Risen Lovers: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 4)

  “A claim.”

  Judge shook his head. All of them could see and sense those claims in the life. Most of the time it was them reaching out and charming some girl for a night, their claim, it was momentary, but it kept the fights at bay, kept the boys from going after the same piece of ass.

  “It wasn’t that—it was just energy. Like he was feeding her or some shit.” Judge narrowed his eyes. “It helped her all but remember what went down, she knew enough.”

  “I see.”

  Talon knew what Dagen was, what King was, knew their enemies were greater than any inbred fucker, or insane immortal. What he didn’t know was how or why they would feed a mortal energy.

  “I told you before Dagen and King are not enemies. Sounds to me like Dagen calmed her down. I’m sure when he stopped the fuck that attacked them he had to do so with paranormal strength.”

  “He didn’t have to fucking touch her!”

  Talon smirked. “You don’t know that. Adair never knew about this side of us, with all that she went through—I’m sure she was grasping at sanity.” Talon looked him dead in the eye. “Any one of us would have helped to calm her down if we were there.”

  “Why the fuck do you always defend them?” Judge raged.

  Talon stepped up to Judge. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  Judge leered. “Keep your enemies close, I get it. I don’t even see them that way. That’s not my point. My point is this Club never had secrets before—we dealt with our shit. Now we do. None of us knows what King and Dagen are, why you went of the rails and fucked the biggest whore you could find. We don’t know what this deal is with Crass and all that shit is building as more shit blows up in our face.”

  Talon narrowed his eyes. “I taught you to use whatever weapon you had to protect your own. All is fair in love and war.” Judge’s stare questioned him. “Reveca may not kill Chalice for you, but I would imagine our new friends would aid you.”

  “You’re serious?” Judge asked, seeing his previous speech was right. Talon had never once plotted behind Reveca’s back like this. It was a clear sign they were falling apart.

  “I’m serious in stating that I think they’re capable of destroying Chalice, and I’m serious when I state that Reveca had her reasons for keeping Chalice alive today. You need to cool your shit, digest it, deal with it any way you can and listen. Give us a chance to handle this. In the end, if you don’t like the resolution—fix it.”

  Before Judge could push Talon on any of his points the doors opened and the Sons flooded in—Reveca came in.

  Her gaze up to him was full of an apology, full of pain.

  Judge planned to listen, for the Club’s sake, but he wasn’t going to rest until justice was given, until all those that had wronged him had paid the price.

  Chapter Four

  When it came to women under his command, King had little to no experience in managing them. There were female Escorts and they were not in the minority by any means. However, when he left Revelin only males followed him, which was fine with them—he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with them then either.

  Well, he knew how to deal with them but talking to them, easing them, was not his strong suit. He was a man of scarce words and more times than not led with a few hard glances—his men always understood him, never questioned what his stare said.

  Working with Gwinn was an eye-opening experience for King. He still didn’t use a lot of words but at the very least she forced him to improve his bedside manner. She encouraged him to see his leadership of the Helco Faction differently. And he wasn’t entirely sure that was because she was a woman. He was more than certain her influence came from the fact that in some wayward way she sparked a fatherly nature in him.

  He never wanted a family, not even as mortal; the world was too twisted and dark. If he were to have ever embarked on such a journey it would have been after he had laid his enemies to rest. Becoming an Escort pretty much made the entire idea of a family vanish.

  The very notion that his and Reveca’s energy had managed to collide in the great cosmoses and then thread through a soul who was born of flesh—it was the most extraordinary thing he had ever witnessed, the one emotion he could not find the words to express.

  Before meeting Windsome in the Veil he was simply mesmerized that Gwinn existed, then he didn’t realize the dynamics of it, that it was more than his energy alone that had created her. Now knowing there were others, that there had to be…it was almost overwhelming.

  Which meant it would be next to impossible to explain it to Gwinn or Adair, much less Reveca.

  All he could think to do was skip the details of creation and teach the girls to become like the others in his Faction, and hope that Revelin had no way of sensing any of this was occurring, that none of the sovereigns of emotion could.

  Dagen had a point when he said this was a gift from the Creator, but it also changed the game in more ways than one. Before, King saying goodbye to his Faction was hard, now, knowing that every decision he made directly impacted Reveca and those they had unknowingly created raised the stakes, it took the option of losing this ultimate war off the table.

  King had finished dressing and was at the bottom of the wide, red velvet staircase when Adair charged in. She took one look at him and then ran.

  Adair’s path led her to the sunroom which was to the far right of the house. He heard her crying, felt her pain but made no move to follow her.

  It wasn’t long after Adair arrived when Gwinn came crashing in, by then Adair’s gasping tears, full of rage and betrayal, had stopped. She was calming herself down, unquestionably gathering her thoughts so she could understand them.

  “Where is she?” Gwinn asked.

  “Let her be,” King replied, glancing over Gwinn proud of what he saw. He wasn’t sure if it was Adair’s presence or Gwinn’s newfound memories, but either way he saw boldness in her, what he had always seen in her soul. He had hoped Shade could have brought it out in her and for all he knew in time he could have, it was just good for King to see it now.

  Gwinn stomped up to him. “She has to be devastated. I’m not going to let her be upset alone.”

  King looked up at Gwinn. “Why?”

  “Why? What kind of question is that?”

  “Tell me why you feel pulled to ease her, back her up.”

  Dumbfounded Gwinn’s gaze raced over him. “She’s my friend.”

  “That’s the only reason?” King asked with a placid expression.

  “What other reason would I need?” Gwinn asked as her gaze rapidly searched his face. He was impossible to read, but somehow she always found an answer if she focused hard enough. Most of the times it was because of statements like these he made, ones that made her think she was missing something.

  “Do you remember how you found her?” King asked, genuinely curious. He wanted to know if Jamison was in on to this, if he had orchestrated the girls’ meeting because he knew what they were, which was very possible.

  As King sat here, Dagen was already investigating the Jade woman, trying to understand why she hid Gwinn from the Sons, if she had even done so—it was clear someone hid Gwinn from plain sight, and that was not easy magic to pull off, not constantly, at least.

  Gwinn impudently stared at him, knowing he was testing her memory, he was also trying to see if she still remembered all the lessons he had given her, the ones that said she had to understand there are no coincidences, and her regal energy would always lead her if she listened.

  “An ad in the paper…someone gave me the ad,” Gwinn said, squinting her eyes trying to see the young businessman’s face, the one she was sure had helped her—a lot. “I can’t remember his name, his face. But I think he was a witch. He told me I would be safe with the woman in the ad.” Gwinn furrowed her brow. “But Adair acted like she didn’t know who I was, and I never asked.”

  King nodded sagely, sure now Jamison had sent her there.

  “Trust was immediate,” King ass
umed.

  Gwinn shifted her gaze over him. “She thought Dagen was you. I’m sure he’s already told you that. But what I want to know is why a mortal needs energy.”

  “Mortals are made of energy, like everything.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  King nodded for her to sit next to him. Gwinn hesitated, wanting to find Adair, but she knew that if King had something to say it was best she took that in first, particularly if it would help Adair in the long run.

  “Every Escort is born in human flesh,” King said. “They have to know what they are fighting to protect—this life as an Escort has to be more than a job to them. They have to care.”

  “You said they stopped caring.”

  He arched a brow. “That doesn’t mean creation decide to change its processes.”

  An easy sigh left Gwinn. “Is she going to have to die to change?”

  “We all die,” King said, without caress.

  “I know that. You know what I mean. Why was she hungry?”

  King didn’t say anything for a moment; this entire deal was unprecedented to say the least. Both Gwinn and Adair were Escorts, and they were both natural born witches.

  King could remember how hungry he was when Revelin first raised him. He had the cravings of an Escort bored into him and his witch side still loud and proud in his soul. That kind of hunger was pure misery.

  Revelin’s plan was to drown out the witch King was, and he nearly did, with pure constant exaltation. The craft could not be completely forgotten, though. Its foundation was energy, which is what Escorts thrived on.

  King didn’t want Adair or Gwinn to feel the hunger he felt ever. His game plan now was to grow their witch side. If that was dominant in the girls then when their cravings as an Escort became hell to contend with, they would have the will of their faith to fall back on.

  “She shut herself off, Gwinn, off to the magic in her.”

  “I don’t understand.” And she meant it. Adair was a stronger witch than Gwinn was, she was sure of it. Adair may have only read cards, sold candles and such but nature bowed to her, she could charm the elements, and the words. If she ever read any word she owned them, so much so that when she spoke them, they sounded as if they were echoing from her soul.

  “You do, you’ve learned to pull the emotion from your craft.”

  “But I feed on it, I’m dead.”

  “You fed on it as a mortal, too,” King said, letting his eyes meet hers.

  Gwinn looked away sure he was right. “You gonna tell her?”

  “That’s going to depend on her,” he said honestly. If Adair wasn’t ready to hear this then she wouldn’t. And this was only one of the complemented elements he sensed was woven into her being.

  “I’m going to talk to her,” Gwinn said as she went to stand.

  King clasped her arm. He knew Adair had slipped into a mediation to calm herself, and needed her to do that before he approached.

  Instead of explaining that to Gwinn, he manifested the pair of them into the hidden library he had found.

  Gwinn gasped as she stepped back. “Where are we?” She had promised Shade she would tell him when she left the Boneyard and wasn’t looking forward to telling him she had done so again before he figured out what was going on with the MC.

  “Fifty feet from where you were,” King said, glancing around, hunting the spirit. He pulled the book that had fallen before closer to the edge of the table it was on, one that was center in the room that had its fair share of wide lazy chairs and couches, and low burning lamps. “I want you to read this,” he said, nodding to the book.

  “What is it?”

  King glanced over it. He had read this book but it was ages ago while it was still being written. The author was Windsome’s father. “Its about the creation of Phoenixes among other old predictions.”

  “Why am I reading this?”

  He didn’t answer as he glanced around once more. “The door is right there,” he said, nodding to an oil painting of the originals in the Dominarum coven.

  Before he vanished he said, “Gwinn.” She looked up, already intrigued by the book before her. “If you see a spirit in here—catch it.”

  Gwinn’s eyes went wide, but King didn’t stick around long enough for her to pose another question.

  ***

  Driving to the Boneyard was a nightmare as far as Adair was concerned. More than once she thought of breaking off, leading both Rush and Judge on a wild chase, but hesitated. She hated depending on anyone, hated to be told what to do, but the bottom line was these people knew what happened. She could weave spells all day long and be wrong every time—knowing what caused the infraction in the first place would save a lot of time, it would ensure that Talley didn’t suffer anymore than he had to.

  Every word Judge said to her, every emotion she felt when he was near her was churning in her gut, so much so that she felt sick. It was like this life was a living nightmare, and her dreams, the ones that had all but kept her alive over the last years were a life she desperately wanted to wake up in.

  Little Dove…

  There was a part of Adair that wanted to be relieved Judge was close, there if she needed him. Then there was another part that wanted to beat the hell out of him—the part of her that was heartbroken.

  Her visions, which became fierce the moment Dagen had taken her hand, were non-stop. She always had good memories of Talley and Finley, but now she had more—so many more that even the dark and twisted ones could not drown out the bliss. The bliss of Talley and Finley laughing, loving life, the joy the three of them had day after day. A life that was full of teasing, bluntness, and adventure—a life that taught her to be herself.

  The witch in Finley had taught Adair to connect with all of nature, to see what could only be felt. To understand powers which could never be explained simply.

  The biker in Talley taught her how to be independent, to stand out, to not fit it—he along with Talon and Rush had taught her freedom of the soul. To stand up for the weak, and use your voice for it was a privilege only the strong could rightfully own. For the weak were too afraid to speak their mind.

  Mystic had emerged at Adair’s side the second she found herself in the sunroom, and licked every tear Adair cried until the feel of her doing so made Adair laugh and pull Mystic close.

  “You know this house, too, don’t you?” Adair whispered to her. Mystic took off and ran circles in the room then came back offering a gruff, wagging her nub.

  Adair moved her head side to side. “I’m truly losing my shit,” she muttered.

  Adair took her cross body bag off, dug around until she found the blunt she had rolled, and lit up. As she smoked she counted her cash. As much as she hated to believe it, when this was all over, maybe even before, she was going to have to bail—leave it all behind, the Cauldron, her friends, everything.

  Everyone knew being on the bad side of the Pentacle Sons was the wrong place to be—but landing there was not going to be in Adair’s control. They were either going to help her or hinder her; if it was the latter her time in New Orleans was all but over, in one way or another.

  Beyond her weapons and a few other random things she had a sketchpad. She sucked at drawing as far as she was concerned. Everything that came out of her was dark and twisted, gruesome even, but in some way it was poetic, helped her deal with the visions she’d see. It helped her with her clients, too. Sometimes a reading would sit with her for a while, all the dark energy that someone brought to the table.

  Her solution was to draw it, then burn the drawing—that helped her cleanse the thoughts, put it behind her.

  From the looks of the notebook she had done so often, lately. There were only ten or so sheets left.

  She knew she wouldn’t forget the words she had seen in the last vision but she wrote them down just the same. The flaming bird will turn to ash survival lurks blindly in the mind. Surrender brings forth the victory, which was lost. As she gazed at
the words a vision came to her, just like it did each time she read text.

  The vision didn’t match what she was going through.

  Why should I care if a Phoenix is chained and pulled into death, her thoughts grumbled as she urged herself to block out the one vision that made no sense.

  As she breathed in, took in her high nice and slow, she stared forward and ran her hand over Mystic’s silky coat. Slowly she was piecing together gaps in her past, in her memories. The very end was still a dense fog, but beyond then, her growing up was all filling in nice and slow.

  Talon, the man she had passed moments ago, was rich in her thoughts. She could remember thinking he was this superhero when she was just a girl.

  Talley was the father figure, the one with all the rules, Rush was the dick-head uncle, and Talon was the handsome boy filled with humor and brute strength. Capable of making Adair smile with a mere glance.

  She nearly blushed as she silently laughed at herself and pulled in another long drag of her blunt. Every man I know fucked me over, except you Talley, wherever you are…I’m going to save you.”

  Reveca, Adair thought. In her heart Adair felt trust for her, she knew she did, but it wasn’t as much as she had felt for Finley, and right now as far as Adair knew Reveca and company had impaired Adair right after they laid Talley down.

  Or maybe that was just Judge on his own. She wiped away the tear the thought of him had caused. She wanted to figure out what the hell he was talking about just before—her being his—but each time her mind would dare to broach those memories the pain in the center of her chest would cause her mind to slam that door shut.

  Her view just then was the river; she watched how the distant water flowed, along with the nature around it and let herself drift further into her mind.

  Happy one day. Gone the next. That’s how she remembered it all. The thin space between the two, the fight Talley and Finley had, she could almost grasp it…so close.

  As she thought of it, the river she was staring at, the brush around it—in her mind it all died, shriveled up, like the very life had been sucked out of it.