No Mercy (Dark-Hunter 18)

Chapter 1

"Is it just me or has the entire world gone stump stupid?"

Dev Peltier laughed as he heard his brother Remi's voice in his ear while he stood outside the front door of the Sanctuary club his family owned. He and Remi were half of a set of identical quads...and that comment was so out of character for his surly brother that Dev had to shake his head. "Since when you channel Simi?" he asked into the headset he wore so much that it felt weird whenever he didn't have it in his ear.

Remi snorted. "Yeah...like I'm a friggin' Goth demon chick dressed in a corset, frilly skirt, and tights trying to eat my way through the menu...and staff."

That was definitely Simi to a T.

But Dev couldn't resist ribbing him. "I always knew you were a freak, mon frere. This just proves it. Maybe we should rename you Frank-N-Furter and throw little wienies at you whenever you walk past."

"Shut up, Dev, before I come out there and make myself a triplet."

As if. Remi had obviously forgotten who'd taught him how to fight. "Bring it, punk. I got a new pair of boots itching to head up someone's--"

"Would you two stop fighting over the open channel?...And grow up while you're at it. I swear I'm going to make bear stew out of both of you tonight if you don't stop." Aimee broke off into a round of French, their native language, so that she could continue insulting and emasculating them.

Dev bit back a smart-ass response to his sister's hostile tone that was punctuated by several cheers of approval from the rest of the crew, whose headsets allowed them to overhear every word.

To be honest, he and his family didn't need the headsets to communicate. Part of being shapeshifting bears was that they could project their thoughts so long as they were within a reasonable distance from each other--though some of them were better at that than others. But that tended to raise suspicion among the mundane humans who worked for them and especially the ones who patronized their business. So they wore the sets in an attempt to at least appear normal.

Yeah, right. Normality had waved bye-bye to his family and his species a long time ago. But what the hell?

He rocked the headset look.

Even so, Dev pulled it off his head as his sister's ranting in French reminded him of his mother's and an unexpected surge of grief tore through him. How he missed the sound of his mother bitching at him in French....

Who would have ever thought? Of all the things to miss.

I must be sick in the head. And yet his mother's sharp voice haunted him from the past.

You need to grow up, Devereaux.... You're not a cub anymore. Haven't been one in over two hundred years. Why you bait your brothers so and make me lose my mind? Mon Dieu! You are ever my bane when you misbehave. Just once, can't you counsel your tongue and do as I ask? How can we rely on you if you insist on acting like a boy child? Did you learn nothing? Dev flinched as he saw her face in his mind while she read him his daily riot act.

It was a face he'd never see again and a voice that would one day all too soon fade completely from his memory.

How he hated change.

For over a hundred years, he'd taken his post at Sanctuary's door, watching as all manner of beings came and went. A sentinel in more ways than one, he'd let the humans pass without stopping them. But to the preternatural patrons who came here, he always explained the rules of Sanctuary and interrogated them to determine how much of a threat they'd be if they attacked--as well as determine who their allies were.

Just in case.

Now he stood post to make sure their enemies didn't finish destroying the club they'd only just put back together from the fight that had scarred them all.

I miss you, Maman. He missed his father just as much.

Stuff they could replace. Boards could be nailed back in place and counters remade. Smoke damage repaired.

But his parents...

They were gone forever.

And that made him furious as more grief racked him. It'd taken all of his strength not to go after the lycanthrope pack that had attacked them. If not for the knowledge of it causing the Omegrion--the ruling council for the werebeasts--to hunt down his remaining family and kill them in retaliation, he wouldn't have hesitated. But that he could never chance. He would not be responsible for the death of a single family member.

Not even his brother Remi.

He'd seen too many of his family killed in front of him....

I really want to leave.

It was a thought that was becoming more and more appealing. Ever since they'd reopened Sanctuary after the battle and fire, he'd been struck hard with wanderlust. The only reason he'd stayed here as long as he had was that his mother had asked him to remain with the family and help protect his younger sister.

Now that his mother was dead and Aimee was mated...

Staying wasn't as necessary as it'd been before. Every day he felt the pull to leave and make his own way in the world. He was a bear and it was the nature for most males to find a mate and start their own pack.

What am I doing here?

They didn't really need him. When the battle had come to their door, they'd learned fast just how many allies they had. And that number had been impressive. Sanctuary would stand forever. He didn't have to stay here to protect the door.

And yet...

I really hate change.

You're just restless. You'll get over it. You'll see. Besides, he didn't want a mate. Ever. Life was difficult enough trying to please himself. Gods help him if he ever had to try and please someone else.

It was just so much had happened over the last few months that it'd shaken his foundation. He felt lost...like his moorings had been sliced and he was left adrift without an engine or paddle. He'd never dealt well with change and so many changes had been thrust on him that he just wanted to leave it all behind and start fresh somewhere else.

Find someplace where he felt like he belonged again--even if he had to go to the past to do it. Someplace where he wasn't looking for his parents to come around the corner or be sitting in their favorite seats. Where memories didn't haunt him.

Or more to the point, hurt him.

The roaring sound of a racing bike broke through his melancholy thoughts as it approached from down the street. It was a Busa. He could tell by the throaty groan of the engine--they had a unique sound that was unmistakable to anyone who knew their bikes. Many of his Were-Hunter brethren used motorcycles as a means of transportation, including him and his brothers. Unlike a car, it was easier to teleport with their powers, and on the street, there was nothing faster that could maneuver out of the way of their enemies.

Or after them.

But this one growled with a specific tone that said she'd been modified for maximum speed and performance.

Expecting to see the Dark-Hunter leader Acheron on his black Hyabusa heading in, Dev frowned as a red one came up the street so fast, he was surprised it wasn't leading a few squad cars. The driver went past the entrance, then slammed on the brakes, sliding the bike sideways and leaving a cloud of burned rubber in its wake. The front wheel popped up before it headed toward him. Just as it reached the curb, the front tire slammed down and the rider parked it right in front of him with a jerking bounce that caused the rear wheel to lift up.

Even though the rider was tall and stoutly built, Dev could tell by her shapely curves that were covered in protective leather she was a woman.