Death Doesn't Bargain

  “Blimey.” Will finally spoke under his breath while he held his hand up to shield his eyes against the sharp glare of lights that seemed to have no natural source.

  “Fuck me.” Leave it to Bart to be the most colorful with his verbal expression. “How is it that we’re able to breathe under the ocean?”

  Simon Dewing, their stalwart, stoic, and ever-amusing former priest of the African spirit Exú, flashed a taunting grin in Bart’s direction. “It’s magick, mate. Have you learned nothing in all our travels?”

  Screwing his face up in pain, Bart tossed a dagger at Simon’s head that Simon caught and flipped back at him to lighten their somber mood.

  But not by much, as they were all very aware of how tenuous their lives were in this mysterious and unknown place.

  Valynda stepped beside Belle for cover, while Janice held both her hands up to study them closely in the light that danced like living water around them.

  “Why am I not bursting into flames?” Janice scowled at the captain. “This is daylight, isn’t it?”

  Cameron would have said aye. It appeared to be such, and yet Janice was right. Sunlight normally made the Dark-Huntress blister and burn, and it should prove most fatal to her unique species.

  Yet fortunately for them all, it did none of those things and left her appearing as normal as any of their crew.

  William turned toward Bane. “Captain? Where are we?”

  Paden stepped closer to Cameron while he turned a slow circle, inspecting every inch of the elegant room with walls that seemed to be made of sparkling amber crystals. “What is this place we’ve come to?”

  “My home.” That deep, melodic voice that was filled with suspicious malice answered before the captain had a chance to explain it to them. “But the real questions are, what are you doing in it? And how the hell did you get here?”

  Turning into the body of a thin squidlike male, Chthamalus slithered behind Cameron, then shifted into a small, thin line so as not to be seen. He clutched at her arm and trembled.

  The grimace on Paden’s face said that her brother was about to denounce the demon and offer him up to the newcomers as a sacrifice, but she quickly shook her head to keep him from speaking. Best to let the captain tend these things without their interference. Besides, the one thing she’d learned growing up in a tavern—most intelligence came from knowing when to keep one’s mouth shut, especially during tense moments and conflicts. And this seemed like a prime time to heed that sage advice and ride herd on her wandering tongue, and leave it to the captain to take the lead through these turbulent waters.

  Especially given the size of the man asking the question. Equal in height to Captain Bane, he was a massive beast. Well muscled, with black hair that hung in braids to the middle of his back. He reminded her of their mate Rosenkranz, who wore his dark blond hair in braids and dreads. Unorthodox in all things, that was their fun-loving Rosie. But while Rosie was forever good-natured and jovial, this man showed only the most somber of manner and humor. He also lacked Rosie’s wildly mixed, flamboyant Caribbean dress.

  Instead, he was robed in a rich fabric of gold unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The cloth flowed over his muscular body, reminiscent of molten lava. And he held himself with the regal carriage of a king—proud and arrogant—flanked by two equally sullen watchmen. In matching uniforms of a gunmetal gray. And both eyed their entire group as if the Deadmen were asps who’d slithered across their favorite pair of expensive shoes and had decided to rest there for a spell.

  And take a dump.

  Something the captain tolerated about as well as she did.

  He set Mara down on her feet and tucked her in behind him before he moved toward the newcomer to address him as an equal ruler who wasn’t intimidated at all by their dour faces and soured moods.

  William and Bart, along with Simon, Rosie, Kat, and several others, stepped forward to form a barrier between them that said they weren’t in the mood for none of their shite, but if they wanted to persist in a brawl, they’d be happy to meet it.

  Yet they didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  The moment they neared the one in charge, a bright light flashed in the room and Kalder appeared. Still in his mermaid form that left his skin a shimmering silver, his tattoos were extended out as gills that vibrated with every breath he took. Something that made him appear even fiercer and deadlier than normal. Truly an impressive feat that was altogether spellbinding.

  His clothes clung tight to his well-muscled body, but that wasn’t what made Cameron’s jaw go slack at the sight of him. It was the raw, unmitigated rage on his face. Not that she hadn’t seen him looking angry and lethal in the past.

  He rather lived in that state.

  Yet never quite to this extent. There was a special ferocity to him now that said he wanted to taste blood in the worst sort of manner, and that he was salivating for a taste of theirs. More than that, he held a malformed demon by its throat in his left hand.

  Curling his lip, he tossed it at the three men in front of them.

  “Greetings, me brothers. I thank you for the welcoming party you sent for me homecoming.”

  The tossed demon screeched as their leader kicked at him, then it skittered off into the shadows and vanished.

  If Cameron had thought their leader cold and stern before, he’d been downright grandmotherly and warm in his affections compared to the hatred that flared in his eyes at the sight of Kalder now.

  But it was only there for a moment until it was replaced by disbelief. “I thought you dead! How could I send you a welcoming party when I had no idea you were still about?”

  “Not dead enough for your sanity, eh?”

  The watchman on the left gaped. “Prince Kalderan?”

  That title was met with audible gasps from the Deadmen. Especially Cameron, who turned to stare at him over something he’d failed—in all their conversations—to mention.

  And how could he, given it shouldn’t have slipped his mind?

  Hi, mate, I have dark hair, a gimpy leg …

  And a royal title.

  “Prince?”

  Before he could answer, the watchman on the right snarled. “He’s no prince of this empire! Just a piece of whore slag!”

  Kalder ignored Cameron’s shocked question so that he could smirk at his idiot brother, who was dressed as a watchman. If he wasn’t in so foul a mood, he’d be amused at the fact that Perrin was insulting his own mother, too, with that slight.

  As it was … “Better to sell the flesh than the soul. At least I can look at meself in the mirror and not flinch.”

  “Can you?”

  Kalder ground his teeth and steeled himself so that he didn’t let his brother know he’d hit the mark with those words. The one thing when dealing with his oh-so-lovely family was that one could never show them weakness of any sort. Not unless you wanted them to pick it deeper and leave you a bleeding, rotting corpse at their feet.

  Stay on the offensive and keep them on the defensive. It was the only way to deal with them. The minute you retreated to lick your wounds, they’d set in on you like a pack of vultures to pick your bones clean.

  It was a hard lesson learned from his youth and one he hadn’t forgotten even these many years later.

  How could he?

  He was still bleeding in places from their last encounter, and that had been centuries ago. Their level of cruelty tended to linger.

  “Me beauty is so great, I seek every mirror I can find, brother.” Kalder moved to stand right in front of Perrin, who looked so much like their father that it was hard to be this close to him and not slap him for it.

  It was bad enough that Kalder had all the years of hatred for what his brother had done to him to deal with, but that was compounded now by the added anguish of unresolved pain left in the wake of his father’s neglect and abuse. They were the same size. Same build and sculpted features.

  Same dark curly hair and amber eyes.

  Smug
expression. As if the gods themselves had sought some sort of sick satisfaction in wringing as much misery on their people as possible by reincarnating their prior king’s visage in that of his son.

  Or maybe they just hated Kalder so much that this was some sort of personal grudge-fuck against him.

  It definitely felt that way.

  But Varice wasn’t as merciless as he stepped between them. “Enough, Perrin! Mind your manners, boy!”

  Perrin’s jaw went slack as he stared at the one who was obviously now the Myrcian king. “You can’t be serious! Surely you plan to execute him slowly for the death of our true brother?”

  Kalder tsked. “What’s that foul taste in your mouth, Perrin? Besides your foot?” He paused to arch a taunting brow. “You should know, brother dearest, you’ve feasted on it enough in your life. It’s called disappointment.”

  He stepped aside to gesture at Muerig, who was easily hidden behind Devyl’s massive form. Although he appeared more to be cowering, if the truth were told—though why Muerig would be doing such, Kalder couldn’t imagine. Unlike him, their brothers had always favored Muerig. Protected him, even. “I didn’t come back from the dead alone. I brought dearest family with me.”

  Kalder savored that priceless look of shock on their faces. It was better than the expression they’d worn when they’d first seen him in the room.

  Muerig finally rushed forward to embrace their brothers. “Varice! Perrin!”

  Kalder didn’t miss the tense awkwardness in their brothers’ stances. But whether that came from not wanting to see Muerig or because they couldn’t legally execute him anymore for Muerig’s murder, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he knew the joy they exuded was feigned.

  “Great to be reunited, eh?” Kalder couldn’t help throwing kerosene onto the fire and nettling their agitated states.

  Varice’s eyes narrowed, but he quickly recovered to clap Muerig on the back and smile. “We shall feast this day, dearest Muerig! Let everyone revel at the miracle that’s returned you home to us.”

  Perrin gestured at Kalder. “And arrest him!”

  Devyl’s eyes flared to red. “What for?”

  Perrin went rigid at the confrontation. He’d never been able to contend with anyone questioning him on any matter. “He’s broken a sacred law, and well he knows it. Outsiders are forbidden in to our city and yet here he’s brought all of you!”

  Kalder didn’t flinch, as he’d expected nothing else from his brothers. It wasn’t as if they were about to suddenly find love for him after all these centuries. That only happened in bad books, kids’ fables, and fairy tales. “It’s fine, Captain. Under the laws of me people, they can’t harm you. They’re required to see you all released back to your world safely in exchange for your word that you’ll never return to their lands, or reveal how it is you came to be here.”

  Cameron, with Bart of all creatures, stepped forward to defend him. “No one’s arresting Mr. Dupree.” She did that adorable stubborn stance where she planted herself right before his brother, legs braced wide and arms crossed as if she’d take on the whole Myrcian army alone.

  Perrin blinked slowly as he glanced from Cameron to Kalder and back again. “I see your tastes have taken a peculiar bend, brother.”

  Those words heated his fury to a dangerous level. “Careful, Perrin. You insult me lady phearse and I will take that sword from Varice’s side and shove it into an orifice that will require a great deal of skill to extract it from.” And with that he stepped forward and placed an arm around Cameron’s waist to pull her against him so that there would be no mistaking his affections for her.

  This wasn’t the human world where such things were frowned upon. Here they were necessary.

  However, her brother didn’t appreciate it.

  Paden started forward in protest.

  Devyl caught him and, with a warning glare, forced him to stand down before he was caught in the cross fire.

  Kalder felt her nervousness, but she gave no outer sign of it, and for that he respected her immensely.

  Debate hovered in both his brothers’ eyes, and in particular Perrin’s as he weighed the option of pressing this issue. While it wasn’t in his nature to back down, they both knew that Kalder could kick his arse. That he’d done it plenty of times when they were boys and Perrin had tried to overpower him. Hence why his brother had learned to resort to treachery where he was concerned.

  Perrin had never held the same degree of fighting skill. Or perhaps that wasn’t the exact truth. When it came to skill they were about even. What Perrin lacked was Kalder’s fury. His willingness to suffer a blow and not give in to the pain of it.

  That was where Kalder reigned supreme. He didn’t mind getting bloody or hurt. Rather, he reveled in physical pain and the distraction it gave from the unseen ache in his soul. A never-ending misery that Perrin, as a favored son, knew nothing about, and so he was unwilling to suffer the other.

  Varice placed a comforting hand to Perrin’s shoulder and held him next to him. “Let us see about returning the humans to their world. And Muerig to ours.”

  “You would forgive him for this trespass?”

  “Let us focus on our brother’s return and the happiness it’ll bring our mother. ’Tis a day for celebrating. Not one of war.”

  Kalder didn’t miss the underlying strain in Varice’s voice, nor the fact that he glossed over his fate. Those two things put him on notice and on edge.

  So be it. They’d never been friends, or even friendly, and he hadn’t expected mercy anyway.

  Kalder didn’t move as Varice snapped his fingers for their servants.

  Four of them ran into the room in a nervous manner that said Varice ruled with the same iron fist and volatile temperament as their father. Especially when they hit their knees in a groveling act of submission that turned Kalder’s stomach.

  Varice, however, thought nothing of it. “Take Prince Muerig to his chambers and see to his needs. Make sure he’s given clothing appropriate to his station.”

  They hastened to obey him.

  As soon as they were gone, Varice turned his attention to the watchmen. “Have our sacerdos prepare the portal for the humans. I’m sure they’ve no wish to be here a moment longer than is necessary.”

  “And Kalder?” Only a fool would miss the challenge in Devyl’s voice.

  Varice swept a suspicious grimace over the captain as if finally seeing him for the first time. “Do I know you?”

  Kalder answered for him with the title he knew the captain wouldn’t use, but that his brother would recognize, and shit his breeches over. “Dón-Dueli of the Dumnonii. Once known as the king of Tintagel. You know, brother dearest. The Dark World-King.”

  That took the last bit of color from Varice’s skin. He swallowed audibly. Aye, that was a name he knew well. They all did. Devyl had been their father’s ally and the only land-walker their people had ever feared. Back in the day, he hadn’t just been the king of Tintagel, he’d been dubbed the World-King and the Dark One. Not because of dark looks, but rather for his brutal, bloodthirsty reputation that had made even the bravest warrior wet himself at the mere mention of Devyl’s name. Entire armies had thrown down their weapons at the sight of his warhorse on the horizon.

  Aye, he’d been just that bad-ass, alone.

  “What concern is Kalderan to you?”

  “He’s a most valued member of me crew. Any harm done him and I’ll be taking it personally.” Devyl pinned a pointed stare on Perrin. “And seeking vengeance for it.”

  Varice gave him a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was cold and sterile. “Have no fear, my lord. As noted, he’s a member of our royal family, and shall be treated as such.”

  When had that ever made any difference?

  Kalder barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Does this mean me inheritance will be reinstated?” He couldn’t resist digging at a wound when he knew it would rub against everything his brothers held dearest.


  Their mutual greed.

  Ah, the beauty of being a younger sibling. There were some things that one couldn’t resist. And being a barnacle bitch was definitely one of them.

  Forget Tally and his Barnak demon status, right now, Kalder could give even his old mentor a good run for his money, and do the old blighter proud.

  Before Varice could answer, a sudden loud scream rang out from the hallway.

  The watchman ran for the door to check on who was being murdered—a likely assumption given the volume and hysterics of it. Kalder stood back while the crew rushed outside, along with Cameron.

  Recognizing that shrill, ear-splintering voice, he knew there was no need to rush out and see about the cause of it. Mostly because he wasn’t in the mood to heave and lose his lunch. He’d seen enough sickening things for one night.

  Perrin’s face, for one thing.

  He was in no mood to be nauseated further. And sure enough, he was right.

  Outside in the elegant, gilded hallway that was lit with bioluminescent plankton buried deep within the walls, stood their mother, latched onto Muerig while she rained kisses all over his face. She wept and shouted in turn with ecstatic welcome. Muerig returned her happiness with his own hugs and kisses.

  Aye, it was all Kalder could do not to unload his stomach all over the lot of them. Disgusting public display, really.

  “My precious baby! I can’t believe I have you back!” His mother held his head to her bosom as if she were attempting to breastfeed him again. Gah! How could his brother stand it?

  Cameron frowned as she saw the reunion and it dawned on her who the elegant older woman had to be. Not that it wasn’t plainly evident by her regal bearing and dark hair and pale eyes. Coloring very similar to someone else she knew well …

  Confused, she glanced back to Kalder, who made no move whatsoever to approach the queen or get her attention in any way.

  Had Cameron not already known that his mother had killed him on their previous encounter, their mutual actions here and now would have clued her in that their relationship had a bit of a strain to it.