Warrior's Hope (Dark Protectors #16)

“What is it?” she asked.

“It was a message from a source,” he murmured. “I’m going to miss our lunch meeting.”

She tried to read his watch, but the message had already faded away. “Why? What’s happening?”

He eyed the forest and the trees, obviously looking for snipers. They were always about, especially these days. “A source has located my father. It’s time he and I had a little chat.”





Chapter Seventeen


Still burned, battered, and bleeding from a wound in his head, Paxton found his father in a dilapidated bar outside of Cabo San Lucas. Known only to locals, it was a place for drinking and not much else. The flight had taken more than five hours because of rough weather, though the harsh sun had been blinding as it ripped through the clouds from time to time. His head was still aching from the glare.

The ocean rolled in the distance as Paxton opened the flimsy wooden door and walked inside, instantly feeling the warmth of the many bodies scattered inside the rough building. Bottles of cheap liquor were piled high behind the scarred wooden bar.

As he stalked across the dirt floor, the stench of body odor, puke, and stale beer filled his nostrils. But he didn’t care. He approached the lone figure sitting on a stool at the far end of the bar, a broad male hunched over a glass of rotgut.

The more Pax moved, the more his heart rate finally picked up. The drug was still poisoning his system, and he thought idly it might be shutting him down pretty soon, so he had to get his affairs in order. Unfortunately, one of those items included dealing with this asshole from his past. As he got close, his father lifted his head.

Slowly, that dark gaze, already filled with hatred, swept Paxton from his feet to the top of his head. “Huh, guess your brain didn’t explode earlier, did it?”

The implications of that statement shot through Paxton. Even though he had heard the truth from Henric, there was a part of him—that scared kid from long ago who had wanted to impress his father—that hadn’t wanted to believe it. His own father had been more than willing to see him dead.

“How did you find me?” Paelotin asked, swigging back the rotgut.

“I’ve at least had an idea of your location since I turned sixteen years old,” Paxton said. “Didn’t matter who I had to bribe or beat up. I kept track of you.”

“Not very well,” Paelotin said, motioning to the bartender for another round.

The bartender, a short human who had to be about ninety years old, shuffled over, his girth barely clearing the narrow space behind the bar. He poured some unidentifiable liquid into Paelotin’s glass and went away.

“So you really wanted me dead,” Paxton said.

“Huh. Actually, I didn’t give two shits,” Paelotin said, looking at his drink. His raw hatred belied his words.

“How long have you been working with the Kurjans?” Paxton asked evenly, pulling out a stool when all he wanted to do was choke the very life out of the monster in front of him.

“Does it matter?”

Paxton wasn’t sure whether it did or not. “If you don’t remember, then don’t worry about it.” He motioned for the bartender. The guy came over, his thin gray hair oiled back with a thick paste, and he poured Paxton a glass, not looking up, then shuffled away.

“The Defenders contacted me when the Realm kicked me out,” Paelotin pointed for the bartender to just come and leave the bottle. The guy did so with no expression.

Pax eyed the bottle. Most of the label had been worn off. “You were a soldier for the Realm. How could you just switch alliances like that?” The Kurjans had killed Pax’s mother. How could his father hate the Realm and Paxton more than the evil scum who had killed his mate?

“The Kurjans made it worth my while. I figured, why not? They at least were offering money while the Realm offered nothing but disappointment.” He looked Paxton up and down. “I could’ve trained you well, but they took you from me, although, let’s be honest, I didn’t much care. I figured you’d be a scientist or something. Are you?”

“You know exactly what I am,” Paxton retorted. “You’ve been in contact with Henric this whole time.”

Paelotin poured more into his glass. “Henric knows what he is doing. He may be a scientist, but the guy’s a strategic genius. He got you to work for him, didn’t he?”

Paxton couldn’t argue with that.

“Plus,” Paelotin continued, “he got Santino, that moron, to work for him as well. Well, for a while. You know your uncle tried to get out.”

Paxton tipped back his glass, trying not to wince as the liquor burned down his throat. Stuff tasted like pure acid. “Santino tried to leave the Defenders?”

“Oh yeah,” Paelotin said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Something about Sam Kyllwood and a vote to kill him. I think he finally realized the stakes. He told Henric he wanted out, and of course, Henric made threats. Said he had people watching you and would kill you.”

Paxton’s chest hurt, but he didn’t rub it. He refused to show any unease to his father. “Santino’s a good man.” No doubt he would’ve sacrificed himself to save Pax. “Unlike you. You’ve never sacrificed for anybody, have you?” The anger still flowed through him, but he wouldn’t let it show. He would never give Paelotin that satisfaction. “I waited a long time to talk to you,” he said.

Paelotin snorted. “We don’t have anything to say, boy. You chose the Realm over me.”

“Of course I did,” Paxton said. “You’re a loser who beats kids and works for the enemy. One of the biggest regrets of my life is that I have your last name. I could change it.”

It didn’t really matter, because his mother’s name was Pankov. So as a demon, when his mating mark appeared on his hand, it would be a P. For years, he’d felt it itching on his palm, but the marking hadn’t appeared yet. Something seemed to be holding him back, but he sensed it would happen soon. He kind of liked his last name. It was unfortunate he shared it with this miscreant.

Paelotin just looked at him. “I can’t believe you’re here actually trying to be threatening. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you when you were young. I should have.”

“You tried,” Paxton said softly. “And failed.”

Paelotin chuckled. “Yeah. Deep down you’re still a crying little bastard though, aren’t you? You may look all tough, and you may be able to fight, but we both know you’re nothing but garbage.”

“Do we know that?” Paxton asked calmly, his gut turning. Yeah, he felt worthless sometimes. That was because his father’s words still rang in his head. But now, he was bigger than the bastard. Tougher and most certainly deadlier. “You’re the one who got kicked out of the Realm. Talk about garbage.”

“You just had to protect that little bitch.”

Paxton grabbed him square on the throat and squeezed. “I strongly recommend you don’t talk about Hope like that. I came here to chat, but I’m also fine with killing you.”