Page 8 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter six

A son?

Daniel was—had been—my son?

O’Neill rocked back on his heels, a static buzz heating his mind.

No. Not possible. He and Muriel had only gotten together that one time and he’d worn a rubber.

She’d been on birth control. An anvaa couldn’t have been conceived that night.

Besides, the youngling hadn’t borne the slightest resemblance to him.

Daniel had been tall, with dark hair and eyes.

He looked like his mother and his Anisbecco.

If O’Neill had been his father, wouldn’t there be some resemblance? At least a hint of it?

No. She must have lied.

Except...he’d never known Muriel to lie. Nor could he see her lying about something so monumental.

The static buzzing in his head was so thick, he barely felt the steel fingers clamping around his elbow.

“Come with me.”

Even through the buzzing, O’Neill recognized the tight voice. Wolf. No doubt the vise around his elbow belonged to Wolf too. He glanced down. Sure enough, the fingers digging into his arm with enough force to turn them white were attached to Wolf’s hand.

“Now,” Wolf snapped.

Oh yeah, Wolfie was pissed. He must have heard Muriel’s confession.

But if it were true…if Daniel really was his son, wouldn’t Wolf already know?

The two had been thick as thieves back then.

..wouldn’t Muriel have told him? Or if she hadn’t told Wolf, she must have told her brother, who’d passed the news onto his best friend.

It was inconceivable that Wolf wouldn’t know Daniel’s parentage. Yet judging by the dude’s flinty face and icy eyes, he’d been as out of the loop as O’Neill. Nor did Muriel’s announcement please Muriel’s old crush—like at all. No surprise there.

O’Neill yanked his arm free and took a step toward the emergency room doors. He had questions. Muriel had the answers. He didn’t even get a second step in, before Wolf’s vise-like grip yanked him back again.

A surge of rage pushed through the buzzing.

Wolf had no right to keep him from Muriel.

..to keep him from the truth. His fingers clenched.

Pivoting, he drove his fist into the bastard’s face.

Wolf’s head rocked back. Black fire flooded the ebony eyes glaring at him.

Without letting go of O’Neill, he drew back his free arm and let his fist fly.

O’Neill ducked as the sledgehammer masquerading as Wolf’s fist headed for his face. He didn’t quite evade the blow, but he took the punch on his forehead, rather than his nose. Good thing too; if it had landed on target, Wolf would have broken his nose for sure. Again.

His adrenaline surged. The impulse to strike, to hammer Wolf into the ground, swamped his self-control, overrode his common sense.

He squared his boots and lifted his clenched fists.

Wolf followed suit. But before either of them had a chance to throw the next punch, Wolf’s javaanee shoved his way between them.

“We don’t have time for this fucking bullshit,” Winchester growled, shoving O’Neill back.

“For Christ’s sake, we’ve got zombies in the isolation tank, nanobots vibrating their microscopic butts off, and the apocalypse coming in fast.” He twisted around, slammed his palms against Wolf’s chest, and shoved again.

“We’ve got more important problems than whatever bullshit you two have going on.

” He dropped his arms, but remained in place, separating the two of them.

“Snap out of it. We need to talk to Benioko.”

O’Neill sucked in a deep breath, forcing the rage back. Winchester was right. Still…he scowled, glancing toward the ER. He needed to talk to Muriel.

He needed to know if Daniel had been his son.

“Bro.” Winchester’s gaze lifted, catching O’Neill’s eyes. “Your woman’s pissed and grieving. Give her a chance to settle before you go after her.”

“What kind of shitty advice is that?” O’Neill snapped. “How long am I supposed to wait? A day? A week? It’s already been twenty fucking years?” He paused, his throat tightening. “Besides, she’s not my woman.”

She’d never been his. Not even that one night they’d spent together. The glimpse he’d gotten into her mind had proved that.

“Right.” Winchester rolled his eyes. “Point is, going after her now, given her current mood, is gonna blow up in your face. Give her time.”

O’Neill hesitated, scrubbing his palms down his face.

Winchester was right. From the rage on her face, and the bite to her words, Muriel wasn’t ready to talk.

Plus, he could use some time himself, time to digest what she’d said.

..time to come to terms with the ugly possibility that he’d discovered and lost his avasasto in the same breath.

Emotions wouldn’t diffuse the coming conversation.

And the secrets between them could wait another hour or two.

He knew where to find her, after all. She’d be sitting beside Samuel’s bed.

“Fine.” He took a deep breath and a long step back.

Without a word, Wolf pivoted and stalked to his vehicle. Winchester followed, taking the passenger seat again.

“You coming?” Winchester asked, his gaze steady on O’Neill’s face.

Wolf fired the engine, but rather than hitting reverse, he waited. The dude’s entire posture, from stiff shoulders to rigid spine to glacial face screamed inhospitable, but he didn’t leave O’Neill behind.

O’Neill hesitated, then walked over to climb into the back of the cart.

The bastard probably didn’t want him talking to Muriel without his presence.

But if the two warriors were willing to let him sit, then he’d take the ride.

At least he wouldn’t have to find his own way to the Taounaha’s quarters.

Silence fell as they headed to the old section. Frozen in the back seat, feeling like the slightest movement might shatter him into a billion pieces and nobody would be able to piece him back together, O’Neill focused on the gray walls sliding past. He concentrated on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In out.

He felt like a bubble, one about to burst. About to dissolve. Like he was on the cusp of losing himself, losing his identity, losing what made him O’Neill. One name. One person. Alone. No wife. No anvaat . No family. Always alone. As the elder gods had intended.

Except...if Daniel had been his avasasto... that changed everything. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though the youngling was already dead. Even though he was still alone...it still changed everything...somehow.

“Did you know?” Wolf asked, his voice gritty, full of crumbling ice.

O’Neill almost ignored the question. But he had questions. And Wolf might have the answers. At least some of the answers.

“No.” He looked at the back of Wolf’s head, with its single thick braid. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Do you believe her?”

The shoulders in front of him bunched and the vehicle swerved. Wolf’s voice tightened. “Muriel does not lie.”

Which meant what? That Wolf believed her? That he thought O’Neill was the youngling’s father? “You never guessed I was Daniel’s father?”

“You weren’t.” The denial shot from the front seat. “Samuel was the youngling’s father in all ways that mattered.” He glanced in the rearview mirror before adding more quietly. “We did not know you and Muriel were a ...thing...”

Yeah, no shit. No one knew. Muriel had been determined to hide their involvement, sneaking around with him, avoiding public places, avoiding public displays of affection.

When he’d balked at all the secrecy, she’d told him she wanted to avoid confrontation with her brother.

With her family. And he’d been so fucking crazy about her, he’d given in.

“She left for WSU immediately after graduation,” Wolf continued. “ When she announced her pregnancy, everyone assumed some asshole at the university was responsible.”

Some asshole… O’Neill grimaced, knowing the insult was meant for him.

“Daniel looked nothing like me.” The comment came out more like a protest, than an observation.

“No, he didn’t. Although…” Wolf’s shoulders rolled.

“What.” O’Neill leaned forward. Obviously, the dude had more to say.

“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 he wanted 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 strike of boots against the stone, rather than the heaviness in his legs and the hollowness in his chest.

An old boot propped the Taounaha ’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 the Taounaha’s motionless form, his fingers pressed against the mouthpiece’s neck.

Aiden looked up, his face grim. Eyes even grimmer. Voice flat. “He’s dead.”