Talon/Xavier (Bayou Heat) (6 page)

“Would you, if you were me?” She gave a humorless laugh, her voice edged with a bitterness she couldn’t hide. “You get to be the beautiful princess who saves the Pantera while I’m the evil twin who offers nothing but destruction.”

She heard Ashe’s soft gasp of remorse. “Isi, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Look, it’s not like I give a shit,” Isi interrupted the soft words. Hell, the only thing worse than being tagged as some sort of Antichrist was pity. The mere hint gave her hives. “Only suckers believe in prophecies.”

“You’re not evil.”

Hidden behind her well-perfected wall of indifference, she turned to meet her sister’s sympathetic gaze.

“Well, I’m not good,” she said. “And it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“I mean what I say,” Ashe insisted, clearly as stubborn as Isi. She smiled wryly. At least they had one thing in common. “You’re not evil.”

“Great.” Isi shrugged, just wanting to be done with painful conversation. “If you could convince the crazy cats in charge I’m one of the good guys, I’ll be on my way back home.”

Ashe reached out her hand, her expression filled with a wistful yearning that tugged perilously at Isi’s heart.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Together.”

Isi instinctively backed away. She wasn’t ready to give Ashe what she so obviously desired.

A sister.

“Yeah. Whatever.” She continued to back toward the door. “I have to go.”

Ashe dropped her hand, her gaze searching Isi’s face. “You look better.”

Isi came to a reluctant halt. “I was. Now…” She swallowed her words. There was no way in hell she was going to admit that there was something about Talon that eased her illness. “It doesn’t matter.”

Ashe bit her lip, her lids already beginning to droop. “I’m worried I’m draining you of your strength and that’s what is making you sick.”

Isi shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, I’m tough.”

Her sister struggled against the rising tide of weariness. “Isi—”

“I’ll come back after dinner.”

Isi slipped from the room, but lingered until she was certain her sister was deeply asleep.

It wasn’t that she cared whether or not Ashe might feel alone. Or need something before Raphael returned.

It was just…

With a muttered curse, Isi headed out of the clinic and straight to the cottage.

This entire place was making her nuts.

***

NEW ORLEANS

Talon ignored the closed sign clearly displayed on the door of the voodoo shop. He wasn’t a man who let pesky barriers stand in his way when he wanted something. Still, he was civilized enough to use his lock-picking skills to deal with the door rather than just kicking the damned thing open.

Glancing up and down the narrow street, he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. There would be witnesses to his B & E, of course. The specialty shops that lined the streets weren’t so busy that the proprietors weren’t aware of what was going on in neighboring stores. He could only hope they’d wait to see if he tried to walk out with a bag of loot before they called the cops.

Halting just inside the door, Talon immediate realized he wasn’t alone.

Despite the heavy scent of incense that hung in the air there was no missing the smell of two human males. Or the sour stench that marked them as enemies.

Walking past the rows of leather-bound books, crystals that came in every size and color, ceramic pots that were filled with Isi’s potions, and voodoo dolls, Talon silently paced to the body art room at the back of the store.

He hesitated at the open doorway, scanning the brightly lit room for hidden danger.

There wasn’t much to see. The walls were covered with a variety of tattoo patterns and framed pictures of happy customers. There were two narrow massage tables covered with white paper, and rolling cabinets that held the paraphernalia needed by the tattoo artists.

No hidden closets or cupboards.

And best of all…no exits.

Curling his nose at the strange odor that clung to those humans who carried the Mark of Shakpi, Talon turned his attention to the two men who had yet to notice his arrival.

Idiots.

One was seated at the end of a table. He was a young, blond-haired man with the hard muscles of a dedicated bodybuilder. He had a dozen tattoos running up his arms and around his thick neck, but he wasn’t at the shop for another.

No. The second man who was standing in front of him was holding a small metal rod with a flat piece of metal at the end.

A branding iron.

And Talon would bet his left nut it had a raven design on it.

A stupid, sharp-edged disappointment sliced through him before he was sternly reminding himself that he’d come to Isi’s shop precisely because the elders suspected Isi was connected to their enemies.

What else had he expected?

With a shake of his head he forced himself to concentrate on silently stepping into the room. The men might be mere humans, but Raphael had discovered that their enemies had weapons that could weaken a Pantera and make their cats dangerously vulnerable.

“Am I interrupting?”

With a flurry of curses both men jerked their gazes toward the doorway.

The blond on the table was the first to recover. “Hey, this is a private—”

“Fuck,” the one with the branding iron breathed. He had lanky black hair, a narrow face that had a rat-like quality, and brown eyes the color of mud, but there was an intelligence in his gaze that was missing from his companion. “Run.”

“I don’t think so.”

Talon stood in the doorway, bracing himself as the blond pulled a knife and charged forward. He waited until the man was in striking distance, grabbing the arm holding the knife and using the attacker’s own momentum to his advantage as he spun and slammed him face first into the doorjamb.

Having momentarily stunned his opponent, Talon spoke directly into his ear.

“Drop the knife and sit in the corner like a good boy and you might make it out of here alive,” he offered.

Possessing the tedious belief that his size made him the toughest guy in the room, the blond wrenched his arm free and swung the knife toward Talon’s face.

“Fuck you.”

Dodging the blade, Talon grabbed the man’s bloated head and with one efficient twist broke his neck.

He’d given the moron a chance to live.

Allowing the dead man to drop to the floor, Talon turned his attention to the slender, rat-faced man clutching the branding iron as if it could protect him.

Talon stepped forward, a lethal smile curling his lips. “We need to chat.”

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but—”

“Don’t lie,” Talon overrode the arrogant bluff. “I’ve seen you with Raphael.”

“Yes…” A cunning light glowed in the mud eyes. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Derek and I spy for him. He’s going to be pissed if you blow my cover.”

With a blur of motion, Talon was standing directly in front of the man, the tip of his dagger beneath his chin.

“Here’s the deal,” he said in soft, lethal tones. “You’ve been working with Suits. I’m a Hunter. Do you know what that means?”

The man licked his lips. “No.”

Talon allowed his cat to glow in his eyes, watching the man with a hunger that would terrify any human.

“It means that my job description is tracking down enemies and killing them.” He allowed the dagger to pierce the man’s skin. “I don’t negotiate. I don’t heal. I don’t nurture. I kill. And I do it very, very well.”

“Fine,” the man hissed, his expression sullen. “What do you want?”

“Answers.”

“To what?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Isi,” he answered without hesitation. “She owns this joint.”

Talon clenched his teeth, pretending his cat wasn’t snarling in disbelief. What did his cat know about human treachery?

“She trained you to brand traitors with that mark?”

Something flickered in the mud eyes. A warning that he was about to lie.

“She—”

“The truth or I’ll start cutting off body parts.” He lowered the dagger to press it against the man’s dick. There was nothing like threatening to take an idiot’s manhood to put him in the mood to share. “Starting here.”

A layer of sweat coated the man’s face, but his expression remained defiant. “No. The bitch has no idea what’s going on.”

Talon’s grip tightened on the handle of the dagger. Did he believe the man?

Actually…he did.

Derek might pretend to be a tough guy, but at his core he was a coward.

If he could try to throw blame on Isi to cover his own ass, he would.

Refusing to dwell on the surge of relief that rushed through him, Talon nodded toward the iron rod still held in Derek’s hand.

“Then who gave you the brand?”

“I made it myself.” He lifted it to reveal the raven on the bottom. “Like it?”

Rage blasted through Talon.

These son of a bitches were destroying his homeland.

His people.

He wanted answers. Then he wanted to rip the bastard into tiny, bloody strips.

“It’s as offensive as you are,” he snarled. “Where did you learn to create the symbol?”

The man licked his lips, no doubt sensing Talon was just waiting for an excuse to kill him.

“I was approached by a voodoo priestess while I was in jail for a minor disagreement with my ex-wife,” he said.

Voodoo priestess would match what Vincent and Savoy had told Bayon.

“What was her name?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Talon lifted the dagger to press it beneath Derek’s chin.

“Don’t screw with me,” he growled.

The man hissed in pain, but he was smart enough not to try to pull away. “I’m serious. She called herself Lady Cerise, but when I tried to find her later no one had ever heard of her. She must have used a false name.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She paid my bail and told me she had a job for me,” Derek admitted. “She gave me a card with the symbol of the raven flying across a full moon, and the address. Then she left.”

“What was the job?”

“I went to the address that was an old warehouse where I met a group of men who promised an endless supply of money if I did what I was told and didn’t ask too many questions.”

Talon narrowed his gaze. Even with the threat of death, he was surprised Derek would so easily answer his questions.

He’d sensed the man was a coward, but surely he had to worry his fellow traitors would discover he squealed?

“For doing what?”

The man glanced toward the branding iron clutched in his hand. “My primary job is to brand the new recruits, but I do whatever I’m told to do.”

“How did you end up in this shop?” he demanded, needing to know his connection to Isi. Why? He scowled, refusing to answer the question. “Was it because of her birthmark?”

Derek blinked in genuine bafflement. “What birthmark?”

“Never mind,” he growled, aggravated he’d even asked the question. “Why did you choose this shop?”

“It was Lon.”

“Who?”

“The alpha dog of our little crew.” Derek’s lips curled in disdain. The loser clearly had an allergy to authority. Typical. “He wanted me here to keep an eye on Isi.”

Talon slid the dagger toward the man’s throat, his eyes glowing as his cat snarled for blood.

“Why?”

Derek stiffened, the stench of his fear making Talon grimace. Still, his expression remained insolent.

“Lon wanted to know where she was and who was visiting the shop.”

“He wanted to know about the Pantera?”

“Lon wasn’t specific. He wanted me to keep a log on everyone who entered the shop.” The mud eyes darkened with frustration. “I assume they were hoping someone would contact her, but they didn’t share the information with me. I was just an insignificant peon.” 

Talon studied Derek’s rat face. “And that’s it?”

He gave a lift of one shoulder. “For me.”

“What about the others?”

“There are some who sneak into the Wildlands and perform some hokey ritual,” Derek said, unaware of Talon’s burst of fury. Those hokey rituals were destroying his home. “And others who spend most of their time traveling around the world.”

“Recruiters?”

“No.” Derek arched backward, as if trying to remove his chin from the sharp edge of Talon’s blade. “Like I said, they’re looking for someone.”

Talon was instantly intrigued.

If his enemies wanted this person, then it was imperative the Pantera got their hands on him first.

“You have some idea who this person is? Man or woman? Human or Pantera?”

Bitter envy twisted the man’s expression. “That info was above my pay grade.”

Talon made a sound of impatience. “Where is the warehouse?”

Derek abruptly spit in Talon’s face, using the momentary distraction to yank out the gun he’d had holstered at his lower back.

Talon belatedly realized why the man had been so eager to answer his questions. He’d simply been trying to keep Talon distracted long enough to get out his weapon.

“That’s enough questions,” the man roared. “Die, you fucking animal.”

“Not today.”

With a speed the human couldn’t hope to match, Talon wrenched the gun from the man’s hand, and with one swing of his arm he’d knocked Derek off his feet to crash head first into the wall.

The man landed heavily on the floor, blood flowing from the cut on his forehead. He was injured, but Talon could hear the steady beat of his heart.

Grimly he forced himself to turn and leave the room, closing the door behind him.

There was nothing he wanted more than to cut out the man’s heart and feed it to the gators, but he was a Hunter who understood that sometimes the best way to catch his prey was to use bait.

Once Derek woke up, his first instinct would be to return to the Mother Ship.

Or in this case, the warehouse where Lon and his crew were hidden.

Talon intended to make sure the bastard was followed.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he hit speed dial. “I need a surveillance team in New Orleans. Oh, and there’s a stiff to clean up.”