Bad Moon Rising (Dark-Hunter #18)(11)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Vane sat down beside him. "You look like shit. Why don’t you go get some rest?"

"I can’t sleep."

"You need to sleep. You’re not doing anyone any good if you’re too tired to function."

Yeah, but how could he find peace tonight? There was nothing except this sick lump in his stomach that made him want to vomit.

How he wished he could go back twenty-four hours and be oblivious to this future. . . .

Vane gently pushed him. "I have Anya. Go rest. If nothing else, turn wolf for a while."

Fang nodded glumly before he relinquished her over, even though all he wanted to do was hold on to her for as long as he could. But Vane was right. He needed some time in his true form.

And he needed to find some kind of comfort for himself. Something to numb the pain if only for one tiny nanosecond.

Aimee came awake with a start as pain sliced through her. It was the same sensation she had whenever Wren or one of her brothers was threatened.

Only this time, it was for Fang. She could sense him as if he were in the room right beside her.

And it was the same dread feeling in her chest. The same urgency to locate him immediately and make sure everything was all right.

What had happened?

Closing her eyes, she found him. He was lying on his stomach in his wolf’s form. He didn’t appear to be injured and yet something about him seemed to be broken. Hurt.

Before she even realized what she’d done, she materialized beside him . . . still in her nightgown.

"Fang?"

Fang froze at the soft sound of Aimee’s voice. Opening his eyes, he saw her kneeling beside him. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I don’t know. I just sensed that you needed someone."

Scowling, he wanted to tell her to leave. To get as far away from him as she could.

Until she placed one gentle hand on his neck.

Fang had always hated to be touched there. Not even Anya could stroke him while he was in his wolf’s form. He couldn’t stand it.

Yet Aimee’s touch soothed him. She ran her hand through his fur, to his ear that she gently rubbed between two fingers. Before he could stop himself, he inched closer to her.

"What happened?"

He choked as he thought of Anya. "My sister’s bond-mate died last night."

"Your sister who’s burdened?"

He nodded.

"Oh, sweetie . . . I’m so sorry."

Sorry . . . that was a worthless word no doubt uttered out of habit. He hated for people to say that when they had no idea what it really meant. No idea of the pain that was burning deep inside him at a loss he would soon bear that no amount of comfort could alleviate or even dull. How could he go on without his sister here? "You have your family. You have no idea what-"

"That’s not true," she said, tightening her grip on him. "I’ve lost two brothers and one of their mates. I know exactly how much it stings and how it aches. I know the anguish that no amount of time heals. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t remember them and how they died. So don’t take that tone with me, buster. I won’t tolerate it."

Fang turned human and pulled her into his arms. "I’m sorry, Aimee. I didn’t know."

Aimee tightened her grip on him as she bit back the tears she always felt whenever she remembered Bastien and Gilbert.

Worse, they’d died because of her. Because she’d shared her powers with them and shown them the location of their enemies. They’d gone after them to protect her. The guilt of it. The sorrow . . . there were times even now when it was more than she could bear.

Still, life went on, every aching agonized beat of it.

"It’s okay," she whispered, but she didn’t mean that. It was never okay to lose the ones you loved. Life was brutal, harsh, and cold. She knew that better than most.

Her mother’s bipolar mood swings were proof of that. While Maman welcomed and protected anyone who was loyal to their house, she was just as quick to kill any she suspected of treachery-hence her unnatural hatred for Wren.

And she was so unforgiving. While Maman loved her, Aimee saw in her mother’s eyes the blame that she still had for Aimee even though she’d only been a cub at the time of their deaths.

Aimee sighed. "As Wren so often says, sooner or later life victimizes us all."

"Wren?"

"The tigard you helped me to save. He has a terribly jaded view of most things, but in this I think he’s right. We are victims."

Fang shook his head. "I refuse to be a victim. Ever . . . but I can’t believe I’m going to lose her and that there’s nothing I can do to stop it."

"At least you have time to say good-bye. My brothers were gone in an instant. There was no time for anything, not even grieving."

Fang paused as he realized how much she was comforting him. They were sharing their pain and . . .

What are you doing?

He was reaching out to her and he had no idea why. He didn’t trust anyone, especially not strangers. He spurned comfort and always had.

Yet he didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to stay like this for a while. To have her stroke him and soothe the pain inside his heart.

Aimee pulled back from his embrace to look at something on the ground. She bent forward and pulled up the scrap of fabric that Stefan had ripped off one of the attacking Arcadians. He’d carried it back for their inspection and Vane had brought it over to him earlier to look at. Unfortunately, the scent was so contaminated, it was worthless for them to even try and use it to track them down.

She frowned intently as she studied it.

He duplicated her scowl. "What is it?"

"I know this patch. It’s from a tessera uniform."

His heart stopped beating. "What do you mean, you know this?"

Aimee closed her eyes to use her powers as images played through her head. She could see the wolves fighting, hear them snarling and tearing. See the Arcadians attacking them. But one face was clearer than the others.

It was a face she knew all too well.

"It’s Stone’s."

Fang tilted his head. "Stone? Why do I know that name?"

"He was the wolf you fought behind Sanctuary."

Fang’s breath left him as if she’d hit him hard in the solar plexus. "What?"

"He was the wolf-"

"No." Fang shook his head in disbelief as those words shredded his soul. What had he done?

"Dear gods . . . I’m the one who killed my sister."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fang was nauseated as reality came crashing down and crushed him. His stupid fight had cost his sister the life of her mate and it would take her from them as soon as her litter was born.

How could he have been such an idiot?

"Fang, you can’t blame yourself."

He heard Aimee’s words, but he knew the truth. "They wouldn’t have even known we were here had I not attacked them." For you. He didn’t say that last bit out loud, but it burned in his mind like a fiery coal.

What have I done?

"Fang-"

He pushed her hand away. "Please go. Every time you get near me, something bad happens."

Aimee recoiled as if she’d been slapped. And those words stung as much as a physical blow. She tried to tell herself that it was his pain that made him lash out. But it didn’t matter. It still hurt.

"I’ll go, but if you need a-"

The look he turned on her was harsh, biting, and condemning. "I don’t need shit from you or anyone else."

Her throat tightened instantly. Nodding, she took herself home, back to her bed where she sat stunned by his rejection. It shouldn’t hurt at all.

So why did it? And it wasn’t just a little ache. Her heart felt battered and stomped on.

He’s just a stupid, angry wolf.

True, and she needed to put it behind her. She needed to put him behind her. There was nothing she could do for him. She needed to focus on her own future and finding herself a mate who was appropriate for her station. One her family would not only accept, but be proud to bring into their ranks. That was her duty to the ones she loved.

Tomorrow she’d find her a bear and there would be no more thoughts of Fang or any other wolf.

Fang felt like crap. He shouldn’t have yelled at Aimee and he knew it. It wasn’t her fault. He’d been the one to jump into the fray without thinking. Blaming her was pointless. It was his anger at himself that he couldn’t really cope with. Blaming her was easier than blaming him.

But in the end, he knew the truth.

He was the sole reason Anya would die. His temper and need to fight had caused this. The wolf in him wanted vengeance over that. He wanted to bathe in the blood of his enemies. To wash away his anger and guilt with their deaths.

If only it were that easy.

But his human side knew that no amount of violence would undo what had been done. Anya would die and it would be all his fault for trying to save a bear he shouldn’t even care about.

So why did he?

Unable to cope with it all, he returned to his wolf form to lie on the damp ground while thoughts chased themselves through his head.

In the end, he kept coming back to a single reality-how could one chance meeting with one person on a crappy afternoon alter his life so much? How was it possible that a bear had somehow wormed her way into his heart and have ruined his entire life?

* * *

Eli walked the floor of his dark, immaculate study as he imagined skinning his own son. Yes, the boy was still young, but how could he be so imbecilic? So reckless . . .

Now the Katagaria wolves knew they knew of their existence and they’d be hunting for them. The element of surprise had been lost.

Damn you, Stone.

"You summoned me?"

Eli paused to find Varyk standing in front of his black wood ro-coco desk, watching him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. That man had the creepiest ability to travel completely undetected. He’d never seen anyone more accomplished at hiding their scent or presence.

"We have another mess."

Varyk took the news with complete stoicism. Then again, he took everything that way. "Stone?"

Eli winced. "Of course." There was no need to deny what Varyk could easily verify. "Stone’s tessera went after a Katagaria patrol and slaughtered some of their members. I’m sure they’re now gunning for us."

To Varyk’s credit, he didn’t make a face or any indication of emotion. "You wish me to clean this up?"

"I want your opinion on the best way to proceed."

Varyk crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a cold glare at him. "I’d start by killing my son and his crew of idiots before their stupidity spreads to anyone else and infects them." There was even less emotion in his tone than in his body language.

Eli retrieved his brandy from the small marble table in front of him and took a sip before he responded. "Spoken like a man who has no children. I can’t do that. I’m not an animal."

"I am."

Eli arched a brow at that. There were times when Varyk did seem more Katagaria than Arcadian, but he knew better. Tougher than hell itself, Varyk was Arcadian.

If only barely.

Varyk slid his gaze over to the fire that was blazing in the ornate Victorian hearth. "You asked my opinion and I gave it. Of course you have to remember that if I’d been on the island with Gilligan, he’d have been killed ten minutes into the first episode. Where I come from, incompetence and stupidity are reasons for justifiable homicide."

Eli snorted. "Well, I should like a plan that doesn’t result in the death of my heir."

"Would a good maiming be considered over-the-top?"

Eli shook his head. Varyk was ever persistent. "My city is being overrun by animals. Before Sanctuary brings in any more, I want you to stop them. All of them."

"I’m working on it, but you should be aware that taking down Sanctuary isn’t an overnight event. Burn the building. They rebuild and Savitar takes revenge on the perpetrators."

"Do you think I don’t know that?" Eli caught himself as he ground out those words. He calmed down before he spoke again. "If it were that simple, I’d have had them out of here decades ago. What I want is for those bears to be slaughtered."

Varyk arched a single brow at the man’s tone and demeanor. There was something insidious. A hatred so raw, there was more to this than what Eli said. No doubt this was worth investigating. . . .

"Why so much venom, Blakemore? What have the Peltiers done to you?"

"That is none of your business," he snarled. "Now go." He gestured toward the door with his brandy snifter. "Do what you have to, to get that pack of dogs out and then finish off the bears."

Varyk gave him a mocking bow before he turned on his heel and flashed out of the room, back to his home in the Garden District. It was an elegant antebellum relic that held just the right amount of chill in the air. At four thousand square feet, the house was by no means small, but it didn’t quite qualify as a mansion either.

It was, however, a lovely reminder of his solitary existence. And yet he’d lived this way for so long that he could only vaguely recall another life. . . .

He froze in the hallway as he felt a presence he hadn’t sensed in centuries. Spinning around, he used his powers to pin the bastard to the wall.

"Let. Me. Go."

Varyk tightened his invisible hold. "Why should I?"