Chapter 43: A Deal with the Devil

The city air was thick with threat. Gasoline scent, distant rain, and a cancerous presence hung in the air as Ben and Max moved stealthily through shadows. The deeper they moved, the quieter it was—no distant voices, no wailing cars, but their footsteps on wet pavement. A chilly quiet that screamed high of power here.

Jack's territory.

Ben had left only a few weeks ago, but all of that was different now. Or had he changed? The city, which had been, now seemed alien, a steel and concrete maze with a cancerous evil of unknowable makeup lurking beneath. Even the air felt electric with suppressed energy, tension which sent shivering down Ben's spine.

Max cocked an eyebrow. "You sure about this?"

Ben didn't reply immediately. Because no, he wasn't. He didn't know anything anymore. The world had turned over, and he was attempting to regain his balance.

Jack wasn't loose, he was unstable. That initial encounter between them had been a battle between instinct, the removal of the string which had once held them together. Now there was no string. Whatever wretched string was left between them was reduced to ashes in the fire of mistrust and betrayal.

And yet, there was Ben venturing into the darkness of Jack's world, calling to him to rescue him. Something he knew was a gamble, a fool's errand in desperation. And the perils that they risked were beyond his range. They needed the raw power, the heft of Jack, the ferocity.

He remembered the fury in Jack's eyes, the cold manner in which his golden eyes seemed to slice him, to penetrate his very soul. He remembered the intensity of their making love, the manner in which their bodies had seemed one unit. But he remembered, too, the hurt, the rage, the poisonous words they'd exchanged.

He knew it would be difficult, a trial by fire, to battle Jack. He would have to face the ghosts of their past, to tread the tainted ground and shattered relationship of theirs. He would have to get Jack to realize that the danger they were in was real, something that was worth fighting for.

He took a breath, the damp air expanding in his chest, and stepped forward. He had to win this war, and he couldn't do it without Jack. He would make peace, would mend the rift between them, forge an alliance again, stand shoulder to shoulder against the darkness that was rising. They were destined to.

For Jack was still the strongest alpha in the city. And they needed strength.

Ben let out a breath. "We have no choice."

Max grunted, half-laughing, half-alarm, back in his throat. "You know he can just kill us instead?"

"Would not have been the first time he'd attempted to," Ben grouched.

They turned, and the mafia compound came into view. The house towered over the skyline, the iron gates curled up high and slammed shut in a flash. Floodlights drenched the front in blinding white light, illuminating the guards walking around the perimeter.

Ben could feel their eyes click onto him instantly.

Neither he nor Max broke pace.

They reached the gate. One of the guards—a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his chin—lifted a gun. “Turn around,” he barked. “You’re not welcome here.”

Ben tilted his head. “Tell Jack I’m here.”

The man sneered. “He doesn’t take guests.”

“Tell him,” Ben repeated, voice calm but firm. “Or I’ll make you.”

The guard hesitated just a second too long.

Ben didn’t wait. He moved.

In a flash, he was past the gate, past the raised gun of the man, hands at his throat. The guard choked, bulging eyes.

He tried to raise his gun again—

Ben tightened. Enough to tell him he was no longer an omega.

The other guards moved forward, but Max moved first. He stepped aside a little, his own claws shining.

"Tell. Him," Ben growled.

The man choked before rasping finally, "Inside."

He let him go, watched him step back, his hand over his throat.

The gates creaked open the following second, the metal folding in upon itself with a screech of machinery.

Max smiled. "Subtle."

Ben ignored him and went inside.

The house was the same—dark, with the smell of money and power, that secondary smell of cigar smoke in the air. But everything was not quite the same. The feeling of things was heavier, darker, as if the weather was shifting beneath the surface, clouds gathering and waiting to break.

Jack was in the middle hall.

He leaned against the curve of the stairs, gold eyes glinting in the shadow of the chandelier. Jacket slung over the railing, sleeves pushed up. The same—almost. The same confidence, the same arrogance, the same huntress's nature—it was all the same.

Ben felt, though, that there was a difference from the first.

Jack had changed.

The moment their eyes met, a shiver ran down Ben's spine, a gut feeling that something was wrong. There had been a tension building in the air, an unspoken struggle of wills.

Jack's lips twisted into a cruel, death smile. "Well, look who snuck back."

Ben clenched his jaw. "We need to talk."

Jack let go of the railing and took one step forward, his movement smooth and calculated. He went too calculated, too smooth, stalking something. "Do we?

Max stood at his side. Ben couldn't fault him. Jack was restrained, calm in a way he had never been before. The closeness he once shared with them, the love they once shared, wasn't now, but substituted instead by chill distance.

Something had changed in him.

And Ben was going to find out what.

“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Ben said, his voice steady, trying to mask the unease gnawing at him. “We need your help.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “My help? After everything?”

“It’s not about us,” Ben said, his voice firm. “It’s about what’s coming. It’s bigger than anything we’ve faced before.”

Jack's sneer faltered, a flash of something unidentified passing over his eyes. "What's coming?"

"The Ancients," Ben answered, the single word suspended. "They're coming, and they won't stop until I'm dead."

Jack's eyes flashed, his look intense. "The Ancients? You're joking?"

Ben nodded. "Cyrus warned me. He said Viktor was only a pawn. That we're out of balance. Because of me."

Jack's eyes went icy. "And you need my assistance?"

"We're calling you, Jack," Ben panted softly, his voice imploring. "We call on your power. We need your strength."

The dense quiet between them was growing thick with weighty intent, the tension of their past hanging suspended above them. And Jack released a dry, mirthless laugh. "You were always so wonderful about showing up when you needed something."