Curiosity killed the cat.
It was always there, in the back of Grey’s mind.
Although this time, it was his twin’s curiosity that might get him killed.
Black lands stretched as far as the eye could see around him, the sky a dull gold that was growing brighter as he trekked closer to the realm that fiery glow emanated from. Not like he wanted to go anywhere near that damned place, but it seemed the trail he was following wanted to lead him straight towards it.
Grey looked over his shoulder at the distant blue glow that King Thorne of the Third Realm of demons had told him belonged to the elf kingdom. Fucking place sounded magical. Why couldn’t Talon’s itch have led Grey in that direction?
Lush green hills, towering grey mountains, glittering blue streams, and all the sunshine their portal could pour into their kingdom.
He would have given anything to be there, stretched out on the long grass, soaking up that sun and letting the cool breeze play over his bare skin.
Instead, he was trudging through a wasteland, his feet sore in his black leather boots, and the sweat pouring off him sticking his black t-shirt to his skin.
All for his brother’s sake.
He rolled his stiff shoulders, grimacing as a few vertebrae cracked.
Maybe not all for Talon.
The thought of being at the pride village now that his sister, Maya, was gone to be with her fated one, August, had driven him to leave, to find somewhere else to be.
Maybe somewhere he belonged.
He had ended up at Underworld, the nightclub Talon now called home because his fated mate worked there. Grey didn’t belong there though. A few quiet days had passed before that restless itch had pushed him to keep moving, and he still wasn’t sure where he was meant to be going.
He was lost.
He exhaled hard.
Not a sigh.
He might not be sure where he was meant to be going, but his feet were carrying him forwards anyway, and if he had to keep walking forever until he found that place they wanted to rest, he would.
Talon had given him a new direction at least.
Over dinner one night, Talon had mentioned seeing the door again in his dreams. Sherry had given her mate a concerned look, one Grey hadn’t missed. He had focused on his brother then, and felt that need flowing through him, that curiosity that wouldn’t let him go, not until he knew what was beyond that door.
It wouldn’t have been a problem, but the door in question was deep in the bowels of the headquarters of a mortal hunter organisation, a building where Talon had been held captive and tortured for months.
Grey was damned if he was going to let his brother go back into that hellish place.
So, when Sherry had mentioned looking through the files they had stolen from Archangel when breaking Talon’s friends out, Grey had leaped at the chance to help. He would do anything for his brother.
Including going to Hell in his place.
The moment he had found the door mentioned in one of the project files, and uncovered that it was connected to something in Hell, he had known what he needed to do.
Where he had to be.
Talon needed to know what was beyond that door, and Grey was going to find out for him.
His twin had fought him on that, which hadn’t been a surprise given Talon’s habit of trying to act like his big brother. The bastard was stubborn and pushy, had been like it since birth when he had muscled his way out first, arriving in the world a whole eight minutes ahead of Grey.
Eight minutes did not an older brother make.
Grey could be just as stubborn though, and eventually Talon had given in, Sherry convincing him to let Grey go to Hell in his place and follow up their lead.
He had left immediately.
He would find out what was beyond that door even if it killed him. He would do that for Talon, to put his mind at rest and free him from the clutches of his curiosity.
He sighed and looked back over his shoulder, in the direction of the Third Realm and the elf kingdom beyond it. Although, it still would have been nice if Thorne had told him to head that way instead of towards the Devil’s lands.
A cold sinking feeling had gone through him in the demon king’s library when the huge russet-haired male had jabbed a strong clawed finger against a mountain range and told him that was where he needed to start, because it was the place mentioned in one of the reports linked to the project.
Grey hadn’t failed to notice that east of that mountain range was labelled as the dragon realm, and beyond that was the Devil’s domain.
Thorne had been generous enough to offer him an escort.
It had felt like a kick in the balls at the time.
Even Sable, the demon’s little queen and ex-Archangel hunter, had flinched at the offer, and had dished him out an apologetic glance.
Grey had refused Thorne, because he had grown tired of being coddled by his brothers a long time ago, and wasn’t about to accept it from a male he barely knew.
Looking back, he probably should have taken the demon up on his kind offer. The big guy had been nice enough to teleport him into Hell, had put him up for a few days at his castle, and had sent him off with some provisions and a crudely drawn map of Hell.
Grey pulled the map out of the thigh pocket of his black combat trousers and stared at it.
At how close the village was to dragons and the Devil.
A few demonic travelling companions probably wouldn’t have been a bad thing.
It wasn’t as if he knew Hell. He had come here without a plan, without any idea about what to expect, and that was dangerous.
His family had raised him to be prepared.
It had all gone out the window when Maya had left, and that feeling had kicked in, that need to walk and not stop walking, to put as much distance as he could between him and his pride.
He pressed his hand flat against his chest, felt his heart thumping hard against his palm, and stared into the distance, not seeing the cragged mountains that speared the gold sky.
What was it that had made him leave?
He was mad at his older brother, the alpha of their pride, and needed some space and time to work through those feelings. Mostly because he wanted to throat-punch Byron whenever he saw him.
Was that the reason he had strayed this far from home?
He didn’t want to do something he would regret?
As much as he hated Byron right now, which the bastard deserved after everything that Maya had been through because of him, he still loved the son of a bitch. He was still Grey’s brother.
Grey started walking again, his hand drifting across his chest to adjust the straps of his backpack. He jammed his thumb through the right strap and let his hand dangle there, his mind whirling as he thought about home and the gnawing feeling in the depths of his heart. Something had made him leave. Something other than his anger towards Byron.
Had to be.
Gods, maybe he was just messed up.
More fucked up than he had thought possible.
Or maybe there was nothing keeping him at the pride now.
It was strange having his freedom after spending two centuries at the pride, devoted to the care and protection of his little sister. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been free to come and go as he pleased. It had been erased from his memories, replaced by the decades that had come after Byron had become alpha, a time when Grey had been locked away from the world because Byron had deemed it too dangerous for Maya to be allowed to go outside the pride village, and had charged him with being at her side always.
Meaning the bastard had shut them both in a cage.
Fuck, it was weird.
Was that why he felt lost?
Because he was free at last?
He still hadn’t processed that, wasn’t sure he would for a long time yet. He had never really felt like a captive, because his family had been there, everyone he cared about at the village with him, but now that he was free to come and go as he pleased, he felt as if he had been a captive his entire life.
The world beyond the one he had known was huge, endless, filled with incredible things and possibilities, and he had hurled himself headlong into that world.
It was a little overwhelming.
His senses sparked, warning of life nearby, and he tensed and stilled, stretching his focus outwards to encompass the area. He slowed his breathing, becoming silent in the shadowy world, and his vision brightened as he studied the dimly-lit lands surrounding him, making it easier for him to pick out the rocks that could easily hide enemies, giving them ample chance to sneak up on him.
He should have taken Thorne up on his offer.
But the thought of having a demon escort had felt like another cage.
He wanted to be free.
He curled his lip and dragged air over his teeth, trying to scent the owner of that heartbeat.
Another joined it as he risked a step closer, and then a third and a fourth.
He peered ahead of him, into the darkness.
Something was there.
He risked another two steps.
The shadowy shapes came into focus.
Huts.
The village Thorne had said was the one Archangel had named in their report.
He must have walked further than he had realised while lost in his thoughts.
Grey cautiously moved forwards, lowering his hands to his sides as he approached the village. The loose black gravel crunched under his heavy boots, loud in the thick still air, grating at him. His muscles twitched beneath his skin and an urge to shift settled over him as he closed in on the buildings and the people coming and going between them.
It had been more than a day since he had last seen people, a day of trekking across a black wasteland with only an occasional distant screech or roar punctuating the silence. Those sounds had raked at his nerves, leaving them raw and stealing sleep from him. He hadn’t rested in more than twenty-four hours.
It was little wonder he felt on edge now.
Ready for a fight.
He felt vulnerable, easy prey if anyone chose to fight him, his body and mind badly in need of rest.
For all he knew, those sounds that had kept him marching forwards rather than taking a break could have been made by people. Hell was full of things he had never seen before, creatures straight out of myths and legends, or horror movies.
He could be walking right into a nest of the howling, shrieking beasts, lured into a false sense of security by their human appearances.
The urge to shift into his stronger form to protect himself grew stronger, and he slowly pulled down another calming breath. He was letting his imagination run away with him, and that was dangerous.
He needed answers, and kicking up a fuss in his tiger form just because he feared the things that had gone bump in the night in the wasteland wasn’t going to get him any, especially if the people in the village found out he thought they were the ones making those unholy noises.
He doubted they were.
It was just his imagination tricking his weary mind into believing something ridiculous—something liable to get him killed.
He needed to rest and regain some strength, and then his imagination wouldn’t hold such sway over him.
He didn’t need to shift.
He kept it tamped down, breathing through it and tightening his hold on his control, refusing to let his tiger instincts rule him. He was only here to speak with the people and find out what they knew about the project, and what Archangel had wanted when they had come through this way.
He wasn’t here to fight.
The urge to shift didn’t abate as he entered the village perimeter, marked by a rough stone wall that circled the few black huts and makeshift tents made of some sort of animal hide. If anything, it grew stronger in time with the scents of the people coming and going through the settlement.
Some of them were powerful.
Some smelled of the tinny scent of magic.
A dark-haired male dressed in long black robes off to his right stopped hammering a peg for his tent into the inky dirt and looked up at Grey.
A witch. Or did they prefer warlock? Wizard?
What the hell did they like being called? He could hardly go and speak to the male if he wasn’t sure. The last thing he needed to do was insult someone who could flay him with nothing more than a few muttered words.
Grey shuddered as he looked at the male’s hands.
And realised the tent peg he had been hammering into the black ground wasn’t the sort bought in a store in the mortal world.
It was a broken bone.
Definitely not talking to him.
It had nothing to do with the male’s creepy, dangerous, air and everything to do with the fact he was obviously a traveller.
Grey needed to speak with a resident if he was going to find out what Archangel had been doing here.
He scoured the small village, trying to spot a local. A few people stopped to stare on their way past. Nothing new there. Grey was used to people staring at him.
He ignored them and continued his search. On the opposite side of the village, two males and a female exited the largest of the thatched huts, laughing with each other, a glow to their cheeks. He breathed deep to catch their scent. Smiled. Alcohol.
Was the hut a sort of tavern?
He crossed the village to it, pretending not to notice the way more people stared at him, their eyes tracking his progress. He didn’t care. He really didn’t.
He bared his fangs at one male, a reaction he hadn’t been able to hold back. The male bared fangs right back at him, his pupils turning elliptical in the centre of his red irises.
A vampire.
Grey supposed Hell was probably fabulous in their eyes. No sunshine to make them go crispy. Just endless night.
He flashed fangs at the male again, and stood a little taller as the male turned away and walked in the opposite direction to him. Easy win. Which was strange. Normally vampires liked to fight to claim top spot, to prove themselves the most powerful things with fangs out there. Which was utter bullshit.
Dragons had to be the most powerful things with fangs.
Maybe demons cut a close second, possibly a joint placing with the elves. Grey had heard all manner of things about elves, some of which made them sound dangerous and not as magical and wonderful as he had believed as a kid.
Hellcats slotted in below them.
Vampires barely ranked above the other feline shifters.
Still, it was odd of the male to leave without a fight.
Grey slowed his steps and watched the male walking away. He didn’t stop at the perimeter of the village. He kept walking, heading into the darkness, going south-east.
High, bubbling laughter broke the silence.
He shook off his curiosity about the male and returned his focus to his mission, shifting his gaze back to the hut that was possibly a tavern.
Another female toppled out of it, a male following close behind her.
“Excuse me.” Grey raised his hand to snag their attention.
Both of them stared blankly at him.
They looked at each other.
Spoke.
In a language he didn’t know.
The female was rather animated as she prattled on, tossing her blonde hair over her bare shoulders, revealing a small top that was more strapless bra than corset. Matching black leather hugged her long legs. She was pretty too, a bright glow around her pupils that might have fooled him into believing her a shifter like him.
Only she smelled of sex and sin.
A succubus.
Her partner stood behind her, giving Grey a death glare turned up to the max.
Succubus sidled towards Grey, a wicked sway to her curvy hips and a smile tugging at her cherry red lips.
Crimson bled into the male’s eyes, his pupils stretching thin in their centres.
Another vampire.
And this one looked as if he might fight to prove who was stronger.
Grey held his hands up again and shook his head. “My mistake.”
He hurried past the male, ducking into the hut. It was cramped inside and he had to remain bent over to avoid banging his head. With all the demons, dragons and elves in Hell, he would have thought someone would have had the foresight to build the walls higher so the roof trusses didn’t pose a risk of injury.
He was barely pushing six-five and it was a struggle to reach the bar without knocking a few braincells out, or himself out with them. He didn’t want to see a demon pushing seven foot trying to move around in the cramped suffocating space.
Wooden torches rested in metal sconces spaced around the walls and clustered behind the bar area opposite him. Their flames flickered wildly, casting shadows over the males and females seated around the tables that lined the edges of the room. As if it wasn’t hot enough already. He huffed and tugged at his damp t-shirt, trying to fan himself a little as the temperature rose. Still, it was nice seeing a colour other than endless black, and having light in his life again.
He found a spot at the black stone bar, squatted there and tried to get the attention of the female serving. A very ample female. Her long mahogany corset pressed her curves inwards, and upwards, and tan leather encased powerful thighs. She poured a drink from one of the five huge wooden barrels stacked like a pyramid behind the bar and then turned back to the customer and set the clay mug down in front of him.
Her eyes glowed as she spoke with the male, a pretty shade of blue with violet hints.
Another succubus.
Was this entire village made up of them?
She brushed her fingers across the male’s jaw, and he visibly shuddered and sagged a little, his cheeks turning deep pink as he stared dazedly at her.
Another beautiful and buxom female came to him and ushered him away, out of the door and into the darkness.
The bartender finally noticed him.
Her smile lit up the room and her eyes glowed a little brighter.
Grey cleared his throat and schooled his features, his lips settling in a firm line and his silver eyebrows meeting hard above his blue eyes.
“I just want information.”
She looked disappointed.
Possibly confused.
The escorts Thorne had offered were looking more and more like they would have been a fantastic idea.
The brunette blinked and leaned against the bar, her breasts threatening to spill out of her tight corset. She reached for him.
He shook his head. “Just information.”
He wasn’t interested in anything else. He shut out the mocking voices in his head. It was his choice. He was the one uninterested in her, not the other way around.
“Infor… mace…” A little wrinkle formed between her brightly coloured eyes.
“Information.” He pulled his pack off his back, unzipped the main compartment and fished out the papers he had brought with him. He set them down on the stone slab and pointed to the name of the village. “Is this here?”
She stared at the word.
Dammit. Thorne had warned him that the ragtag groups that called this area their home had probably never left Hell so were unlikely to know the mortal tongues.
Someone peered over his shoulder.
A black clawed finger landed on the piece of paper in front of him, close to his. “Here.”
Grey jumped and growled at the male beside him. The warlock. Wizard. Whatever the hell he wanted to be called. He reeked of magic and death.
Even the succubus backed off, her usual bright smile and sultry air turning cold and dark. She said something, and the male said something back at her, a bite in his tone.
“You speak English?” Grey didn’t want to talk to the male, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere speaking with the bartender or anyone else in the joint.
The male didn’t nod.
Not a good sign.
“This is here?” He pointed to the name on the piece of paper again.
The male nodded and looked around. “Here.”
It was a start.
“You speak her tongue?” Grey pointed towards the bartender. “Speak. Her.”
The male frowned, his icy green eyes darkening a shade, and looked at the female, and then back at him. “Yes.”
Getting there.
But the male didn’t really understand him. He couldn’t ask complicated questions and have him relay them to the bartender for her to answer, and the male wouldn’t know the answer to them himself since he was clearly just passing through and using the village as a rest stop.
He needed to boil it down into something the male might understand.
“Mortals. Humans.” It was worth a shot. He pointed to himself. “I’m looking for mortals.”
The male’s eyes lit up. He pointed east. “Mortals.”
Grey looked in that direction. East. The dragon realm and the Devil’s lands were east of here. He slid his blue gaze back to the male, his hackles rising and his animal side growing restless, prowling beneath his skin.
Was the male telling him the truth?
“Mortals?” Grey pointed east, along the length of the bar.
The male nodded and attempted a smile. It came off twisted and disturbing rather than reassuring.
“Definitely?” Because he was starting to get the feeling that the male was trying to get him killed. “Because dragons are that way.”
The male shook his head. “No dragons. Mortals.”
Grey pulled the map out of his trouser pocket, spread it across the bar top and jammed a finger against the area Sable had labelled as ‘here be dragons’ and had drawn what he imagined was meant to be a dragon, but it looked more like a snake fighting a spider.
“Dragons.” He tapped the paper.
The warlock shook his head again, his eyes darkening another shade and his thin lips flattening. He jabbed a black claw against a spot west of the dragons, and east of their current location.
“Mortals. There.”
So close?
Was it possible?
“Here?” Grey pointed to the map.
The male looked as if he was going to kill him if he asked again, an inky sort of darkness growing around his pupils to devour the pale green of his irises.
“Okay. Here it is. Got it. Thanks.” Grey bundled up his papers and his backpack in his arms and left before the male could even think about muttering a spell to flay his fur off his body.
He breathed deep as he hit the village square again, shaking off his nerves and the sensation that the male was trying to get him killed. He just smelled of death, that was all it was. It had put Grey on edge.
He looked back at the tavern. Even the succubi had avoided the male. He turned away from the village and headed east, glancing at the male’s tent as he passed it. It was set up a good distance from the rest of the tents and from the huts, placed right against the perimeter wall of the village.
That struck a chord in him.
The warlock had come to the village, but had separated himself from them, was keeping his distance even though he obviously wanted to be around others.
The male had been helpful, but because he had looked different to the others, Grey had found it difficult to trust him. He had judged him on his appearance, and had believed he wanted to kill him because of that. He was no better than the others.
He should have been.
Experience should have taught him something, should have made him react differently to the male, but he had treated him with suspicion, just like the rest.
Just like his pride had treated him.
All because he was different to them.
Gods, he was no better than them.
He hated that.
It weighed him down as he trekked east, following the lead the male had given him.
It took him across the valley basin to the foot of a low mountain range.
He looked along it in both directions, and then at his map. By his calculations, the quickest route would be over the mountains, because the range stretched in both directions for miles. If he tried to go around, it would take him at least another day to reach the destination the warlock had marked for him.
By then, Archangel might have moved on.
He adjusted his pack on his shoulders, huffed and started forwards, picking a path up the gently sloping side of the mountain. He crossed a trail around two hundred metres up and followed it as it wound through the sharp towering rocks and up through tall crevasses that sliced into the black mountain. The trail grew narrow near the top, heading towards a sweeping curve between two peaks.
He brought his pack around to his front and pressed his back against the black rock as he edged sideways along the path, his eyes on the steep drop to jagged rocks below and his heart hammering against his ribs. No damn way he was going to fall. He breathed through the fear, refusing to let it get to him, and looked to his right, focusing on the path instead.
It opened up a short distance ahead.
Relief was quick to sweep through him when his boots hit the wider path and the trail led away from the edge, over the ridge.
Gods, he was tired.
He pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow, and ran his other hand over his silver hair. He would rest on the other side. This high up the mountain, he was unlikely to run into any wild beasts. He could spare a few minutes to catch his breath and rest his legs. He unhooked the canteen from his pack, took a swig of the tepid water, and capped it and put it back again. He was getting low.
Thorne had warned him not to trust the water in Hell.
Apparently, some of it wasn’t water at all.
Grey didn’t want to know what that meant.
He figured it wouldn’t end well for him and that was enough to have him steering clear of hitting any stream he saw for a refill of his canteen.
He reached the top of the mountain.
His breath caught.
Good gods.
It was as if he could see the entire world.
Or at least all of Hell.
Beyond the valley far below him, steeper mountains rose, forming ridge after ridge into the distance, where the sky glowed bright gold. The Devil’s domain.
Hell was bleak, grim, but had a strange sort of beauty to it from up here.
He started down the mountain, his eyes leaping back to the view whenever they could, drinking it in. It was incredible. How big was Hell? He should have looked back in the other direction at the ridge to see if he could figure it out. Maybe he would stop there and drink it all in if he came back this way.
He picked out a spot to rest as he scouted the route ahead of him, a nice flat space just a little over halfway down the mountain and only accessible from one side, giving him some protection.
He was close to it when lights in the valley caught his eye.
He slowed his steps and tracked them as they flickered and danced, a row of flaming gold spots crossing the darkness, heading to his left, deeper into the valley.
Archangel?
He looked in the direction they were heading, and frowned. More lights glowed there. Another village? Or a base of operations for a mortal hunter organisation up to no good?
Thoughts of resting scattered and he marched down the mountain, intent on reaching the valley floor before the people walking towards the settlement reached it. He needed to find out if they were Archangel soldiers, and he needed to do it before they joined up with the others. He could handle a few hunters, but not an entire base of operations.
His boots skidded on the loose black shale as he hurried down the mountain, and he fought for balance more than once, attempting a controlled slide that would get him down into the valley quicker than using the paths.
When he hit the valley floor, he paused for breath, his eyes scanning the dimly lit world around him. He spotted the torches off to his left, about five hundred metres out from his current position. He drew down a deep breath, held it in his lungs to steady his heart and centre himself and exhaled slowly. His senses sharpened, his animal side rising to the fore, allowing him to see into the darkness ahead of him.
Allowing him to see the people crossing the valley.
Every inch of him stilled.
And then a slow burn started in his blood.
It wasn’t Archangel.
He growled low in his throat at the sight of the large male figures, at the thick chains they gripped, and the captives they dragged along behind them.
It was slave traders.
He caught a flash of the two tiger shifter females he had found huddled naked and terrified in their cages, held against their will by Pyotr, the male Maya had been promised to as a cub.
That burn grew hotter, fiercer, blazing white hot, and he curled his hands into fists, his emerging claws digging into his palms as his tiger side raged, battered his control and pushed him to react, to obey his instincts.
To protect.
No one deserved to be treated that way. No one deserved to be abused, mistreated, held captive and condemned to a life of fear.
He snarled through his fangs.
Dumped his backpack and stripped off his t-shirt.
These bastards were going to pay for what they were doing.
