Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (12 page)

Sure, they could open a doorway anywhere. Doing so stressed the fabric of the world, however. This section of the earth remembered the pathway to Hell. Why not use it?

Energy hummed in the air around the pretty bushes and the new wooden bench that sat along the path. It called to that part of Rowan she’d inherited from her father. Power rushed into her pores. She embraced it with open arms. As monstrous as it made her, both in appearance and in actions, she felt privileged to have been born one of Arawn’s bastard children. She was a defender of mankind, not a pretty child to be placed on a pedestal or a sexual object to be used by the whim of men.

She had a purpose.

With a wave of her hand, the fabric surrounding the human world stretched, loosening the tight meshing between the realms. Darkness showed in the spaces between the millions of tiny cords. A hazy cloud of smoke followed, seeping from between the rapidly deteriorating woven barrier. The stench of the Underworld came with it. Then the interlacing fibers snapped, one after another in rapid succession, until the doorway only Arawn’s children could use to enter the Underworld formed.

She strode forward. The moment her feet touched the corridor leading into the bowels of the Underworld, the portal snapped closed behind her, preventing any unnecessary darkness from escaping.

Instead of the sounds of insects and the wind rustling the leaves, the rhythmic drip of water surrounded her. The droplets mapped a jagged path down the surface of uneven walls. She’d once looked for the source but had never found it. In all honesty, it didn’t matter where the water came from. Hearing the repetitive plops reminded her that life existed in the Underworld too. It was only different. For those condemned to spend their eternity here for their sins, it wasn’t a pleasant existence. It was…hell.

She grinned at her analogy. It was probably wrong of her to find any amusement in the horrors of those confined to the Underworld, but suffering was a just price the sinners paid for committing the deplorable acts that had landed them here in the first place. If they hadn’t cared about what their eternal fate would entail while alive, why should she have sympathy for them after their deaths? Besides, they didn’t have to remain here. They could earn redemption. Arawn had deemed it so.

Her father hadn’t always allowed souls to leave the Underworld. His mercy was a new development. So too were the nine levels of Hell, each befitting the type of sin committed. His mating to Minerva had softened him, allowing him to experience empathy.

What would happen to him if his separation to Minerva turned permanent?

“Are you finding the answers you seek written on the walls?”

Rowan turned at the sound of her father’s voice. Arawn, the Lord of the Underworld, leaned against a jutting rock at the bend of the corridor. A black T-shirt clung to his muscular chest, and black sweats hung low on his hips. No shoes cushioned the soles of his feet. And his short, white-blond hair stood on end. Although modernized, the outfit was similar to ones he’d worn in years past. No adornment, no color, no flair. Even the cloaks he’d favored when she’d first arrived had been simple. The clothing didn’t reflect the man, however. Arawn was complex, a mix of light and dark. Then again, so were his children.

“I wish things were that simple. Then I wouldn’t have to leave our sanctuary.” The Huntsmen’s home in Hell stood uninhabited at the end of the corridor. It occupied the space between the portal and the section of the Underworld where Arawn, the demons, and Arawn’s guards lived. From there, all the levels of Hell, where the condemned were confined, could be accessed.

The Huntsmen’s holdings acted as a neutral ground and became a resting place for the innocent lost souls they’d collected over the years. The victims of the fairies remained in the fields around the Huntsmen’s fortress until they were ready to move on. Few did. She honestly couldn’t blame them. It was peaceful there.

“Is my daughter afraid to be in Hell?”

“That’s funny, Father. The horrors of Hell follow me wherever I go.” She chuckled. “Actually, Grief does.”

Her mare’s name was fitting for the life she’d lived. Too fitting. “Did you name my horse on purpose, knowing what my fate would entail?”

“No. I named all the horses after the afflictions the humans experience to remind my children of the reason they ride, but it appears as if my selections have influenced your suffering.” His features hardened, and his dual-ringed silver eyes took on a faint glow. “I regret my choices, but lately, I’ve been regretting many things about my life.”

For him to admit that worried her. No matter what Minerva had done, Arawn needed her. She made him a better person. How she accomplished it, Rowan didn’t know. Minerva often came off as a bitch. Then again, Rowan did too. Her attitude kept people from feeling sorry for her because of what had happened to Kai. Perhaps Minerva’s less than warm personality did the same.

Rowan plastered a huge grin on her face, albeit a fake smile. Her father’s pain radiated off him. Too bad she couldn’t take it from him the same way Tegan could.

“I hope you don’t regret creating me, because I very much enjoy being alive.” At least she was starting to relearn that. Trevor was guiding her.

The hard press of Arawn’s lips eased. He closed the distance between them and engulfed her in his familiar embrace. “You and your siblings are my reason for enduring. I will sacrifice everything to see you safe and happy.”

Arawn gave her the perfect opportunity to ask him to make Trevor a Huntsman. To do so felt wrong. She refused to take advantage of her father’s love that way. Better to appeal to the warrior.

“I feel the same about the humans.”

“Good.” Arawn eased his fierce hug. “Then I succeeded in prepping you for your duty.”

“You have.” Though it hadn’t been an easy or pleasant training. Many times she’d wished she could’ve died to escape it.

Arawn looked pointedly at the solid wall at the end of the corridor where she’d opened the portal. “So why aren’t you using those skills to fulfill your obligation to mankind?”

She pulled off her glove and exposed the jagged mark on her palm. “Because I’m the Triad’s next pawn.”

The gnashing of Arawn’s teeth sounded overly loud in the corridor, echoing off the walls. He stared at her palm for a long moment. His skin blackened and thickened, forming the leathery hide of his darker form, the ten-foot, winged beast that often depicted the devil. His fingernails yellowed and sharpened. Fangs emerged.

She stepped back, not in fear, but to make room for the larger shape of her father. He cracked his jaw and flexed his hands, stopping the transformation before he morphed completely and split his clothes.

Finally, he jerked his gaze to hers. “Lucas is not your salvation. Do not let him convince you otherwise. He doesn’t care about you or your happiness.”

Rhys had suggested the opposite. She wasn’t about to share her brother’s theory. Arawn resembled a male possessed. Just because he’d halted his slip into his darker side didn’t mean he wouldn’t slide into the rage if given the correct trigger.

“You know about his plans for me?”

Arawn turned his back on her and ran his palm over his skull. The blackness leeched from his skin, and his exhaled breath eased the tension in his shoulders. “Minerva told me.”

“You’ve spoken to her lately?” Maybe he would know where she was. It would save Rowan from having to search for her.

“She came to me a week or so ago.”

There went her hope of a quick visit. “Oh.”

Arawn glanced over his shoulder. “You sound disappointed.”

“I was hoping you knew where I could find her. I need to talk to her.”

He cocked a brow. “Why? The two of you never got along.”

“She’s the goddess of love.” Rowan raised her hand. “Or was. She doesn’t need her powers to answer my questions.”

“About?”

“Soul mates. I need to know if Kai was mine or if he was just a human I loved.”

“Have you met a male you think is his reincarnation?”

She debated her answer. If she said yes, he’d want to know who. The moment she mentioned Trevor, Arawn would extend an offer to him to ride, knowing it was the only way to grant him immortality. That was her goal for seeking out her father, but after his words to her, she couldn’t do it.

“I need to know if there is hope that we’d recognize each other. That is the shield I will use to protect myself against Lucas. He is my challenge. I need to prepare for it. My clock is ticking, and I don’t want to be caught unaware.”

Arawn nodded. “That’s wise.”

“So do you know where I can find her?”

“No, but try the Haven or her new house. It’s a few hundred feet from Lucas’s home.” Anger twisted his features at the mention of the demon king. Arawn strode to the end of the long and twisting corridor. At the end of the path, he jumped off the ledge overlooking the Huntsmen’s holdings.

She followed, calling on her alternate form’s power to strengthen the bones in her legs so they wouldn’t shatter upon impact. She landed on the grass-covered ground without missing a beat and hurried after her father.

He yanked on the chain to open the portcullis. The heavy gate rose, allowing access to the small courtyard of the Hunter’s old home. A couple of their hounds raced toward them. In the absence of the Huntsmen, the dogs had free rein of their holdings during the day. It was here they came to rest and heal any wounds they might obtain while hunting.

Arawn scratched the head of the male and ran his hand down the flank of the female, then strode for the front door. He twisted the handle and shoved it open.

She stepped in front of him, preventing him from escaping inside. “Why do you allow her to stay there? She is your mate. Demand she return to you. Once she’s in your bed again, you will find a way to work out your issues.”

“Sex will not solve our
issues
, daughter.” He bent closer, anger glinting in his eyes. “My mate broke a promise to me, and trust is not something a few orgasms will reestablish.”

“When she conceived Tegan’s mate.” Better to word it that way, reminding him of what Minerva’s indiscretion meant to his daughter, than to use words such as infidelity or cheating. It didn’t make what Minerva had done right, but actions couldn’t be erased. Rowan had prayed for that miraculous occurrence to happen for over a thousand years. The past still remained unchanged.

Arawn worked his jaw back and forth. “Yes, when my mate and the only male I ever considered a friend created Ian.”

She flinched, couldn’t help it. Both the betrayal of love and friendship had slapped her father at once. For a male who was isolated from the world to have lost his trust in his mate and friend, it was a devastating blow. In light of that revelation, his words to her made sense. Beyond his children, he had nothing. Except his duty to act as the Lord of the Underworld, of course. Without anyone to remind him he was more than the final judge, jury, and jailer, he could very well revert to the unfeeling tyrant he had been before Minerva.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Arawn stepped around her and entered the dwelling Rowan had not gone into since before her imprisonment. The foyer was bare except for the bust of Zeph an artist had once made for him. From here, the parlor, the dining room, and the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms could be accessed. Her father slipped into the parlor, the main gathering room of the home.

Dark wood, mahogany drapes, and intricate tapestries of battle scenes dominated the parlor. Two fireplaces took up large sections of the open space. The one directly in front of her had a small fire burning. She frowned at the sight of the flames, then scanned the room.

A desk, similar in size to the one in Arawn’s library but lacking the intricate carvings, had been situated in front of the large window overlooking the fields, and a modern deep-cushioned chair was angled to the side as if whoever had sat there had just gotten up. The papers and scrolls on the desk’s blotter suggested it had been recently occupied.

“You’ve been working here?”

“Yes. There are too many memories in my library. They distract me from my duty. Here”—he motioned to the room—“I can focus and get work done.”

His reasoning made sense. Neglecting his duties caused him physical pain, more than what he already endured as a consequence of his role.

She picked up the glass from where it sat on the neatly folded napkin next to a pile of manila folders. She swirled the tumbler. Partially melted ice cubes clinked against the sides, and the stench of rum and ambrosia drifted to her from the remaining liquid.

Tegan had mentioned their father’s choice in therapy. He wouldn’t find the solace he sought inside a bottle, but telling him that would only alienate him. Tegan had already tried to talk some sense into him. Rowan wouldn’t bother doing so again.

Rowan replaced the glass and picked up a folder. Inside was a progress report on a sinner. It was printed on computer paper and even included a color picture of the man. The mug shot showed a human in his early teens, but the age of death on the sheet stated seventy-seven. The act he’d committed damning him to Hell had happened early in his life. It was too bad he hadn’t been able to redeem himself before entering her father’s realm. Going by the grim progress the sinner had made, he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon either.

She closed the file, dropping it on top of the others, and faced Arawn. “There are computers in Hell now?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? I can duplicate anything from the mortal world for use here. The computers have been a tremendous improvement and have freed up much of my time. I can now focus on other things.”

Like hiding from his problems and wallowing in self-pity, if his isolation and ambrosia-laced liquor were any indication. “Those things would be?”

He moved to the window and leaned against the casing. With his gaze on the thousands of colorful orbs, the souls of victims who’d found refuge in the resting fields, he said, “The Triad’s game. I plan on winning it, but without knowing the rules, we are only blindly grasping at straws. That is not acceptable. I refuse to lose any of my children. None of you asked to be players in this game. So when I am not fulfilling my tasks, I strategize and think.”