“Nothing.” Wolf settled back in his seat and stepped on the accelerator. “It is for Muriel to decide how much to tell you.”
What the fuck did that mean? What more did he need to know? Then another question hit. Wolf knew Muriel better than anyone other than Samuel—did he believe her?
“So, you think Daniel was really my kid?” He grimaced and scrubbed his palms down his face. Because fuck...yeah...he believed her too.
“Muriel does not lie.” Wolf said again, his voice quiet. Unwavering.
His throat tightening, O’Neill turned back to the wall.
I had a son. Had had a son.
A lump swelled in his throat, thickening with each rotation of the tires. He stared at the wall, watching it shift from smooth black to chipped gray. They were in the ancient section now. Close to the Old One’s quarters.
He’d accepted long ago that he couldn’t have a family. His job was too dangerous. In his world of shadows and death, families were a liability. A vulnerability he couldn’t afford, not if hewanted to continue exterminating the monsters of the world. And the world needed people like him, monsters to hunt the monsters—religious zealots, terrorists, cult leaders—the kind of predators with no empathy or morals. Psychopaths who fed on the helpless to satisfy their own twisted, sick appetites.
And now—and now…to find out he had a son. Had had a son. One he’d avoided. One he’d ignored. His own flesh and blood, within touching distance, and he’d avoided him because he was Samuel’s kin...because of misplaced arrogance...and an ancient, stupid feud. He’d ignored his own damn kid because of pride.
And now it was too late.
The buzzing started back up in his head. His breathing went shallow and labored as regret choked him, suffocated him, as he thought back and tried to recall even one instance of speaking with his son. One time. But nothing came to mind.
He didn’t even know what Daniel’s voice sounded like. How terrible was that? For a father not to know his son’s voice...
“O’Neill?”
Once again it was Winchester who called out. The vehicle had stopped. They’d arrived in front of the Old One’s quarters. He swung out of the cart, trying to ignore the lingering sense of loss. There was nothing he could do about Daniel now. Nothing he could do to rectify the mistakes of his past. But the world still needed saving. His mission hadn’t changed. His talents were still in demand. Time to focus on that.
Nothing had changed. Not really. He’d had no children before Muriel’s bombshell, and he had no children after. He was still without family. Free to lurk in the shadows and hunt on command.
Yet the sorrow built, filled him with weariness, weighed him down. He followed Winchester and Wolf down the short corridor to Benioko’s door, concentrating on the staccato strikeof boots against the stone, rather than the heaviness in his legs and the hollowness in his chest.
An old boot propped theTaounaha’s door open.
“Looks like he expected us to return.” Winchester pushed the door open and stepped inside. Wolf and O’Neill followed. Aiden turned the corner to the kitchen and froze, then leapt forward. “Son of a bitch.”
By the time O’Neill entered the kitchen and saw the body crumpled on the faded, scuffed floor, Winchester was already squatting beside theTaounaha’smotionless form, his fingers pressed against the mouthpiece’s neck.
Aiden looked up, his face grim. Eyes even grimmer. Voice flat. “He’s dead.”
Chapter seven
Day 24
Shadow Mountain Base, Alaska
Before Aiden even dropped to his knees and reached for Benioko’s neck, Wolf already knew the Old One was gone—traveling to the web of his ancestors. Nothing left behind but a well-used, empty husk, lying crumpled on the kitchen floor.
He stared at the shell theTaounahahad left behind. The long, thin, silver braid. The frail body, looking even thinner and more fragile against the cold white of the stone floor. The thin face, with the crevices and dips laid out like a map to a forbidden or mysterious place. Sunken, milky eyes—now vacant and staring.
The Shadow Warrior’s earthside mouthpiece was gone. Or at least the spirit of him had left its earthly shell.
Shock hit first, thick and heavy. It muffled the world around him. Voices—Aiden’s and O’Neill’s—came from a distance, inaudible, wavering in and out like an AM radio channel out of range. His knees, as they hit the floor beside theTaounaha’shusk, felt swaddled in bubble wrap. Even the floor seemed to sag beneath him, as though it couldn’t hold the weight of this catastrophe.
He’d lost people before. To death. To tragedy. To their own demons. Jude for one, then Samuel and Jillian. Each loss left a raw, aching wound. But this death...Benioko’s...it felt different. Like an endless, crumbling void. One that hollowed him out, left him shaken. Uncertain.
Unprepared.
Benioko had been the one constant in his life. His North Star. His well of wisdom. He’d been guiding him for as long as Wolf could remember—guiding Shadow Mountain. And now he was gone.
