Hakan Severin

Hakan/Séverin

BAYOU HEAT 11-12

By

Alexandra Ivy

and

Laura Wright

Copyright © 2014 by Alexandra Ivy and Laura Wright

Editor: Julia Ganis

Cover Art by Patricia Schmitt (Pickyme)

* * * * *

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

ISBN: (9780989990738)

By

Alexandra Ivy

Hiss wasn’t stupid.

He realized that most Pantera considered him crazy. Why wouldn’t they? No one could possibly understand his obsessive refusal to believe that his family had been killed when he was just a babe.

But now they considered him more than just insane.

He was a danger.

A traitor.

The knowledge burned at him like acid on his soul.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d never intended to betray his people, or to work with his enemies. But what choice had the elders left him?

Pacing the private room at the back of the medical clinic that kept him separated from the rest of the building, Hiss came to an abrupt halt as he caught a familiar scent.

Ah. Speak of the devil.

Or devils, as the case may be.

The elders.

A fierce smile curved his lips as he moved to stand directly in front of the door.

He’d waited for this moment for the past sixty years.

Ever since he’d been old enough to realize that the endless dreams he had of a pretty, dark-haired female clutching a child in her arms were more than just nightmares.

Even now he could remember the wild fear that had combusted through him as he’d rushed to the elders, convinced that he was having visions of his mother and sister. He’d been desperate to begin an immediate search for his family, but the elders had refused to send out the Hunters to track them down. Hell, they wouldn’t even let him go in search of them.

Instead, they’d locked him in a small cell so he couldn’t leave the Wildlands, claiming his parents and sister had died during a trip to New Orleans and his refusal to believe they were dead proved he was belatedly grieving their loss.

Bitches.

He’d been waiting for some sort of leverage to force the ancient females to tell him the truth of his missing family. And now, at last, he had it.

Outside the door he could hear the muted voices of the elders as they shared a private conversation. His hands clenched, his claws slicing out to draw blood as they carved through his palm.

No doubt they were discussing how they were going to try to force information out of him without offering any in return.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Even if he was going to be executed as a traitor, he intended to have the truth before he died.

Intent on trying to overhear the conversation from the outer hallway, Hiss didn’t notice the sound of a window being opened behind him.

It wasn’t until he caught the distinct scent of expensive cologne that he whirled around to discover a tall, human male standing a few feet behind him.

Hiss instinctively widened his stance, his fangs elongating as he prepared for an attack.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled.

The man smiled, his dark hair smoothed from his lean face and his blue eyes oddly compelling.

“A friend,” he assured Hiss in a posh English accent.

Hiss curled his upper lip, flicking a disdainful glance over the slender form that was attired in a smoke gray suit that probably cost over a grand.

“I don’t have human friends,” he informed the intruder, his eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” The smile widened to reveal perfect white teeth. “Then a potential partner.”

Hiss spat on the ground, pretending that he wasn’t being eaten alive by guilt. “If you’re looking for your goddess, she returned to the mother-ship with her sister.”

The man looked genuinely puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Opela and Shakpi are reunited and have retreated from this world,” he said in slow, deliberate tones. He wanted this idiot gone so he could concentrate on his meeting with the elders. “You’re a day late and a dollar short, as usual.”

“Ah.” The stranger waved a slender hand. “You misunderstand my presence here. I have no interest in your deities, Hiss, or the strange allies you chose to use for your revenge.”

Belatedly Hiss realized that the intruder didn’t have the foul stench that clung to the disciples of Shakpi. Which meant that he wasn’t one of the whackadoodles that Hiss had been forced to deal with for far too long.

So what the hell was he doing in the Wildlands?

Hiss stepped forward, the air sizzling with danger as he allowed the fool to catch a glimpse of the cat that prowled just below the surface.

“Give me your name,” he commanded, his voice thick with warning.

The stranger gave a mocking bow of his head. “Stanton Locke.”

Stanton Locke? Hadn’t he heard that name whispered by the guards?

“Why are you here?”

“To give you what you most desire.”

Hiss released a sharp, humorless laugh. “Thanks, but I don’t swing that way.”

“I have answers, Hiss,” Stanton promised in soft tones. He had the voice of an angel. Pure temptation. “And the family that you’ve been seeking.”

Hakan returned to his small room in the Hunters’ communal living quarters for a quick shower and a change of jeans and T-shirt before heading to the large plantation-style building that served as the nerve center for the Diplomats.

He was one of the most powerful Pantera ever born.

At six foot five he was heavily muscled, with skin the color of melted caramel and eyes a dark amber flecked with jade. But despite his epic stamina, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

After three intense days of searching nonstop for Mercier and Rosalie his body ached and his mind was clouded with weariness. He was, quite frankly, running on empty.

Only the nagging knowledge he’d failed kept him moving.

Fury blasted through him. Mercier was dead. Shot in the head.

Someone was going to pay.

In blood.

Entering the large building filled with Geeks tapping on their computers or monitoring the surveillance equipment along the far wall, he moved toward the private offices at the back.

He’d just stepped through a double doorway when the hallway was blocked by a large Hunter with dark hair and an angular face that was scarred on the right side.

“Hakan.” Parish arched a dark brow. “When did you get back?”

“An hour ago.”

The leader of the Hunters folded his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t you resting?”

Hakan ignored the question. “Where’s Raphael?”

Parish’s face hardened. Any other day he would have commanded Hakan to get his ass to bed, but with yet another crisis looming, they were all on edge. Sleep was a commodity that would have to wait.

“He’s busy with Sebastian, trying to play nice with the horde of reporters parked on our borders,” the older male explained.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Hakan curled his lips in disgust. He didn’t have a problem with humans, but he’d been shocked by the dozens of vans that’d blocked the roads leading to the Wildlands, and the aggressive photographers who’d been lurking in the shadows to snap pictures of anything that moved. It’d been like a fucking feeding frenzy. “What are they doing there?”

“The humans have a bug up their ass about the beast-men infecting the bayous.”

“Beast-men?”

Parish gave a short, humorless laugh at Hakan’s outraged expression.

“Their words, not mine.”

“Perfect. That’s all we need right now…a bunch of humans treating the Wildlands like it’s their personal zoo.”

“No shit.” Parish shook his head in frustration. “What do you need from Raphael?”

“I want to know how Mercier ended up dead.”

Blunt. To the point. That was Hakan.

Only once in his life had he tried to hide his true emotions.

He was still paying the price for that piece of stupidity.

“They’re both Hunters.” Parish’s voice was a low growl, the pain of his cat visible in his eyes. The grief for the fallen Hunter was still a raw wound for all of them. “They understood that Raphael would never negotiate for hostages, so they did what they were trained to do. Escape.”

Hakan nodded. He didn’t blame the leader of the Diplomats. Negotiating with blackmailers was unacceptable. Still, he needed to know how his childhood friend had ended up dead.

“And?”

Parish grimaced. “According to Rosalie they managed to break free of the malachite chains that were holding them, but they were both dangerously weak.”

“Shit. They know we’re vulnerable to malachite?”

“It seems we’ve been outed in more ways than one,” Parish admitted. “Mercier sacrificed himself so Rosalie could escape past the guards who were patrolling the abandoned factory where they were being held.”

Hakan pressed a hand to his aching heart. It was just like Mercier to play the hero.

“God. Damn.”

Parish gave a grim nod. “That about sums it up.”

“How is Rosalie?”

“Angel checked her out as soon as she returned. Physically she’s fine. Mentally she’s a wreck.”

He could imagine. Knowing a close friend gave their life to save you…yeah, that would screw with anyone.

Hakan abruptly forced away his dark thoughts.

Eventually he would deal with the loss of his friend. For now, he had to make sure he didn’t lose anyone else.