Sherrilyn Kenyon - Dead After Dark

Sasha inclined his head to Nicolette before he motioned for Fury to follow after him.

Fury didn't speak as they left the bar and headed through the kitchen and into Peltier House. Once they were out of sight of any humans, Sasha used his powers to vanish and pop into the doctor's office on the second floor. Fury was a little more cautious.

Because no one had mentored him on how to use his magick when he hit puberty, his control of it was less than desirable. More to the point, he refused to let anyone know just how little control he had. No one knew his shortcom­ings and lived to tell them.

So he walked up the stairs to the rooms that were set aside for medical aid.

As soon as he entered the small office area, he saw Mar­gery, Carson, and Sasha waiting for him.

"Why didn't you follow me?" Sasha snapped.

"I did."

"Yeah but—"

Fury interrupted him. "I'm not leaving a power trail for one of you assholes to use against me. Walking works for me. So where's this lion?"

Carson stepped to the back of the office where another door led into the hospital area. "I have him in here."

Fury followed him. As soon as he entered the sterile room, he froze. There was a woman leaning over the lion on the gurney, weeping. She had one hand buried deep in his mane while the other was lying palm-up on the table. In the center of her palm was the elaborate design that marked her as someone's mate. The affection she showed toward the lion made it a safe bet that he was hers.

"Anita?" Carson said gently. "This is Fury Kattalakis. He's here to help find the ones who did this."

Sniffing, she lifted her head to give him a look that said she wasn't impressed with his offer. "My pride is after the ones who caused it."

"Yeah," Carson said gently, "but the more trackers we have, the more chances to find them and hopefully get a cure."

"We are lions—"

"And I'm a wolf," Fury said, cutting her off. "If I need raw brutality and force, I'll call you. But if you're looking for someone who did you wrong, nothing tracks better than one of us."

Carson put his hand on the woman's arm. "He's right, Anita. Let him see if he can help us find the culprits before they prey on someone else."

She tightened her hand in the lion's mane before she got up and stepped away.

Fury approached the table slowly. "Is he fully animal or does he retain any human rationale?"

Carson sighed. "We're not sure."

Those words wrung a deep sob from the woman.

Fury ignored her and approached the table. The lion growled low as Fury neared him. It was an animal warning. The wolf inside Fury rose to the forefront, but he tamped it down. While the wolf might want to fight, the man knew a lion would tear him up. Sometimes it was good to have hu­man abilities, even if those sometimes went to war with his wolf's heart.

"Easy," he said in a level tone as he balled his hand into a fist to protect his fingers. If there was nothing inside the lion but animal, it would respond to any hostile or fear phero­mones it smelled. He held his hand out slowly so the lion could catch his scent and intent.

The lion swatted at him but didn't hurt him. Good. Fury put his hand on the lion's back. Leaning closer, he felt the muscles shifting, but they weren't bunching to attack. He breathed in and smelled the scent of Carson, Margery, the female lion, and others. But it was the lightest smell that sent him reeling . . .

A wolfswan.

Fury looked at the lioness. "Have you been around any other Lykos?"

Anita indicated the wolf by Carson. "Sasha."

"No," Fury said slowly. "Female."

Anita scoffed. "We don't mix with other breeds. We are purists."

Maybe . . . but there were other scents he picked up on, too. Jackal, panther, and wolf. "When were you around a jackal?"

"Never!" she spat, indignant at the mere suggestion. The jackals weren't exactly anyone's favorite breed. In the land of outcasts, they were the omega animals. The ones every­one avoided and picked on.

Sasha moved closer. "I smell it, too."

Carson exchanged a worried look with Margery. "Anita, tell us everything you can remember about the ones who at­tacked your mate."

"I didn't see them. Jake was out with his brother, in natu­ral form, just running to run. They were harming no one. His brother said that a tessera of Arcadians flashed in and came at them. They fought, and the Arcadians shot Jake with something, and he went down hard. Peter ran for help."

"Where's Peter now?" Fury asked.

A tear slid from the corner of her eye. "Dead. Whatever they shot hit him in the head. He only lived long enough to tell us what happened."

Carson handed her off to Margery before he led Sasha and Fury out of the room. "I've dug through Peter's head and couldn't find anything. There's no entry wound, no exit wound, no blood. Nothing. I don't know what killed him."

That didn't bode well. "Magick?" Fury asked.

Carson shook his head. "But what would be that power­ful?"

Sasha shifted his weight. "The gods." Fury disagreed with that. "I didn't smell a god. I smelled us."

Sasha let out a long sigh. "You know how many Lykos patrias exist?"

"Since I'm the Regis for the Katagaria, yeah, I do. There are thousands of us and that's just in this time period." What he didn't tell them was that the scent was one he was more than familiar with. One from a past he'd done his damnedest to forget. "I'm going to do some digging around and see what I can come up with."

"Thank you," Carson said.

Fury disregarded his gratitude. "No offense, I'm not do­ing this for you. I'm worried about my people. We need to know what's causing him to hold onto his form."

"And if it's reversible," Sasha added.

Fury nodded. "I'll be in touch."

"Hey, Fury?"

He turned to Sasha who hit his chest three times with his fist, then swept his hand down. A silent gesture to let him know Sasha wouldn't forget to give the letter to Aimee. He inclined his head respectfully before he left the room and headed downstairs.

But with every step he took, his long-buried memories burned through him. He went back in time to a woman who had once been his entire world. Not his lover or relative, she'd been his best friend. Angelia.

And in one heartbeat, when his brother had told his clan what he really was, she'd not only betrayed her sacred prom­ise to him, she'd tried to kill him. He could still feel the bite of her knife as she drove it in to the hilt—the scar was still jagged on his chest just inches from his heart. The truth was, she hadn't really missed that organ. Her words to him had done more damage than any weapon ever could.

If she was behind this, he'd make sure it was the last mis­take that bitch ever made.

Angelia hesitated inside the infamous Sanctuary bar. They'd popped into the third level of the limani—the area that had been designated for those teleporting in so that no one would see them—and were now trying to get the lay of the foreign landscape. Dimly lit, the club's ceiling was painted black, and the walls were made of dark red brick. Black railings and trim added to the cave-like feeling of the place.

She'd spent most of her life in medieval England, prefer­ring the open countryside and untainted air to the chaos of twenty-first-century life. Now she knew why. Buildings like this were claustrophobic. She was used to thirty-foot arched ceilings. The flat one above her head couldn't be more than ten feet, if that.

Skittish, she eyed the electric lights around her. As a Were-Hunter, she was susceptible to electrical currents. One tiny jolt and she could lose control of not only her magick, but her human appearance as well.

How did her people live in these horribly crowded and overly electrified places? She'd never understand the appeal. Not to mention the clothes . . .