Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (26 page)

“That sounds too easy,” I said. “Will I run into Anubis?” I asked. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Pray you do not,” said Amahté. “He will not be pleased that a living human has entered his domain.” He frowned. “Perhaps he has forgiven me for stealing back Shamhat’s soul.”

“You think Anubis might be holding a three-thousand-year-old grudge against you?” I asked. “That’s just super.”

“I will go with you,” said Drake. His tone brooked no argument, which was unnecessary. I wasn’t going to argue. I may have been stubborn, but I wasn’t a fool. I had a feeling I would need all the help I could get on this little adventure.

“And I as well,” said Larsa. She and Shamhat had joined us, and Larsa sent me a grateful look. “You risked all for my mother and her mate. I can do no less for you.”

My anger receded. I had to believe that Drake wouldn’t take the ambrosia from me, and Larsa had the same kind of surliness I’d found in people with strong moral character. Or maybe she was just a righteous bitch. Either way, she was the lesser risk as backup, considering that everyone else’s motives were related to saving the queen.

Not that I begrudged Patsy her safety, but Dove wasn’t a vampire. She had one fragile life that was bleeding away while we kibitzed about ambrosia. Goddamn it, if I didn’t save that irritating little brat, I would never forgive myself.

“Fine,” I said. “Just the two of you.” I eyed the group of supernaturals, and no one complained about not being included. I was quite sure they weren’t afraid of me or my ire. More like no one else wanted to travel into the Underworld. And I didn’t blame them. Then again, if paranormal creatures were reluctant to venture there, I was probably screwed. “I need Ax, too.”

“You will not need an ax to get into the Underworld,” offered Amahté. “I told you, I can open the door for you.”

“Trust me,” I said. “This Ax will come in damn handy.” And I knew I could trust Ax. He always had my back. All I had to do was explain that monsters were real, the Underworld was an actual place, and we needed ambrosia to save Dove.

“All right,” I said. “Can we do the instant transpo? I hate it, but time’s wasting.”

“If you will think about the location of this Ax,” said Larsa. “I can take you to him.”

“I’ll go as well,” said Shamhat. “That way we can bring them both back at the same time.”

“Okay,” said Larsa. She looked at Drake. “Get ready. We’ll return soon.”

He nodded at her, and slanted a gaze at me that I didn’t understand, but I sensed that I had somehow wounded him. I was feeling agitated and worried, and I couldn’t be concerned about his feelings. I mean so far all I had with him was a one-night stand with a werewolf. It wasn’t like we were married, right?

“I’ll be ready.” Drake turned, and walked away. No good-byes or good lucks, and I had to admit that stung. But really, what were we to each other? Still, my heart ached because I knew, soul-deep, that Drake meant something to me. I didn’t know what, not yet, but I’d always gone my own way. And being that stubborn was its own kind of hell.

Speaking of hell . . . I eyed Larsa. “Let’s get this over with.”

Shamhat kissed Amahté, and I saw the worry shadowing his gaze. But he said nothing, and I realized he trusted in the strength and abilities of his wife. It showed me, yet again, the value of having a partner who believed me to be his equal, who had faith that I was smart enough and strong enough to handle anything.

To my surprise, Larsa and Shamhat put their arms around me, and I realized they both needed Ax’s location, which was in my brain.

“Wait,” I said. “Er . . . what day is it?”

“After midnight on a Saturday,” said Larsa. “We are risking much—it’s only a few hours until dawn.”

“Okay,” I said. I thought about Ax, and where he’d be on a Saturday night. That was easy enough to figure out. I squeezed my eyes shut, and felt that awful tingling sensation that occurred right before my atoms got scrambled.

Shit. I really hated this part.

•   •   •

“At least I don’t want to throw up this time,” I said, swaying in the parking lot of Velvet and Lace: A Gentlemen’s Club. Larsa and Shamhat had let go of me and were currently staring up at the neon-framed sign of gorgeous women with huge, barely covered breasts blowing out kisses to the people zooming down the nearby freeway.

“There is an important ax here?” asked Shamhat suspiciously. “What is this place?”

“It’s called a strip club,” said Larsa. “It’s where women dance around naked and men give them money.”

“These women are like Godswives . . . and the men offer worship and tributes?”

“Close enough,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Velvet and Lace was an extremely popular club. On the weekends the lines were crazy long, and tonight, even after midnight, a bevy of horny men snaked around the building. As we made our way toward the front, I heard the grumbling from the line monkeys, and rolled my eyes.

“Hey, Moira,” said Neal. He was sitting on a barstool, studying the crowd, looking for trouble to nip in the bud. He was a bruiser, as big and solid as an oak tree, with the kind of flat, scarred face that held reminders of more violent days. He opened the velvet rope and motioned to the three of us to come through. We sailed past the college boys who were at the front.

“What the fuck, man?” groused one of them. “We’ve been waiting two hours to see premium pussy.”

I could tell he was drunk, and so were his companions. I stared at him, and he sneered. “You better be the talent, honey.”

“Leave.” Neal stood, rising to his full six-foot, seven-inch height. “Now.”

The idiot looked up at Neal and gave him the finger. Neal reared back and cold-cocked him. The little shit slithered to the ground like a limp noodle, and his friends stared down at him openmouthed.

“I don’t repeat myself,” said Neal.

The dudes gathered up their unconscious friend and left as fast as their Nikes could carry them.

“You could’ve broken his jaw,” said Larsa, sounding impressed. “But you tapped him just right. Nice.”

“Thank you.” Neal assessed her for a moment, obviously liked what he saw, and offered a quicksilver smile. He turned his gaze to me and quirked an eyebrow. “Anyone who breaks the rules doesn’t get inside. One of the rules is that no one insults you. Ever.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Neal. Ax at the bar?”

“Where else?”

The booming beat of the music greeted us even before we opened the door. Like most strip clubs, it was dark. Squiggles of neon on the wall offered some light, as did the muted stage lighting on the three girls performing on three different catwalks. Unlike most strip clubs, it didn’t smell like desperation and cigarettes, and there wasn’t an unidentifiable haze hanging in the air. Ax owned the club, and he ran a clean establishment. The girls had health insurance as well as paid vacation, a 401(k) plan, and child care. The girls had to be free of drugs, could not prostitute themselves, and did not have to put up with one ounce of asshole-ish-ness from the clientele. They also had to have an actual life plan that did not include working at Velvet and Lace past five years. I had yet to meet to a girl that made it to the five-year mark. Nearly all of them used the opportunities provided by Ax to create better lives.

The place was jam-packed. The booming beat of the music was like an excited heartbeat. We weaved through men-laden tables and scantily clad strippers selling fantasies and high-priced drinks until we reached the bar. It was elbow to elbow. I went to the end, flipped up the hinged countertop, and rounded the corner. Ax was one of three bartenders mixing up drinks and handing out cold beers. He looked up, studied me, then the two women behind me, and gestured for me to follow him.

We left the bar area and went to the back, through the kitchen area, where cooks were making up the batches of food preferred by the inebriated—everything fried. Finally we reached another door, and I knew this one led to his office. He opened the door, smiling, and made a sweeping gesture for us to go ahead of him.

We entered, and Ax followed, shutting the door behind him. The space was small, crammed with a desk, bookshelves, and file cabinets, so it took a few seconds to find an area to turn around in and face Ax.

By the time the three of us managed to turn around, Ax was in front of the door, the pump-action shotgun in his hands aimed at us. His expression was pleasant, but his gaze was as hard and cold as polished obsidian.

I nearly wet myself. I’d seen Ax in action, but had never been on the receiving end. He was a scary son of a bitch.

“You’re sure keeping strange company these days, Moira,” he said. He racked the shotgun. “You wanna explain what you’re doing with a couple of vamps?”

“P
ut down your weapon,” ordered Shamhat. She let her fangs show, and her eyes went red. “Or I will rend your flesh from your bones.”

“Mother,” said Larsa, sounding pained.

“What? Rending flesh from bones was a very effective threat three-thousand years ago.” She frowned. “Although really not that easy to do.” Her eyes went back to their original color and her fangs receded. She crossed her arms and glared at Ax. “Hmph. He doesn’t scare me.”

I could tell that Larsa stopped short of rolling her eyes.

My gaze met Ax’s. “You know about vampires?”

“I know all about parakind.” The shotgun never wavered. “I used to hunt them.”

“Do you know Sam and Dean Winchester?” asked Shamhat. “They are hunters, too.”

Incredulity slid across Ax’s expression. “Is she serious?”

“She’s been asleep for a while, and has missed a lot,” I said. “She hasn’t quite grasped the concept of television shows.”

“Do you still hunt us?” asked Larsa.

“Not since I escaped ETAC,” he said.

“What’s an ETAC?” asked Shamhat. “Is it a car?”

“It’s a black ops government-funded organization that went off the rails,” said Ax.

Larsa flashed a grim smile. “You are one of their experiments.”

“Yeah,” he said, “so don’t think you can fuck with me.”

“Experiments?” I asked.

“ETAC liked to mess around with paranormal and human DNA. Sometimes they were successful . . . and most times they weren’t.”

“You are still just a human,” said Larsa. “Easily killed.”

“Not as easy as you think, sister.”

Okay, so Larsa and Ax were getting into a pissing contest, and I didn’t have time to mess around with who had the bigger set of balls. However, for the record, I suspected Larsa had the winning clangers. (Sorry, Ax.)

“Dove’s dying.”

“What?”
He gaze swung toward me, and the gun trembled ever so slightly. His mouth pulled into a tight line. “One of these vamps hurt her?”

“No. Another one named Karn. He kidnapped me and Dove, and then we were rescued—” I eyed the shotgun. “It’s a long story. I’ll give you the short version, Ax, but I gotta ask you to trust me here.”

He studied our faces one more time, and then nodded. He lowered the shotgun, but didn’t put it down. “Tell me.”

•   •   •

We arrived in the same field we’d left from because that was the only other space Shamhat knew. How she and Amahté had managed to get us outside the pyramid without being able to visualize the location boggled my mind. We could’ve easily ended up inside a tree or, hell, on another planet.

Drake, Gabriel, and Braddock waited for us. Drake was dressed in black combat fatigues and loaded up with weapons. He tossed some gear at Larsa, who caught it and put on the weapons belt, then sheathed daggers into slots on the side of her boots.

“Braddock,” said Ax. He shook his former ETAC’s hand. “You put the word out about Broken Heart as a haven for former ETACers.”

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d ever come through the doors, though,” said Braddock.

“I’d do anything for Moira and Dove. They’re kin.”

Braddock nodded, and the two moved away for a private convo. I was stunned by Ax’s assertion that Dove and I were his family. Now that I thought about it, we had been a family—an odd one, to be sure, but in this crowd, who’d notice?

“Moira.” Drake handed me a black duffel bag. “Clothing and weapons.” He pointed over my shoulder to a copse of trees. “More privacy there, if you need it.”

Honestly, I had no issues getting naked and dressed right here. I’d done it a million times on job sites. Like I said, archaeology wasn’t for sissies, or for prudes. All the same, though, I felt unaccountably vulnerable around Drake. I was trying really hard not to think about him, about these feelings that kept popping up when I thought about him. He was different. I mean, yeah, there was the whole werewolf thing, but different as a man, too. Huh. Maybe that was the werewolf thing in play.

And see, here’s the part where my brain got all mushy, and my heart welled with this . . . emotion, and I wondered . . . no, I wanted. I wanted him in the same way I wanted to see my mother one more time. It was that ache . . . that yearning you felt when you wanted, so badly, the things you could never really have. I would never see my mother again.

Drake would never be mine.

How could he?

It was scary and confusing and fucking weird.