Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(5)

“Thank you,” Carson said.

Fury disregarded his gratitude. “No offense, I’m not doing this for you. I’m worried about my people. We need to know what’s causing him to hold onto his form.”

“And if it’s reversible,” Sasha added.

Fury nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Hey, Fury?”

He turned to Sasha who hit his chest three times with his fist, then swept his hand down. A silent gesture to let him know Sasha wouldn’t forget to give the letter to Aimee. He inclined his head respectfully before he left the room and headed downstairs.

But with every step he took, his long-buried memories burned through him. He went back in time to a woman who had once been his entire world. Not his lover or relative, she’d been his best friend.

Angelia.

And in one heartbeat, when his brother had told his clan what he really was, she’d not only betrayed her sacred promise to him, she’d tried to kill him. He could still feel the bite of her knife as she drove it in to the hilt—the scar was still jagged on his chest just inches from his heart. The truth was, she hadn’t really missed that organ. Her words to him had done more damage than any weapon ever could.

If she was behind this, he’d make sure it was the last mistake that bitch ever made.





2


Angelia hesitated inside the infamous Sanctuary bar. They’d popped into the third level of the limani—the area that had been designated for those teleporting in so that no one would see them—and were now trying to get the lay of the foreign landscape. Dimly lit, the club’s ceiling was painted black, and the walls were made of dark red brick. Black railings and trim added to the cave-like feeling of the place.

She’d spent most of her life in medieval England, preferring the open countryside and untainted air to the chaos of twenty-first-century life. Now she knew why. Buildings like this were claustrophobic. She was used to thirty-foot arched ceilings. The flat one above her head couldn’t be more than ten feet, if that.

Skittish, she eyed the electric lights around her. As a Were-Hunter, she was susceptible to electrical currents. One tiny jolt and she could lose control of not only her magick, but her human appearance as well.

How did her people live in these horribly crowded and overly electrified places? She’d never understand the appeal. Not to mention the clothes . . .

She wore a pair of blue coarse pants and a white top that, while it was soft, was very strange.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she whispered to her companion Dare.

He stood a full head and shoulders above her. At first glance his hair looked dark brown, but in reality it was made up of all colors: ash, auburn, brown, black, mahogany, even some blond. Long and wavy, that hair was more beautiful than any male’s should be. She, herself, would kill for it. Yet he thought nothing about it or the fact he was unbelievably sexy and hot. Not that she’d ever sleep with him. He was practically Katagaria with the way he went through women, and as an Arcadian female, she found that animalistic behavior repugnant.

Still, he was one of the fiercest wolfswains in her patria, and the women of her clan had been fighting over him for centuries.

Tonight he was out for blood.

Luckily it wasn’t hers.

He turned those smug hazel-green eyes on her. “If you’re scared, little girl, go home.”

She barely stamped down the urge to shove him in anger. His arrogance had always rubbed her the wrong way. “I fear nothing.”

“Then follow and remain silent.”

She made an obscene gesture behind his back as he headed for the stairs. That was the one drawback to living in the past. Male egos. Here she was, an Aristos, one of the most powerful of their breed, and he still treated her like she was his inferior waste.

Gods, how she wanted to beat him down.

But he was the grandson of their former leader and the head of her tessera, so she was honor-bound to follow him. Even if she wanted to kill him.

Remember your duty, she reminded herself. She and Dare were born of the Arcadian branch of Were-Hunters. Humans who had the ability to shift into animals. Their job was to police the Katagaria. The Were-Hunters who were animals able to shift into humans. Just because the Katagaria sometimes wore the skin of mankind didn’t make the beasts one of them. They had no understanding of human rationale, complex emotions, or decorum. At the end of the day, the Katagaria were still animals. Primal. Brutal. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

They preyed on people and each other like the animals they were. None could be trusted. Ever.

Yet how ironic that it was a group of Katagaria who owned this bar and who maintained its laws of peace. In theory no one here could harm anyone else.

Yeah, right. She didn’t believe that for a minute. They were probably just better at hiding the bodies.

Or eating them.

Harsh and judgmental, perhaps, but there was a sixth sense inside her that said they should leave before they finished their mission.

That feeling worsened as they descended past the second level where a bear bared his teeth at them in warning as he looked up from the card game he was playing against a group of humans. Frowning, she waited for Dare to react, but he merely continued on his way to the bottom floor. She assumed he must have missed the bear’s reaction, though that wasn’t like the man who normally caught every nuance of hostility around him.