision was final. Hunter had been warned that if he ever found a way to return to earth, the family would hunt him down and kill him for his betrayal.
This put Rameses in a hard spot. Memnon was the true leader of their race. Their imeut. Rameses only led the families when Memnon hibernated in Osiris’s Sleep, as he did now. But Memnon’s fifty-year sleep was about to be cut short. With the situation as dire as it was, he would have to wake Memnon sooner rather than later. For that matter, all the lycans who slept Osiris’s Sleep would have to be awakened.
War was upon them, and every able-bodied soldier would be needed.
“Turn around and walk away.”
Rameses turned toward the quiet voice directed at him from a few feet away. “Excuse me.” He studied the female seated nearby. She held a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a cheese-and-cracker sandwich in the other.
“The boy isn’t your concern,” she said quietly, her lethal gaze locked on him from beneath a head of cropped brown hair that was obviously a wig.
“Friend of yours?”
“You could say that.” Her tone held a warning. She would strike if he took one more step toward the boy’s room.
Whoever she was, she sure was protective of Hunter’s son. Perhaps she was the one who had kept him hidden all this time. Or maybe she was one of those vampires who, unlike Dr. Snow, held a loathing for lycans.
He forced a pleasant smile to disarm her then took a step back. “My apologies. I was simply curious about what had happened to him.”
“You don’t need to know.”
Everything inside him tightened at her rudeness. “Of course.” He spun and returned to the others, bristling.
“What is it?” Dain asked.
Rameses flicked his eyes in the direction of the boy’s room. It’s his son.
Whose? Dain carefully peered around him.
Rameses tilted his head. Hunter’s.
Dain’s brown eyes went cold then focused hard on the boy as he inhaled. Are you sure?
Yes. And the female sitting by the nurses’ station is very protective of him.
The one wearing the wig?
Yes.
Dain turned his attention to the room where Hunter’s son lay, inhaled deeply, then held his breath, processing the scent coming off the young male. Then his eyes slid to Rameses’s. Shit, it is his son. Either that or a long-lost relative.
Priest’s mental voice joined his and Dain’s. Memnon is going to shit scarabs.
Priest, are you well enough to travel? Rameses asked through their mental link.
Yes.
Then we must leave. Now.
Dr. Snow returned with three bottles of water and handed one to Priest. “Here you go.”
Priest opened one of the bottles and guzzled it in one long swallow as he rose shakily on wobbly legs.
“Whoa, hold on there.” The doctor reached for him, attempting to steady him. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“We must be leaving.” Rameses reached for the other two bottles of water.
Dr. Snow frowned. “Leaving?” She looked at Priest, who was struggling to remain upright. “Look at him. He can barely stand. You can’t leave.”
Rameses liked the fire and compassion in this doctor.
“Then we will carry him if that pleases you.”
“Nobody will c-carry me,” Priest said, his voice breaking over his words. “I will l-leave on my own two f-feet.” He rebelliously cast the blanket aside as if to prove his point.
Rameses handed him another bottle of water, which he downed in three massive gulps.
“See, he’s fine.” Rameses handed the third bottle back to Dr. Snow.
Priest reached out and took it back.
She arched her brow and gave the three of them a stern, dubious glare as Priest guzzled the third and final bottle. “Fine. I can’t stop you from leaving, but the next time I see you, I’d better not have reason to say I told you so.”
Rameses cocked his head to the side. “You assume there will be a next time.”
“Oh, I have a feeling there will be a lot of next times, given what I overheard between you and our king.”
She was referring to the new alliance between the vampires and lycans. No doubt with the two races fighting alongside one another, many of their paths would cross again.
“Well, until then, Dr. Cora Snow, thank you for your refreshing company.”
She scoffed. “Refreshing my ass.”
Rameses almost laughed. Almost. Like Memnon, he was a master at keeping his emotions hidden to the outside world. In their compound, not so much. That was where he and Memnon were the most different.
Memnon was a stone wall no matter where he was. If not for their mental link, he would never know if Memnon was pleased, angry, happy, or ready to rip off the heads of his enemies.
Rameses was the same way when he was in the field. But in the comfort of home, Rameses let down his guard and relaxed. He laughed and even told jokes at home. But not here.
“Thank you for the water,” Priest said, taking an unsteady step toward the exit as Dain drifted alongside him.
The doctor watched Dain and Priest slowly make their way through her trauma unit then turned toward Rameses. “Take good care of him. He saved our asses tonight. Without him, Ronan would have died.”
“I will personally escort him to our healing chamber the moment we arrive back at our compound. I will not allow him to return to his duties until he is fully healed. Will that satisfy you?”
Dr. Snow looked from him to Priest and back again. “Not really, but I guess that’s the best I can expect.” She grabbed a file off the nurses’ station, along with a rack of vials filled with Ronan’s blood. “We’ll begin running tests on this. I’ll make sure the results get forwarded to you.” She began to walk away.
“Do you require my contact information?” He followed her, prepared to provide his requisite phone number and email address.
She stopped and gave him an aloof look. “I’ll send them through the king’s people. I’m sure they know how to reach you.”
Rameses fished a card from his pocket. “I would prefer you contact me directly.” He extended the card toward her. “It will be quicker that way.”
She took the card and slipped it into the file with an indifferent shrug. “As long as the king has no objection, I’ll copy you on the reports.”
“I would appreciate it.” He took a step backward then gave a tight bow. “Thank you, Doctor. I look forward to hearing from you.” He straightened, spun, and followed Dain and Priest out the door of the medical unit.
“We must hurry,” he said to his brothers as they began winding their way through the halls toward the exit. “There’s much to do.”
Once outside AKM, they made haste to the cemetery, back to the pyramid mausoleum and the gateway that would take them home.
Dain was in the process of unlocking the outer door when a large, shadowy figure leaped from a nearby tree, tackling Rameses.
A mountainous shoulder rammed into his chest, nearly toppling him over as he released Priest and staggered backward. In his weakened state, Priest’s knees gave out, and he tumbled to the ground, as helpless as a kitten in a bull fight.
Reacting with lightning reflexes, Rameses dug in his heels as his old friend, Hunter, barreled into him again. Sod churned and rolled underfoot as he wrestled with Hunter, who grappled for the duffel flung over Rameses’s shoulder.
“My ankh! Where is it?” Hunter yanked so hard on the duffel that Rameses shot forward, slamming into him.
Dain abandoned unlocking the mausoleum and leaped into the fray, snagging Hunter by the shoulders and wrenching him into a choke hold.
But Hunter was more skilled than Rameses and Dain combined, quickly dispatching Dain to fly feet over head and land on his stomach with a guttural grunt several feet away.
“Give it to me!” Hunter fisted the duffel and pulled with such ferocity that the nylon strap gave, ripping from the side of the bag.
This wasn’t a fight they could win, so when Dain clambered to his feet and was about to reengage, Rameses held up his hand.
“No, Dain. Stay back. Let him take it.”
Hunter had been born into a family of trackers, all of whom were now dead. Hunter was the last.
Well, not the last. He had a son, didn’t he? Surprise, surprise. A half-breed who could come down with the sickness in a blaze of gruesome destruction before he ever got a chance to track so much as rat.
“Where is it?” Hunter snarled as he fished through the duffel bag.
A moment later, he pulled out his hand, the ankh in his grasp, and flung the bag aside.
Dain caught it, eyes alert, body tight, as if he were ready to go back to the hand-to-hand at a split-second’s notice.
The three of them exchanged glances, lungs pumping hard from the exertion, silence stretching like poisonous gas between them.
Hunter eyed them warily as he took a backward step, as if he wanted to ensure they wouldn’t follow him.
“You can run, Hunter,” Rameses said, “but Memnon will find you.”
Hunter’s top lip pulled back as he growled. Then he spit on the ground. “Memnon can try to find me, but he won’t. You and I both know it. He can fuck himself for what he did to me.” His black eyes swept over the three of them. Rameses, Dain, and then Priest. “For what you all did to me. You knew it was wrong, and yet you let him do it, anyway. Not one of you stood up for me when I’ve caught every one of your backs at least once. I’ve saved all your lives, and yet, you let Memnon take mine away from me.”
An uncomfortable pit opened inside Rameses’s gut. Guilt made a cruel mistress, and Rameses carried his share of it, especially where Hunter was concerned.
Rameses hadn’t agreed with the punishment Memnon had leveled on Hunter, but he was not the imeut. Memnon was. Rameses’s power only went so far. His brother made the law and ordered its enforcement, and Rameses had no doubt Memnon would issue a kill-on-sight order once he learned Hunter had returned.
The question was, would his lycan brothers follow the command. Hunter had been a beloved warrior. A strong warrior. The strongest among them. His tracking skills were unparalleled, and he was unrivaled when it came to kills. His banishment had been a tremendous loss, and it was an even greater one now.
They needed Hunter, now more than ever with motleys replacing common werewolves.
They’d seen too much pain and loss in their lifetimes. Too many lovers taken away from them. Too many mates. One in particular. Memnon’s. It’s why he was the way he was, because when she died, a little piece of each of the lycans had died as Memnon mourned. He still mourned, but he would never admit it. He would rather channel his mourning into something cold, dark, and sterile.
But that one death had been enough for them all to know the pain of loss. A pain Hunter had lived firsthand for the past twenty years and would continue to live as soon as he knew his Annalise was gone from this earth to dwell in the other world.
“What is done is done, Hunter.”
“Fuck you, Rameses.”
His brow hardened as he stared Hunter down. “Where are you going to go?”
Hunter held up his ankh. “I can go anywhere I please.”
“You can’t go home.”
Home. The dimension they’d all come from so long ago it almost felt like a dream. The one place none of them could return to until the threat on earth was destroyed. And now that they had the motleys to contend with, they would never be allowed to go home.
Hunter’s jaw clenched. “Oh, I can go home.” He said it like he had it all figured out. Like he had formulated a devious plan that not even Memnon, with all his foresight and wisdom, would consider.
“If you do, they will kill you. And if they don’t, they will strip you of your ankh and send you back here to our doorstep, bound in chains, and then Memnon will kill you. Either way, you’ll be dead.”
“I’m already dead.”
The quiet proclamation came with such calm it stunned Rameses. He recoiled and snapped his jaw closed.
“What d-do you mean?” Priest asked.
Rameses turned to find that Priest had managed to pull himself to his feet, but his skin held the deathly pallor of an overcast sky.
“My beloved . . .” Hunter’s voice took on a reverent tone. “My Annalise . . . she’s no longer of this world.”
The fact that Hunter knew of Annalise’s death came as a surprise. How had Hunter learned of her death already? He hadn’t been back long enough to have made the trip to Louisiana, track down her family, learn the truth, and return to Chicago. Besides, Annalise’s family despised Hunter. They never would have talked to him about her death. Kill him? Yes. Inform him of Annalise’s fate? Not a chance in hell.
Hunter’s scarred face turned away, but not before Rameses saw the pain and sadness flicker through his dark-brown eyes. “She is dead,” he said softly, “and so is my son. My son . . .” His voice took on a faraway quality, as if he were considering all that he had lost, and then he pulled himself back into the present and lifted his gaze defiantly to Rameses’s. “I only wish to mourn them, and then I will release myself from life to join my beloveds in death.”
He didn’t know. Hunter had no idea his son was still alive.
What to do with this knowledge? If he told Hunter the truth, he would be enabling the banished male to remain on earth, where, despite Hunter’s defiant remarks to the contrary, Memnon would hunt him down, find him, and kill him. But if Rameses said nothing and let Hunter believe his son was, in fact, dead, Hunter would take his own life.
Either way, the outcome was unacceptable.
He needed to buy time. Once he told Memnon about the motleys and the accord he’d struck with the vampires, he might have a chance of convincing Memnon that welcoming Hunter back into the family was a good thing. That the twenty years of banishment was enough punishment. At the very least, they could keep Hunter here but banish him from the family. Surely, Memnon would see how vital Hunter was now. With new enemies breaking into the fray, they needed Hunter more than ever, and even if he had no contact with the family, Hunter would still hunt werewolves. It was in his blood.
Rameses was still contemplating what to do about the situation when Priest said, “Tell him, Rameses.”
A flash of heat shot through Rameses’s body. Priest was only two steps removed from the role of imeut, but that didn’t give him the right to speak out of turn. He met Priest’s gaze with an angry look he was certain could turn mortals to stone.
Priest remained composed and determined. “Tell him, or I will.”
“Tell me what?” Hunter glanced between them, bristling.
“Priest, this is neither the time nor the pla—”
“Your s-son is alive,” Priest said to Hunter with a sickly shiver. His color was worse than before.
Silence.
Not even a breath sputtered out among them.
Then the top blew everywhere all at once.
“Priest!” Rameses admonished the fair-haired lycan and started toward him just as Hunter rushed forward, caught him like a viper, and put him in a choke hold.
“You knew my son was alive?” Hunter hoisted Rameses off the ground.
Dain lunged forward, grabbing the scarred lycan. “Let him go, Hunter!”
But Hunter wasn’t having any of that. “You knew?” he yelled. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”
Rameses scraped and grasped at Hunter’s fist, trying to free himself, but Hunter had him dead to rights.
“Hunter!” Dain’s voice growled ominously. He was on the verge of the change that would shift him from man to beast. “Let him go! Now!”
Rameses didn’t need Dain to save him. He called on his lycan form while using the special powers granted to him by royal birthright to block Hunter from doing the same.
Fabric ripped, shredding into ribbons as his body swiftly metamorphosed into ten feet of pure, pissed-off lycan. Hunter lost his grasp then stumbled backward as Rameses rose sharply above him, fangs bared.
Do not ever put your hands on me! He pushed forward.
Not one to shrink away from a beast who could fillet him in less than thirty seconds, Hunter pushed out his chest and sneered. I’m not afraid of you.
That’s your problem, not mine.
Why didn’t you tell me about my son?
Because telling you wasn’t that simple.
Hunter barked out a caustic laugh. “Not that simple? Are you fucking kidding me?” He glanced toward Dain and Priest then back to Rameses.
I only just discovered him an hour ago. We haven’t had time to fully investigate. What if he ends up not being your son? What then?
Highly unlikely. The boy at AKM held Hunter’s scent. He resembled him in coloring and facial features, even though he had yet to go through the change. Still, there was the slimmest chance that, upon closer analysis, the boy wouldn’t turn out to be who Rameses and the others thought he was. He could end up being some other mixed-blood creature who only smelled like Hunter. Again, not likely, but who the hell knew with all the shit popping up in the supernatural world recently?
Hunter frowned as if he hadn’t considered that. Then he glanced at Priest. “How certain are you that he’s my son?”
Priest paid a deferential look at Rameses then addressed Hunter. “He’s yours. I am certain of it.”
Damn Priest. Rameses knew he meant well, but this was not his call to make. The two of them would have words when Priest was better, and Rameses would remind him of his place within the clan.
Rameses took a menacing step toward Hunter. And now your plan is to remain here, isn’t it? Because of your son.
Hunter squared his shoulders, his jaw set, eyes determined. Yes.
Fool.
And that puts your life—and his—in danger. Memnon will kill you both.
Not if I kill him first.
Rameses’s hackles went up. This was his brother they were talking about. The imeut. Royalty and leader of their people. Memnon wasn’t perfect, and he had his problems, but simply thinking about killing him was a crime.
That would be a death sentence.
Hunter glared at him. I will do whatever it takes to protect my son, even if that means killing the imeut. His gaze swept the group. Even if it means killing all of you.
You would damn the human race to the werebeasts? Because it wasn’t just werewolves they fought now, but motleys and Osiris only knew what other creatures that were being cooked up in Bishop’s lab.
You and I both know Memnon cares not for the humans.
Ever since the humans turned on the lycans and killed his beloved, Memnon had taken a more hostile attitude toward them. But he still abided by his oath to Anubis. They all did.
That may be true, Hunter, but he honors his pledge to protect him, and he will kill you to continue doing so.
Then let him kill me if he can.
They were at a stalemate. Rameses knew Hunter well enough to know that he wouldn’t give an inch. And neither would Memnon if Rameses couldn’t convince him they needed Hunter.
I don’t want to see you die, Hunter.
Then change Memnon’s mind.
Easier said than done.
You’d better find a way, or it’s war between us.
One against an entire race seemed like severely uneven odds, but Hunter was not to be underestimated. He was skilled enough to make good on his promise and kill them all. It would take time, but Hunter was as patient as he was lethal. If he had to wait fifty years to take down every last one of them, he would.
Hunter—
“This conversation is over.” Hunter turned away from Rameses to address Priest. “Where is he? Where is my son?”
Priest hesitated as if he finally understood it wasn’t his place to speak, but it was too late for that. The damage had been done.
“He’s at AKM,” Priest said.
“AKM?” Hunter scowled, his gaze slowly dropping to the ground as if he were playing back a memory.
Rameses concentrated on his human form and shifted back. “He’s in their medical unit.” He ripped what remained of his shirt and pants from his body. He cared not if anyone saw him naked.
Hunter’s head shot up. “Medical unit?”
When he, Dain, and Priest simply stared back at him, Hunter continued, his voice panicked. “Is he okay?”
Rameses recalled the bandage wrapped around the boy’s torso. He had looked fragile. Too fragile. Thin, gaunt, deathly still. A feeding tube had been taped over his mouth, and an oxygen tube under his nose.
“Truthfully, no. When I saw him, he looked quite ill.”
Concern and worry flashed over Hunter’s expression, and he began to pace. “What’s wrong with him?”
“That I do not know.” He thought of Dr. Snow. She was impressive as far as doctors go, even if she was a vampire. “But he is getting the best possible care.”
Dain looked at him like he was talking foolishness, and maybe he was. But he had to try to persuade Hunter from going wrecking ball on AKM just to get to his son. That wouldn’t bode well for the new alliance he’d struck tonight with the vampires.
Hunter continued pacing, grumbling under his breath in angry murmurs. Rameses could just barely make out what he was saying. “She lied to me. She was there, and she lied to me.”
Could she be the female Rameses had encountered outside the boy’s room?
“Hunter.” Rameses stepped forward and dropped his hand on Hunter’s shoulder.
Hunter jerked around and grabbed Rameses’s wrist before calming himself and letting him go. Whoever she was, whether the female who had warned him away from Hunter’s son’s room was her or not, she had better prepare, because Hunter looked like he was about to go on a warpath.
Rameses slowly drew his hand away, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Let the doctors do their job,” he said. “He needs medical care right now. If you tear in there and take him, he could die.”
Hunter recoiled from the word. Rameses hoped that meant he understood and wouldn’t try to be a hero.
Rameses backed away then gestured for Dain to open the mausoleum.
“Let the vampires heal your son, Hunter. I will buy you time with Memnon, and I give you my word that I will try to persuade him to recuse you from the remainder of your punishment. But don’t expect any miracles.”
Hunter nodded, but his gaze remained vacant, as if he’d returned to running whatever memory he’d been obsessing over a moment ago through his mind.
Rameses silently directed Dain and Priest inside the mausoleum, ready to return to the compound. Priest was still too weak to take more than two or three steps without assistance, so Dain propped himself under Priest’s arm and shouldered him inside.
Hunter wouldn’t follow them. Rameses was certain of that. But it was best not to chance it. Hunter didn’t appear to be himself.
“I’ll be in touch, Hunter,” Rameses said, stepping into the mausoleum. “Just don’t do anything stupid before then.”
Hunter didn’t even acknowledge him.
“Did you hear me?”
Hunter was murmuring to himself again, his demeanor growing more and more agitated, an increasing edge rising in his voice.
“The bitch lied to me,” he snarled.
Then, without another word, Hunter spun on his heel and bolted into the cemetery’s depths, disappearing into the shadows.
“What the fuck was that about?” Dain asked.
Rameses shook his head, gazing in the direction Hunter had gone. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that female vampire who warned me away from his son’s room is going to be getting a visit.” He turned and bobbed his head toward the keyhole. “It’s not our problem. Take us home.”
Dain passed Priest off to Rameses then crossed the small interior to the corner. “What are you going to tell Memnon?” He slipped his ankh inside the hole and stood back.
Rameses held onto Priest with one arm and pulled the door shut with the other. “I’m going to tell him the truth. He’ll find out, anyway.”
The portal opened, and they returned to their compound out west in a shimmering flash of light, appearing in the pyramid room.
“That’ll go over well,” Dain said, without missing a beat.
“I’ll handle it.” Rameses hooked his arm around Priest, who was growing weaker by the second now that the excitement was over, and started down the grand, gilded hall toward the healing chamber. He was still naked as a jaybird except for the cartouche hanging from a gold chain around his neck.
Dawn would be upon them in a few hours, and there was much to do before they woke Memnon.
“Dain, assemble the families,” he called over his shoulder.
“What should I tell them?”
“Tell them we’re going to wake their kin and that we’re pulling Memnon out of Osiris’s Sleep.” He shuffled Priest a little farther down the hall then added, “And tell them to prepare for war.”
Because whether the war came from Hunter, the motleys, the drecks, or all of the above, a war was coming.