Death’s Sweet Embrace Page 10

  “No—” Kitt spat.

  “—Yes,” Raven said at the same time.

  “Okaayyy,” Oberon said and turned toward the door. “Well, I can see you have things to sort out—I’ll be leaving.”

  “Wait,” she said a little too quickly. If he left now, she’d be alone with Raven again, and that was far too dangerous. “You brought some moonshine—stay for some. I’ll get glasses.”

  Oberon’s gaze flicked from Kitt to Raven and back to her. Can he sense my desperation? She refused to look at her ex-lover.

  “What’d’ya say, Raven? Join me in a drink?” Oberon said.

  “Why not.” Raven moved to the sofa. “It’s been a long time since I last had a taste of belladonna.”

  Kitt grabbed three shot glasses and joined them in the living room. The two males sat side by side on the sofa: Oberon taking up one and a half cushions, Raven sitting back, with one arm causally extended along the back of the lounge and his left ankle resting on his right knee.

  She kneeled on the opposite side of the coffee table, sitting back on her feet as she pulled the cork stopper. The liquor was made from the berries of the deadly nightshade plant that Oberon’s family brewed up in the backwoods. Called Atropa wine, the spirit was extremely intoxicating at this illegal strength to the Bestiabeo, but fatally toxic to humans.

  Déjà vu hit as she poured the first shot, throwing her off. They’d done this before. A little of the cloudy liquor splashed onto the glass tabletop, and she willed her hand to steady as she continued to pour.

  Oberon took the glass she offered. “This reminds me of another time,” he said as if reading her mind.

  “With a couple of differences,” Raven said and held up his glass. “To absent friends—Emmett and Dylan.”

  “Emmett and Dylan,” Kitt and Oberon chorused, then downed the bittersweet liquor.

  “Whoa, that’s got quite a kick,” Raven said, smiling and placing the tiny glass back on the table.

  “Just like old times, hey?” Oberon grinned.

  “After I taught you some manners.” And Raven’s lopsided smile deepened.

  “Yeah . . .” Oberon put his glass beside Raven’s and indicated a refill. “Hell, you really kicked the shit out of us both.”

  “What?” she asked. “When?”

  “When we first met,” Oberon replied.

  “But I introduced you,” she said, confused. “We had a very pleasant evening.”

  “That wasn’t exactly our first meeting,” Oberon admitted.

  “Emmett, Oberon, and your brother decided to run me off when they found out we were seeing each,” Raven said. “What was it Dylan said? ‘We don’t want no Matokwe scum touching our women—especially not my sister.’ ”

  Oberon laughed and nodded. “But I think it was ‘Matokwe piece of shit.’ ”

  The two males picked up their second shots, clinked them together with a laugh, and drank. Kitt downed hers in one swallow. The tingling buzz started in her extremities: her fingers, toes, and even her lips. She’d been surprised at how smoothly that meeting between her new lover and her friend, husband, and brother had gone. Now she knew why.

  Separately, Dylan and Oberon had been dangerous, to say the least, but together they were lethal. And Emmett was no pushover either. So to have beaten all three must have been some accomplishment. Oberon’s temper was legendary. However, one thing that trumped it was respect.

  “So what happened?” she asked.

  “Raven went through me, Dylan, and Emmett like butter—before we even had a chance to get our shit together.” Oberon stared down into his glass.

  “Well, serves you right,” she said, setting the bottle down.

  “Dylan was impressed. He said if you could do that to the three of us, then you’d have no problem protecting Kitt.” Oberon looked up a little sadder. “He respected you, man.”

  In a way, she could understand. It’d been the same sense of controlled danger that’d attracted her to Raven in the first place. She filled the glasses again and they all lifted them, this time in silence to absent friends.

  The corner of Oberon’s lips quirked. “So, do Tyrone’s men know you’re here?”

  “Of course not.” Raven sniffed. “They’re idiots.”

  “He’s upped the price on your head again.” Oberon held out his glass for another refill. “One point seven mil now.”

  Kitt froze midpour and stared at Raven. It was obvious this wasn’t news to him.

  Oberon swallowed the rest of his drink. “From what I hear, Tyrone thinks these latest murders are by Emmett’s killer.”

  So did Kitt. Even though Emmett’s death was more frenzied and brutal, the similarities were too great.

  “And since they started around the time of your return and happened to be centered around the institution his granddaughters are attending . . .” Oberon left it hanging for a moment before continuing. “He’s garnishing support from many other frightened Bestiabeo families. Especially one very prominent and grieving Russian ursian ambassador.”

  Raven shrugged and tensed a little more around the shoulders, but not enough for Oberon to notice. Kitt knew him all too well though.

  “Have another drink,” she said, holding out the bottle.

  “Better not or I’ll never get home,” Oberon said.

  “Then stay here,” she said. “You’ve slept on the sofa bed before.”

  Raven frowned slightly, and Kitt knew he read her just as well as she could him. With an air of resignation, he leaned forward and pushed his glass forward. “Come on, old bear. Or are you afraid I’ll drink you under the table?”

  “Why the hell not?” he said and placed his shot glass beside Raven’s, signaling a refill. “Let’s go.”

  Kitt’s head was already spinning but poured herself another, just the same. As Oberon said . . . why the hell not?

  “Raven can have Dylan’s room,” she said.

  “Now, hang on a minute . . .” Raven began. “Oberon can have the room and I’ll take the sofa.”

  “Actually, I’m happy . . .” Oberon lifted his glass to her and as he drank, he winked— “Me and the sofa; we’ve spent many a night together; we’re old friends.”

  Maybe he isn’t as unobservant as he appears.

  Kitt struggled to her feet, her head whirling and her legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. “I’ll get some bedding.”

  Kitt woke in her darkened room, her head pounding and mouth dry. She climbed from her disheveled bed still dressed in one of Dylan’s T-shirts. She must have made it to bed somehow, though the last thing she could remember was trying to get up off the floor without falling over. That Atropa wine sure kicked like a mule, especially if you weren’t used to drinking.

  She stumbled out into the living room. Oberon lay sprawled diagonally and facedown on the sofa bed, his feet hanging over the edge. Wearing only a pair of fitted red cotton boxer shorts, his tribal scars were clearly visible over his back and upper arms. The sun was still up. Just.

  Kitt locked the bathroom door and showered quickly. Time for an early evening meal before going into work, though the thought of food churned her stomach. Some fresh meat would do her a world of good. Like most of the Bestiabeo races, she remained mainly nocturnal. In this day and age, it was more habitual instead of a necessity, though. Hundreds of years of conditioning were a hard thing to break.

  She schlepped into the kitchen and checked her freezer. Nothing. She’d cooked the last of her steaks this morning—hers now lay wasted in the bin. Luckily there was a twenty-four-hour Bestiabeo friendly store just down the street. Kitt dressed quickly before going out for provisions.

  When she returned, Oberon was up, dressed in his black leather pants. His huge platinum metal belt buckle was hanging loose and undone along with the top button and half the zipper. He took a mouthful from a large mug of black coffee and reached for one of the fresh-made rare roast beef rolls Kitt placed on the kitchen counter.

  “Yo
u’re a genius,” he said and kissed her cheek before stuffing half the roll into his mouth.

  Raven wandered into the kitchen looking like she felt. The top button in his jeans was also undone and shirt unbuttoned. He leaned back against the counter and rubbed his hand to his face.

  “You look a bit rough there, dog,” Oberon said.

  “I feel like a herd of elephants tap-danced on my skull,” Raven croaked as she handed him a mug. The walk to the store got her blood pumping, and she didn’t feel quite as bad as she first did.

  “Why do you look so chipper?” he asked Oberon.

  “Mother’s milk.” Oberon grinned around a mouthful of roast beef and bread. “Raised on the stuff. Have something to eat—it’ll make you feel better.”

  Raven grabbed a roll and sniffed before taking a tentative bite.

  Oberon took another. “Now, how’re we going get you out of here without getting you killed?”

  Kitt’s heart stopped. She hadn’t even considered that.

  “Same way I came in,” Raven said. “I’ll take care of it myself. But I could do with a lift—meet you two blocks away in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yeah, well after those bounty hunters found you last night . . .” Oberon picked up the backpack he’d brought with him and tossed it at Raven. You’d better dress up. And you’d better stick close to the Bunker from now on.”

  Kitt pulled into the campus lot and parked beside Oberon’s Harley; Raven climbed off the back. Wearing sunglasses and a beat-up old cowboy hat, his hair tucked inside, even she had trouble recognizing him. No one spoke on the elevator ride down. Raven’s mood seemed as dark as the long black leather coat he wore.

  Antoinette and Tones were sharing a joke as they came down the staircase. Their heads both turned at once, the laughter dying as they stood.

  “Geeze, you guys look like shit,” the computer tech said.

  “Fuck-you-very-much too, Tones,” Raven growled.

  Tones stepped back and out of his way as Raven brushed past.

  “God, he’s in a bad mood. I only meant—”

  Kitt put her hand on his arm. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “What’s happened?” Antoinette asked.

  Oberon sighed. “He was attacked by bounty hunters last night. With every influential Animalian family in town out for his blood, we’ll soon have all the contract killers on the East Coast hunting him down. He’s done well to stay under the radar so far, but that can’t last forever.” As Oberon headed into his office, he added. “At least we have a chance of protecting him here.”

  The magnitude of what he said hit and Kitt’s legs trembled. She realized he and Raven had been playing down the danger in front of her. That, on top of the drinking session, had her reaching for the nearest chair. She landed heavily on the seat before her legs gave out altogether, then hung her head between her legs.

  “Are you okay?” Antoinette asked. “You don’t look too hot.”

  “Just a little hung over on some illegal-strength belladonna moonshine.”

  Antoinette cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms as she straightened. “Hmmm, does Oberon know?”

  Kitt grabbed her pounding head with both hands. “Who do you think brought it?”

  Antoinette chuckled. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Kitt just remembered . . . “Speaking of lack of sleep, how was your day?”

  Antoinette beamed and stretched. “Not much sleep for me, but I feel fine.” Then the cat-got-cream smile slid from her face. “He’s already left and I don’t know when I’ll see him next.”

  “So Christian is away a lot these days?”

  “Yes. Intel has him searching for lab complexes similar to Lucian Moretti’s.”

  “Have they found any more?” Kitt asked.

  Antoinette nodded. “Three. And they all seem to be linked to Lucian’s network some way.”

  It was the first time Kitt had seen a trace of fear mar her pretty Aeternus features. From what Oberon told her, the torture and trauma she’d gone through was enough to emotionally scar even the most balanced person.

  “There will be more labs found,” Rudolf said from the bottom step of the entrance and walked over to them. “If the humans wipe out the parahumans, who will protect them if the Dark Brethren get loose? I think these people are doing the Dark Brethren’s work, and I fear that this is only the beginning. My research says they feed on negative emotions and death.”

  The girls looked at each other as the old man walked into Oberon’s office.

  “Hmm, that’s some fucked-up theory,” Antoinette murmured and shook her head. “But if it’s true, then God help us all.” She straightened and turned to Kitt. “You want to walk me to class and tell me what went down today?”

  “Why not,” Kitt said. “It might help to clear my head.”

  Chapter 12 - Gladiators

  The arena was packed. The crowd noise buzzed through the air like ten thousand whiny insects.

  “Tones said he’d meet us here,” Antoinette said, looking around.

  Kitt pointed at a frantically waving figure. “There he is.”

  They made their way down to the front, where Tones was waiting for them. Kitt had never seen anything like the Shadow-combat arena before. The rows of seating were high, surrounding a sunken area in the middle where a sort of playing field resembling a gladiatorial coliseum was arranged like the rooms of an old abandoned house. Large screens hung suspended above the arena, showing in rotation images of players with their match statistics.

  Persephone’s serious features appeared in high-definition glory. It was a little surreal, thought Kitt, almost like seeing herself up there. Antoinette elbowed her gently in the ribs, gave her a thumbs-up, and Kitt couldn’t help smiling, suddenly and unexpectantly overwhelmed by what could only be maternal pride.

  Then the crowd erupted as the image of the new NYAPS all-state champion filled the screen. The boy’s lopsided grin had the girls screaming even louder.

  Antoinette leaned in close. “That kid used to go to my uncle’s school and got the shit kicked out of him not long ago. Always was a cocky little shit.”

  The guy next to Kitt tilted open a panel in the arm of his seat and plugged in an earpiece. When he found her staring, he smiled awkwardly and looked away quickly. The small screen could be tilted for better viewing and she could hear the tinny buzzing coming from the man’s earpiece.

  Another roar filled the arena.

  Kitt laughed. It felt so good. The crowd was cheering, clapping, and screaming—happy spectators waiting for the games to start. The atmosphere was contagious, but she couldn’t help thinking of gladiatorial combat in an ancient Roman arena—where the masses would gather and bay for blood; the players ready to give it to them. This was definitely a modern-day equivalent, and the danger was just as real. People got hurt in these matches; sometimes fatally, though not often. Still, a lead weight settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

  Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of someone she hadn’t seen in a very long time; he hadn’t seen her and yet his good-time smile slid a little. He began looking around the crowd, eyes searching.

  At first, his gaze washed over and passed her by. Then it flicked back, after less than a heartbeat, the recognition instant. His mouth disappeared into the thin line of disapproval she remembered so well. The one he’d given her more times than she could count. Just as quickly, he looked away.

  Cal sat beside him, smiling and clapping with the rest of the audience, totally unaware of Kitt’s presence.

  Antoinette leaned in again. “That has to be your other daughter.”

  Kitt nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Who’s the guy with her?”

  “Nathan,” Kitt hissed. “My big brother.”

  As if sensing they were talking about him, he glanced their way again and stiffened in his seat.

  “If looks were silver, you, me and every parahuman wit
hin five yards would be dead.”

  “Nathan and I have”—Kitt searched for the right word to explain their complicated relationship—“issues.”

  At that moment, the crowd roared as a team of four entered the arena from one end, dressed in black with stripes of red and gold running down their left sides. Then different voices swelled as the opposing team in dark purple and silver entered from the other end.

  “Welcome to tonight’s feature event. The visiting Pittsburgh Reapers versus the home-team favorites—the New York Demons.”

  The crowd cheered for their team and jeered for the opposition.

  “Tonight for the Demons, we have the captain: a human, and the all-state champion—Mark Ambrosia.”

  The crowd went wild. Even those rooting for the opposition seemed to be cheering. The boy acknowledged the crowd with an almost humble wave and turned back to his team. Antoinette chuckled beside her.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Antoinette smiled and said, “He seems to have learned a bit of humility since I last saw him.”

  The loudspeaker crackled into life again once the crowd had settled a little. “Joining him is the current runner-up in the women’s division and a Facimorph, Diane Curran.”

  The girl dressed in Abeolite, in the team colors, with her dark hair hanging loose, stepped forward for her turn to acknowledge the crowd.

  “And in her farewell performance is the former Demons’ captain, amateur women’s singles champion and Thaumaturgist, Sandie Hudson.” The crowd drowned out the announcer’s voice. This time wolf whistles and suggestive remarks had the boys making more noise than the girls.

  The witch stepped forward and threw kisses to the crowd above. Her beautiful silver-gray hair was secured on top of her head with what appeared to be pair of chopsticks. Her Lycra Demons’ bodysuit molded firmly to her shapely figure and a thick albino python was draped over her shoulders, its tail curling around her upper right arm. Her familiar.

  When the noise died down, the announcer continued. “And the Demons team rounds out with a rookie in her inaugural first-grade match—the felian Persephone Jordan.”

  The Demons supporters erupted into a crescendo of clapping and cheering, drowning out the jeers of the Reapers’ supporters. Kitt clapped her palms so hard it hurt, getting just as caught up in the excitement like everyone else. Tones stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. Antoinette yelled encouragements. The girl gave a nervous smile and stepped back with her team.