Hunter Moon (The Moon Series) (26 page)

“Anubis sends his best,” she said to the swirling bits of black. She lowered her sword, then turned to face the others.

Finn agreed. Anubis certainly had.

Chapter Forty

Lukas floated in a sea of pain. It hurt to breathe, but it scared him more not to. He forced air into his lungs, tasted the blood on his lips. Something was wrong. The tide of his blood pounded in his ears, sounding so much like the waves crashing into the shore that he loved to watch from his window. He just wanted to have it all be over, terrified at the same time of what came after…

Seventeen years old, soon to be eighteen. Lukas stood for a picture with the bear he’d just killed. It was a big brown, at least 600 pounds from the looks of it. His friends pounded him on the back and then they posed with him for a picture. All of them with the dead bear.

Lukas thought it would make a good trophy. He would give it to his father. His father would have to be proud of him then. His father would have to acknowledge him then.

He’d surpassed both his father and his late brother in height, not to mention in hunting prowess. His friends all said that he must have some kind of sixth sense with the animals, some nearly psychic way of knowing where they were going to be so he could position himself for the best shot. He denied it, but his friends only half-believed him. How else could they explain the game he took down, and how he never seemed to miss a shot?

Telling them that he practiced in as much free time as school allowed him wasn’t nearly interesting enough. He’d long ago given up hope of impressing his father with high marks or sports achievements. After Peter died, his father seemed to have forgotten—or didn’t care—that he had another son. Pop barely looked at him. Any communication took place with his mother as the intermediary.

Pop had stopped hunting altogether after Peter’s death. Lukas had tried to interest him in it, had tried to forge a new bond with the man, but his father would have none of it. Lukas didn’t understand, but he didn’t let it stop him. He would make Pop notice him, make him proud of him. He could show him he was a better hunter than Peter—that he was the best ever in the family. So he practiced shooting until he was perfect.

Lukas grinned at his friend Thomas. “How are we going to get this thing home?”

Thomas flashed a similar grin. “Leave that to me.” He handed Lukas his rifle as he dug in his jacket pocket for a phone.

Lukas was hopeful as he walked up the steps to his house. Hunting was the last tie he had to his father. Peter had never shot a bear this size. Pop had to be proud of him.

He made one stop at the mudroom to remove dirty boots and jacket. His mother was out doing the shopping—she’d left a note for him—so this was a good time for a quiet father-son talk. Lukas squashed the nervous twitch in his stomach.

His father was sitting in his favorite chair, reading the paper. Lukas cleared his throat, feeling like a schoolboy called before the teacher’s desk. Why did talking to his father always make him feel like that? He was nearly a man grown now. He wanted to fidget, hop foot to foot, but forced himself to stand still and wait for his father to look up from his paper.

His father kept on reading. Finally Lukas said, “Pop?”

Slowly the paper was lowered. His father stared at him, waiting.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Lukas kicked himself. He shouldn’t have phrased it as a question—he looked weak. He should have made it a statement. “I’ve got something to show you.” There, that was a little better.

His father folded the paper into thirds and set it down on the table next to the chair. “Let’s see it, then.” His voice was resigned, as if he knew he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until he listened to whatever it was Lukas had to say.

Lukas pulled his phone out and scrolled until he found the picture he was looking for. He held it out to his father. Pop took the phone with a sour look—he was distrustful of technology, said it made things too easy—and glanced at the picture of Lukas with the bear. He handed it back.

Lukas felt like he had been punched in the guts. “You barely even looked at it.” He pushed the phone back at his father, trying to keep his voice steady. “It was a pretty big bear. At least 600 pounds.” He swallowed hard, unsure if he should say the next part. “I’m having it stuffed for you.”

His father looked at him, his eyes flinty. He didn’t smile, didn’t even look happy about it. “Why?”

Lukas was at a loss. Why what? He had no idea what his father was really asking. He stared at the man, stiff as a general in his chair, and wondered if there was anything he could do that would ever be enough for his father. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. But he was afraid he did understand. All too well.

His father looked away, eyes straying back to the paper. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Something inside Lukas snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far. There was pain at first, so sharp it left him breathless for a moment, then a calm came over him. It was as if he’d been waiting for that snap his whole life, like he’d been dreading it and building it up inside his head, and now that it had come, Lukas found it wasn’t nearly as bad as he was expecting. He walked in front of the chair so he could look at his father directly. He would make his father see him.

“Why do you hate me?” It was a question he’d been wanting to ask for years. Ever since that night in the bathroom after the horrible weekend hunting trip.

His father looked into his face with eyes as dead as winter. “Hate you? I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

“Is this about Peter?” They never spoke of his dead brother. Lukas knew better than to mention it, but it wasn’t going to stop him now.

Pop surged from his chair, forcing Lukas to take a step back. “Don’t you say his name!” When Lukas tried to speak, his father cut him off, slashing his arm down. “It’s your fault he’s dead.”

Lukas stared at his father, stunned. “I’m not a boar. That’s what killed him. Not me.”

Tears began to fill Pop’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “You might not have killed him, but you didn’t save him either.”

Lukas stepped closer to his father, peering into his face. Pop couldn’t actually believe that, could he? That was just crazy. He’d dragged Peter all the way back to the car, he’d called the ambulance, he’d killed the boar. What else did the man expect him to do?

His father murmured, “You’ve got the devil’s own eyes.” He paused, weeping outright now. “Peter was my good boy. You’ll never be him.”

And I’m not a good boy? The hurt was there, but more than that was the anger. It was like the hunting weekend all over again. Lukas thought he had come to terms with all of that: Peter’s preferential treatment, his father’s dismissal, the deer hunt, and the fallout from his decision to let the deer go. But the anger was still there, simmering this long while. Peter may be dead, but he was still standing between Lukas and his father and not letting Lukas get past him. His father still didn’t see him.

“I’m not trying to be him. But I’m still your son.” Lukas was surprised by how calm and in control he sounded. He stared at his father, his blue eyes dry as dust.

Pop met his gaze. They stared at each other, neither blinking. Finally, his father said, “Yes, you are. My son.” The words sounded lifeless on Pop’s tongue. “But you aren’t Peter.”

Lukas felt something harden inside of him. It’s true, he wasn’t Peter. He was better. He was alive. Lukas hadn’t been the one who got careless and let himself get gored by a boar. Lukas hadn’t bled out as his brother dragged him through the woods. Lukas hadn’t failed. But how to make his father see that? Every time Pop looked at Lukas he saw Peter’s ghost. And Lukas didn’t know what to do to change it. But he would find a way. He would find a way to show Pop that he was better than Peter; that Lukas was a man worthy of being called his son.

“Okay, Pop.” He turned away slowly, feeling like the entire world was different but somehow the same. “I understand.”

Lukas took himself upstairs to wash the stink of bear from him.

In the present, Lukas moaned, knowing where that conversation had led him. Maybe his father had seen him after all. Maybe his father had seen how it all ended.

Chapter Forty-One

Laila sheathed her sword. She looked at the people gathered around her and smiled. She singled out Sebastian for an especially wide one. “Hey, Sebastian.”

“Laila.” The Anubis Knight inclined his head toward her in greeting.

“So I guess you’re here to take me home.” She tilted her head, fixing the older Keeper with a knowing look.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The Keeper gestured to the fallen hunter who was still gasping for breath behind Finn.

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Laila answered, and there was enough steel in her voice to warn Sebastian that things hadn’t changed that much. “He’s all yours.”

The Anubis Knight met her gaze, looking for what, she didn’t know. All Laila knew was that seeing Mebis had restored some fundamental balance that she hadn’t known she’d lost. And while she knew she wasn’t done grieving for the loss of her brother—she didn’t know if she’d ever be done with that—she did feel more like herself than she had in weeks. She smiled to herself. Trust Mebis to know what she needed, even when she had lost sight of it herself.

“Not to interrupt this little détente, but perhaps you should ask the ruling council of Miami if they have a claim to him before you start divvying up the pieces,” Rafe noted from his spot on the sidelines.

Laila turned to the black leopard. Kess had been waiting patiently, but now she stalked front and center. She gestured with a paw at her collar. Laila saw Cormac look to where Lukas lay. The hunter must have the key on him somewhere.

She walked over to the dying hunter. The rage Laila felt was still there, but it was a dull simmer, like a pot on the stove rather than the roiling volcano she’d been before her meeting with Mebis. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. She thought that he might have passed out; the pain in his chest must be agony.

Laila bent down, intending to feel in his pockets for the key to Kess’ collar. Lukas’ eyes opened as she searched the first pocket of his shirt. “Zamiel?”

“He bugged out.” She kept her voice quiet, not wanting the others to hear for some reason.

Again the blood tinged smile. “He’ll be back. He still has to collect.”

“Oh yeah, your deal.” She found the key on a ring in the opposite pocket. “Was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted?” Laila was curious, despite herself, to know what on earth could be worth selling your soul for.

“Does anyone?” His voice was weak now, and fading.

Laila thought for a moment. She’d been very close there for a second. She had almost believed that Zamiel could give her the one thing she wanted most and the cost would be worth any price. She liked to think that her common sense would have kicked in, even if Mebis hadn’t popped her into that shadow place, but she couldn’t be sure.

“What did you want?” Laila tossed the key to Finn who ferried it over to Cormac.

“To be the best hunter the world had ever seen.” He closed his eyes as a cough tore through him, his body shaking with pain.

“And look how well that worked out for you,” Laila couldn’t help noting.

“Yes, in the end it all amounted to nothing.” He sounded more tired than it was possible for a human to get. “Thank you for pointing it out.”

His gaze shifted from Laila’s face to someone else behind her. Laila turned and saw Kess, now back in human form, standing behind them and looking at Lukas without expression in her green-gold eyes. She was naked, and blood leaked down one side from a bullet wound, a shot that must have grazed her ribs.

“What now?” Lukas asked Kess. Laila watched for any emotion to betray what Kess was thinking, but the wereleopard had her emotions under tight control.

Sebastian walked up, barely making any sound. “I can make it so he feels no pain, if that is what you want,” he offered.

Kess’ brow furrowed in thought. She turned to Laila and said, “I’ll let you make this call, Laila. You lost more than anyone.”

Laila shifted her gaze back to the hunter. There was a part of her that wanted him to suffer, to think on what mayhem he unleashed when he had the idea to call forth the demon and bargain his soul for a deal. But there was another part—and this was the part that she thought Mebis would approve of—that just didn’t see the point. Make him suffer? Why? He had a demon waiting for him. Laila had no doubt that Zamiel had survived her attack. How could she do worse to him than that?

“Go ahead.” She pushed herself away from the hunter to make room for Sebastian.

The Keeper knelt down, hitting several pressure points with stiffened fingers. Laila heard the faint sigh that escaped from Lukas’ lips, she watched the slow relaxation of muscles no longer held tense in pain.

When he was finished, Sebastian leaned back and spoke softly in a language Laila didn’t recognize. She looked at him questioningly, but he simply held up a hand in a gesture for her to wait.

“I’ll take it from here,” a familiar voice said.

Zamiel reappeared at Lukas’ head. He looked none the worse for wear. He was wearing a different suit: a red one. He leaned down and gathered the hunter into his arms as if the young man weighed nothing. He paused before he turned and said, “See you around, Laila. Count on it.”