Chapter Nineteen
Duncan buried Mac across the river on his property beneath a stately oak and marked the grave with a heavy stone. “Sleep well, youngling,” he said, and stepped into the void.
He materialized on Cassandra’s lawn. Entering the house, he found Evan sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a hearty breakfast.
“Everything go okay?” Cassandra asked, turning from the stove where she was cooking.
Duncan nodded. “Aye. Mac is at rest.”
“You could have waited, you know,” Evan said, slathering jam on a piece of toast. “I told you I’d help.”
“And I thank you,” Duncan said, “but ’twas something I needed to do myself.”
“I get it. It’s in the handbook.” Evan made a zigzag in the air with his fork. “You whack ’em, you bury ’em.”
“Something of the sort.”
“More eggs and bacon, General Washington?” Cassandra asked, setting a platter in front of Evan.
“Twist my arm.” Evan grinned and shoveled more food onto his plate.
After making sure Evan had everything he needed, Cassandra pulled Duncan into the hall.
“There’s something you should know,” she told him in a low voice. “Blueticks are cold nose hounds. If Toby’s in those woods, Evan will find him, but here’s the thing. Blueticks have a big bawl mouth—meaning when they bay, you can hear them a mile off.” There was a faint worry line between her brows. “If Evan catches the scent and gets excited, there’s a good chance he’ll make a lot of noise, and Zeb will know you’re coming.”
Duncan reached out, brushing the furrow between her eyes with the pad of his thumb. “Worry not. We will be fine. Come here, I would have a kiss before I go.”
Her eyelids fluttered in surprise. “You want to kiss me?”
“To the contrary, thrall, you will kiss me. Think of it as a gesture of good faith to seal our bargain.”
“Very well.” Rising on tiptoe, she planted a swift peck on his cheek. “Consider the bargain sealed.”
“Not so fast,” he said as she whirled to walk away. “That is not the sort of kiss I had in mind.”
She stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes were downcast, her expression demure, but her mouth—her sweet, delectable mouth—trembled with mischief. “No?” she murmured. “A thrall is not to blame. A thrall cannot read your mind.”
“Ah, remiss of me,” he said. “Allow me to allay your confusion.” Striding to a long, oak plank bench against one wall, he sat down and patted his leg. “Come, thrall. Sit on my lap.”
“A thrall is uncertain. A thrall would not crush you.”
“A thrall is foolish.” Reaching out, he pulled her close and settled her onto his thighs. “A thrall’s weight is slight, and a warrior is Dalvahni and exceptionally strong.”
Her bottom pressed against him in a most interesting way. Desire, heady and strong, flooded through him. His flesh quickened, and it was all he could do not to groan and rock his hips in response.
“A thrall will kiss me on the mouth.” His voice was husky as he lowered his mouth to hers. “A thrall will kiss a warrior and not stop until bidden.”
Cassandra gazed up at him, her face mere inches away. Her eyes were extraordinary, indigo-blue irises with violet centers. He’d never seen their like, not in a thousand different worlds. They reflected her every mood: tenderness, amusement, fury, trepidation.
Desire.
Her eyes were warm now, and sparkled with laughter. “A thrall confesses her worry.” She made a show of lowering her lashes. “A thrall greatly fears she may not please a warrior.”
“A thrall shall kiss me and find out.” His throat closed around the words, his heart thundering like a drum. “A thrall shall do so, and now.”
“If a warrior is certain . . .”
Wrapping her slender arms about his neck, Cassandra kissed him, and Duncan forgot to breathe. He forgot the long, lonely years without her. He forgot the bitterness and regret, the searing grief and pain of their separation, the heartsick yearning, the soul-stealing terror that she was dead, that he would never find her, that she was lost to him forever. He forgot his jealousy and anger. He forgot the hurt and rejection of her proposal.
He forgot everything but Cassandra. She was in his arms, where she belonged, and the world was right. She was alive and well. She was his heart and soul. She was woman, goddess, siren, angel, and she-devil in one stunning, irresistible package. She was his everything. He’d been lost without her, breathing in and out. Existing. Surviving, but taking no joy in it. A hollowed-out husk, going through the motions; alive by all appearances, but dead inside.
Like the rogue. The thought drifted through his mind and melted away again, dissolved by the heat of Cassandra’s kiss. Her mouth was warm and sweet as ambrosia, and the taste of it was a magical elixir that brought him back to life. Ah, gods, it had been too long. A moment away from her was too long, and he had been without her an eternity of moments. Her tongue brushed his, and he began to shake. Heat ran down his spine and settled in his groin. He was need, raw, aching need, and he could never get enough.
Just when he was certain he would shatter, Evan stepped into the hall, ending the kiss.
“Jesus, you two,” he said. “Go make your little porno someplace else. I’m too young for this shit.”
Cassandra pulled away, her cheeks aflame, leaving Duncan feeling bereft. Ruefully, he acknowledged that Evan’s interruption had been fortuitous. Another instant, and he would have confessed his love for Cassandra right then and there.
That would have been a mistake. Cassandra did not want his love. She wanted his body and nothing more. A passionate avowal would send her running.
She jumped up, obviously flustered. “Evan, did you . . . that is, can I get you anything else to eat?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Evan drawled. “Full as a tick. You ready to hit the woods, Dunk?”
Duncan rose. “Of a certainty.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Cassandra asked with an anxious expression.
She was worried about him, and for the first time, Duncan felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps she cared for him, a little.
“Aye.” Unable to resist, he pulled her close for another kiss. “An it pleases you, milady.”
“Do you mind?” Evan said. “I just ate.”
Reluctantly, Duncan released Cassandra. “Cease your carping,” he said to Evan. “Whither do we go?”
“My place, so I can change clothes.”
“Very well,” Duncan said, and grabbed Evan by the arm.
“Hey.” Evan’s voice rose in alarm. “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean—”
Duncan stepped once more into the void, materializing in front of Evan’s single-story house. The lots on the street were small, the houses uniform in shape and appearance. Having sojourned in Hannah for some time, Duncan was familiar with the area and knew where Evan lived, though he had never been inside the demonoid’s dwelling. He looked around with interest. This part of town was called Meadowbrook, an inapposite designation as the area boasted neither, but humans were illogical creatures and much given to fancy. He’d been here before with Conall—Jason Damian, Conall’s father-in-law, lived nearby with his wife and younger children.
Evan groaned and slid off Duncan’s back. “God, I’m sick as a horse. Why the hell didn’t we take Cassie’s truck?”
“Because Cassie cannot travel in the way of the Dalvahni, and I would not leave her stranded.”
“You are such a worrywart when it comes to that dame,” Evan said. “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s get out of the street before Old Lady Copeland sees us. She’s not a bad old fart, but she’ll talk your ears off, and I’m in no mood to explain the clown pants.”
Duncan followed Evan up the tiered, winding walk.
“Limestone,” Evan said, indicating the pavers at their feet. “And see, I used rough stone to border the beds. The front lawn was flat as a pancake. Brought in fill dirt and topsoil. Landscaped it myself—I’m good with dirt. Added these levels and the shrubs and flowers on each side. I was going for a cottage feel.” He climbed two steps on a slope, and stopped. “The house was a complete yawn. Cheap siding and no personality. Real cookie-cutter drudge. I replaced the siding with gray cedar shingle cladding, moved the front door to the left—see the dark wood and the glass cut-outs? Pretty, and it lets in light—and had an A-frame porch with square columns built over the entrance.” He propped his hands on his hips, regarding the house with obvious satisfaction. “And wait until you see what I’ve done inside.”
“It is a most handsome abode,” Duncan said, amused and surprised by Evan’s sudden domestic turn. “You have reason to be proud.”
Evan hunched his shoulders. “It’s mine, and I like it. Never had a home. The ’rents moved from place to place. We lived out of cars, back rooms, dive motels, and the occasional crappy camper. I promised myself if I ever got free of them, I’d have a real home.”
“I grieve for your pain, Evan Beck.”
“Whatev. You deal or you die. Come on in.”
They went inside, and Evan gave Duncan a tour of the house, pointing out the various changes he’d made. “The old ceilings were low. I had Murphy raise them to nine feet. After being cooped up in the witch’s shed for two months, I can’t abide cramped spaces.”
“This Murphy is a carpenter elf?”
“Is that a thing?”
“Of a certainty.”
“Huh. No, Murphy’s a norm, but he knows his shit when it comes to building,” Evan said. “I had new windows with transoms put in for light, and Murphy knocked down the wall that divided the living room from the kitchen. Made it more open. For entertaining, you know. Saw it on television.” He flushed slightly. “I watch a lot of home shows.”
“Do you have many guests?” asked Duncan.
“Nah. You’re the first, but you never know.” Evan’s expression darkened. “Thought I might have Red over for dinner one night, but then—” He halted and shrugged. “Dipshit idea, huh?”
“Not necessarily. Can you cook?”
Evan gave him a look. “Can’t boil water. Why do you think I haunt the Sweet Shop? But I got a first-rate kitchen. Center island, farm sink, marble countertops, and everything Viking.” He shoved his thumbs in the waistband of the breeches. “Guess I could serve her PB&J on my new dishes, huh? Like I said, dipshit idea.”
“Evan, you are restive. Did something happen between you and Taryn in the woods?”
Evan’s face closed. “Hell, no. Nothing happened. I set her straight and sent her on her way. Make yourself at home while I change.”
He stomped out of the room, leaving Duncan alone. Duncan wandered into the kitchen. He’d known a few Norsemen in his time—had been with Beowulf when the warrior slew the djegrali Grendel—and he was curious about the Vikings Evan had mentioned. Alas, there was no sign of them. Bored, he strolled back into the chamber Evan had called the living room and sat down on a leather sofa to wait. ’Twas a pleasant space wherein to linger. A stone fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the back of the property, an empty square of lawn enclosed by a wooden fence. Evan, Duncan surmised, had yet to turn his gardening skills to the backyard.
Duncan was counting the squares in the coffered ceiling when Evan stalked back into the room. He wore jeans, a deep blue shirt with a man on a pony embossed on the front, hiking boots, and an extremely surly glower.
“I kissed her, all right?” Evan said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Whom did you kiss?” asked Duncan, blinking.
“Red. Huge mistake and I know it, so stop ragging my ass.”
“I did not—”
“Yeah, but I know what you’re thinking. She’s Kirvahni, and I’m demon scum. She’s a rule follower, and I’m a rule breaker. She’s spent her life on the side of Right and Might, and I’ve spent mine doing shit I don’t even want to think about.”
“But you—”
Evan held up his hand. “You don’t have to say it. I get it. It’ll never work. Don’t matter anyway, right? She’s gone and she probably won’t be back, so no point in talking about it.” He turned and clomped for the door. “You gon’ sit there all day, or we going after Toby?”
Duncan meekly rose and followed Evan outside to a black truck.
Evan stroked the metal side of the conveyance. “This is my baby. Bought her with my casino winnings. F-450, fully loaded. Ain’t she a beaut?”
“Vroom,” said Duncan, gazing at the gleaming carriage in wistful admiration.
“Damn straight.” Evan gave the shining metal carriage another fond pat. “Four hundred and forty horsepower under the hood. Leather seats and heated steering wheel.” He opened the passenger side door. “Climb in.”
“’Twould be faster to do it my way.”
“Not on your life. That shit makes me nauseous. Besides, a grown-ass man riding piggyback isn’t dignified.”
“It is not as though anyone will see you. We will be in the woods.”
“Yeah? Say we find Toby and he’s in bad shape? You can’t carry both of us.” Evan jabbed Duncan’s chest. “And I’m not walking my ass out of the woods.”
“You cannot drive this conveyance to the mouth of the cave,” he protested. “You do realize there will be hiking involved?”
“Yeah, but we can get damn close. And when we’re done, I’ll need my wheels. Got a business to run.” Evan smirked. “After what I saw this morning, I doubt you want me hanging around Cassie’s, anyway.” He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and made loud kissy noises. “Unless you’re kinky and like folks to watch?”
“I do not take your meaning.”
“Some people like an audience when they boink.”
“No, by Kehv. I am most definitely not interested in that.”
“Didn’t think so, but you never know.”
“You should know. We are friends, are we not?”
“Sure. Whatev.”
“Do not ‘whatev’ me,” Duncan said. “It is dismissive and rude. Are we friends, or are we not?”
Evan’s brows lowered. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m going into the woods to get tick-bit looking for some dude don’t mean diddly to me. And I’m letting you ride in my new truck. What more do you want, a promise ring?”
Duncan clapped him on the shoulder. “I like you, too, Evan Beck. You are my comrade and ally. From this day forth, my sword is yours, an you need it.”
“Gah,” said Evan. Color high, he stomped around the truck and got behind the wheel. Duncan climbed in beside him. The interior was plush, the dashboard a confusion of buttons, dials, and whirligigs. Evan pushed a red circle, and the engine turned over with a satisfying rumble.
“Sweet ride, huh?” Evan backed out of the drive and motored down the street. “You need to get you one of these, Dunk. You know how to drive?”
“I am a warrior. I am as much at home on horseback as on foot.”
“Translation—no. No worries. The Evster will teach you.”
“I thank you.”
He could operate any vehicle he desired with magic if need be, but Evan’s offer had been sincere, and Duncan would not cheapen it for the world. Perhaps he would purchase a truck of his own and allow Evan to instruct him in driving in the manner of norms. He could become the first Dalvahni to obtain a governmental permit to legally operate a motorized carriage.
He imagined flashing the waterproof card at Conall and his brothers, and a slow grin spread across his face.
“Booyah,” he said aloud.
“What?”
They had reached Main Street, and Duncan watched the shops slide past the passenger window. “Boo-yah,” he said again. “I thought of something amusing and remembered the idiom you used.”
“No. Just no.”
Duncan shrugged. “Why? I like it.”
“Kehv’s elbow, this traffic blows.” Evan cut his eyes at him. “Sounds stupid, don’t it?”
“I see your point.” Duncan sighed. “Very well, I shall refrain from saying booyah, if you insist, though it pains me greatly. It is a most excellent expression.”
“And Kehv’s elbow isn’t?”
“No. ’Tis absurd.”
“Yeah? How ’bout Kehv’s big toe? Bunghole? Nip? Navel lint? Butt cheek?”
Evan waxed on in this ludicrous fashion as they continued to motor through town, showing, to Duncan’s way of thinking, a lamentable lack of respect for the Dalvahni creator. He folded his arms on his chest and waited for Evan to wind down, but the profane litany continued as they crossed the river bridge and turned onto a heavily wooded two-lane road.
“I got it,” Evan said, as they rounded a curve. “Kehv’s nut sack.”
“Enough.” Duncan brought his hand down on the seat. “By the sword, you try my patience with these inanities.”
Evan grinned. “Booyah.”
Duncan gave him a smoldering glare. “You were provoking me?”
“Yup, and it worked. Where to now?”
Following Duncan’s directions, Evan turned the truck off the pavement and onto a narrow, bumpy dirt trail. “Damn, this road is a goat fuck.” Evan swore as they hit another deep rut. “You sure you know where you’re going?”
“I am a Dalvahni warrior. We seek the djegrali through space and time. We do not tire. We do not fail. We hunt. So it is written in the Great Hall.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Evan rapped the dashboard with his knuckles. “Good thing my girl comes with a navigation system.”
“As do I.” Duncan tapped his temple. “It is called the Provider.”
“Har-de-har-har.”
“I am glad you are amused. Stop here. We walk the rest of the way.”
Evan pulled the truck under the pines on the side of the road. “Man, we’re in the middle of nowhere.” He pointed through the windshield at the thick layer of grime on the formerly shining hood. “And you owe me a truck wash. Alabama red clay dust all over my shiny new truck.”
Duncan opened his mouth to remind Evan that ’twas he who’d insisted on bringing his truck, then shut it again. Some battles were not worth fighting.
He pointed to a series of rolling, wood-covered hills. “The cave lies roughly a league beyond those knolls. We will go on foot from here. Now would be an opportune time for you to shapeshift.”
Duncan turned his head when Evan did not answer and found a muscular, spotted hound regarding him soulfully from behind the wheel. The dog panted and gave Duncan a look that clearly said Well? What are you waiting for?
Duncan opened the truck door and climbed out, and the hound scrabbled after him. “I would have opened your door, had you but waited,” Duncan said.
The dog yawned and plopped down on his haunches, his tail rustling the leaves, as though expecting something. Belatedly, Duncan remembered the colorful handkerchief Cassandra had given him. A bandana, she had called the faded blue and black patch of fabric that had belonged to Toby. He fished the cloth from his back pocket and held it out. The dog sniffed the handkerchief and took off, his waving tail disappearing into the underbrush.
Duncan followed. Up ahead, the hound gave a husky, raucous bay and took off. Evan was on the scent, and his blood was up. Duncan blurred through the trees after him. He reached the limestone bridge and the cave in moments and came upon a chilling sight. The lightning-struck elm was gone, and several acres of the surrounding forest had been uprooted, trees tossed about like kindling. His skin prickled, and the hair on his arms stood up. Certain kinds of power left a residue. Something very powerful, more powerful than any werewolf or shifter, had been here. The very air pulsed with energy.
Cautiously, he edged closer. Whatever great force had swept through had left a devastation of upturned stones, gouged earth, and blasted trees in its wake. Bodies littered the blast area, a dozen or more corpses that had been turned inside out, as though torn asunder by some maniacal butcher. Blood and body parts spattered the leaves and upturned earth, and broken bones lay in shards on the ground. He bent over a mutilated male carcass. The man’s hair was dark brown with rusty highlights. One of his arms had been torn off and tossed aside. Duncan examined the dismembered limb. The skin of the upper arm bore a tattoo, a wolf’s paw with the letter R above it in swirling script. Someone or something had decimated more than a dozen members of the Randall pack.
Duncan made a swift but thorough examination of the gruesome scene, but found no sign of Zeb or Toby. He raced up the hill and entered the cave. Empty, but there were ominous smears of blood on the stones. Something or someone had suffered grievous injury. Toby? If so, the shifter was no longer here. His body had been removed, or he’d dragged himself into the woods to die.
Determined to track Toby down, Duncan left the cave. As he came down the slope, he heard a distant, roupy howl. The hound was on Toby’s trail. Duncan took a last look around. Nothing to be done for these poor souls. They were beyond help. Turning his back on the grisly scene, he set out, drawn by the sound of hound’s steady yawping. As he neared the woods on the far side of the clearing, Trey Peterson’s dead wife appeared on a tangy scud of perfume. The ghost wore a clingy one-piece costume with a deep scoop neck, black buckle strap clips, and belt. The skintight garment and matching perky cap atop her blond tresses were fashioned from fabric randomly patterned with splotches of gray, green, and brown. Thigh-high lace-up brown boots completed her garb.
She struck a sassy pose. “My goodness, aren’t you the cutest little thing? Have we met?”
Duncan regarded her uneasily. He’d met Meredith Peterson once and had not enjoyed the experience. She was, in truth, a most malicious shade. “Aye. At your husband’s office some moons ago.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember—the day Trey got himself killed, the loser.” She made a face of disgust. “What a huge disappointment my hubby muffin has been—really gone to the dogs.” She twittered nastily at her own humor. “What brings you here? Looking for the orb?”
“Nay, I am searching for someone. What do you know of the orb?”
“Plenty.” Meredith studied her fingernails. They were long and sharp and painted a bilious green. “I overheard the werewolves and those Skinner skanks whining like little bitches about the run-in you had this morning. Sounds like you ripped them a new one.” Her painted lips curved in a sneer. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear it. I hate that white trash.”
“If you were spying on them, perhaps you know something of Toby Littleton. He was their captive.”
“The old gray-haired shifter? He’s not so good. The werewolves did a number on him. It’s bad.”
“How bad?”
“They beat the crap out of him, and then the whole pack took turns chewing on him. Between you and me, I don’t think he’ll make it.”
Duncan clenched his fists. “Where is he?”
“The swamp ape’s got him. Traded the orb for the old dude, the dumbass.”
“Sugar has Toby?” Duncan stared at the ghost. “And he gave Zeb the orb in exchange?”
“Uh uh uh. That’s not what I said.” Meredith shook a manicured finger at him. “Try and keep up. The hairball didn’t give the orb to Zeb. He gave it to the other one.”
“The other one? I fear I do not take your meaning.”
“Sharp as a bag of marshmallows, aren’t you?” Meredith propped her hands on her hips. “I’m talking about ghouly boy, of course.”
“Who is—” Duncan halted, a feeling of dread clutching his vitals. “Surely you do not mean—”
Cocking her head to one side like some sort of exotic bird, Meredith regarded him. “I surely do. Dead eyes—tattooed out the yin yang. You creeps got a name for him, but I can’t remember what it is.”
“The rogue,” Duncan ground out. “We call him the rogue.”
“That’s it.” Meredith’s eyes shone with malice. “The rogue has the orb.”
Duncan swallowed the sudden taste of bile. “Did Gryff . . . I mean, is the rogue responsible for this slaughter?”
“Nah,” Meredith said. “The one in the sparkly robe did that. He had a shine on him that reminded me of the Indera Strass bridal pumps I wore on my wedding day.” She sighed at the memory. “Those shoes were to die for—peep toe and crystal encrusted with a shark tooth pattern. Twenty-eight hundred dollars, plus tax. People in this stupid one-horse town shit little baby kittens when they saw them.”
“This shining presence you speak of, was he comely made? Dark of hair and eyes, with an aspect most quelling?”
Meredith’s brows creased, and her glee faded. “If you mean did he make me want to pee my pants, then yeah. That’s the one. I hid from him. He was pretty to look at, but he scared me, and I’m dead.”
“Pratt,” Duncan muttered.
Meredith stiffened. “What’d you call me?”
“I meant no offense. I refer to the being in the shimmering robe. He is a god.”
“If I were a god—which I so should be because I’m freaking awesome —you can bet your ass I wouldn’t have a stupid name like Pratt.”
Duncan turned and thoughtfully surveyed the butchery behind them. “His ire must have been great for him to have wreaked such havoc.”
“Ire schmire. He turned those assholes inside out ’cause he was pissed.” Meredith’s form rippled in a ghostly shiver. “He wanted the orb, and ghouly boy wouldn’t give it to him.”
“He would not?” Duncan said, staring at her in surprise.
“Nope, and I can’t imagine why. I would have dropped that thing like a hot potato. Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I was expecting something different. A big diamond or a sapphire, or maybe even an opal, but it’s an ugly old rock, and it burned him. I could see his hands smoking from way over there.” She pointed to a distant tree.
“But Gryff would not give it to him,” Duncan said slowly. “Then what happened?”
“Zeb wanted the orb, too. Got all huffy and was like finders-keepers-losers-weepers. Said the orb belonged to the pack. Ordered his mutts to take it from ghouly boy. They went for it and that’s when Pratt”—she made a face—“that is such a lame name, put them through the blender. The Skinners took off like scalded cats, and so did Zeb. Some alpha, huh?”
She looked him up and down, like she was sizing him up for a meal. “Catch you on the flip side, Scrumpdillyicious. This job is a wash.”
She evaporated on a lemony pong.