Stygian (Dark-Hunter #27)

A tic started in Shadow’s jaw. “Maybe, but only if I get bored with reruns, have no more belly lint to pick, and something causes me even more brain damage than I already have, maybe, just maybe I might—might—do it. So what is it?”

Closing his eyes, Shadow lifted his crossed fingers and said under his breath, “Please let it be to spy on a hot woman in her underwear.”

Urian slapped him in the chest. “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

“The hell I am! You know, I could do that any time I wanted, and notice that I never have. That makes me a saint.”

Urian rolled his eyes. “Find out what Wulf Tryggvason is up to for me.”

“That burly Viking Dark-Hunter bastard?”

“Yeah.”

He screwed his face up. “Couldn’t even give me Corbin. Effing figures.”

As he started to disintegrate, Urian called out to him. “Thank you, Shadow!”

“You can thank me by not getting me killed, too, Daimon. Really, that’s all the favor I need.”

Oddly enough, Urian would settle for that himself because as he headed back to Kalosis, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

That feeling only intensified as soon as he returned home and his cell phone lit up with Wulf’s and then Phoebe’s number. The Muppet could wait. He called Phoebe first, but for some reason, he couldn’t get through.

Weird. So he tried Wulf.

Again, no signal. Frustrated, he went through his messages. The first one was Phoebe’s hysterical screaming, “Your father has mine! He wants Erik! What the hell have you done, Urian! What the hell! You better call me as soon as you get this! Oh my God!”

Um, yeah. What the hell was right.

He listened to the next one, which was Wulf.

“You motherfucking, worthless Daimon bastard! So help me, Thor, when I lay hands on you there won’t be enough left to flush, you hear me? You shitstain! You better call me back! Right now!”

Well, that was certainly not the way to motivate someone to want to dial you back, buddy. In fact, Urian had the urge to lose his phone.

And change his number.

Yeah …

Damn, Solren, what have you done? Gone for five minutes and what? You summoned the Furies? And their brats?

Disgusted, he headed for his father’s office, but Trates caught him in the hallway. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s going on?”

Trates let out a tired sigh. “He’s on a rampage.”

“He’s been on one for days.” Ever since Erik’s birth.

“Yeah, but he’s all out of sorts at the moment. He had a conference with Apollymi. I don’t know what the goddess said, but he is fit to be tied. We’re all lying low for a bit.”

Rubbing his forehead as he listened to furniture hitting the walls, Urian grimaced. “Did he kidnap Jefferson Peters?”

“Who?”

“The heiress’s father.”

Trates shrugged. “If he did, I wasn’t in on it.”

“Is that Urian?”

“Run,” Trates whispered. “Just stay low till he cools off. I’ll cover for you.”

Thanks, Urian mouthed before he vanished. While he wasn’t a coward, he just wasn’t in the mood for anyone else to shout at him tonight.

His head throbbing, he strangely found himself in Xyn’s cave. Sighing, he sat down on her bed and hung his head in his hands as he remembered simpler times.

God, how he missed it. Those nights of lying here with her. Of stretching back on her scales while she heated them to keep him warm. In all his life, she was the only one who’d ever really taken care of him.

While he loved Phoebe to distraction, it wasn’t the same. She was his responsibility. He was forever worried about her. Sighing, he forced himself not to think about things that were long gone. This was the present.

If only he could see some kind of future. But with every heartbeat, that was getting darker and darker. And less likely as a possibility.

*

Urian had done everything he could to get word to Phoebe and Cassandra not to panic. Jefferson was safe. He’d made sure of it. Shadow was guarding him.

But his father was in such a state that he didn’t dare try a more direct line of communication. Not the way Daimons were dropping. Right now, Stryker was taking a shot at anyone who looked at him cockeyed.

And even a few who didn’t.

His phone vibrated again. Urian glanced at it. This time it was Shanus.

What were they doing? Swapping his number around for shits and giggles? They were about to get him killed if they didn’t stop. This was the fifth time Shanus had called.

Not the time or the day …

Eyes wide, he exchanged an annoyed stare with Davyn, who rubbed his back comfortingly.

Until his father neared them. The kill-them-all-and-let-Zeus-sort-them-out expression on his face caused Davyn to shrink away.

“You ready, pido?”

“Always.”

His father nodded, but something in his eyes made Urian’s blood run cold. What had happened? He glanced over to Davyn, who looked as freaked out as he felt. For the merest second he had the thought to go exchange his black jeans and shirt for the armor Xyn had made for him centuries ago.

And to get his shield, too.

With no choice, they followed his father into the portal that was to take them into Dante’s Inferno, where Wulf would be waiting with who knew how many Were-Hunters and Dark-Hunters. While Wulf had been told to come alone, none of them were dumb enough to believe for one yoctosecond that he would. Not while Acheron was alive. He would protect his Hunters at all costs. Since Dante Pontis owned the club, they knew the panther Were-Hunter would be there, along with his large number of brothers and cousins.

The rest was anyone’s guess.

Urian took a deep breath and stepped in. Sure enough, as they appeared inside the nightclub, it was loaded for Daimon. Hunters abounded. Urian saw Wulf immediately and made sure to keep his expression stone and unresponsive, or else they’d both pay for it. He immediately moved over to the side so that in case that was his infant son Erik Wulf had strapped to him, he could help protect the baby.

His father looked around with an evil, gloating smile. “How nice … you brought dinner for my men. If only everyone could be so considerate.”

Several of the Daimons laughed. Urian wasn’t one of them.

But one of the Dark-Hunters laughed. A tall, dark-haired one who looked about as crazed as his father had been acting lately. “You know, I almost like this guy, Acheron. Pity we have to kill him.”

His father slid a sideways glare to the Dark-Hunter before his gaze went to Acheron. The two of them stared at each other without a word or emotion.

Urian, however, lost his composure as he realized how many times he’d seen Acheron over the years. More than that, he had a sudden epiphany of who and what he really was.

And why Katra visited them.

Holy shit!

Acheron was Apollymi’s real son!

How had he missed it all these years? His father thought of himself as Apollymi’s son, but he wasn’t. He was just her adopted child. That was her full-blooded Apostolos. The child she mourned for.

Acheron was why she sat by the mirror all the time. She was watching over him!

Everything was so clear now.

Why they’d been called back. The no-touch laws …

Everything.

Urian had to let him know. “Father?”

“It’s all right, Urian. I know all about the Atlantean. Don’t I, Acheron?”

“No. You just think you do, Strykerius. I, on the other hand, know your every flaw, right down to the one that enables you to believe in the Destroyer while she toys with you.”

Urian gave the Dark-Hunter leader credit. Bastard just laid it all out on the table better than he could.

“You lie.”

And his father chose not to believe it. Damn … what could he do? How could people be so blind? Urian didn’t understand it. He never would.

How, when given all the true, absolute facts, people would still blatantly choose to ignore them all.

“Perhaps. But perhaps not.”

Stryker turned to Wulf and dropped his gaze to the baby. He cocked his head. “How sweet. You went to so much trouble, didn’t you? All of you did. I should feel flattered.”