A Hybrid's Destiny

Chapter 5

Aron swirled the remains of his whiskey, transfixed a moment on the eddying dark liquid in his glass before tipping it back and downing it in one swallow, his throat protesting against the trailing fire. A burn he welcomed drink after drink, glass after glass. It reminded him to actually feel while his whole body felt numb.

Setting the glass on the table next to the other empty few, he counted them, wondering if he should get another. It had been his fourth drink tonight, yet due to his Lycan nature, he was far from getting drunk. Even though drunk sounded like the perfect place he wanted to be, he knew he shouldn’t let it get that far.

Nevaeh wouldn’t like it if I got wasted.

Looking over the table, he watched the blaring, flashing lights splash color over Sébastien’s white shirt as he leaned over the wire and steel railing, gaping at the raging dance floor below. His hand was clasped on his own drink, which was nearly drained as well. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Tate, though he caught his brother staring aimlessly at times, too. Aron knew where Sébastien’s mind went during those times.

I know what that look in his eye means.

It’s why Aron flagged down the waitress again, even before his brother asked, “Two more whiskeys. Neat.” The waitress flashed him a smile as she took his order. Flashed another as she loaded up her tray with the empty glasses, as well as showcasing her well-endowed chest as she bent over. Eye-candy for sure. But Aron’s eyes flicked away from her little show. A few months ago, yeah, he would have ogled at those t**s for sure. Hell, the waitress may have even gotten lucky, too. But those days were far away from today. He just hoped the waitress understood his disinterested cues and that neither he, nor his brother for that fact, were here to make a hook-up.

Well, they did want one hook-up, but not in the sense the voluptuous vixen was hoping for.

Technically, they were at this nightclub on business, or a mission as Nevaeh would refer to them. Tate’s current piece of ass he was chasing, fuxcursion, or whatever the hell he was trying to call her— Jaelyn— said Club Aæther was a hotspot for nonhumans to frequent, so it was their best bet to find who they came here looking for— a faerie with intel on how to contact this illusive Ghille Dhu. A faerie who could help him find the gateway, find his kamará.

Hmm. Ma moitié. Aron closed his eyes while taking a breath, hoping it would relieve the pressure that squeezed his heart whenever his mind teased him with any thoughts of her. Which was damn near every f*****g second of his days and nights since she was taken. They were taken, he mentally corrected. Sure, Levi could be included into that heartbreak, a heartbreak that crushed his brother into that zombie who stood looking out over the club now, but the they he was referring to was more of Nevaeh and his unborn child. His daughter.

Will I even ever see them again?

The exhaling technique wasn’t helping curb the ache in his chest, and perhaps he wasn’t giving it the time it needed to help soothe him, but his anxiety ate away at his patience. Eventually, his hands were raking through the hair he had actually tried to style this evening, knowing they were headed to a nightclub. Yet his once neatly combed locks became victim to his frustration, but he didn’t give a s**t. Although it actually felt good to get dressed up and go out tonight, the moment they actually walked through the doors of the club, his thoughts jerked immediately to when life was simpler than demons and end of the world prophecies; reality clamping its huge teeth inside his heart like a vicious Rottweiler and yanking him around in a vicious death roll.

Fuck, I.miss.her.

Slamming his head back on the high-cushioned seat, he blinked against the wet in his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling, hoping to escape to that mindless state Sébastien seemed to find.

If this witch’s contact doesn’t pan out… f**k, don’t think that way. Think positive! Like making a business deal… walk in with confidence, like everything will go our way. Aron squeezed his eyes shut. Tate, your witch needs to pull this off. Put us on the right path. Please, Goddess, please!

“Can I join you?”

Aron’s head jerked left toward the low masculine voice, noticing a familiar head of short messy blonde hair framing obsidian black eyes peering at him. There was a time he would have glared at this guy, but his familiar face, and what this demon meant to his ma moitié, made his chest burn.

“Hey Merch. Ya, of course. Have a seat,” Aron indicated the vast open couch around him. “What are you doing in Scotland?” Sébastien turned around from his perch and made his way over to them, sitting down after finishing off his drink.

“Salut, Merch,” his brother’s voice barely audible above the roaring music.

“I imagine,” Merchegoras said as he sat down at Aron’s left, his leather jacket creaking with his movement, “I’m in Scotland for much of the same reason you have found yourself here.”

“Well, we are here because Tate is here, honestly.” Aron rubbed his face, the five-o’clock shadow itching across his hand. Hmm. Maybe I should have shaved? But Nevaeh liked my scruff. “His father, Elder Raith, has been very helpful with his contacts here. We’ve learned a lot about what lives Underground and how their societies work. Elder Raith has been down there a few times and dealt with the vampire clans that chose to remain there.” He added, with a tinge of hope sparking his eyes, “And tonight, we may have one of our first break-throughs on the gateway issue since…” he cleared his throat, “since Shere Wood.”

Merch listened, shifting his eyes over to Sébastien occasionally. “And how is life back in London? How is your father doing?” The image of his father falling to the ground, the magic of the blast zig-zagging over his body in sizzling remnants of a magic attack was another thing that kept him up at night. Aron eyed Sébastien, nodding at him to go ahead.

“He’s not in London anymore. Father is resting back home at our Gorges du Verdon palace in France.” Sébastien was hunched forward, playing with his empty glass on the table, not looking at the High demon. His face darkened, “He’s still in the coma from that lightning attack by the Dèan--.. that Jonnach unleashed on him.” Merch caught the name change, his eyebrow rising. “Our magic weavers are trying to dispel it, but they haven’t given us any indication that he’ll be healed anytime soon.” He sighed, sitting back, “Yet, we are happy he’s still alive. If being a mental vegetable is even being alive?”

Merch’s expression drooped to match the solemn news. “I imagine the Lycan kingdom is not faring well with this news either?” His eyes shot to Aron. “I heard you were now the Lycan King?”

“Yeah,” Aron nodded, “whatever that means right now.”

“Means a great deal,” Merch said, looking purposely at him, “to a great many Lycan.”

“Well, I’m not going to go running to the Gleann na Rìoghachd to sit on my ass on the throne and not do a damn thing about finding our kamará. I can’t be bothered with that s**t right now,” he shook his head, sneering at the sting of tears burning behind his eyes. “I can’t be bothered by it because if the realms end up being controlled by the Dèanadair because he ends up winning this s**t war, my crown won’t hold any f*****g weight anyway.”

“Here in Scotland, with the Qui dat Pacem, you are where you should be, my King,” his head bowed respectively. “Although many situations can add detours to it, your path was trail-blazed far earlier than when you even ever first put a foot on it. Ultimately, it will lead you to what you’ve been meant to do from the very beginning.”

Aron laughed bitterly before he focused fully on the High demon, his eyes flashing silver, gritting his teeth, “So I should be here, right here now, wondering where the f**k the other piece of my heart is? Wondering if she’s even alive? Wondering if my child—” he pointed to his chest as he choked, his tears unleashing, “my child is even alive?” His growl nearly rose over the music. “f**k it all, then. f**k all that bullshit about fate! Because all this predestined path s**t has led me to is losing my reason for living!”

Sébastien whispered, “Amen.”

“I understand your anger and if you want to unleash it on me, so be it,” Merch nodded. “But you’ve got to understand that this fight wasn’t meant to be had on the surface world. It was always meant to take place Below. Because if it ever came up here, it would be far more devastating than you could ever imagine.” The High demon actually looked spooked at that idea. “We’ve got to keep it Underground. We’ve got to stop the Dèanadair and make sure he remains chained in his prison.” He pointed at Aron, “And you were meant to lead your charge of warriors as the Lycan King alongside Tate to keep that demon on his knees.”

“So my path was to always go down into the Underworld?” Merch nodded and Aron’s expression twisted, “Are you trying to f*****g tell me that Nevaeh was supposed to be dragged down to hell so I would follow her down?”

Merch held up his hands at Aron’s outburst. “No. No,” the sadness bleeding through his eyes said it all. “No Seer ever saw that. That was not supposed to happen. As I had seen it in visions, Nevaeh, Queen Nevaeh, was at your side leading the battle.”

“And now?” Aron’s anger faded quickly like rain dousing a fire. Sébastien finally looked at the demon, his expression anxious, “And what do you see now? Do you see her?” His voice grew hoarse, jealous, “is she,” he nearly couldn’t say it. He didn’t want to know. He needed to know. “is she alive?”

“I cannot see her,” Merch admitted, he and Aron caught in a despondent stare. It seemed like endless, excruciating seconds as the demon didn’t say anything more, slowly killing any hope in his heart. He finally said, “But understand, it’s not Nevaeh I’ve ever been able to See.”

Aron’s stomach took a nosedive. “What does that mean?” he begged,

“Other Seers have let me know things as it pertains to others, to you,” he pointed to him, “but when I’m curious, I can’t mentally seek out visions of you, or Nevaeh, when I’m trying to See things,” Merch said. “I can only seek the one I’ve been promised because her soul is the other part of mine. The one that is my reason for living. My fated mate.” His normally vapid lips curled into a smile. “I seek out your daughter.” Aron still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, about Merch and his daughter, but he battled down the apprehension and focused on what meant more to him than who her future mate would be.

Aron’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “And do you still see her? Is my daughter still there?”

Merch’s macabre irises flashed to the Lycan King. “I see her still.”