Blood Chained (Dark Siren Book 3) (3 page)

“I know someone you could ask.”

“What?” Kali scrunched her face in confusion. Greg and Lisa had locked eyes, watching each other silently. Their expressions mingled between uncertainty, resolve, and fear. “What do you know? Tell me.”

“Rhane never disclosed the identity of the man who brought you to us, did he?”

“I didn’t think he knew. What does it have to do with anything?”

“He wasn’t human, Kali.”

“Huh?”

“Your adoption never went through any legal channels. He told us how special you were and that you would be safer if there was no legitimate paper trail. With Lisa’s and my standing in the legal community, we were able to forge all the right documents, including having your name changed, acquiring a birth certificate, and fabricating adoption papers.”

“Oh jeez. I don’t think I can handle this right now.” She reeled away from them, folding her arms around her head as if to block out the sound of their voices.

“Keep listening, Kali. It’s important.”

“He told us it was the only way we could keep you.” Lisa wrung her hands. “We raised you, gave you the best home we knew how, all the while knowing one day someone—Rhane—would come for you.”

Greg took over again. “The one who brought you to us, we thought he was a man. But over time, his actions proved he wasn’t. He has remained close. No matter where we moved, he checked in on you from time to time.” Greg swallowed. “He still keeps watch over you.”

“Who? Who is he?”

“Wesley David.”

Chapter 4

Rhane toed the edge, calmly holding Warren’s terrified gaze, feigning strength he no longer possessed. The boy was the only reason he submitted. He could have become Banewolf and ended them all. But doing so would forfeit War’s life, so he kneeled on the ice and didn’t resist as his head was shoved between the razor-edges of a guillotine. Only the uncertain grip of a dealer’s hand held back the blade’s descent.

Rhane surrendered to their cruelty. Submitted to the agony. He yielded as they jerked him back to his feet and dragged him into the chamber. Each moment there demolished virtually every brick and stone he had ever built to keep him sane. The chamber tore down those defenses, left craters of fresh damage from which he might never recover. Before then, he’d spent several hours with the dealers. Thin rods composed of blood silver were inserted in his body to skewer flesh, puncture bone and vital organs. Finally losing consciousness, the torment had ended. But on awakening, Rhane was led to the next horror.

Ten feet in circumference, twelve feet deep, and filled with frigid waters, the chamber was essentially a pit dug into the floor of the mountain. Darkness and cool temperatures made it an ideal habitat for river kings, the rarest of warm-blooded serpents. The aquatic underground was also the perfect environment to destroy Rhane’s psyche. His oldest and deepest fears started with water and being trapped beneath the earth’s surface. Even centuries of healing couldn’t entirely extinguish the traumas he’d endured as a child. They were forever imprinted on his very existence.

Drawn by the smell of blood, a river king attacked as soon as he hit the water. Thickly roped muscles, as solid and strong as cords of steel, coiled the serpent’s body around Rhane’s sinking form in an unbreakable hold. It dragged him under, squeezing the last molecule of air from his lungs. The pain was maddening. Deeper and deeper, it pulled. Tighter and tighter became its grip until he was no longer suspended in the depths, but constrained against the chamber bottom. His ribs buckled, surrendered to the stress. Overwhelming pressure built in his head. The cold robbed all feeling from his extremities. It wasn’t long before everything ceased and the pain was gone.

#

One more name was erased from the list of souls Rhane had to atone for. He lay on the floor of the dungeon strategizing how he could possibly endure another session with dealers. He wasn’t sure if he could. Yesterday had left his body weak, his mind damaged. The wolf was relentless, constantly lashing out, demanding its release. It wanted to finish what was started four centuries ago. It wanted revenge. It wanted blood.

Rhane thought of Warren and Jehsi. He focused on their faces and refused to sacrifice them to that bloodlust. There was another way. There had to be. He needed to talk to Jehsi.

Each visit to the chamber gave him a view of his father, sitting regally atop one of three thrones of the ruling Primes. Rhane saw his father almost every day. But not once in the past seven months had they spoken.

Jehsi held a front row view to his son’s penance. He saw anguish hidden behind the stoic emptiness in Rhane’s eyes. He saw hatred…and he saw his son breaking. His body was being crushed. His mind slowly buckling. And Jehsi was forced to watch. Forced to do nothing. All while showing no emotion, no weakness. If he was going to help his son, he could not be weak. 

Rhane had turned himself in on the heels of the boy’s capture and the promise of forgiveness. But his ruling brothers had betrayed that oath. Instead of granting mercy, they’d sentenced his son to a judgment entailing the harshest regime of torment reserved for the foulest of war criminals. Silas and Cale had deceived Jehsi and betrayed his trust. Now Jehsi needed to find out why.

For seven months he had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, lobbying for both Rhane and Warren’s freedom. Suspecting his brothers of corruption, the only place to receive that pardon was from the Mothers.

Mothers were dormant matriarchs of Warekin society. They represented the wisest and purest of bloodlines with reason and diplomacy rampant in their veins. Mothers were called upon only when the triumvirate of Primes could not reach unanimity in decisions determining the fate of their race.

Jehsi’s argument touched on issues deeper than Rhane’s imprisonment. Silas and Cale’s betrayal was caused by more than a desire for revenge. Something else was amiss in this realm. Jehsi had sensed it for some time now.

He presented the solid evidence he had—Warren’s survival and subsequent lapse of memory irretrievable even by force. The boy endured repeated interrogations concerning the day of the massacre and Ptolen’s death. He was even questioned about the siren and her current whereabouts. But the boy was not forthcoming with information even under extreme duress.

Jehsi also appealed to emotion. Instinct sensed an ally in the inscrutable Seppina, mother of Silas, a powerful healer, and the oldest and wisest of the Mothers. Jethra, Rhane’s grandmother, had loved Rhane as much as Jehsi, accepting the young pariah with open arms. She had loved and accepted Kalista. The third Mother was Coren, a cold and unbalanced wench. Indifferent to Jehsi’s appeals, he hoped she could be swayed by her ruling sisters.

For seven months, Jehsi had implored them for a sequestered hearing. Only now had they at last agreed to recess the sentence and hear Rhane speak. In two days’ time, the great Banewolf was to kneel before the Mothers and give voice to his actions four centuries ago and the time elapsed since then.

But when Jehsi turned the key to the cell door and stepped inside, he truly questioned whether his son would be ready.

Sleeping or unconscious, Rhane’s form was too still, too quiet. He barely breathed. His heart throbbed with only the faintest sign of life. Up close, the damage was far worse than Jehsi had surmised. He almost didn’t recognize the atrophied form of the most formidable warrior known to the Warekin. Cuts, bruises, open wounds, and deformities caused by unhealed bones covered every inch of Rhane’s body. He didn’t move as Jehsi entered, didn’t stir when Jehsi crouched beside him.

But when he whispered his son’s name, Rhane started like a frightened colt. Recognition filled his lovely eyes, and he relaxed. Neither of them said a word. He allowed Rhane to study him, reacquaint himself with the sight of a man not beheld intimately for centuries.

Waiting so long for this moment, Rhane could hardly believe it had arrived. His father was the elder image of River. A spitting image. The same white, shoulder length hair and frosty blue eyes. But in Jehsi’s eyes there was a kindly light not seen in his brother’s. Stern lines creased his father’s face, a sign of his many years and the responsibility borne with them. But those lines were tempered by compassion. Rhane stared without blinking. Drinking in the sight, remembering with a sudden ache how much he had missed the gentleness in those eyes.

Burning the Silver Bud from his wrists, Jehsi freed Rhane’s hands. Pulling his son upright, he brought their foreheads together, touching him as lightly as he could manage. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I am sorry it has taken so long.”

“I knew you would come.”

“Your faith in me is undeserved, Rhanelin. I no longer hold the influence I used to. And I believe this triumvirate has failed our people in the worst way.”

Rhane rested his head against the mountain rock of the freezing cell wall and closed his eyes. “You haven’t called me that since I was a boy.”

“Forgive me. One should not address Banewolf with such familiar terms.”

“It’s okay.” His green eyes came alive behind a mocking smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

Though he tried to return the lighthearted gesture, Jehsi’s smile withered before reaching full bloom. “These are trying times, Rhane. Our Mothers have temporarily suspended your sentence and agreed to hear your circumstance.”

“When?”

“In two days.”

“I’ll be ready.”

But Jehsi saw the way his son was barely holding himself upright even with rigid support. He shook his head. “No you won’t. Not without help.” Turning back to the cell door, he summoned his most trusted guide. “Gareth, bring the receptacle.”

Rhane heard footsteps and the chink of metal. A fragrant aroma assailed his nostrils, making him find the strength to take stock of the basin of steaming water now positioned at his side. “Is that dragon bane?”

Jehsi nodded and filled a smaller clay vessel with liquid from the basin.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“Seppina.”

Rhane shifted away, suddenly mistrusting his father, that urn, and the direction things were headed. “Why would she have dragon bane?”

“She’s a powerful healer. And I think she wants to help us…At least, she wants to know the truth.”

“Please don’t.” Rhane struggled to move, but found himself restrained by a gentle hand.

“We only have two days. You must be ready.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need that.”

“It will eliminate all silver in your bloodstream. It will allow your body to heal.”

“Dragon bane ignites silver and then consumes it.”

Jehsi held his gaze with both sympathy and a resolve that would not waver. “Yes.” A small gesture and Gareth kneeled beside them, taking Rhane’s shoulders to lower him to the floor. “The infusion has to be boiling.”

Rhane protested again, weakly. “Don’t.”

“It must be so.” A glance from Jehsi and Gareth’s hands tightened. “You mustn’t scream. The others cannot know our plan.” Resistance was futile, so Rhane channeled his strength into the fortitude of silence. He twitched and moaned as the hot liquid cascaded onto his skin and into his wounds. The guide gently rolled him onto his belly so Jehsi could repeat the process. Gritting his teeth, Rhane bore the second application with resigned silence. And when it was done, Gareth left him and his father alone.

“Now follows the tough measure,” Jehsi whispered and gathered Rhane into his arms.

A second later, the most unbearable, unbelievable, unforgiving pain wreaked havoc through his system. It was worse than he could have ever imagined, more excruciating than anything done to him by the dealers. Every appendage, nerve, and cell felt as if it were on fire. Rhane was burning from the inside out.

But Jehsi held him through it all. Even after Rhane’s mind succumbed to the agony and his body collapsed limply in Jehsi’s arms, his father didn’t let go.