Legend
Legend
A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 11
Shayne Silvers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Shayne Silvers
Legend
A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 11
The Temple Chronicles
© 2018, Shayne Silvers / Argento Publishing, LLC
info@shaynesilvers.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
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BOOKS IN THE TEMPLE VERSE
CHRONOLOGY: All stories in the Temple Verse are shown in chronological order on the following page
NATE TEMPLE SERIES
FAIRY TALE - FREE prequel novella #0 for my subscribers
OBSIDIAN SON
BLOOD DEBTS
GRIMM
SILVER TONGUE
BEAST MASTER
TINY GODS
DADDY DUTY (Novella #6.5)
WILD SIDE
WAR HAMMER
NINE SOULS
HORSEMAN
LEGEND
FEATHERS AND FIRE SERIES
(Also set in the Temple Universe)
UNCHAINED
RAGE
WHISPERS
ANGEL’S ROAR
SINNER
PHANTOM QUEEN DIARIES
WHISKEY GINGER
COSMOPOLITAN
OLD FASHIONED
DARK AND STORMY -
MOSCOW MULE
WITCHES BREW
CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: TEMPLE VERSE
FAIRY TALE (TEMPLE PREQUEL)
OBSIDIAN SON (TEMPLE 1)
BLOOD DEBTS (TEMPLE 2)
GRIMM (TEMPLE 3)
SILVER TONGUE (TEMPLE 4)
BEAST MASTER (TEMPLE 5)
BEERLYMPIAN (TEMPLE 5.5)
TINY GODS (TEMPLE 6)
DADDY DUTY (TEMPLE NOVELLA 6.5)
UNCHAINED (FEATHERS… 1)
RAGE (FEATHERS… 2)
WILD SIDE (TEMPLE 7)
WAR HAMMER (TEMPLE 8)
WHISPERS (FEATHERS… 3)
COLLINS (PHANTOM 0)
WHISKEY GINGER (PHANTOM… 1)
NINE SOULS (TEMPLE 9)
COSMOPOLITAN (PHANTOM… 2)
ANGEL’S ROAR (FEATHERS… 4)
MOTHERLUCKER (FEATHERS 4.5, PHANTOM 3.5)
OLD FASHIONED (PHANTOM…3)
HORSEMAN (TEMPLE 10)
DARK AND STORMY (PHANTOM… 4)
MOSCOW MULE (PHANTOM…5)
SINNER (FEATHERS…5)
WITCHES BREW (PHANTOM…6)
LEGEND (TEMPLE…11)
Chapter 1
I clinked glasses with Achilles, wishing I had some Macallan rather than beer.
“Alcohol. Because no great story ever started with anyone eating a salad,” I told him.
Achilles chuckled, his eyes trained on the next group of men teaming up against Alex. The Minotaur was absent since this was just some unscheduled light training for Alex, who had wanted to work out. He’d asked me to join him, but I had politely declined. I didn’t want to risk having a mental breakdown in the middle of the fight if something reminded me of Fae.
“Cocky little shit. Five?” Achilles gasped. “Wait. That’s Leonidas! When did he arrive?” Achilles pointed out a bandana-clad fighter in the huddle against Alex. Achilles leaned forward on the new bench that had been installed. The rest of the bleachers had been burned, shattered, or otherwise obliterated in my fight with Mordred.
I watched as Alex stood facing his opponents—all hardened warriors who had been kicking ass since before the Trojan War. Alex breathed evenly, his muscles entirely relaxed, his feet positioned lightly to react quickly rather than planted firmly as one might do against a single opponent to hold their ground. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard—like a marathon racer stretching for a warmup 5k.
I watched Leonidas—almost hard to make him out since he wore a bandana over his face like a Wild West train robber. Was he trying to disguise himself, so Alex would underestimate him? Alex held two long sticks at his side—escrimas—but his opponents all had staffs taller than their own bodies. Smart on Alex’s part. Speed, not power, was the best course against so many opponents. They moved forward in unison, and I realized I was gripping the bleachers, leaning forward as I held my breath.
Staffs swung with great whooshing noises towards Alex from multiple directions.
Alex began playing the drums.
The rat-a-tat sound filled the ring like automatic gunfire—Alex peppering both his attackers and their staffs with his escrimas in a blur that was almost too fast for me to follow. And through it all, he was pivoting and twisting, even angling two of his opponents to take each other out with a double knock-out blow when he ducked at the last moment.
The two opponents stared at each other, dazed, and then collapsed to the ground.
Two other opponents spent too long staring at the friendly fire and received a dozen welts each for their trouble. One particularly angry-looking guy lowered his staff across his chest in an attempt to block Alex’s barrage. Alex reared back and kicked him hard enough to snap the staff in half and send the man slamming into his teammate.
Like a struck bowling pin, the unlucky teammate flew out of the ring, landing in a pile of debris beside the sleeping Talon. My cat warrior was on his feet with a piercing hiss almost like he had anticipated it, his tail all bushed up and twitching violently. His spear was pressed against the Myrmidon’s throat before the man could even move. Talon quickly gauged the level of threat to me by risking a quick glance my way. Seeing I was safe, he glanced over to see Alex squaring off with the bandana-clad Leonidas. Talon snarled down at his victim. “I was napping. Never, ever disturb me when I am napping.”
Then the spear evaporated, and Talon resumed his nap with a yawn that revealed wicked fangs long and sharp enough to shred flesh to ribbons. The Myrmidon looked properly chastised but didn’t apologize to Talon—likely for fear of disturbing him since his eyes were again closed.
Achilles laughed—but muffled it with his fist so as not to disturb my cat.
Bandana-clad Leonidas dove forward with his staff, lunging it forward like a spear towards Alex’s unprotected throat. Alex spun, barely moving out of the way in time, and the staff stabbed empty air but so close that the wood rested against the side of his neck as he continued spinning towards Leonidas.
Leonidas wisely dropped the staff and began swinging a fist at Alex.
Who had anticipated it.
He struck Leonidas’ knuckles with a solid thwack of his escrima—the immediate crack was loud enough to signal a broken bone. Except Leonidas didn’t let out that he’d felt it, already swinging his other fist.
But Alex struck that one down, too, with an even sharper cracking sound.
>
Then something very strange happened. Alex twirled his stick around Leonidas’ forearm, and swung his arm in an exaggerated circular motion, turning the knuckle blow into…an elbow trap. Leonidas strained against it, grunting and dancing about, but couldn’t get free. Alex’s face was entirely calm as he let Leonidas wear himself out, dancing about the clearing while holding Leonidas in the trap.
Alex wasn’t gloating, and he wasn’t showboating. His face was as calm as a block of ice.
Then he grabbed the bottom of the bandana in his fist and yanked down, introducing Leonidas’ face to his knee. Once. Twice. Three times.
Leonidas stumbled as Alex let him go, and then made a drunken lurch for Alex with his purple, bruised fists, swinging wildly. Alex dipped, rolled, and then kicked out Leonidas’ legs hard enough to send him up into the air, horizontal to the ground. Then Alex hammer-fisted him down to the dirt, making Leonidas grunt twice—once at the initial blow, and again as he hit the earth.
Alex crouched down over Leonidas, staring him right in the eyes with his too-calm face. Leonidas gave a very slight nod.
That’s when I saw the guy Alex had drop-kicked into his pal suddenly racing towards Alex with one half of the splintered staff couched against his hip like he intended to joust Alex—but from behind, while Alex wasn’t looking.
Alex cocked his head right before I opened my mouth to shout out a warning, and I gasped as Alex leaned slightly to the side, blindly reached out to grab the end of the splintered staff. He used the man’s momentum to stab it into the ground about two inches from Leonidas’ ear. Alex held the staff in the ground with the one hand—like a fulcrum—as he grabbed the middle of the staff with the other and pulled, turning his attacker into a virginal pole-vaulter.
The Myrmidon went flying over both Alex and Leonidas—who had probably soiled himself when Alex slammed the splintered staff into the dirt near his face. Alex was chasing after the attacker before he’d had time to land and think about what he’d done wrong.
The moment he landed—on his face—and bounced, Alex pounced on top of him and punched him one time in each ear, dazing the Myrmidon without killing him—as the bastard really deserved for trying to stab Alex in the back.
Alex’s calm voice rang out. “If you’re going to stab a man in the back, don’t fuck it up. Because you’re gambling away your honor in hopes of a victory. If it doesn’t pan out, there are no refunds, and everyone will know your only remaining currency is cowardice,” Alex said coldly.
Achilles let out a slow, malevolent whistle.
“This is…sparring!” the Myrmidon mumbled woozily, but still managed to sound angry—like everyone’s least favorite drunk uncle around the holidays. “It’s all about expecting the unexpect—”
“No,” Alex interrupted in a harsh tone—not cruelly, but definitively. “It was about your injured pride. And you tried to buy that back by cashing in your honor. Now, you’re destitute. I no longer see you, vagrant. Come back when you have the funds to buy back some dignity.”
And then Alex climbed to his feet, not sparing the Myrmidon a backwards glance. He didn’t even look angry. Just…disinterested.
The ring was silent. Even the injured Myrmidons had quit groaning to listen in.
Alex helped Leonidas to his feet, lifted the king’s knuckles to his face to inspect them, and then called out to one of the other Myrmidons for an ice pack. Leonidas stared back at Alex, speechless and obedient. Alex accepted an ice pack from a swift Myrmidon with a murmured thanks, wrapped it delicately around Leonidas’ hands, and then guided him towards the bleachers to sit beside us.
Leonidas sat down wordlessly, and we all watched Alex in silence.
“My king,” he said, lowering his eyes. Then he turned away and walked briskly back to the center of the ring, resuming his place. “Next,” he called out in a crisp tone. The Myrmidons in line for the next bout looked decidedly uneasy about how to proceed, as if it was their first day in the yard.
Leonidas slowly turned to glance back at us, and it was more the whites of his eyes than the blood on his face that kept me from teasing him. “Where did you find him?” he asked in a whisper, slowly shaking his head.
I smiled, hiding my own astonishment like my father had taught me. “Fleeing the Wild Hunt in Fae. All by himself. And he was in his early teens.”
Leonidas studied me, repeating my words silently. Then he turned back to the fight, muttering under his breath.
“And he did it with class,” I added, smiling proudly. “I did a good job training him, but I don’t want to take all the credit. You helped in some small way, I’m sure.”
Achilles growled something unpleasant, but I wasn’t even sure Leonidas had heard me.
Chapter 2
Achilles motioned to two of his Myrmidons and then pointed at the backstabber. He made a flurry of hand gestures, and the Myrmidons nodded in understanding, setting their jaws as they approached their disgraced compatriot. I was betting he was on unpaid leave, to say the least.
Achilles nodded satisfactorily. “I don’t know if you realize what he just did or not, but it was far more serious than fighting a good fight. He dispensed justice, honored a king, defeated impossible odds, and became a general to every soldier watching. He just won an impossible bout on four different fronts.”
Leonidas climbed to his feet and walked away, keeping a critical eye on Alex, who was already sparring his new opponents, but in a more educational way—calling out suggestions and critiques to each fallen foe—all while he continued fighting those still standing.
And he still wasn’t breathing heavily.
“I think you just pissed him off,” I told Achilles, jerking my chin at Leonidas.
“No. He can’t sit still for very long if he’s watching a sparring match. Gets restless leg syndrome. That guy lives on adrenaline. Strangely enough, he’s also very antisocial. Not much room for any of the extras in life. Only wants to do one thing at a time and do it well.” Achilles arched a brow. “He’s Spartan, in every definition of the word, not just the nationality.”
I nodded thoughtfully, watching the Spartan King. I really hadn’t spent much time around him at all since meeting him. I’d tried a few times, but he was a hard one to pin down. He had also spent a lot of time training Alex, and I’d been pretty busy with Hell and Mordred.
Still, it was hard not to fanboy. One of these days, I’d have a sit down with him. Maybe ask why he had come to St. Louis.
“That man is a monster,” Achilles murmured reverently, staring back at Alex.
I shook my head, dismissing thoughts of Leonidas for the time being. “No. That man is my son,” I corrected, smiling to myself.
Talon peered over at me, his tail flicking back and forth absently as he checked to make sure I was doing alright. It had been a week since I’d had any meltdowns, but I’d almost killed a friend by accident, thinking he was a pirate from Neverland.
So…yeah. I was under a close watch. By Talon. Because he had been the only one able to calm me down. Unfortunately for us, he was also at risk of having these flashbacks, so we were both being very careful not to think about our Fae childhood while experiencing strong emotions at the same time. I could talk clinically about things from my past but combine those conversations with any strong emotions and I was liable to have a meltdown.
Those flashbacks were debilitating, leaving me in a fog of confusion where I quite literally couldn’t discern reality from memory. Luckily, I hadn’t suffered any since my fight with Mordred. In a way, that was good. But in another way, it made me feel like a ticking bomb.
Even thinking about it now was increasing my heart rate, so I held my breath and began thinking of random book quotes. I took careful, calming breaths, and focused on the relaxing sound of manly love—fists kissing faces, boots embracing ribs, and the resulting groans of pain and merciful cries.
I smiled, feeling much better.
That alone probably said quite a bit about me, if
one put stock in that mystical foo-fah known as human psychology. But as a card-carrying man, I was immune to such trivial weaknesses.
“Still freaking the fuck out for no apparent reason?” Achilles asked with all the empathy of a guillotine. “My king,” he added almost offhandedly.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Maybe you should train your men better,” I muttered. “My boy is kicking their asses. Repeatedly.” I pointed at Alex currently extracting his fist from a much larger man’s nose. “One of these days, he’s going to hit so hard his fist gets stuck. That’s going to be messy.”
Achilles grunted. “I helped train him, so all that can be said is that he took my lessons better than any of my own men,” he argued, not putting much emotion into his response. Because we weren’t really fighting. More like two angry old men in the sunset of our lives bickering back and forth on the front porch as we watched the sunrise of the new generation with ample disdain, bitching about kids these days.
Also, as deadly as Achilles was with a blade, it was accurate to say that he was understandably terrified of me. He admitted his fear by poking fun at me as a defensive mechanism—poking the bear. Because lately, when I had flexed on things that really mattered to me, well…
The target usually ended up broken.
As did anyone or anything in the nearby vicinity.
That’s not bragging. That’s admitting a fault with a smug grin—arrogant humility.
Like seven days ago when I had fought Mordred here at the Dueling Grounds—a place where no one could truly get hurt. You could kill someone here and the dearly departed would wake up in bed, none the worse for wear. Except, with Mordred, it had been his…
Heh. His Achilles’ heel.
Because he’d harbored the stolen Nine Souls from Hell—the souls of dead gods, and probably not the good ones. Like Lord Voldemort, they were simply referred to as those who shall not be named. And I’d tried very hard to learn some of those names.