Deadly Descendant (36 page)

“Are Jack and Jamaal all right?” I asked, ashamed of myself for not having asked earlier. I remembered Kerner’s jackal chomping down on Jack’s hand, and I remembered the blood I’d seen on Jamaal. That meant they were far from “all right,” but I hoped what I’d seen had been the worst of it, that the jackals hadn’t done any more damage when I’d run off in pursuit of Kerner.

Anderson waggled his hand in the universal gesture for so-so. “Jamaal was passed out when I came after you, but his wounds seemed to be healing. Jack was already starting to run a fever, but he’d only been bitten once, so it’ll take a while for the infection to put him on his back. I sent them home while I went after you.”

“You sent them home when Jamaal was unconscious and Jack was infected?” Jack was a lunatic driver under the best of circumstances, but with the super-rabies in his system …

Anderson shrugged. “It was either that or leave them lying in the graveyard for however long it took me to retrieve you. I thought it was the lesser of two evils.”

“And what did you tell Jack when you created a portal to the Underworld?”

Anderson’s people all assumed he was
Liberi,
but none of them knew who his divine ancestor was.

“I admitted that I’m descended from a death god,” he said. “There was no harm in telling him that much, though I made it clear the discussion was going no further.”

“And what are you going to say about Kerner?”

“We trapped him in the Underworld.” His expression dared me to contradict him, but I wasn’t about to. As long as he’d put Kerner out of his misery, I was happy to let him keep however many secrets he wanted.

I was following Anderson blindly, but when we came to the edge of the cemetery, I blinked and did a quick visual survey. Anderson turned left after stepping over the miniature fence that marked the cemetery’s boundary.

“My car is that way,” I told him with a jerk of my thumb toward the right. Another perk of my ancestry was an extremely good sense of direction.

Anderson kept walking. “Not anymore it isn’t.”

I hurried after him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I sent the boys home in it.” He shot me a look that was almost apologetic. “It was closer than my car, and Jack and I had to carry Jamaal, who is not a featherweight.”

I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. How convenient that the car with my suitcase in it wasn’t there and that I would therefore have to go back to the mansion after all. Then I shook my head.

“Wait a minute. How did you guys get keys to my car?” Jack had managed to pick my pocket earlier that evening, but I knew for certain the keys had been on my person when I jumped into the portal, seeing as they’d been the weapon I’d used to kill Kerner.

Anderson laughed. “Jack’s a trickster, Nikki. Do you really think he doesn’t know how to steal a car?”

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying anything unwise. Not only had Jack jeopardized our mission by calling Anderson, but he’d also monkeyed with my car. Sure, he’d probably saved all of our lives by ratting us out—even with Anderson’s help, the jackals had done some serious damage—but it was the principle of the thing. I’d have loved to entertain myself with fantasies about getting revenge, but I wouldn’t be around to carry them out.

The ride back to the mansion showed me just how exhausted
I was. Within minutes of climbing into the passenger seat of Anderson’s car, I was fast asleep with my head against the window. I’m sure I’d have slept all the way
back if we hadn’t hit a pothole that made my head bump painfully against said window. I sat up with a start, then promptly yawned so big my jaw made an alarming cracking sound.

“If you’re still determined to leave,” Anderson said, watching the road studiously, “you should at least wait until morning. You’re worn out.”

He was right about that, and my body begged me to agree. My eyelids felt like they weighed about ten pounds each, and my mind was all fuzzy around the edges. I wouldn’t be the safest driver in the world, and I certainly wouldn’t get far.

It was tempting, I won’t lie. But I knew that if I spent the night at the mansion in my own bed—I wondered briefly when I had come to think of the bed in the mansion as “my own”—it would be even harder to get myself to leave.

“Please make sure Emma doesn’t do anything to Steph when I’m gone,” I said. “I know you don’t really believe she’ll do it, but look out for Steph anyway.”

Anderson didn’t answer, but the tightening around the corners of his eyes and mouth proved he’d heard me just fine. In the letters I’d left at the mansion, I’d asked both Anderson and Blake to keep their eyes on Steph and keep her safe, though I still hoped that was an unnecessary precaution, that Emma would have no interest in Steph if I wasn’t around to be hurt by whatever she did.

My head was starting to inch back toward the window, my eyes almost closed, when Anderson spoke again.

“Jamaal needs you.”

The words startled me enough to wake me up and make me feel almost alert. My throat tightened at the mention of Jamaal’s name. There was no denying there was a connection between us, whether we wanted there to be or not. And despite his failure to ask me not to leave, I knew it would hurt him when I did, that some little part of him would see my departure as just one more abandonment. But he had the rest of Anderson’s
Liberi
to help him through the tough times, and he’d figured out how to manifest his death magic in a way that might help him control it.

“He’ll be fine,” I said tightly, not truly believing my own words.

Anderson made a little snorting sound that bore no resemblance to agreement, but that was all he had to say on the subject.

I figured that despite the ungodly hour, there would be
people up and about at the mansion, since Jack’s and Jamaal’s return would have caused a stir even if Anderson’s departure hadn’t. But I hadn’t expected to see practically every window lit, nor had I expected the porch lights to be blazing. From the way Anderson stiffened beside me, I knew he hadn’t expected that, either.

As we made our way down the long driveway, our headlights picked up an unfamiliar car parked in the circular drive. Anderson stepped on the gas a little harder. I tried to muster some alarm, but I was
too exhausted, and my body seemed to have run out of adrenaline.

Instead of turning off toward the garage, Anderson pulled up beside the mysterious car, and that was when I saw a very unexpected tableau.

Emma, dressed in an elegant mink coat and stiletto heels, was sitting on the porch swing, a large suitcase at her side and a smile on her face that didn’t match the fury in her eyes. Lounging against one of the columns that supported the porch stood Cyrus, holding a knife to Blake’s throat. Blood trickled from a small cut on Blake’s throat and also from a split and bleeding lip. Even so, he seemed remarkably … relaxed in Cyrus’s grip. Of course, Cyrus couldn’t kill him, but I doubted Blake would enjoy having his throat slashed.

Anderson was out of the car and at the base of the porch steps before I’d even managed to open my door.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, looking back and forth between Cyrus and Emma.

Emma rose lazily to her feet as I fumbled my way out of the car, swaying from exhaustion. Anderson was right, I realized—there was no way I was making my great escape right now. I couldn’t kill
myself
if I fell asleep at the wheel, but I could kill someone else, and I didn’t want to take that chance.

Emma gave me a quick glance and a curl of her lip before fixing her eyes on Anderson.

“What’s going on is I’m leaving you,” Emma declared, raising her chin proudly.

Anderson tried to keep his face expressionless, but there was no missing the pain that punched through
him at Emma’s declaration. And there was no missing Emma’s pleasure at his reaction. He hid his pain quickly, turning an icy look toward Cyrus.

“And what’s
your
story?” he asked in a tone that would have made a wise man take a hasty step backward.

Cyrus smiled and adjusted his grip on Blake, pulling the other man tighter against him in something that looked almost like a lover’s embrace—or at least it would have, without the knife. Blake rolled his eyes.

“Blake objected to the idea of my leaving with your wife,” Cyrus said. “I figured I’d better control him before he had me performing unnatural acts with my car.”

Anderson slowly climbed the stairs to the porch, eyes fixed on Cyrus.

“We have an agreement with Konstantin,” Anderson grated. “Trust me, you don’t want to break it.”

“It only applies if I try to remove someone by force, but Emma’s the one who called
me
. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

I half expected Anderson to forget his whole disguise and go on a rampage when Emma smiled and nodded.

“You can’t mean that!” Anderson said, his voice just below a shout. “You wanted me to let that monster roam free just so he could kill Konstantin, and now you’re going to run off and become one of his Olympians?”

“Perhaps I should clarify,” Cyrus said before
Emma could answer. “My father is not in charge anymore.
I
am.”

A whole slew of expressions crossed Anderson’s face all at once, foremost of which was shock.

Cyrus smirked. “My father made a grave error in judgment that could have resulted in the death of every single Olympian in the world. You don’t seriously think we’re all going to keep following him after that.”

“So you killed him.”

Cyrus shook his head. “He’s not an idiot. He saw the writing on the wall and went on the run. Took a few of his best friends with him.”

“But not you?” Anderson taunted. “His only son?
Living
son, that is?”

The look on Cyrus’s face didn’t change. Anderson’s taunt had missed its mark. “I’m not an idiot, either,” he said, and there was a hint of sadness in his voice. “I know I’ve never been one of his nearest and dearest.”

“I’m sure you cry about that every night,” Blake muttered under his breath. “You think you could put the knife away now?”

Cyrus looked at Anderson. “I’m not here for any nefarious purpose,” he said. “I’m just giving Emma a ride, if she wants it. If you’ll tell Blake not to try any of his tricks, I’ll put the knife away.”

Anderson looked like he was grinding his teeth, but he gave a brief nod. Cyrus lifted the knife from Blake’s throat and retracted the blade. Blake pushed away from him but without any obvious rancor. Then he turned and gave Cyrus a dirty look, which seemed
like a pretty mild reaction to me, considering the blood that spotted his throat and face. Cyrus reached out and swept his thumb over the blood beneath Blake’s swollen lip, smiling enigmatically.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured.

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed the bulge in Cyrus’s tight pants, and I didn’t think it was Blake’s lust aura that was causing it. If I’d had any doubts before that they’d once been lovers, I was certain now.

Cyrus made his switchblade disappear—up his sleeve, I think, though I didn’t see him do it—then headed for the stairs, brushing past Anderson.

“I’ll wait in the car,” he said, then stopped a moment. “And I will uphold my father’s agreement with you,” he added to Anderson. “I see no reason why your people and mine need to be at war with one another.”

Anderson sighed. “No, of course you wouldn’t.”

Cyrus turned to Emma. “Join me when you’re ready.” He descended the last few steps and then got into his car, starting the engine.

Anderson had a brief staring match with Emma, but he lost, his eyes dropping to the floor as his shoulders hunched with pain. I wanted to be anywhere but here, but I’d have to walk past both of them to get away, and that wasn’t going to happen.

“Send her away,” Emma said, pointing at me without taking her eyes off Anderson. “If she goes, I’ll stay.”

I opened my mouth to tell Emma I was going
anyway, but Anderson silenced me with a look. The expression on his face hardened.

“If you’d rather be an Olympian than stay here with me, then I won’t stop you.”

Fury blazed in Emma’s eyes—fury that she aimed equally at Anderson and me. But it would be a lot easier for her to hurt me than to hurt Anderson, so I knew I would bear the brunt of it should she decide to exact revenge.

“If you’re an Olympian, then you have to abide by the Olympians’ treaty,” I said, unable to keep my mouth shut when I could so clearly read the threat in her eyes. “My sister and I are both off-limits to you.”

Emma made a sound that reminded me of a snarling jackal, and I doubted the Olympians’ treaty would keep me safe from her wrath. Not when it was so very, very personal. She reached into her mink coat and pulled out a handful of envelopes, dropping them haphazardly to the floor. I saw the names hand-printed on the fronts of those envelopes—and I also saw that they were open. Emma had been snooping in my room while I was gone, which explained why she was packed and ready to go. She knew I was breaking our agreement, and she wasn’t as confident as she’d pretended to be. Better to leave Anderson in a huff than face the possibility that he might believe me over her.