Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)
Sherrilyn Kenyon
1
New Orleans
Fury Kattalakis was about to walk straight into the dragon’s lair. Well, not exactly. There was a dragon in the attic of the building he was headed toward, but that dragon wasn’t nearly as dangerous to Fury as the bear guarding the door.
That nasty sonofabitch hated his guts.
Not that he cared. Most people and animals hated his guts which was fine by him. He didn’t have much use for the world anyway.
“The things you do for family,” Fury said under his breath. Though to be honest, this whole family concept was still new to him. He was more used to being screwed over by everyone around him. It wasn’t until his brother Vane had taken him in during the summer of ’04 that he’d realized not everyone in the universe was out to kill him.
The bear, however, still was . . .
Dev Peltier tensed as soon as he saw Fury step out of the shadows near the door of Sanctuary—a rough biker bar and dance club that stood at 688 Ursulines. Like that address hadn’t been chosen intentionally by the bear clan who owned it. They were nothing if not ironic.
Dressed in a black Sanctuary staff t-shirt and jeans, the bear looked human at present, complete with long curly blond hair, black biker boots, and a pair of sharp eyes that missed no detail or weakness, not that Fury had a weakness. But for all of Dev’s human appearance, to those lycanthropes such as Fury, Dev’s alternate form was like a thrumming beacon that warned all otherworldly types that Dev was ferocious.
Then again, so was Fury. What he lacked in magick abilities, he more than made up for in sheer strength . . .
And FU attitude and anger.
No one got the better of him. Ever.
“What are you doing here?” Dev growled.
Fury shrugged nonchalantly and decided that a fight wouldn’t get him inside—which was what he’d promised to do. Him . . . keeping a promise to someone other than himself . . . yeah. Right. Hell was freezing over. He still wasn’t really sure how he’d allowed his brother Fang to talk him into this act of blatant suicide.
The bastard owed him.
Big Time.
“Peace, brother.” Fury held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just here to see Sasha.”
Dev bared his teeth threateningly as he raked a glare over Fury’s body that normally would have caused Fury to slug him for the insult. Damn, his brother Vane was rubbing off on him. “The Kattalakis patria isn’t welcome here and you know it.”
Fury arched a brow as he looked up at the sign over Dev’s head. Flat black with electric blue and brown, it held a motorcycle on a hill that was silhouetted by a full moon. It also proclaimed Sanctuary to be the home of the Howlers, the house band. To the unobservant, it looked like any other club sign. But to those born cursed, like them, the shadows in the moon formed the outline of a dragon rising—a hidden symbol to the preternatural beings the world over.
This club wasn’t just named Sanctuary, it was one. And all paranormal entities were allowed inside where no one could harm them. At least so long as they obeyed the first rule of a limani: No spill blood.
Fury tsked at Dev. “You know the laws of our people. You can’t pick and choose who enters. All are welcomed equally.”
“Fuck you,” Dev snarled.
Fury shook his head as he bit back his natural caustic retort. Instead, he decided to handle it with biting sarcasm. “Thank you so much for the offer, but while you do have a certain feminine quality in your demeanor and a remarkable head of hair that any woman would envy, you’re far too hairy for my tastes. No offense.”
Dev curled his lip. “Since when does a dog care about what it humps?”
Fury sucked his breath in sharply. “I could go so low with that that even the gutter would envy us, but . . . I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to provoke a fight with me so that you can legally turn me away.”
He clenched his fists, and he made a show of struggling with what he wanted to do and what he’d promised to do. “I really, really want to give you that fight, too, but I have to see Sasha and it can’t wait. Sorry. We’ll have to hump and fight later.”
Dev growled threateningly, a pure grizzly sound. “You’re on thin ice, Wolf.”
Fury sobered and narrowed his gaze to that of his wolf form. When he spoke, his voice was low and feral and filled with the promise of whup-ass that was waiting if Dev wanted to continue this game. “Shut up, sod off, and let me in.”
Dev took a step toward him.
Faster than Fury could even tense in expectation of the hit Dev was about to deliver, Colt was there. A head taller than both of them, Colt had short, jet-black hair and lethal eyes. He put one large paw of a tattooed hand on Dev’s chest and held him back.
“Don’t do it, Dev,” Colt said in a low, even tone. “He’s not worth it.”
Fury should probably have been insulted, but the truth had never bothered him. “He’s right. I’m a worthless bastard fathered by a bastard even more worthless than I am. You definitely don’t want to have your sanctuary license pulled over the likes of me.”
Dev shrugged away Colt’s touch, which caused the sleeve of his shirt to pull up and expose the double bow and arrow tattoo on his arm. “Whatever. But we’re watching you, Wolf.”