Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (32 page)

A sick feeling settled in his gut. He swallowed hard and approached the woman at the desk.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for my fiancée, Rowan…” The Huntsmen didn’t have last names. Whenever they shopped, they used the company card. Calan had promised to repay Trevor and Ian. The Hunters had enough gold and jewels hidden away that they’d never have to worry about money. They just had to bring the stuff to the human world. “Hunter. My fiancée’s name is Rowan Hunter.”

The woman didn’t turn her head or respond.

“Hello, ma’am?”

She didn’t even move.

Shit, shit, shit. His heart raced. He turned and scanned the room. Nobody looked at him, despite his bare ass on display.

Oh, fuck no.

“Lady? Do you see me? Hear me?” Trevor reached for the woman’s arm to shake her and make her answer him. His hand passed through her.

He jumped back.

Dead. He was fucking dead.

He stared at his hands. They looked solid, even felt solid. How could he be dead and still be here?

“I’m a ghost, jackass. What other explanation is there?”

How the hell was he supposed to get back to Rowan? He’d promised her he wouldn’t die. It had been a damn foolish thing to promise. He couldn’t control fate. In the face of her tears that night, he’d given his vow, though.

Now I broke it.
He snorted and shook his head. Yeah, he didn’t care about bad luck descending on him. He still didn’t quite believe that was a consequence of breaking a promise, but Rowan did. She’d be suffering because of it too. Probably worrying about his soul. Missing him.

Crying over him.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Dammit. He hated seeing her in tears, and he freaking loathed knowing he’d be the cause of them. He was too damn ugly to be crying over. She would, though. She loved him.

I love her too.

Death hadn’t changed that. His love for her was real and true. He’d give her anything if only to see her smile again. According to Rowan, being born again would erase the love he felt for her. Their soul mate connection would break without Minerva’s tears offering them another chance. No. He would not lose Rowan. That couldn’t happen. He had to find her and…

And what? I’m freaking dead. What am I going to do? Haunt her?

He slammed his fist into the nearby wall and nearly fell into the next room. He righted himself and cursed. Helplessness gripped him. He shoved the weak emotion away. Ghosts sometimes connected to the living. He’d listened to enough of his grandmother’s stories. She’d sworn she’d seen things that couldn’t be explained—objects moving without people touching them, weird sounds, odd writing on the walls.

A note to Rowan would work. He could remind her that just because he’d died didn’t mean she had to mourn him forever. There was still good to be done. She had a purpose. And…
She
wasn’t dead. She could love again.

He curled his fists and fought the jealousy over thinking about Rowan in another man’s arms. Giving into it wouldn’t help her cope. Above all, he wanted her happy.

He swept his gaze over the room. If he were a ghost, there should be others around to show him how to do those ghostly things his grandmother had described. Not being able to pick up anything put a damper on writing a letter to Rowan.

Nobody else walked around in a hospital gown or looked lost. All he saw were people who probably wished they were anywhere but here.

Not willing to give up, he headed toward the door. He’d search the damn city, top to bottom, if he had to. One way or another he would connect with Rowan and tell her good-bye.

The sight of a man leaning against the wall stopped him. With one knee bent and his foot flat against the wall, he appeared bored, especially with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tipped back. A woman in her twenties walked by him, not even giving the guy a second look. A few more people passed him without acknowledging his presence.

Although dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, he wasn’t ordinary. He was…beautiful. It wasn’t a word Trevor would normally use to describe another man, but the description fit. The guy could’ve been carved from stone. He was muscular, tall, and had a face that was both rugged and polished.

Trevor walked toward him. The man turned and looked at him, not simply in his general direction. Trevor stopped and stared at the guy’s lavender eyes. They gleamed as if they were gemstones.

Bingo. My ticket out of here.
Trevor quickly closed the distance between them.

“What are you?” He had to be sure the guy was what he thought—an angel. It was hard to tell without wings.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re the only one here who can see me.”

The guy studied him, head to toe. “Why can’t they see you? I can see you perfectly fine.”

Was the guy playing some kind of game with him? Trevor didn’t have time for that shit. Rowan needed him. “I’m dead, that’s why. You know it too.”

“Do I?” He raised a dark brow. “And why would I know that?”

Trevor curled his fists and resisted the urge to pummel the man’s perfect face. He had to be an angel. No mere human had eyes like that. “Because you’re an angel, that’s why.”

The angel raised one corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin. Amusement glinted in those gemstone eyes. “Am I now? That’s funny. I thought angels were gorgeous women with white wings.”

“You’re a goddamn group of warriors who are both disciplined and vicious.” Or at least that was how the Huntsmen had described the heavenly beings.

The angel cocked a brow. “Do you really think you should be cursing in an angel’s presence?”

“So you admit to being one?”

He shrugged. “That’s what people call me. If you want to do the same, feel free.”

“Good. Then I need you to help me.”

He glanced at the clock. “In about twenty-seven hours, I will.”

“I can’t wait that long. I need you to get me to my fiancée right now.”

“I won’t be taking you to your Hunter. I’ll be leading you to Heaven.”

Trevor stepped back. “Over my dead body. I am not leaving this world until I connect with Rowan.”

The angel chuckled. “Dead body? That’s a good one.”

Trevor clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’m glad I amused you. Now tell me how to get to Rowan.”

Driving a car would be impossible. So would taking a taxi. Both required a body to accomplish. He was short one of those.

“You do realize your Hunter is planning to replace you, don’t you? She’ll be leaving for the Underworld in less than an hour, and I’m sure my brother will pounce on her once she’s there.”

Trevor fisted the angel’s T-shirt. Actually held the cotton in his hands, not passed through him. Then again, neither of them had bodies. The Huntsmen had shared that detail too. Out of all the godly beings, only Arawn’s children had physical bodies in the mortal realm.

“Who’s your brother?” Trevor asked the question, but he could probably guess the answer—Ian’s dad.

“I can’t say his name, but your assumption is correct.”

“Assumption? What? Can you read my mind?”

A smirk spread over the guy’s face. “Sure. I am an angel. That’s one of my abilities.”

“Can you return my life?”

A curious expression passed over the angel’s face. “Why do you want to return to your old life? You have another chance awaiting you. A clean slate. Nothing hanging over your head. No guilt, no memories—”

“And no Rowan. I love her.”
And I promised her I wouldn’t die on her.
He kept that to himself, even though the angel had just confessed to being able to read his mind. Trevor didn’t want to admit to hurting her.

“She also needs me. Without me, I fear she’ll fail her challenge. If she does, the barrier between the mortal realm and the Underworld will thin, allowing evil to escape.” Appealing to the angel’s need to protect the living would hopefully have better results than pleading his love for Rowan. According to Rhys, angels didn’t hold the emotion in the greatest regard.

The angel shook his head. “That’s not true. Love is important to us. We simply can’t feel it or act on it.”

“Yeah? Then help me return to Rowan. She’s going to give in to Lucas out of sorrow and desperation. She’ll come to regret it too. Without the memories of me, she’ll turn into a heartless vigilante. The sorrow she’s felt has made her into the person she is today. A woman I love and respect.” And dammit, why hadn’t he told her that when he’d comforted her by the lake? Regret was a damn bitter pill to swallow.

“Rowan has free will, and this is her challenge. I can’t intervene. She must make a choice. It’s part of the game.”

“Fuck the goddamn game!” Trevor slammed the angel into the wall, cracking his head off the brick. “You’re talking about the woman I love. Her soul. Her happiness. Her future. Those aren’t things to gamble on.”

“This isn’t my game. I’m merely a player in it. The same as you are.”

“Yeah?” Trevor raised a brow. “Well, you seem to know a hell of a lot about it.”

“I only do because I was the one who brought Minerva’s deception to the surface. I was the one who damned my brother and those angels who’d followed him. I am the reason they fell.”

He wanted to know what Minerva had done, but the angel’s words offered him the means to secure his help. At the moment, that mattered more than whatever mistake Arawn’s mate had made.

“Then you are the reason Rowan is suffering.” Trevor bent close to the angel until his lavender eyes filled Trevor’s vision. “And you are the one who will help me save her.”

“You can’t save her.” The angel growled the words. “She must figure this out on her own.”

“She shouldn’t be alone. I should be with her. She’s my partner. In all things. And if she fails, I will suffer with her. Good or bad, angel, I will face it all with her.”

“Michael. My name is Michael, not angel.”

“Okay, Michael. Get me to Rowan. Now.”

“You can only follow her to the butterfly garden. Once she enters Hell, she’s on her own.”

Yeah, Trevor didn’t like the sound of that. Temptation and damnation awaited her there. That was what she’d find in Lucas’s arms. No matter what the fallen angel told her, he wouldn’t be able to destroy her love for Trevor. On that, he’d bet his eternal soul.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
N
INE

Darkness blanketed the world. Trevor scanned the area, looking for Rowan. The jutting rock he and Michael stood on gave Trevor a perfect view of the area below. With the moon brightening the landscape, he picked out the group of cloaked figures moving toward the small chapel deep in the woods near the Huntsmen’s estate. Ian’s parents had never used the building or tended to it. The place stood in disrepair, as did many of the outer buildings on the property.

Rowan led the procession with a torch in her hand. He couldn’t see much of her face, but he knew the shape of her mouth and how she moved. Two large men walked behind her. Calan and Rhys, if he had to guess. The smaller figure directly between them would no doubt be Tegan. Following her were more of their brothers. By the number of people, every member of her Teulu had come out for the mourning, even the ones who were barely sane.

Maybe they had a better name for their gathering, but without a body, he wouldn’t call it a funeral or a wake. Sadness radiated from those walking solemnly to the chapel. There was no celebration of his life. No funny recollections. No warm memories shared. Grief hung in the air. It was Rowan’s, but all the Huntsmen shared in it. They were one.

Trevor cracked his jaw and swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat. “Where are they going?”

“To bury something of yours. It’s supposed to help those left behind move on.” Michael glanced at him. “It rarely works. For immortals, memories are both a blessing and a curse. We can’t scrub them from our minds.”

“That’s what Lucas promised Rowan, isn’t it? He offered her the ability to forget.” Why else would Rowan even consider getting together with Lucas? She didn’t love him, and if she’d enjoyed her time in Lucas’s bed so much, she would’ve sought him out as soon as she’d been released from her prison. She hadn’t.

Michael’s wings folded against his body, disappearing into his back. “I can’t say what my brother offered. I can’t even comment on his thought process. I never leave the resting fields when I travel to the Underworld. I wouldn’t be a pleasant sight for many of the inhabitants there, Minerva included.”

“You can go there, right? Will you follow Rowan? Help her somehow?” Trevor knew what the angel’s answer would be, but couldn’t help asking. The sight of Rowan in that black, hooded cloak chilled him.

Michael shook his head. “No. I can’t. This is—”

“Her challenge. Her choice.” Trevor rubbed at his burning eyes. Tears threatened. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d cried in his lifetime, but at none of those times had he ever felt so utterly helpless. “This isn’t right. The Triad dangled happiness in front of Rowan and yanked me away. I would’ve worshiped her for eternity.”

“I know.”

The angel’s solemn words dragged Trevor’s attention to Michael. The angel stared at the gathering below them with anger, not sorrow.

“Then help me. There’s got to be something you can do.”

Without taking his gaze off Rowan, Michael asked, “What would you give up for her?”

“Everything. My soul. My life. My sanity. I’d give it all.”

Michael turned his intent gaze on Trevor. “Then the only question left is, what am I willing to give up for you?”

****

The gaping hole Calan had dug awaited her offerings, but Rowan was having a hard time letting them go. She studied the two chess pieces. The White King was by far the best piece she’d carved. It was a perfect mix of nobility and cunning. She turned the ivory piece, taking in every detail. Trevor had thought it beautiful. He’d been pleased with her gift, even set it on display in their room with the White Queen by its side.

She curled her fingers around the King and held the Queen up to the moonlight. It was grotesquely beautiful with its dual faces. It fit her too. She was both a monster and a warrior. Dark and light. Or at least she had been. With the sorrow choking her, the goodness in her was dimming. She felt it slipping away. She couldn’t seem to stop it.