Wild Side: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 7 (The Temple Chronicles) Read online

  “I don’t think that word means what you think it means, Carl,” I whispered.

  Chapter 8

  I sat on the roof of my house, a flat terrace of sorts that my mother had often used for sunbathing. I stared out at the silent grounds. Other than the roving guards, everyone was asleep, and the campfires were only smoldering coals. It was early morning and the sun would be rising soon. If I scanned the area around Chateau Falco quickly, it looked dystopian. Post-apocalyptic.

  I realized I was twirling my coin over my knuckles, and quickly pocketed it.

  But it wasn’t just a coin. Not really. That was just what I had transformed it into, for ease of concealment. It was a Mask.

  The Mask of Hope. One of my ancestors had given it to me for my birthday, in case I one day chose to take up the mantle of Horseman of the Apocalypse. The Fifth Horseman.

  I had chosen to actually wear it only one time. And no one who had been there wanted to talk about it. My friends had tried to get me to show them, but I had stubbornly refused. After seeing the horrified reactions of those who had seen it on me, I had decided I wouldn’t be able to handle my friends looking at me with that same level of fear.

  I hadn’t asked for the Mask, or the offer to join the A-Team, because I was generally opposed to anything Apocalyptic-y…

  But the Four Horsemen – Death, War, Pestilence, and Famine, as they were most notably known – seemed eager for me to mount up beside them. They also told me that I might be able to use the Mask a handful of times – they weren’t sure exactly how many times – before I would be forced to make a choice: to remain as I was, or to ride at their side in the End Days.

  As the Horseman of Hope.

  I shivered. “No thanks.”

  “It’s not all that bad, really,” a gruff voice said.

  I practically fell off the roof. Well, the lawn chair I was sitting on. I glanced over to see a robed figure sitting beside me. He wore a Mask of fire, but through the flames I could see what looked like one of those ancient ceremonial Samurai masks. I had seen it change in design several times, as if it was fluid, ever evolving, adapting—

  “That’s the art of war,” the man nodded, reading my mind. And he would know.

  Because he was the Horseman of War.

  He tugged off his Mask and threw back his cowl to reveal a scarred, red-haired, older man. He didn’t look scary, but he was rough around the edges, like the stereotypical biker that was just as comfortable with a giggling grandchild on his knee as he was in the middle of a knife fight. “Sorry. You get used to wearing it,” he said. “Stops a lot of fights before they start.” He pocketed a small amber plaque the size of my finger. His Mask also transformed for ease of carry.

  My pulse slowly returned to normal as I nodded absently, wondering exactly what I wanted to say to him. I wasn’t too pleased with my adopted Brothers. I had asked for their help almost a year ago, and they had declined. Very adamantly. They hadn’t necessarily avoided me since then, but had let me know in no uncertain tones that the upcoming Greek War was not their concern. And that it wasn’t mine either, whatever that meant. But they had no problem helping me out with other things, or randomly popping in to say hello.

  “What do you want, War?”

  He chuckled. I had never been able to faze him. He simply took the world as is. Good, bad, violent, pleasant. It was all the same to him. Was that a result of his Mask? Or had he always been so even-keeled?

  “I came to see my Brother. We haven’t spent much time around each other.” He held out a hand towards the tents and bonfires and my property. “And places like this call to us. To me, especially.” He inhaled deeply, a nostalgic smile creeping over his scarred features.

  I grunted. “War calls to you,” I repeated flatly. “And it smells like a bouquet of roses.”

  He nodded without shame. “Aye.”

  “How can you do that? Be so calm about war. Death. Destruction? Is that why you were chosen?” I wasn’t condemning him. I genuinely wanted to know.

  He thought about that in silence for a few moments. “For most, blood runs hot in war. In battles. But my blood is always cool. Calm, even. Especially as the carnage increases. When others panic, I feel peace,” he said with a shrug, trying to put words to his thoughts. “This serves a man better in war. Rationality.” He held up a hand, wanting to add something. “War is wild, but one must know when to be wild, and when to keep calm. Too cold, and you become calloused, brittle, and breakable. Too hot, and your emotions rule you, stealing your control. But to be strategically ruthless? Analytically wild? In a General, these qualities are priceless. For everything else, there’s soldiers,” he added with a smirk.

  I rolled my eyes at his crude humor, but his points were solid. “Is that what you are? A General?”

  He grunted dismissively. “I am the Horseman of War.”

  “Right. I guess I should have realized that when I told you and your brothers about an upcoming war and you so boldly agreed to help me,” I mumbled without thinking.

  He gripped my arm suddenly, and I glanced down to see fiery claws holding me. Inches-long bone claws of fire and smoldering coals. “We told you. This isn’t our war. It isn’t even your war. And this isn’t me trying to recruit you. Horseman or not, I will still gladly call you friend, and as a friend, I’m telling you we would never extort you. We want you willingly. Or not at all.” He released my arm, and despite the living fire of his hand, I hadn’t been burned.

  I frowned, because he had me dead to rights. That was exactly how I had taken it. “Oh.”

  You could say that after recent events I was possibly overly paranoid by reflex, and you would be absolutely correct.

  Because my fiancée, Indie, had transformed into an entirely different person, hungry only to wake a god so she could destroy the Syndicate – a group of shady wizards who had been secretly gathering power for hundreds of years – because she thought they had killed her mother. Now, I’m not a Syndicate enthusiast or anything, but I was understandably against calling in the nuclear option – a god, because them folks were tricksy, power-hungry, and merciless.

  Every Greek friend I had ever made – who had joined me in the battle to try and stop Indie – had disappeared about five minutes after she succeeded in waking a god.

  I had immediately gone to my Armory, fearing the worst, because Pandora – also a Greek – was my head librarian. And I found the door locked. And then today, I had discovered that something that had previously been stowed away inside that Armory had been draped across Hercules’ shoulders. Which made it pretty obvious that party favors were being handed out to the people who were intent on killing me and anyone else who stood between Indie and the Syndicate.

  With no other options, I had approached the Horsemen for help, expecting to hear a heartfelt and enthusiastic Hell Yeah! and been denied. Stunningly.

  “Did you really think we declined to help you out of spite?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised, maybe even hurt.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe a little? To be fair, I assumed that you weren’t allowed to help me until I made a decision,” I said, pointing a finger up at the sky meaningfully. He shook his head, looking frustrated, as if we were speaking two different languages.

  “Tell me, Brother. What is this war about?” he asked absently, still staring out at my people in their tents. His eyes scanned the camp, and something about the way he did it told me that he had just assessed the strengths and weaknesses, and that he had already determined how to break my army in the quickest way possible. I almost shivered, because he did this absently, with no apparent effort on his face.

  “Indie using the Greeks to destroy the Syndicate. And anyone in their way,” I finally said.

  War yawned. He fucking yawned! “That’s a surface view of this struggle,” he said.

  I decided to let him elaborate, because I was obviously boring him with my tiny brainpower.

  “Indie is fueled by vengeance, tr
ue. That is just a spark, though. This is bigger than that, now. This is about who will stand up, and who will cave. The world will watch this, and the world needs to see that your allies do not need you. That they have teeth of their own…”

  I stiffened. “You mean… I should stay out of it? While battle rages on my front lawn, I’m supposed to, what, sit up here and watch my friends die?”

  He sighed empathetically. “Sometimes we must do things we find… painful, or even distasteful for a later, more important victory. Does not a mother bird let their babies jump from the nest? I’m speaking of risks, gambles, not that the ends justify the means,” he clarified, likely sensing my budding argument. “But that sometimes one needs to pay a great price to obtain a great reward, and that not paying that heavy price can result in ultimate failure for all, later. Sometimes, hope requires a figurative sacrifice of something we cherish deeply…”

  He stared into the distance, letting me digest his words. We hadn’t really spent much time together, so this was kind of a jump into the deep end of the pool moment for me. War, the Rider I had thought to be the most ruthless of the Horsemen, was actually more like a philosopher.

  I stared at him, feeling as if two conversations were happening, but that I was missing one of them. It teased me, whispering too softly to hear. He saw my face and nodded sadly. “The burdens of being good at my job,” he admitted. “I see things… differently. Strategically ruthless. Analytically wild, remember?” he asked, reciting his earlier statement. “It may seem I am heartless, but I swear I have more heart than anyone you have ever met…”

  I nodded very slowly, mind racing with the implications. Stand down? Do nothing? Let my friends fight without me? I didn’t think I could do that. Even if for the greater good. I couldn’t watch as Gunnar died, even if it meant saving people I didn’t know in the future. These people on my lawn were my family.

  “Compared to what is to come, this is just a bar fight,” War said softly.

  And the hair on my arms stood straight up.

  War noticed that with a chuckle. “That is why we want you, Nate. Not…” he waved a hand at the tents again, dismissing them. “Not for this. This is a testing ground. To determine who will still stand during the true war. Who can be trusted. Who cannot. Who is strong. Who is weak.” His excitement seemed to grow as he spoke, filling him with an inner fire. The Great Game. “This is where men earn their names. And women,” he chuckled. “Some women will definitely earn their names here,” he murmured, eyes glazing over at something only he could see.

  I studied him thoughtfully. “You know how it will all play out.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can see more than most, but no one can know the full outcome of a battle ahead of time.” He turned to me and I almost shied away at the sudden intensity of his gaze. “This battle is for them. And must be fought by them. Wrapping them up in swaddling now will only suffocate them in the future. You will kill them with your love, and all will be lost.” He shook his head in resignation. “I speak too freely.”

  “Yes, you do,” a familiar voice spoke from behind us.

  Chapter 9

  I turned to see a robed figure in a nightmarish bone mask staring down at the two of us.

  The Horseman of Death. And if he was wearing his mask, he wasn’t here for a tea party. He was usually a pretty cool guy to have around. Not what I had initially expected from a man named Death, but he had gone to bat for me a few times.

  But…

  One could argue that him going to bat for me – saving Indie from death – had incited this whole Greek thing. War’s words suddenly took on new depth. Death had gone out of his way to do me a kindness, protecting Indie, but in the long run, that act was now threatening to get everyone I cared about killed. I knew there was still more to his words that I was missing, but this alone was a… well, a revelation.

  I glanced at War, shaking my head. “You two should write a book.”

  “We’re already in one book,” Death said drily.

  Right. The Bible.

  I studied Death, because I still felt like I was missing a larger piece of the puzzle. Something about Indie’s transformation didn’t add up to me. She had been… feral when I last saw her. Obsessed. Vengeful. Finally revealing that the Syndicate had murdered her mother.

  But I had checked with a Syndicate contact – who I thought was pretty high up in the pecking order – and she hadn’t heard anything about Indie’s mother. I guess she could have been lying to me, but I was a pretty good judge of liars, and her reaction hadn’t fit the bill. Which meant that either someone even higher up the Syndicate food chain had placed a hit on Indie’s mom, or there was a third party who had wanted to make her think the Syndicate had done it…

  But which was it?

  To be honest, it didn’t really matter anymore. She had a goddess in her back pocket now.

  And to some extent, the goddess was obligated to help Indie achieve her task.

  I met Death’s eyes, but he didn’t react. Just stared at me through his aged bone Mask. Nicks and scratches marred the surface. Even a few high impact craters as if from bullets. To be able to deflect a bullet with only a small indentation proved that his Mask definitely wasn’t just bone.

  It made me think of the coin in my pocket. My own Horseman Mask, if I so decided. But I wasn’t a fan of that plan – becoming beholden to an authority figure. Forced to ride at the End Days and participate in demolishing a fraction of the population.

  Sanctified genocide.

  No thanks.

  When I looked back up, the two Horsemen were gone.

  I sighed, deciding to let my conversation with the Horsemen simmer on the old backburner. I had other things to see to. Mallory needed us to go to the Land of the Fae. And I needed two women – for whatever reason – to join me on my quest. My mind raced with possible candidates. How long would we be gone? Who could best take care of themselves?

  Also, I hadn’t told anyone, but I had felt a light strain on my magic lately. Nothing very alarming yet, but to me, any restraint on my power was deeply concerning given the present circumstances. Because it could rapidly get worse, and at the worst possible moment.

  I was pretty sure it was the result of a promise I had made, and hadn’t upheld.

  I had sworn to grant freedom to a powerful Beast I had trapped in my old cane, unleashing him upon the world to do as he would. Later, everyone had been horrified to hear about that promise, but I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, now. If I didn’t live up to my agreement, I would lose a chunk of my power. I needed to make good on it.

  Which meant I needed to visit my ancestor. In his white world. Because he held my cane.

  But I also wanted to try getting into my Armory. I had tried dozens of times to no avail, but tonight had been the first time I had run across a Greek since they all disappeared, so maybe my Armory was back online. Or that I would at least be able to yell at Pandora through the door or something.

  My other item was a brunch date, even if it was a group meal. I had been looking forward to it for some time now, because this Kansas City wizard was pretty damned cool, and I wanted to introduce her to my friends.

  Callie Penrose.

  Chapter 10

  I decided to forego sleep and tackle the Armory first, since it wouldn’t require any magic, just a quick check. Well, unless the door was still locked, and I tried to huff and puff and blow the door down. But there was always the chance that now that I had at least seen a Greek, that maybe everything would be like normal again and I could simply walk in.

  I needed to find out how Hercules had gotten his cloak back. The one he had made after he skinned the Nemean Lion in his glory days. I reminded myself to check on the cloak, that Yahn had secured it somewhere no one knew of. I couldn’t have that disappearing again. Not after what I’d done to the brute.

  I strode through the halls, blessedly alone, which was a rare occurrence these days, what with all
the guests living here now.

  Sir Muffle Paws was likely hunting for vermin, or small children.

  Hugin and Munin were probably debating the finer points of Aristotle or Kant, or feasting on the remains of Bellerophon – if there were any remains. Perhaps they were doing both.

  The old Greek Hero had at least confirmed that I was dealing with a Goddess. It narrowed the field considerably, but there were still so many potentials, and I knew that Indie was clever, so she would likely pick someone I didn’t expect, someone with a hidden power I might overlook, not one of the obvious ones. I sighed in frustration. Unless she wants you to think that.

  I idly wondered what would happen to Pegasus now, and if I needed to be concerned about finding Hercules riding him into the battlefield.

  Depending on how my talk with Pandora went, perhaps I could put it back in the Armory. I stepped into my office, and—

  “Nate!” An octopus latched onto my body, trapping me in her death tentacles of affection.

  “Othello, calm down. I’m not going anywhere,” I said, smiling as I pried her hands away.

  She leaned back, staring at my face for a few moments, searching for something in my eyes. Satisfied with whatever she found, she abruptly pinched my ass.

  “The world would be a darker place without an ass like that to see every now and again.” And she winked before turning on a heel to go back to my desk, which had pretty much become her desk lately. It now held five computer monitors, and a congestion of other electronic devices I couldn’t even pretend to understand. She sat down in my chair, and then kicked up her bare feet on the desk. She wasn’t wearing pants, just lacey underwear under a long tee that said SensualAF. She had raided my closet. Again. Living with Othello in the house had quickly taught me that what was mine was, in reality, hers. Full stop. Absolutely no sense of privacy.

  Then again, she was a world-renowned hacker.