Wild Side: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 7 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 4

  The other piped up as if not hearing his pal. “The Allfather sends his regards. We’ve seen nothing alarming, but something is coming. Soon. The Father of Storms calls for it.”

  “Hugin, right?” I asked, not looking at him.

  “Aye,” he cawed, ruffling his feathers self-importantly. “War is coming, Rider.”

  I continued walking, used to their familiar chatter now.

  Although I had never met Odin, his lackeys apparently dug hanging out with me. And were even depicted on my family crest. I glanced down at the brand burned into my palm – now healed – but still a perfect rendition of my family crest. I wondered for the thousandth time if there was a bigger reason for them being a part of the design, or if it was more the symbolism behind their names that were important – Hugin and Munin – perched on the butt of two speared weapons crossing the crest. The two ravens would never provide a straight answer on that, and my parents had never mentioned it.

  “You two are more than welcome to tag along.”

  “So polite,” Hugin squawked.

  “Yes. Very,” Munin agreed.

  I grumbled under my breath as I continued on, walking towards the passageway that led to the secret library under my house known as the Sanctorum. “You two would just come along, anyway. This way I get to pretend I have a choice.”

  Munin began preening his feathers proudly. “Wise.”

  “The Wolf King wants to speak with you,” Hugin said.

  “Later,” I muttered, not wanting to talk to Gunnar until I had some time to think. What was I going to do with this new information? I had pissed off Hercules, hoping to get a name, or at least anger him into accidentally letting something slip. I had succeeded with that part, at least. Also, I had wanted to rule out Hera. If Hercules was in the game, Hera likely wasn’t. Unless she took pleasure in making Hercules work for her.

  The problem was finding something solid. Actionable.

  “Give me some space,” I said, jerking my shoulders.

  They didn’t, simply digging tighter into my flesh with their talons. “Are you always this fussy after you kill an ancient hero?” Munin asked, head tilting in my peripheral vision.

  I turned my neck to glare in surprise and anger at him. His beady black eyes were large enough to reveal a reflection of my face. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “You may as well have held the blade. He died for what he let slip, and the lie you led him to believe. Led her to believe.” I shot him a surprised look. “Yes, I know, and no, I can’t tell you.”

  I grimaced. The bastards knew which Goddess had awoken. “I’m not causing this war. She is. I want nothing to do with it. Bellerophon spoke on his own. I just exploited it,” I argued.

  “After you set a trap, and after your vampire mowed him down. You saying you wouldn’t have forced him?” Hugin chattered, sounding amused. We were a dozen paces away from the door leading to the Sanctorum.

  “I suddenly have the urge for fried chicken,” I said, licking my lips. “You guys hungry?”

  They stiffened on my shoulders. “I think we’ll just fly ahead. Or behind. You smell.”

  “Whatever,” I said, striding forward as they launched off my shoulders towards one of the two Medieval armored sentinels on either side of the hall. One figure wielded a scythe, and the other was gripping a Fauchard – or a spear with a curved blade on the end. The weapon had different names depending on the culture or country it was made.

  The ravens rested on the weapons, not the knights.

  Just like they did on my crest.

  And they watched me with hyper-intelligent eyes, amused.

  I just shook my head. I never knew when they were simply teasing me or trying to tell me something important. They thought very differently from humans. Or at least this human.

  Chapter 7

  I entered the Sanctorum – Latin for big-ass secret library, and frowned to see I wasn’t alone.

  I had always known that my personal bodyguard, Mallory, held a secret, that he was something – or someone – more important than just my driver. But to find out that he was actually the Wild God, Pan? And that he had made an oath with my father to keep me safe? Yeah, that one had messed with me.

  I watched as Pan hurled a Nerf football all the way down the massive open space to my friend Gunnar, at least a hundred yards away. Gunnar, the Alpha Werewolf of St. Louis, caught it, and Pan threw his hands into the air, bleating triumphantly. Because Pan was in his natural form – a bipedal goat, complete with curved horns – rather than his human disguise, Mallory, the weathered, old sailor who loved to drink and fight when he wasn’t driving me to my appointments. He didn’t necessarily look scary, but he did look… intimidating.

  Hugin and Munin flew up into the air, since the space was easily fifty feet high, and settled on one of the bannisters on the third of the five balconied tiers that contained row upon row of books and other bric-a-brac that made up my Sanctorum – a centuries-old depository of knowledge built by an unknown ancestor of mine. The ravens stared down at us as if watching a science experiment, or maybe recording details for Odin. I shivered at that, and then let my eyes drift past a noticeable open space near a large waterfall to my left. A magical round table rose up from the floor if I walked too close, and I had obvious questions about its origins. Fanboy questions. The space smelled of fresh mist and old books, and power hummed in the air.

  Pan and Gunnar finally noticed me, and then shared a significant look. Gunnar jogged my way, dropping the ball as he approached. He stopped before me, leveling me with a glare, and then pulled out his phone to shove it in my face. It was his social media newsfeed, and it showed a picture of my selfie with Hercules.

  I grinned, nodding. Gunnar’s one-eyed glare – because he had misplaced the other eye in a fight against the Brothers Grimm – tightened. Then he pointed at the number of likes. I squinted down, and blinked. “Twenty thousand?” Then I doubled over laughing. “That must be a record!”

  Gunnar grimaced, pocketing his phone. “That wasn’t part of your plan.”

  I straightened with a sigh. “I’ve had a really long night, Gunnar. Ease off for a few minutes.”

  Pan looked concerned. “How much of my booze did you ingest?”

  “More than I hoped to,” I admitted. “But I got some food in me and threw up what I could.”

  He nodded, but still held out a hand as if checking my body for sickness. Because he could do that. He was surprisingly good at the whole healing thing, whereas I had never mastered it. I felt the cool tingle of his magic coursing through me. He finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That’s good.”

  “Why do you look so concerned?” I asked nervously. “And if you’re so concerned, why am I only just now hearing about it?”

  Pan blushed. “You said you would return immediately after. But you didn’t. Then Yahn showed up to drop off the girls, and disappeared without saying anything other than Nate will be back soon.” Pan didn’t sound pleased, but I felt a small surge of pride for Yahn showing some backbone. “You use him too much,” Pan continued. “He’s still new to all of this.”

  I nodded. “Plans changed,” I lied. “But Yahn is solid. His skills help me accomplish things without a fight. His stealth is helpful. If things ever get dicey, he knows to just disappear.”

  Gunnar patted the phone in his pocket, changing the topic. “This just made things worse.”

  I sighed. He wasn’t going to drop it. “I needed him off balance,” I said tiredly.

  Gunnar shared a look with Pan, but didn’t speak for a few moments. Pan abruptly shifted back to his human form – a meticulously-groomed, gray-haired man, fully clothed in an immaculately tailored plaid suit and expensive loafers. He dipped his head, his beard brushing his chest, as if nothing had happened. The suit only emphasized the lean, corded muscle beneath. He wasn’t as bulky as Gunnar, but he was close.

  “The weregorillas finally left,” Mallory said, changin
g the subject.

  “Damned dirty apes,” I growled. “They finally did it…” I lifted my head, closing my eyes, imagining Hercules kicking down the gates and all my friends running away.

  I turned back to them, burying the thought, to find Gunnar nodding, studying me with his one critical eye. You could say that the fight with the Grimms had started the mess in the world right now. Or that it had at least been a catalyst. Many lives had been lost or… changed by that fight. And I wanted this fight to be about me. I didn’t want my friends hurt this time. That’s why I was trying to keep everyone at my home. Keep them safe. Or safer.

  But if the gorillas had left…

  “Anyone else?” Mallory shook his head. “I could almost hope that they get attacked,” I said under my breath, more to myself.

  Gunnar’s lips tightened under his beard. “How… compassionate of you.”

  I frowned at him. “If they were attacked, perhaps the others wouldn’t be so eager to flee the safest place in town.”

  Gunnar shrugged. “All they know is that they’ve sat here for ten months in fear of an assault that hasn’t happened. No one can even find a Greek.”

  “I did. I found two Greeks tonight. Three, if you count Pegasus.”

  Mallory’s face paled. “Pegasus? Who else?” he asked.

  “Bellerophon. I’m pretty sure he’s dead, now.”

  Gunnar actually growled. “Bellerophon? Who is that? And… you killed him?”

  “Bellerophon is the hero who saddled Pegasus,” I explained. “Killed the first Chimera that was slaughtering people in Greece. He tried to fly to Mount Olympus and was struck down by daddy dearest, Zeus. I didn’t kill him, but I think his boss did. For what he let slip.”

  “And what did he tell you? Talk, man! This is the first solid piece of information we’ve come across!” Gunnar urged hungrily, just as eager to have this over and done with as me.

  Mallory finally let out a breath. An uncharacteristically shaken breath. So out of the norm for him that even Gunnar paused to look at him.

  Mallory met my eyes. “I need to see you.”

  I frowned, and then turned to Gunnar, who looked just as confused. “Have you been sampling your own booze again, Mallory? You’re seeing me. Like… right now.”

  He shivered, then wiped a hand across his face. Was he coming down with something? A godly flu? “Sorry, it happens like that sometimes.” He composed himself and spoke again. “My brother needs to see you. Promptly.”

  “Shit in a can of ambrosia,” a new voice purred from the shadows. I flinched at the unexpected voice, and then locked eyes on the huge furred cat swaying my way, tail flicking back and forth as it neared. Sir Muffle Paws, the cat I had saved during a fight with Baba Yaga a while ago. Back then, I had thought he was a Maine Coon, but he was so much larger than that breed, now. And, of course, I hadn’t known back then that the cat could freaking talk, and that his form was really just a disguise. His true identity was still, apparently, above my paygrade, even though I sheltered, fed, and cleaned up after him. He was a violent, cold-blooded, feline, but intelligent, and I knew he wasn’t in my life by happenstance, no matter what I had originally thought when Indie had convinced me to keep him. Mallory nodded at Sir Muffle Paws as if in answer to a perfectly acceptable statement.

  “I think I missed something. Mallory went senile, and you’re talking about shitting in a can.”

  “So observant,” the cat mocked in a lazy tone before turning back to Mallory. “You want to take a blind man into the badlands? That festering shit-storm of refuse, deceit, blood, and claws? I have no desire to go back home.”

  “A vacation. This sounds appealing to me,” a new voice spoke in a gentle hiss.

  I flinched. “How many assholes are down here?” I cursed. Gunnar was grinning at me.

  An albino lizard-man stepped out of the shadows of a reading nook. He was covered in crisscrossed strips of leather and had twin bone blades over his shoulders. He claimed his weapons came from the bones of his victims. His head looked like a snake, but he walked upright on two booted feet. Underneath the oddly-shaped boots were talons like a dragon. He was an Elder, a race that had been banished from our world for eating people. A lot of people, because every brand of Freak had teamed up to get rid of them.

  That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge on Elders. And his name was Fucking Carl.

  And, of course, the place Sir Muffle Paws had so eloquently described sounded appealing to him. Because he was unbelievably creepy.

  It wasn’t that he was hungry for violence – even though he was – it was that the description very likely had appealed to him. On a personal level.

  “Again, what exactly are we talking about? Context. Makes the world go ‘round,” I muttered.

  “Let’s get comfortable. I have drinks ready,” Mallory said.

  With no other choice, Gunnar and I followed Mallory to a depression in the ground that was full of pillows. I sat, letting out a breath as I rolled my shoulders. It felt so nice to sit down.

  Mallory passed out drinks, even a bowl of red-tinted milk for Sir Muffle Paws. It was either strawberry milk, or Mallory had added a dabble of blood to it. Judging by how voraciously the feline attacked the drink, it could have been either, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t strawberries.

  Mallory cleared his throat. “It gets confusing sometimes. My brother is not happy with me, but he is me, and I am him.”

  Sir Muffle Paws let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but continued lapping up his bloody milk. Then he looked up. “There is no place like home,” he said in a distant voice, as if quoting something he had once heard. He shot me a brief look and then turned back to his bowl.

  Mallory frowned. “I must. No, we must. The Invitation cannot be refused. You know this.”

  The feline grunted, but didn’t offer further comment.

  “Right,” I said, still confused. “Where is home, and what does it have to do with your family problems? Are you in danger?”

  Mallory hesitated, debating how to answer. “We are all in a very great deal of danger. And we need your help. Or… you need ours. Same thing, really.”

  I blinked, turning to Gunnar, who merely looked constipated. Him having only one eye really messed with my ability to read his facial expressions.

  “Okay. You’ve helped me out enough in the past. What do you need? I guess we need to go talk to your brother? I can get us there quickly, but we need to get back soon so we can prepare for the upcoming war with the Greeks. Hercules isn’t going to take tonight lying down, and I might have news to share with everyone soon. But we can take care of your brother tonight if it’s urgent.”

  “Take care of!” Sir Muffle Paws blurted, wheezing with laughter.

  Mallory scowled before turning back to me. “Not tonight. But soon. Very soon…” he said, staring up at the ceiling as if reading the sky beyond it. “Two women must join you.”

  I frowned. Then turned to Carl. “Are you a woman, Carl?”

  “My swordplay is legendary among my people,” he said without batting an eye or curling a lip. Not even joking. Just being incredibly literal in a way that made others uncomfortable.

  “Right. Okay. Why do we need two women again? I can have us there in a few minutes. Just us. Right now,” I pressed, wanting to get it over with.

  Mallory shivered. “That would be… cataclysmic.”

  I frowned, and then threw my hands up. “Will you speak plainly?”

  Sir Muffle paws stretched out. “Too close. Too close and too far. We must go where the wild things are,” he said with a mirthless chuckle.

  Mallory rubbed his temples, eyes distant. “Too close. Too close…” he said, repeating Sir Muffle Paws’ words in a hollow tone. I felt the hairs on the back of my arms standing on end.

  “Okay. What the fuck is going on here?” I snapped. Gunnar was propped up, no longer leaning back into the cushions, and he was frowning at the two of them. Or he was st
ill constipated. Hugin and Munin cawed from high above, but when I glanced up, they simply stared down at us, heads cocked slightly as if trying to listen more intently. I muttered under my breath and turned away.

  Sir Muffle Paws began cleaning one paw, revealing very long, sharp claws. Much longer than I had seen him reveal before. “He is channeling his brother, or his other form, his other mantle, so he is having difficulty speaking plainly.”

  I stared at the cat for a long moment, and then I slowly turned to Mallory, who was suddenly watching me with an alien gaze I had never seen before. Like his body and soul had just been replaced by a force of nature. A slow, ravenous smile began to stretch across his face.

  “Fuck me,” I breathed. “Your brother is—”

  Mallory interrupted me, nodding. “I am my own brother, Manling. And I request your presence in my domain. Bring four, but two must be women or all hope is lost. The queens haven’t forgotten your slight. Refuse the Invitation, and sacrifice the world. Love must die.”

  Hugin and Munin shrilled loudly, startling me. Then Mallory passed out, spilling his drink all over himself.

  Gunnar jolted, staring over at me. “What the hell just happened?”

  I stared back at him, mind scrambling. “I think we just talked to the Goblin King.”

  Gunnar stared back at me. “David Bowie?”

  I couldn’t even smile. “The King of the Fae. Of the Wild Hunt. I think he and Mallory are… the same person. Or something. And I’m pretty sure I have to go to the Fae World.”

  Gunnar’s face paled.

  I downed my drink.

  And Sir Muffle Paws kept right on licking his crimson-stained paws like there was no tomorrow. “It sharpens the claws, it softens the skin, it drinks the blood of all known kin… With dreams and hopes of waking the wild within…” he murmured as if reciting a lullaby to a child.

  “This sounds fun,” Carl agreed with Sir Muffle Paws excitedly.