Otherworld Nights (14 page)

When her gaze fell on his parents’ bodies, he felt a blaze of hate so strong a growl vibrated through him. How many hours had they spent talking about his parents? All the stories he’d told, bringing them to life, showing her what amazing people they were. And now she surveyed their corpses without a spark of emotion.

“It was her idea, you know,” Keith said. “Her father wants me to marry her sister. Rose is the sweet one, like her mother. Dani takes after her daddy, and Gavin thinks an Alpha needs a submissive, supportive wife. I was open to the idea of a stronger partner, though. I just needed some convincing.”

Reese could figure out the rest. The Pack had heard he was at Melbourne University. Daniella had volunteered to get him. She’d set up that rape scenario in the alley, knowing it would echo his mother’s past and draw him to her. Then she’d confessed to being the Alpha’s daughter. Make her the victim. Put him in the role of
protector. Get him to talk about his parents in hopes he’d give away their location. When that failed, she’d forced his hand. Made him take her to them. Only he’d stopped at the motel. Impatient and fearing he’d change his mind, she’d gotten enough information for the Pack to find his parents. Kill them. Wait for him.

“She’ll make a fine Alpha female, won’t she?” Keith said. “Willing to do anything for her Pack, however unpleasant.”

As the others laughed, Reese looked up at Daniella. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it was all unpleasant. She sure seemed to be having a good time.”

Keith tensed. Daniella opened her mouth, but Reese kept going.

“Gotta hand it to you,” he said to Keith. “You’re not the knuckle-dragger my dad said you were. It takes a damned fine leader to put the Pack’s interests in front of his own, and a damned big man to let another guy screw his bride before he gets the chance.”

Daniella sneered. “Right. Like I’d let you touch me—”

“Oh, I did a lot more than touch. But I don’t blame you. You want to be Alpha female, but to do that you need to marry this old guy. Had to get your fun while you could, then you can fake the wedding night, trust he’s dumb enough and horny enough not to notice.” He turned to Keith. “Don’t worry, though. I was the first. And I broke her in real good.”

Daniella lunged at him. Keith caught her by the back of the shirt.

“Tell me he’s full of shit, Dani.”

“Of course he is. He’s just trying—”

“If I’m lying, tell me this,” Reese said. “Why’d she shower before she met up with you guys? You could smell the soap on her. What did she need to wash off so badly that she’d risk waking me up to do it?”

Daniella lunged again. This time Keith whipped her right off her feet, snarling, “He’d better be bullshitting, Dani, or—”

Reese leapt for the gun dangling from Keith’s free hand. Keith recovered too fast for him to grab it, but Reese managed to smack
it out of his hand. It hit the floor and skidded between the two other werewolves. Reese dove and got it.

One of the werewolves grabbed for him. Reese kicked him in the jaw, then leapt to his feet and raced into his bedroom. He slapped the lock shut and then grabbed his desk chair and jammed it under the handle.

The hinges groaned as a werewolf threw himself at the door. Reese aimed the gun and waited.

Keith’s muffled voice said, “You break that door down and he’s going to shoot you.”

Not as dumb as he looked. As they conferred, Reese checked the chamber, making sure he had at least four—

There was one bullet left.

No way. No fucking way.

He took a deep breath. One bullet. He burned to use it on Daniella, but he knew he’d never manage it before the others got him. And even if he did, did killing her truly avenge his parents?

There was only one way to do this, as much as his gut twisted at the thought.

He lifted the gun, took a deep breath, yelled, “You want me dead? Here you go.” And he pulled the trigger.

The gun fired. As Reese’s body hit the floor, the werewolves went silent.

Then, “Shit.”

“Should I break the door—”

“No. We need them to disappear. No signs of forced entry. Find the key.”

As Reese slowly rose, he rubbed the hip that had taken the brunt of his fall. He glanced at his bed. The bullet had gone into the mattress, silencing the impact.

Reese took a pocketknife from his dresser and snuck to the window. He climbed out and crept around to the barn. Keith’s SUV was hidden behind it. He slashed the tires, then, crawling, got to
his dad’s truck and did the same. He was just getting into his own truck when he heard Keith inside, saying, “He’s got something jamming the door shut.”

When they heard his truck roar down the lane, they raced out. Reese forced himself not to look in the rearview mirror. Forced himself not to think of going back and facing them. Not to feel like a coward for running. He still did the last. But his mother had told him to run, and she’d been right.

Run until he was ready to go back. Until he was ready to take revenge. One day, he would be. No matter what it took, one day, he’d be ready.

N
othing gets my blood pumping like a museum. Millennia of murder and mayhem gathered under one roof. A delicious banquet of guilt-free chaos custom-made for an Expisco half-demon.

I climbed from the car as my boyfriend handed the keys to the valet. Then I saw it.

“No,” I whispered. “It’s just a vision, right? A horrible vision.”

Karl walked over and slid an arm around me. “Actually, I think she’s beautiful.”

We were staring up at a banner announcing tonight’s event—the opening of a new exhibition sponsored by my grandmother. She’d said it was a display of World War Two memorabilia, in memory of my grandfather. It wasn’t.

Smiling down from the banner was a face that horrified me as no vision of death and destruction ever could: my byline photo under the
True News
masthead.

“The Hope Adams Exhibit of the Inexplicable,”
Karl read. “Sounds … intriguing.”

“I cannot believe Gran would do this.”

“No? Isn’t this the same woman who used to take you to churches with brown-skinned icons to prove that God loves you, even if you aren’t white? Of course, that was easier than finding horned icons, to prove God loves you even if you are the devil’s spawn.”

I glared at him. Of course, my grandmother—like everyone in my family—had no idea I was a half-demon. But I suspect if she did
learn the truth, she’d find a way to convince me
that
was okay, too.

I loved my grandmother. Sure, she could be a bigoted old battle-ax, but it couldn’t have been easy when her son—one of Philadelphian high society’s most eligible bachelors—announced he planned to marry an exchange student from India. Gran had accepted his choice, though, and accepted all of her grandchildren, including the one born after the marriage broke down: me. She was determined to prove her love, even if it meant sponsoring an exhibition to say, “My granddaughter investigates Bigfoot stories for a supermarket tabloid and, damn it, I’m so proud of her.”

Karl’s attention had wandered to another sign. A photograph of a huge sapphire-encrusted pendant announced a traveling exhibit featuring the Amulet of Marduk.

I sighed. “Reminder to self: never bring a jewel thief to a museum. You know the rule. No stealing at any event where we are invited guests.”

He walked over to the sign.

“Karl … We had a deal …”

“I believe the deal is that I may not steal jewels from
guests
at events to which we are invited.”

“Okay, but then taking the amulet would break your deal with Clayton, which says—”

“That I can’t steal artifacts of historical significance. The Amulet of Marduk is an Egyptian reproduction. Bling. Very old …” He looked at the sign again, and his blue eyes gleamed, the wolf in him spotting prey he liked far more than rabbits. “Very valuable bling.”

“No.”

“If I’m not breaking the rules …”

“Sure you are. Remember the one that says, ‘Thou shalt not steal’?”

A faint eye roll at such a bourgeois notion.

“Fine,” I said. “You sneak in the back and do your thing, while I hang out at the party with Nelson Graves. Remember Nelson?”

Karl gave a rumbling grunt that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

“Gran says he asked if I was coming tonight and if I was still with you. He told her he’d see what he could do about that.” I pursed my lips. “It’s tempting. He’s attractive, under thirty, rich, and, best of all, has a job that’s unlikely to land me in a prison visitor’s room anytime soon.”

Karl put his hands on my hips. “Start that and you won’t get to your party anytime soon.”

“I mention another guy, and you feel the need to assert your property rights? A little medieval, don’t you think?” I stepped away. “But if that puts you in the mood, think how much better it’ll be after I spend a whole evening with Nelson. Provided, of course, that you don’t steal anything.”

He arched a brow. “Threatening to withhold sex if I misbehave? A little medieval, don’t you think?”

Before I could answer, a town car pulled up to the curb with my mother in the passenger seat. Karl strode over to open the door. I couldn’t see the driver, and tried to remember whether she was coming with the Democratic congressman or the Republican one. I could never tell them apart, and it was so embarrassing when I got it wrong.

As the congressman talked to the valet, my mother pointed to the banner. “For the record, I had no idea she was doing this.”

“I know.”

“She’s just trying to be supportive.”

“I know. I just wish she’d find a less”—I looked up at the banner and cringed—“public way to show it.”

She hugged me. “I know.”

As we climbed the steps, Mom asked me how my work was going. She never asked about Karl’s. I think she knew he wasn’t really in the import-export business. She didn’t care. As she’d said even when we were just friends, “He’s good for you, Hope,” and to her, that was all that mattered. For Karl’s part, even when he saw her wearing her most valuable jewels, that gleam never entered his eyes, which in him was a sign of unparalleled respect.

The congressman—Democrat, Karl mouthed—was waylaid on the steps, and Mom waved for us to go on inside while she waited for him.

I stepped through the doors to find myself face-to-face with … myself. A giant banner hung from floor to ceiling, just in case anyone had missed the one outside.

“Oh God,” I said. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“I don’t blame you.” Karl pointed to a service door. “I do believe that will take us into the rear of the museum, near the display for the amulet. And with those banners all over the building, no one will wonder who you are if we’re caught wandering about.”

“Nice try. We—”

The hall went dark. Voices rose in a chant. I heard a scream. Felt a splatter of warm liquid. Licked my lips and tasted blood.

The chanting grew louder, but the screams drowned them out. I strained to see deeper into the vision, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was responsible for the delicious chaos washing over me.

The screams faded, and I felt Karl’s hands rubbing my arms. I blinked and looked around. He’d tugged me into a corner.

“Trouble?” he said.

I shook my head. “Just a vision of past ritual torture or human sacrifice. You know museums. Full of dull, dry hist—”

The hair on my neck rose as a voiceless whisper called to me, promising more sweet chaos …

“Hope?”

“Museums,” I said, shaking my head, and motioned him into the foyer.

“Ironically appropriate, don’t you think?” Karl whispered.

We stood before a display dedicated to human–demon hybrids in myth and popular culture, including Hell Spawn
—True News’s
answer to
Weekly World News’s
Bat Boy.

The whole exhibit was like that—linking my articles to supernatural legends. Fascinating, actually. And, yes, flattering, once I got past the cringe factor.

Tour guides led partygoers through the displays. We were in the first group, with my mother, the congressman, and Gran.

“I wish your father could have been here,” Gran said. “He’s so proud of you, dear.”

“I’m sure he is,” Karl murmured in my ear. “But it’s a long way to travel.”

I glowered at him. My
father
might be Lucifer, but my
dad
was still Will Adams. He was on business in Indonesia and had sent a gift with Gran—a silver armband engraved with mystical symbols. Ugly as hell, but it was his way of showing his support, and a lot more welcome than sponsoring a museum exhibit in my name.

When Karl took off to use the restroom, I watched him weave past scaffolding. The museum was in the final stages of renovations—which were actually Karl’s fault. We’d first met here four years ago when I’d tried to stop him from stealing something—surprise, surprise—and nearly got the place burned down running from someone
else
on his tail. Thousand-year-old papyrus scrolls and fire half-demons really don’t mix.

Karl hadn’t commented on the renovations. Nor had he commented on our return to the scene of our first meeting. I’m sure he remembered—kind of hard to forget—but Karl wasn’t the sentimental type. Also, he hadn’t made the best first impression. It’d been two years before I’d go out with him, which I’m sure, for the sake of his ego, he considers a failure best forgotten.

Gran was pointing out the new plasterwork when the director arrived. “The guest of honor,” he said, pumping my hand. “Isn’t your exhibit marvelous?”

“It is.”

He lowered his voice. “Some board members were opposed to the show, saying it would be pandering to the basest segment of society.”

“Understandable. It’s—”

“And I said, that’s the
point
. Entice them with the lurid and the ludicrous and maybe they’ll get lost on the way to the restrooms and actually see something edifying. In tough times, we all need to do what we can. However distasteful.” He nudged me. “You know all about that.”

Gran pushed between us. “Actually, my granddaughter likes her work. And I like it, too. Mythology is an important part of any culture, and—”