The Lord of Near and Nigh: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 2) (42 page)

The First Fallen must die.
 

That’s Aaron and Trish and my son Lachlan’s only hope.

The people I’ve come to love.

Even if it means my creature consumes me.
 

The Fallen must die.
 

I crawl under the shot-up van as Aaron loads another clip into the M16. When he sees me he snarls a greeting, and in my moment of terror I see my bloodmate with perfect clarity: his alpha-wolf strength and courage. His human self-doubt and loneliness. The two halves of him at war with each other, tearing him apart.
 

Aaron leans down, grabs me by the shoulder and hauls me into the van.

I collapse beside Trish, shaking and moaning, then curl up and sob, close to giving up all hope but wanting to tell Aaron and the others I didn’t mean it.
 

I didn’t mean to summon her.
 

Didn’t mean to bring the Stricken hordes.
 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
 

But no one hears.
 

They’re too busy trying not to get eaten alive.

What a lousy sack of shit I am. This is my fault. Aaron told me to stay in the van. I didn’t listen. And now I’m too weak to lift my head, nevermind
fight
—

“I didn’t have…”
 

But the words die on my lips.
 

I was going to say I didn’t have a choice.
 

But that’s a lie.
 

That moment when the earth opened to greet me? I could have stepped away. Could have forced her back inside. Banished her.

But I didn’t.
 

Bullets tear through the van, inches overhead. I glance out the sliding door and see two spitting goat-creatures racing at me. Trish leans out, raises her Glock, puts two bullets in the head of each one. They both drop and then the van’s tires squeal as it tears backward, thumping and bouncing over more Stricken, the burning aluminum-ash taste in my throat growing worse, cutting off my breath because my creature’s choking me, punishing me, the fucking bitch, she’s suffocating me from inside—
 

Aaron’s leaning out the front window, howling, the M16 bucking against his shoulder and even in my sickness I feel a hot pang of desire for him.
 

Tate hits the brakes and tears at the wheel, spinning us around. I slide in back, too weak to care, slam against the van’s panels, then nearly roll out the open side door. Trish gets her hand on my jacket and holds me inside, and then we’re racing through alleys and side streets, ploughing through anything, Skin or Stricken, that steps in our way.

***

“Mr. Rich Prick is in that dump?” Aaron asks, nodding at Connor’s gleaming steel-and-glass mansion.

It’s the first anyone’s spoken to me since I rose from the chasm.
 

No one’s even
looked
at me.
 

They fear me. I can’t blame them.

“Yes. He’s inside. I scent him.”

Trish peers out the window. “Connor? Connor Lerrick? The douchebag prince? What the fuck do we want with
him
, Lil?”

“Right?” Aaron says.

Trish looks around the leafy streets. “No riots. No chasms. Another day of leisure for the masters. I wonder how the rich managed to avoid armageddon? Must’ve been expensive.”
 

I look at Aaron and say, “Remember. You promised.”

“Yeah. Well. That was the afterglow talking.”

“Promised
what
?” Trish says, clearly upset at not being in the know.
 

“Not to murder my ex,” I say, stepping out of the van. My left side is tender from where I smashed into the ground, and my throat’s still numb and raw from my creature’s heat, but other than that I’m all right.
 

Tate caught a bullet in the shoulder, but he seems close to healed.
 

We’re whole, if you can call it that.
 

“You have
shit
choice in men, Lil,” Trish says, stepping beside me and eyeing the thick cedar hedges suspiciously. “Between the two of these jerk-offs I’d have a hard time deciding who to shoot first.”

She’s jittery. Nervous. On edge.

“Just let me do the talking. Both of you.”

Trish rolls her eyes.
 

Aaron snaps a full clip into the M16.
 

Fucking drama.

I think about the last couple times I saw Connor as we make our way down his driveway. First when I ditched Trish after the shooting in Aaron’s bar. Then again when I called him to help me after the perv Al Kusch got all mouthy. I think about him and Star telling me about the First Fallen and how he’s their father August Lerrick I’ll need Aaron’s help to kill him.

Something doesn’t add up.
 

Connor’s been neck-deep in this shit since day one.
 

And if he isn’t straight with me and I have to let Aaron toss him around to get the information I need about his father August…and maybe even find Lachlan?
 

Well, blowback’s a bitch.

Connor answers the door wearing a three-piece suit so blue it’s nearly black. He smiles at me, his soft brown eyes contrasting with his strong jaw. Then sees the ragged and bloodied crew gathered on his doorstep.
 

The smile fades.

“Tate’s the dude with dreadlocks” I say, not bothering to pretend I’m happy to see Connor. “I believe you know the other two?”

Connor gives me a stone-faced nod.

“I don’t know
him
,” Aaron growls.

Connor eyes the M16 Aaron’s packing, then extends his hand with a broad, welcoming smile that’s as genuine as pleather.
 

Dude’s rich. He’s skilled at faking being nice to everyone.
 

“Good evening. I’m Connor Lerrick. And you must be…One-Eight-Seven?”

“Aaron.”

“Right. Aaron.” Connor smirks, leaves his hand hovering in the air, then slowly lowers it. “Well. Come on in, everyone. Got plenty of room.”

“Jeez,” Trish whispers as we enter the art-lined foyer. She has a look like the peasants must’ve had when entering the king’s castle for the first time.

Connor smiles with completely aggravating modesty and brushes a spot of lint from his coat jacket. “You like Mondrian?” he asks as Trish studies a geometric painting with a skeptical eye.

“Mondrian, huh? He the dude that cut off his ear?”

Connor laughs in a way that makes my skin crawl. What did I ever see in this pretentious, smarmy snob?

“You got a date?” I ask, straightening Connor’s collar.

“Of sorts,” Connor says. “Anyone care for a drink?”

Connor turns toward the kitchen. I snatch his elbow, pull him close and say, “Take us to him. The First Fallen. Your father? Like you said. This ends now.”

Connor pulls his arm free and eyes Aaron. “The situation has progressed, Lily. I’m afraid that’s no longer a good idea.”
 

Trish has her Glock pressed to Connor’s temple faster than I thought a Skin could move. “You take us to him,” she says, very slow, “Or your pretty face paints the fucking wall. More Pollock than Mondrian.”

Tate whistles.
 

“I know,” Aaron says, laughing. “I like her more and more.”

Connor gives Trish a strained smile. “Never did think much of me, huh Trish?”

“Never.”

“Well. You have good instincts.”

Connor opens his mouth. A set of long, crystal-white and wickedly curved canine fangs drop over his lips.

Trish’s hand begins to shake.

“I fucking
knew
I scented it,” Aaron growls. “No collar. You fucking lying sack of—”
 

“Keep your dogs leashed, Lily” Connor says, his deep brown eyes gleaming. “I’m the only way you reach the Fallen. You
need
me.”

I don’t have to worry about Trish. Connor could take a bullet or three. But Aaron and Tate? That’s a different story. Aaron’s already bulking up, his animal clawing at him, and I smell it too, because the reek coming off Connor doesn’t smell like red blood.
 

It smells foul…corrupted.

“You’re…you’re…”

“Stricken,” Aaron says, stepping at Connor. “One of
them
. I fucking
knew
it.”

I look between Aaron and Connor.
 

Shit in a sack.
 

Like a girl doesn’t have enough to worry about.
 

“Back off, Aaron,” I yell. “Back the fuck down. Now!”

Aaron pauses, glares at Connor. “He’s one of them, Lil. He might even be his
son
.”

Connor lifts his hands in the air in mockery. His claws are that same shimmering crystal, four inches long and razor sharp. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”

“Where is he?” I shriek.

“I’m gunna eat his filthy black heart,” Tate says, his skin becoming blue-black and scaled.

“Well gentlemen,” Connor says, inspecting his claws. “At least you don’t disappoint. The rich
are
different. We have the sense to respect our betters.”

“Enough!” I scream, stepping between the three men and turning to stare Aaron down. “He’s fucking baiting you. Getting in your head. You’re bigger than this.”

“Bigger?” Aaron laughs. “You want him to talk, Lil? Let me make him talk.”

“Or how about I make you sit in the van like a fucking infant,” I scream.

“Ooh…snap!” Connor says, clapping.
 

“Shut up, asshole,” Trish says from behind the trembling Glock.

“You two want to go a few rounds?” I say. “Fine. Fuck if I care. Tear each other apart.
After
we get to the First Fallen.”

“Yeah, that’s a real good idea, Lil,” Trish says. “I’m sensing a lot of repressed homoerotic tension between these two. Sure they’d love a chance to get all sweaty. I’d even watch—”

I burst out laughing. The fucking crazy bitch. Man, do I love her.
 

Aaron and Tate eye one another.
 

They look embarrassed. They should be.
 

My laughter cuts through the posturing men like a blade. I turn to Connor and say, “Just watch that smarmy tongue of yours, okay? I know being a condescending prick is only natural for a spoiled rich boy…but just fucking watch it.”

Connor gives me a mocking grin and raises his hands in surrender.

Fuck. I’m looking forward to letting Aaron at him.

“Now,” I say, motioning into the house. “You’re going to tell us what the fuck is going on.”

Connor leads us into the living room. Star is sitting cross-legged on a modernist white leather sofa, wearing a magnificent black gown. Tate’s tongue about hits the floor when he sees her.

Connor settles beside Star. Trish and I sit opposite them, and Tate leans on the couch beside us, crosses his arms and gets busy eye-fucking Star. Aaron paces around the room like he’s ready to gnaw off his own hand, but at least he’s put most of his animal back in its cage.

“So,” I say. “You’re Connor Lerrick. Rich, handsome, charming…and Stricken. I’m assuming that means both of you?”

Star smiles, raises a sparkling crystal champaign flute. “Would you like some? It’s in the kitchen.”

“What’s the occasio—”

“You got anything stronger?” Trish interrupts.

My mouth drops open.

“In the cupboard by the fridge,” Connor says. “In the crystal decanter. I saved my best vintage just for you, Trish.”

Trish leaves, returns with the Scotch and is about to take a long pull right out of the decanter when Connor says, “Whoa! Trish. That’s a Macallan 64.”

Trish pauses, gives Connor a suspicious glance.

“A Macallan 64?” Connor says. “
The
64? Oh, nevermind. I suppose I needn’t explain how such a vintage should be enjoyed—”

“Oh, I know how it should be
enjoyed
, thanks,” Trish says, then takes a long pull and hands the bottle to Tate.
 

Tate lifts the crystal decanter and grins. “What? A couple hundred?”

Trish nearly spits the Scotch from her mouth. “A couple hundred dollars a bottle? For
that
?”

“Four hundred sixty thousand dollars a bottle,” Star says, flashing Trish a queenly glare.
 

Tate whistles again, then takes a solid gulp.

Aaron laughs.

Trish snatches the bottle, studies it, then hits it even harder. Pretends to be tasting it. Then says, “Nah. It’s Crown. You got jacked.”
 

I stare at Trish in amazement, then say, “Thought you weren’t one for boozing?”

“End of days, Lil. You think I want to be sober for this shit?”

“Amen,” Tate says, wiping his mouth with a backhand. “I got another way we can pass our final hours together, gorgeous.”

Trish flips Tate the finger.

I turn to Connor and say, “You fucking bleed black. You sent me to meet Aaron at the biker bar, knowing he’d wake my creature. You’ve lied to me since the beginning. Lied and dumped me on the street and all that time you pretended…you even fucking
proposed
—”

“A man may smile and smile and be a villain,” Star says, looking at her brother with an odd mix of pride and loathing.

Connor smiles in a way that’s kind of sad. “The proposal was real, Lil. I love you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”
 

Connor sighs, stares out the window at the dark, rolling sea.
 

Maybe he’s telling the truth about loving me. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter now. You can only hurt someone so much before they give up on you. And I’ve finally given up on Connor Lerrick, no matter what his intentions are.
 

Connor looks at me. Those brown eyes. The good looks.
 

A part of me shatters and fades away.
 

Trish is right.
 

I have shit taste in men.
 

Connor seems to realize it’s over between us. “I did give you a beauty handgun, though?” he says. “And I didn’t lie. I just…didn’t tell the whole truth. What would you have done? If I told you? You would have ran screaming. We’re Stricken, Lily,” Connor says. Then he points at Aaron. “Or at least that’s what
their
kind have named us.”