Heart of a Rocky (4 page)

O
MAR STEPPED INTO
the
kitchen to find Yara pinning the female who’d helped Ronan with Anise’s delivery against the refrigerator. He stood on the opposite side of the room with Ronan, who was eating a sandwich and scrolling through his phone.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing Ronan to look up at the two women.

“Eryka—that’s the female’s name—made a comment that your Lykata didn’t like.”

“What was the comment?”

Ronan snorted. “You don’t want to know.”

“What was it, Ro?”

“She said she would rather see the boy dead than raised by a female who doesn’t deserve the honor of birthing her Tor’s heir.”

Omar nodded and stepped into the kitchen where Yara still had the female pinned. Judging by the female’s wide eyes, Yara was whispering all the things that would happen to her if she so much as whispered her thoughts again. Yara’s preferred way of doing things steered towards brutal.

“Yara,” Omar said, “release her.”

His Lykata stepped away from Eryka and into Jazmir’s embrace after a moment of hesitation. If anyone could pull Yara back into the fold after being denied the privilege of kicking Eryka’s ass, her husband could. It would probably require a room somewhere in the compound.

He shook his head to clear it of thoughts of visions of his second and third’s carnal interactions.

“Tell me, Eryka,” Omar said, drawing the female’s frightened gaze from Yara to him. “Do you find murdering a child appealing?”

“N-no, um, no, I don’t, Omar.”

He smiled. Rockys all seemed to share the same kind of smile, a subtle tell just before they did something violent. Internally, he laughed at the thought: a smile indicative of the madness they endured during their Withstanding.

“Omar? I didn’t realize we were that familiar.”

“We aren’t, but Derrick is my Tor. I will not be like the rest of this pride and so quickly forsake our leader.”

Omar nodded. Part of him respected her loyalty, but the other part of him recognized the pragmatic nature of the rest of the pride. No one liked Derrick. They could see what Eryka seemed willfully prepared to overlook. Derrick was too weak to lead.

“And what will you call me when Derrick dies?”

“I will reserve my answer for the moment if that should come to pass, but you will not sever my loyalty to my Tor before he has been given the dignity of a proper Challenge. Truthfully, I–,” she bit off her sentence as if she thought better of it.

“Continue. You have me intrigued.”

“No, the thought has passed. I think I have said enough.”

“You have, but allow me to finish your statement, because believe it or not, I already know what can come out of the mouth of those devoted to a losing cause.

“You wanted to say, before you so cowardly stopped, that I am in one way or another wrong for the way I have appropriated the compound. You want to shout to any who will listen to you that they should fight to restore Derrick’s rightful place as Tor to the pride.

“But let me clue you into something you appear to be willfully ignorant of. Derrick is no Tor. His leadership is not deserved. I took it because I could, because those around him didn’t find him any more fit for the role than I did. Derrick is weak, a bully with the power of the office behind him. Have you ever wondered why he has no Lykata or Tukata? I suppose you haven’t. A male of Derrick’s stature will never have one. No one will take the vows to serve and protect—to shield and die—for a male who would not lift a hand to show kindness to the female birthing his son.” Omar stepped into her personal space just as Yara had earlier. “That is the male that you are so loyal to. He let Anise give birth to his son on the floor like a stray animal.”

“She wasn’t worthy of the honor…”

He slammed his fist into the refrigerator just beside her head. She flinched away, but found that he’d bracketed her in with his other arm.

“Do yourself a small favor. Shut the fuck up. Where is the honor in being treated like an animal? I’ve treated my enemies better than your precious Derrick has treated the mother of his son. For that alone I should take his head off now and to hell with the Challenge.”

She flinched at the mention of Derrick’s potentially decapitated body. Omar frankly didn’t give a damn if Derrick attended his Passing with his body in one piece.

Though Hunters didn’t adhere to the simple courtesy, Lycans made the attempt to allow those they killed to remain whole. Since all Passing ceremonies were the equivalent of an open casket, it was easier on the survivors to not see their Beloveds in pieces.

“And before I dismiss you to think about how long you want to maintain your loyalty—you won’t have long because he will die tomorrow—let me make something perfectly clear. Should you threaten my son or his mother again, I will allow my Lykata—yes, Yara is my second—to do exactly what she promised to you. That is, if my mate doesn’t do what she is very capable of doing to you.” Omar stepped back. “Go, before you say something that gets you killed.”

The way she practically ran from the room would have amused him if he wasn’t so tempted to send Yara after her. He sighed and turned to see the rest of the Rockys standing around the large chef’s kitchen. Everyone with the exception of Mikko Wayne’s son.

“Where is Trent?”

Tyson stepped forward and answered, while everyone else frowned in confusion.

“He is guarding Derrick.”

“By himself? Who the hell thought that was a good idea?”

“I did.” Tyson crossed his arms over his barreled chest in a slight challenge.

Ronan stood up and pocketed his phone. “I’ll go.”

Omar nodded his appreciation and turned back to Tyson. “We really don’t have time for your shit today. What do you want? A fight? What kind of condition do you want me to send you back to Mikko Wayne in?”

Tyson laughed and stepped closer. “Do you think you can take me, Tor?”

Omar felt rather than saw Yara and Jazmir move, but he waved them off.

“Go outside, Tyson.”

“You are not my commander, Tor.”

“You are here to aid me and that makes me commander in this mission. So take your fucking ass outside.”

Ronan returned with Trent following behind him.

“Derrick is secure. Mikko sent Liam here. He’s down there now,” Ronan said as he handed over his phone so that Omar could read that Mikko Wayne had sent Liam, Mikko to the Northwest pack, as a potential replacement for Tyson.

Omar handed the phone back. “Seems our Mikko intends to have you recalled,” he said to Tyson.

The male snarled and made his way to the rear door. “In that case, let me show you just how much you are not prepared to take me, Omar.”

* * *

Anise paced back past the window, gently bouncing her son in her arms. She paused when she noticed the Rockys spilling into the backyard. She frowned at the level of animosity coming off of the Hafiz.

What the hell is going on now?

She stopped bouncing her son, dread creeping into her gut, when it became clear who had earned the Hafiz’s anger.

Omar stepped forward and motioned his fellow Rocky into the circle. She strained to hear what the exchange between the males, but she couldn’t hear due to the soundproof windows. As the Hafiz spoke, Omar paused as if he finally understood the animosity that rolled off of the Rocky. Unfortunately, that slight moment of hesitation was the moment the leopard used to attack her mate.

Omar—with more grace than the average Aleser—dodged the attack, landing a well-placed punch to his foe’s kidney and sending the leopard stumbling to his knees. The Hafiz snarled and something obviously meant to irritate Omar, but Omar seemed to ignore the comment and step forward, the tension coiling the muscles in his torso and readying him to attack.

Omar stalked over to the still kneeling Hafiz, watching him carefully like a hungry lion watches a gazelle. He seemed to barely adjust in time as the male adjusted his position and launched himself at Omar’s middle, wrapping his arms around him and using his momentum to force Omar to the ground.

Anise followed along with the erratic movements as each male fought for dominant position. The Hafiz would momentarily gain the upper hand, but it didn’t take long before Omar turned things around and flipped the male off of him.

They both bounded to their feet, their fists raised and bloody. Scratches and cuts marred both of them, but Anise noted that Omar was mostly unharmed. Rocky or not, The Hafiz was not in a well-matched fight. Of the six Lycan forms, Alesers were the hardest to kill, three times harder than the Hafiz. The fight probably would have been over in seconds had the male not been a Rocky.

Before the male could summon the strength needed to restart the fight yet again, Omar closed the space between them and landed a series of punches that left the Hafiz bleeding and unconscious, but alive.

Anise was about to step away from the window when she caught the gaze of her mate. The look in his eyes drove home his potential to be a monster. He’d enjoyed his fight with the Hafiz. More to the point, though he sported some cuts and probably a good share of bruises, he’d been playing with the Hafiz. With a nod to the sated beast, Anise returned to the bed where she hoped Omar would not join her when night fell.

After settling her son into his bassinet, Anise tried to make herself comfortable enough to join her son in a quick nap. Unfortunately, her mind kept drifting back to the hauntingly serene predator in Omar’s eyes and the fact that her primitive lioness found everything about his inner beast desperately appealing.

Anise tossed and turned for more than thirty minutes in an effort to get comfortable before finally turning onto her side to face the door, only to watch it open. The smell of steak wafted in.

“I hope you like steak. It was the only thing not frozen,” Omar said as a way of greeting.

She sat up and eyed the tray of food hungrily. Derrick had been in control of her diet, exacting strict caloric intake and limiting red meat in her diet due to some misguided attempt at ensuring her son would grow healthy in her womb.

“Gods, I can’t remember the last time I had a steak.”

Omar frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Derrick was strict with what he allowed me to eat. Sixteen months is a long time to ask someone not to eat certain things just because you are pregnant.”

Anise missed the building tension wafting off of Omar because she too busy focusing on the tray he’d sat on her lap. His sudden roar and his fist punching into a nearby wall startled her and made her toss the tray, creating a mess across the gold sheets. Instead of rushing to clean up the scattered remnants of the steak she desperately wanted, she rushed to silence her son who was screaming his displeasure at being startled awake.

“Let me,” Omar said.

She was reaching down to pick up her son, but Omar’s hands gripped him first.

“Go get cleaned up, Anise. I’ll fix this.” He turned his attention to the baby as she warily moved toward the bathroom. “I’m sorry, young one. Your father enrages me with the way he has treated my mate and your mother. If you learn nothing else from me, then learn this: Our females are the reason we are as mighty as we are. Without them, we are nothing. Appreciate them, cherish them, and let no one mistreat them. For it is through them we have our sons and daughters. Even those who will never be a Nabila are our queens.”

Anise watched the conversation from the entrance to the bathroom. Omar’s voice not only calmed the squalling baby, but entranced and soothed her. Stranger, his words imparted a guiding principle that Derrick would never understand. Without her, the very son he claimed he loved and cherished wouldn’t exist.

She met Omar’s gaze and marveled at the banked rage lying in wait. He was outwardly calm—to the point that her son couldn’t feel it—but she could see the violence waiting for a reason to be tapped. And at the moment, that reason was Derrick.

O
MAR STARTLED AWAKE
when
a hiccupped whimper came from his left. Anise was still asleep, so he went to the bassinet and scooped up the boy fighting to remain in the cocoon of sleep. He smiled down at the boy and took him to the adjoining room where Anise kept the milk she’d pumped before bed.

After popping the bottle in the warmer-just long enough to takeoff the chill-Omar curled into the rocking chair and settled in for his first three AM feeding. Once he’d fed and changed his son, he sat back in the chair and rocked them both to sleep.

He jerked awake when he felt small fingers curling around his son. Instantly, his blade came to the throat of the perpetrator, poised to kill.

“It’s just me, Omar.”

“Anise,” he said, his voice gruff. “Sorry.”

He put the blade back in its holster on his waist and allowed her to take her son from him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“He was hungry. I wanted you to sleep.”

“He’s my son. I can take care of him.” Her words had a warbled quality to them; fear, however irrational, mingled among the syllables.

“I wanted to help, Anise.”

“Thank you, but we don’t need it.”

He sighed and walked out of the room. Gary had warned him that she would grasp at whatever justification she could grasp as a means of protecting her son. Having seen her own brother perform an infanticide over ten years ago colored her fears, despite Omar showing no signs of animosity toward her baby. She would hold onto her irrational concerns until he showed her with actions that he wished no harm on the boy, that he would honor the boy with the life he deserved. Down the hall, he found Ronan sitting in the hallway and talking on the phone. His friend closed his phone and stepped beside him.

“Late night walk?” he asked.

“Yeah. Marcela okay?”

“She’s okay. Irritated because I woke her up.”

“Why did you?”

“I’m a sap, and I wanted to hear her voice. I didn’t get to talk to her much yesterday.”

Omar laughed and led them outside to the lush garden of the compound.

“Do you plan on keeping the house?”

“I haven’t thought about it too much. For security purposes, I think I will move us somewhere safer, or redesign the lower level at the very least. At the end of the day, it’s just a house. I think we can make it work if we really want to.”

“It’s the people inside that make it a home,” Ronan said with a syrupy tone.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said with a slight laugh.

Ronan found a tree and propped himself against it. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing.”

“You always say that. So damn self-reliant it pisses people off who want to help you. Now tell me the truth. What do you need?”

“I need my mate to trust me. Think you can help me with that?”

“No, but you know as well as I do that actions speak a hell of a lot louder than words, especially for a Rocky. You’re going to have to show her.”

“How do I show her that I won’t harm her son?”

Ronan laughed. “That’s easy.”

“How?”

“Make him yours.”

The idea had been percolating in his mind, but hearing Ronan say as much out loud solidified his course of action.

“I need to modify his Naming.”

“That is easy enough. Kyran did it for the twins.”

Omar nodded and asked him how the kids were doing. He knew that the twins were a matter of awe and concern for their father, Mikko of the Blue-Oconee pack.

“They’re doing okay. Just as much trouble as most kids. Still a bit odd considering they are rarely without each other. Aryana has bad dreams, and we can’t figure out why. She wakes up crying just about every other night.”

A child plagued by the Mares of Night wasn’t a good sign, especially for one as young as Aryana. Ethus, goddess of the dream realm, Oblivia, rarely bothered with routine dreams of children.

“Have you contacted Ethus?”

“We’ve prayed to her, and one of her guardians responded. The goddess supposedly hasn’t bothered with Ary. Lykil is checking into it, but he hasn’t come up with anything either.”

“Damn.” Somehow that seemed terribly inaccurate, but he couldn’t think of much else to say.

“Yeah. It’s wearing Kyran out, and Alexis is a real charmer when she’s exhausted.” The sarcasm in his friend’s voice wasn’t lost on him.

“What did she do?”

“Stabbed one of the guards who told her that she couldn’t—for her safety—go on a hunt for a few Hunters we’d found in a nearby area.” He laughed. “The wound wasn’t that bad once we got the blade out of his chest.”

“Wow. Did she go on the hunt?”

“Do you think Kyran is crazy? Hell yeah, she went, and she was nice when she came back.”

Omar laughed and turned to face the soft footfalls coming from the rear of the house.

“What’s wrong?”

Luke stepped out from the shadows and into the pre-dawn light.

“Mikko Wayne wants Stella and I to return to the compound with Tyson after your Challenge.”

“Has he told you what he has planned for him?”

“No, but I don’t think it’s a timeout.”

“I can’t let him go through a Dispelling for this, Luke.”

The Dispelling was the ultimate punishment of a Rocky, one that Mikko Wayne rarely had the need to use.

Ronan stepped forward. “Why the hell not, Omar? The male is a fucking problem. More than his capabilities as a Rocky are worth.”

“Tyson can be an ass, but you don’t know everything about him. I can’t tell you what his problem is with me, but I understand it. He may be a pain in the ass, but it’s his Truth to bare, not mine.”

“Why now, though?” Luke asked.

“Because I was there when his Truth became part of his reality. He hasn’t seen me since that moment, and now he wants me to finish what started that day. I can’t let a Dispelling happen. He hasn’t done anything worthy of being killed and stripped of his honor not when I know that I am the cause of his anger.”

Luke and Ronan both let out a knowing sigh, but Ronan was the one to break their tense silence. “Fuck. He couldn’t pick more shitty timing.”

“When has Tyson ever concerned with the convenience of others?” Luke asked. “The male lives in a universe centered around himself.”

“Do you consider him self-serving?” Omar asked.

“Not at all. I don’t know all of the details of whatever his Truth is, but I’ve gotten enough to understand that whatever his issue is could have waited until you had taken care of the takeover.”

“That’s a possibility, but his Truth makes him… irrational. Also, I think the reason we came here isn’t doing him any favors.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do in regards to stalling Mikko Wayne from his verdict, but you will have to come and argue a case for him,” Luke said.

“That won’t be an issue.” Omar sighed. “Look, I know he has to answer for what he has done. His behavior is less than honorable, but he shouldn’t suffer the disgrace of a Dispelling. His reasons for his behavior are valid. If you can, tell Mikko Wayne that much. I will be there as soon as we complete the Naming.”

“Fine.”

They made their way back into the compound, but stopped at the rear door upon hearing a masculine shhh.

Omar motioned for Luke to take the front exit of the house and for Ronan to take the side exit next to the garage. He stepped away from the door and acted as if he were going to follow Luke to the front.

Just as he rounded the corner of the house, the rear door opened, and Eryka stepped into the morning light followed closely by Derrick. Omar whistled, the pattern alerting Ronan and Luke that they should return to the rear of the house. He didn’t wait for them, choosing instead to chase down Derrick, who’d shifted and was making his way to the tree line.

Ronan caught the girl when she split off, taking her to the ground in a snarling mess of claws and falling leaves. Luke came into view, a small blur of golden fur, just before he smashed into Derrick’s flank.

Derrick shook him off and continued running, but Luke leapt back to his feet and on his tail.

Omar, more than pissed off at the coward who chose to run from a Challenge, launched himself at Derrick, landing on his back and forcing his face into the ground.

Ronan came up behind them, dragging the still clawing Eryka.

“Take her inside and throw her in a cell. I’ll let Anise deal with her,” Omar said without taking his focus off of Derrick. “Shift, you cowardly fuck.”

“I am no coward.”

“You run like one. Now shift.”

“No. You hold no power over me; therefore, I owe you nothing.”

“Luke, I have a small bag in the back of the SUV. Bring it here.”

Luke ran and complied, returning a short while later with the heavy black bag.

“Anything in particular you need?” Luke asked.

“There is a collar inside. Gardas made. Grab the lock, too.”

Omar smirked when Derrick renewed his struggle in his hold.

“I am not an animal to be chained.”

“I offered you a chance to be treated with honor, but you ran. I offered you a chance to return to your cell in honor, but you defied me. How many chances do you think you deserve?”

“I am Tor here.”

“Not really, but we’ll let you think that for the next couple of hours.” Omar nodded to Luke, who had the collar open.

Derrick fought to avoid the collar, but only managed to bury his teeth in Luke’s arm. Ronan returned in time to sedate the aggravated Tor before extracting Luke’s arm without it sustaining too much damage.

“Thanks,” Luke said as he cradled his arm to his torso. “Do you always carry tranqs with you?”

“I knew he was going to be a headache. Figured knocking him out would make our lives easier.”

Ronan helped Omar carry Derrick inside and down to the cells that Derrick used to hold members of the pride when he wished to punish them. Ronan led them to the infirmary just down the hall where he started cleaning and stitching Luke’s arm against the Rocky’s wishes.

“Shut up,” Ronan said. “You’ll take forever to stop bleeding, and nobody wants to walk behind you with a mop until the blood stops.”

“Asshole,” Luke replied. “Your stitches don’t let people scar.”

“Sorry I’m such a good doctor. I can let the kid stitch you up if you want scars.”

Luke shivered. “I’m good, but hurry up.”

“Speaking of the kid, where is Trent?” Omar asked.

“Right here,” a little voice responded, which caused them all to jump.

“Shit! How the fuck do you move so quietly?”

The boy shrugged. “The cells has two entrances; I was guarding the one they escaped from. The girl took me on when I wasn’t looking and knocked me out.” He glanced down at his weapons, the disappointment coming off in waves. “I’m sorry, Tor. It won’t happen again.”

Omar clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He and the girl are in the cell now.”

Luke muttered about his stitches, wanting the honor of the scars gained from battle. “Maybe I should let Trent sew me up.”

Trent glanced at Luke’s arm. “I’ve been doing my own stitches since my first injury. Mikko said I needed to be able to take care of myself in all aspects.” He lifted his arm to show a set of old wounds. The long scars were so faint that the average human wouldn’t have seen them. “Stitched this one about six months ago. You wouldn’t scar if I stitched you up, either.”

Ronan laughed. “Damn, he’s making you sound incapable as hell, Luke.”

Trent held his hands up. “Not my intention, Rocky.”

“Don’t worry, Trent. I’m capable of stitching myself up in a bind, but I can’t say Mikko was ever as hard on me as he is on you.”

“This is hard?” Trent asked.

Omar turned away from the conversation, but not before he noticed that Ronan and Luke tried to avoid Trent’s gaze and his innocent question.

“Tor,” Trent said. “What is hard about what Mikko has me do?”

Omar heard Ronan smother a laugh. He shook his head and turned his attention to the kid, who seriously had no concept that his childhood was not what an average child—even a Lycan child in the midst of war times—experienced. But the fact that he was the Mikko’s son, the future ruler of the Order of Rockys, made his possible comment on Trent’s abnormal childhood likely unwelcome to his Mikko.

“If you were an average kid, then your childhood isn’t… normal. That being said, you aren’t normal, and I don’t mean that in a negative way. You have the potential to lead the Rockys when you complete your Withstanding. You must learn earlier than most to embody all that we Rockys learned late in life. Mikko Wayne is preparing you for the day when you are at the helm and you lead us. Already you are mighty. I can only imagine how much more so you will be when you finally shift. Does that make sense?”

Trent nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Telling me the truth. I am nine, and adults like to lie to me as if I am unaware that I do not know that killing shouldn’t be a second nature to me, that my ability to discern a potentially volatile situation is an abnormal trait. I am aware that I am not normal, that my father is hard on me and expects more of me than he has any right to expect of a nine year old. By most standards—human and Lycan alike—I should be playing with cars and terrorizing girls with bugs or something. I am not that child. I am a killer, and my legacy is to be legendary. Anything less and my mother’s death would be in vain.”

With that, the little boy, far beyond his physical age, left the room to stand guard down the hall in front of the cells.

“He’s fucking intense,” Ronan said.

Omar laughed because he was right. The kid was too serious to be nine. The idea that one day he would grow into an adult male and lead the Rockys with all that unrelenting strength of will was scary as hell.