Hearts of Darkness (20 page)

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Authors: Kira Brady

BOOK: Hearts of Darkness
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Before he could cross it, the drawbridge rose. He didn't have time to brake. Unlike the movies, his car didn't shoot up one side and clear the jump. His engine stalled halfway up as the bridge continued to rise. The car shuddered. Gravity called, pulling them backward like a pendulum, the inevitable end to a broken dream.
Norgard didn't trust anyone. Hart should have known better, should have realized his every move was being monitored this close to completing his final task. He couldn't save Kayla. He couldn't save himself. Now it was too late for both of them.
“What's happening?” Kayla asked. Her eyes were huge, her face pale as she glanced anxiously back toward the ground below. The car slid down the steep slope.
“Brace yourself,” Hart warned, seconds before the tail end crashed into the ground. The bridge ground to a halt. Shaken, he got out.
A black Panther De Ville had pulled across the road behind them, cutting off any escape. Sven Norgard stepped out.
Hart could offer some lame excuse. He could beg for mercy or plead for another chance. He chose to stand his ground. Norgard wouldn't respect anything less.
Kayla got out of the car, and Norgard's eyes snapped to her. Her breathing was rapid, fear raising her pulse. Hart wanted to step in front of her, to shield her from the Dreki's gaze, but what good would that do? Like a starving man, he watched her breasts rise and fall. He closed his eyes and tried to restrain the madness inside him. Inside his skin, the beast lunged and snarled. The musical quality of her voice lured it. Her scent drove it wild. Her touch made it want to claw out of his skin and claim her in the most brutally intimate way.
She'd probably be safer with the Dreki than she would be spending one more minute in his company.
“You've brought me a guest,” Norgard said. “Good dog.”
“Hart?” Kayla's voice quavered.
The hurt—the implied betrayal—cut deeply. He'd tried, hadn't he? It wasn't good enough.
He opened his eyes, but wouldn't look at her. “Go. Get out of here.” Eloquent and polite, he was not, but it was better to break it off harshly than let her entertain these stupid fantasies about him. He was nobody's hero.
Still she hesitated.
“Mademoiselle,” Norgard purred, holding out his hand. “I believe you have a few questions about your sister. Let's find more agreeable accommodations, and I'll see what answers I can give you.”
She glanced back and forth between them, sensing the tension and knowing something was off. “Hart?” she whispered.
“Go with him,” Hart forced himself to say. If she didn't go willingly, Norgard would force her. He didn't want her hurt. “I've got nothing for you.”
In the end she went.
 
 
“Loki's Chocolate,” Kayla said, reading the sign that hung from a curled iron bar above the factory door. She had gotten into Norgard's car only because she knew there was no other choice. Something was wrong with Hart. She read desolation in his violet eyes. If she could save him by following Norgard, she would. This might be her only opportunity to find out what happened to her sister, but she would keep her eyes wide open. Norgard wouldn't get the better of her this time.
“A Norse shape-shifter god,” Norgard said behind her. “Please, inside.”
“The trickster god.” She might not be as familiar with mythology as Desi, but she knew the basics. Naming his drugged chocolate after the trickster god didn't seem subtle enough for Sven Norgard.
He only smiled. Inside the tower, plates of chocolate were set out on sturdy glass tables. Exotic truffles filled with fig, cardamom, jalapeño, and scotch. Bars made with beans from Ghana, Venezuela, Madagascar, and Ecuador. Chocolate-infused shampoo and hand cream.
“Let me offer you some chocolate, and we'll start on your questions, shall we?” Norgard asked.
“No chocolate for me.”
I'm not an easy mark
, she wanted to tell him. Not like last time. At Butterworth's she had been reeling with grief. She was still heartbroken over Desi's death, but she was smarter now. She knew the monsters that stalked the city. The biggest one was right in front of her.
“In that case, let me give you the tour.”
Step into my lair, said the spider to the fly.
Kayla wondered what her sister had seen in this man. He was beautiful, true, but his beauty was glacial. Ice seemed to flow through his veins, and his eyes held a malevolence that made her want to back away very slowly.
Norgard led her out of the showroom through matching gold foil-covered doors. The long hallway angled sharply down into a windowless tunnel into the earth. The torches lent a medieval air to the place. The walls bore large woven tapestries of the Viking Age: Dragon boats struggled against maelstrom seas; ax-wielding Norsemen attacked terrified monks; hideous serpents guarded a treasure of gold and jewels; above it all flew the giant lizards, raping the battlefield with their hellfire.
Was it myth or truth? Norgard's life story, maybe. She'd seen his dragon form, but the memory was hazy. Her rational brain still found it hard to reconcile the two, man and beast. Yet she'd seen Hart Change. It was much easier to see the man before her as a monster.
After a while the tunnel flattened out, and the ceiling shot higher. They arrived at giant stone doors that were thirty feet high and carved with mythical beasts and Nordic knots. A pattern of slashes that she recognized as runes ran along the outer edge and down the center where the two sides met. Norgard waved his right hand, and bones shot out of either side of the stone doors. They were bleached ivory, curved, and longer than any mammal's bones she'd ever seen. Dragon, probably. Handles, she realized, as Norgard grabbed them firmly and pulled. The stone must weigh a ton, but he opened them easily and pushed her through.
She was blinded momentarily by sunlight; molten gold poured through floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows on the far wall. When her vision cleared, she stood in a great hall. Awesome and barbaric. Chandeliers of bone and candle hung from the soaring ceilings. Thick fur rugs covered the stone floor. To her left, a crackling fire roared in a hearth large enough to roast a couple oxen. To her right, a raised dais held aloft a throne of gold. The sunlight sparkled from the hundreds of precious gems set into the chair, sending rainbows cascading over the walls. Out the windows lay Puget Sound, turbulent waters stained midnight blue. Across the Sound, the purple-veined mountains sliced upward into the waiting clouds.
But the most impressive things in the room were three huge dragons. Each was three times the height of a man. Each had a narrow snout and vicious rows of teeth. Each had a ridge of sharpened bone from the top of its head to the tip of its very long tail. They lounged near the fire like giant scaly cats, shimmering in the glow and heat.
Around the room, warriors stood at attention, broadswords at their sides. Their faces were fair and untouchable as the angels above. Their muscled bodies might have been chiseled from stone. A handful of pretty young women in red silk robes knelt on either side of the throne. None of them would meet her eyes. She could expect no help from that corner.
“Welcome to the seat of my kingdom,” Norgard said behind her.
She had the feeling few humans had ever seen this much of his lair and lived to tell about it.
“Desi would have loved this.” Desi's involvement with the Drekar suddenly made sense. But she would have known Kayla wouldn't believe her; no rational person would. Kayla felt some of her anger ease. Desi had kept her secrets to herself simply because the truth was too fantastic, too terrifying to grasp.
“Who wouldn't?” Norgard asked. “A fairy tale brought to life. Every little girl wants to be a princess.” He ushered her to the dais, where he settled onto the throne. A silk-clad girl brought a smaller chair for Kayla, and another brought tea. Kayla politely refused the food and drink. She didn't trust anything Norgard had to offer.
“She was beautiful,” Norgard said. “Full of light and laughter.” There was a slight wistfulness in his voice that caught Kayla off guard. He reached out and stroked his long fingers down her cheek. “You look a bit like her. The cheekbones. The eyes.”
Kayla moved her head away, and he dropped his hand with a smile. “Were you the father of her child?”
Norgard's eyes changed. An ancient being peered out, one too old to understand the petty cares of mortals.
Kayla shivered. “Did you ever love her?”
“Love.” He smirked. “You sound like my brother. What is love but a tool we use to bend another to our will? I offered Desiree something infinitely more useful: wealth, knowledge, and a place at my side in the new reign. I offered her power, Miss Friday. Power is the ultimate high. It's the closest you'll ever get to the gods.”
“You can't be serious.”
“Oh, I am. Very. And I'm willing to offer you the same prize. Give me an heir, and I will give you a seat at the table of the gods. A new dawn rises: the rule of the dragons. We will raise an army of the dead to take back the night. There will be no land untouched by our fire. There will be no place free from my rule.” He raised his voice so that it filled the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me present Kayla, my newest treasure. Please see that she is made welcome. There is much to do before the Nisannu festivities tonight.”
“And if I refuse your oh-so-generous offer?” She stood. Norgard was insane.
“You have two options. I recommend choosing the one that will be pleasant for you, but it matters little to me. Either way, I get what I want.”
The heavy stone doors were the only exit to the room, unless she wanted to climb out the windows. The drop into Puget Sound would probably kill her. She looked back at the gauntlet through dragons and armed men to get to the doors. Then again, the window might be the less impossible path.
“Looking for someone?” he asked. He pulled something gold out of his pocket and began to spin it around his fingers. She recognized the gold armbands with their strange rune markings.
“Are those Hart's?”
“These little things?” He spun one into the air and caught it. “Why, yes. Our furry friend finished his last mission, didn't you know? Hart delivered you in exchange for his freedom. He betrayed you.”
“Liar,” she whispered.
Norgard's mouth broke into a full, satisfied smile, showing a row of perfect, white teeth. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist. “You are delightfully naive, just like your sister.”
Inside she was screaming, but she didn't let any of her panic show on her face. She embraced the icy calm at the center of her own personal maelstrom. Wordlessly, she held out her hand, palm up. He gave her a gold band. It was heavier than it looked, but not as heavy as the knife of betrayal lodged between her ribs. She didn't want to believe it. She had trusted Hart, and he had betrayed her. If—no,
when
—she got out of here, she would skin that wolf and wear him as a muffler.
Curling her fingers around the gold band, she cocked back her arm and punched Norgard straight in his perfect teeth.
His head snapped back. The impact wiped his smug expression clean off. The soldiers in the room lurched forward, hands on their weapons, but Norgard recovered and waived them away. He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the trickle of blood from his lip. “Hold on to that anger, darling. You'll need that fighting spirit to stay alive with my fledgling in your belly.”
Chapter 11
The full moon was tonight. Hart could feel it in every pore. The flashing lights of Butterworth's didn't help his already pounding head. He shook like an addict. He should be long gone, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The familiar smells of opium and tea calmed him. Another of Norgard's dead musicians performed on stage, his spirit invisible to the naked eye. The keys of the piano plunked like a mechanical player, but the music was too passionate and sorrowful to be mistaken for a machine.
“A drink to celebrate,” Oscar said. He slid into the booth and poured vodka from a flask into Hart's cup of tea. This evening Oscar wore black pants and a sleeveless shirt that shimmered under the lights. His blond hair was gelled into spikes. “You lucky bastard. You give the rest of us hope.”
What a joke. Hart took away hope. The alcohol helped steady his shaking hands, even though he'd already been drinking since noon.
Grace slipped into the booth next to Oscar, a whisper of shadow in her usual black hoodie and black jeans. Unlike Oscar, who graced the dance floor with flamboyant passion, Grace tried never to draw attention to herself. Last night's injuries seemed healed, but her skin was tinged with an unhealthy gray pallor from Norgard's price. She would regenerate the bit of life force he had eaten. It would take time.
“Let's see 'em,” Grace ordered. No one wanted freedom more than she did.
Hart didn't blame her. He took off his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his white T-shirt to show his now bare biceps. After Kayla had climbed into Norgard's Panther De Ville, the Dreki had twisted his malachite ring and the hated gold shackles had slid off Hart's upper arms. He remembered the smirk on Norgard's pretty face. Guilt ate at him.
“Wow,” Grace said, little more than a sigh.
“Congrats, man.” Oscar clapped him on the back. “I'm green with envy. What are you still doing around here? I thought you planned to jet as soon as the manacles were off.”
“I . . . did.” How could he tell Oscar that he couldn't let go of his last job? He had done so much bad shit and walked away afterwards, but this one wouldn't leave him alone. Kayla's golden-brown eyes were seared into his memory. Her face lit up in a smile with those bedroom lips parted, welcoming. Her lush body pressed against his. Her scent clinging to his tongue.
And Norgard had her. Norgard was probably now driving himself between Kayla's shapely thighs and ravishing her oh-so-kissable mouth. Norgard was planting his seed inside her womb. Kayla would grow round with Norgard's child and, most likely, die in childbirth.
It was all Hart's fault. He was free from Norgard's command, but he had crafted for himself a prison worse than Norgard's golden bars. Norgard knew it too, which was why he had let Hart go even after his disastrous break for freedom. What a fucking bad time to develop a conscience. No amount of alcohol could cleanse Kayla's image from his brain. Hart wanted to howl. The beast inside wanted to rip and tear Norgard to pieces until his limbs were soaked in blood.
Hart couldn't agree more.
“Watch out. Sentinels, one o'clock,” Grace said.
Hart took a swig of his tea as he glanced over. Sure enough, four Kivati sentinels led by Rudrick the Fox were searching the crowds. They weren't technically allowed weapons here in Butterworth's, but that didn't stop them.
“What do you think they're looking for?” asked Oscar.
“What . . . or who?” Hart noticed the sentinels were scanning faces, working the crowd systematically. This wasn't going to be good.
“Grace, get out of here.” Oscar nudged her.
But damn, four more sentinels approached from the opposite direction. There was no escaping this particular clusterfuck.
“Wait,” Hart told Grace before she could slip away through the crowd. “The back way is blocked. We're going to have to tough it out. Can you do that?” He glanced at her and knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say.
Grace bristled. “Fuck you, dog breath.”
“She's cool.” Oscar pushed Grace's tea toward her and forced her to take a mouthful. “You're cool, right?”
Rudrick spotted Hart and motioned to his men. Lady be damned.
“You know the drill. Don't give 'em a reason to fight,” Oscar said to both Hart and Grace.
Did the guy think Hart was going to pick a fight? Hart was good, but he wasn't Superman. Even he couldn't take nine Kivati sentinels. Now that Hart was a free man, there was no threat of retaliation by Norgard to halt violence against him. It was, in fact, one of the reasons he'd intended to get the hell out of Dodge. Everyone in the state who held a grudge against him had been waiting for this moment for payback.
And now he had brought Oscar and Grace into it. Hell's bells.
Rudrick sauntered up and eyed the table. He focused on Grace. “A new bone so soon, mad dog? Even after Friday saved your rotten hide?”
Hart didn't let the fucker see him flinch. He drained his teacup and shrugged.
Rudrick rested both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Doesn't matter. You still owe me the terms of our little bargain. The necklace, if you please.”
“Don't have it,” Hart said.
Rudrick's nostril's flared. “Where is it?”
“Ask the chick. Your bargain was with her.”
Rudrick grabbed the front of Hart's shirt and pulled him halfway across the table.
“Ladies,” Oscar broke in. “Ladies. Remember where we are.”
Bouncers had noted the disturbance and taken out their cudgels. Thorsson—Norgard's right-hand man—pushed through the crowd toward their table. He'd been looking for an excuse to execute Hart for years, and his eyes glowed in excitement.
Hart needed a distraction for Grace and Oscar to slip away. Maybe he could start a fight between the Drekar and Kivati.
“Talk,” Thorsson demanded, his accent thick.
“Hart has something of mine,” Rudrick said. “A girl.”
Thorsson snorted. “Fighting over a piece of ass? Here.” He grabbed Grace's arm and yanked her out of the booth. “Take this one.”
“Let go of her,” Oscar ordered as he and Hart both rose from the table.
Hart fought hard to keep himself from clutching the table for support. His legs were weak with the moon fever. Fortunately, he was a pro at pretending nothing was wrong.
“Now we're getting somewhere,” Rudrick said. He and Thorsson each grabbed one of Grace's arms so that she was strung between the two warriors. She looked so delicate and breakable. If a tug-of-war ensued, she would come out the definite loser.
She turned to Oscar, begging for help.
Had anyone ever looked at Hart that way? As if she trusted him with her life? Yes, actually. Kayla. And he had betrayed her.
“Ladies.” Oscar's voice and manner were laid-back and friendly, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. “Let's all settle down and discuss this like civilized folks. Hart would be happy to tell you anything you want to know, won't you, Hart?”
“Yeah.” It was barely more than a growl. He shifted around the table. Rudrick backed up, but didn't let go of Grace. She wasn't a match for two men twice her size.
Hart couldn't watch one more person get hurt because of him. “Let her go, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“We want to speak to Miss Friday,” Rudrick said. “Where can we find her?”
“Norgard has her,” Hart admitted.
Rudrick growled.
Grace swung, twisted, and kicked. Before Hart knew what was happening, she had escaped and tackled him in the knees. He went down hard, hitting his head against the booth cushion.
“How could you?” Grace swung at his face.
Hart blocked her fist seconds before it smashed his nose. “What are you talking about?” Grace had never had beef with him, nor had she ever touched him willingly. Yet here she was practically straddling him while she lit into him.
“How could you give her to Norgard?” Her voice was hoarse as if she was trying not to cry. Grace never cried. “You . . . you sodding son of a wraith!” She slugged him in the stomach.
“Oof! Calm down, Reaper. It was a job. Just a job. You know that.” He managed to grab her slender wrists and restrain her. He didn't want to hurt her. “What would you have me do? Huh?”
The look in her eyes was pure hate. “I thought you were different.”
“Yeah? Well, you thought wrong.” He didn't need this crap. Different? Sure he was different. He was a hell-spawned werewolf, for the Lady's sake. He had no scruples, no morals.
He had no choice either. With those slave bracelets he was forced to serve Norgard, and Norgard ordered him to deliver Kayla. If the woman had done what he'd told her—packed up immediately and driven hell-for-leather out of Seattle—she would have been safe.
“I tried,” he muttered.
“Trying isn't good enough.”
An argument broke out between the Kivati and Drekar, but Hart ignored it. He pulled Grace up and muscled her through the crowd and out the back door. Oscar followed. They broke out into Post Alley. The salt wind was a relief after the stuffy air of the opium parlor.
“What would you have me do, Reaper?” he asked, purposefully using the name Grace hated.
She glared up at him. “Go get her, blockhead.”
“I can't—”
“You're free now. You did what Norgard wanted and handed her over, so your
job
,” she emphasized the word disparagingly, “is done. Now you can do whatever you want. She freed you, so you can now free her.”
Hart paused. Rain misted over his skin, a cool freshness that washed away his anguish. And suddenly his way was clear. Grace was right. For the first time in his life he had the wisdom to recognize the right thing and the freedom to do it.
Kayla already hated him. He couldn't run off into the sunset and abandon her here, because despite what he tried so hard to tell himself, he did have a conscience. He would remember her face in his dreams for the rest of his miserable life.
Grace wheeled around and backed away from him when he released her arm.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, hating that she was afraid of him, but knowing that she had a right to be. He was a bastard.
“Please?” Grace—angry, defiant, prickly Grace—had her heart in her eyes. “You're better than this.”
“No, I'm not,” he said. “I don't know if I'll succeed, but I'll try.”
“That's all I ask for.”
“I'm not doing it for you,” he told her.
“I know.” She gave him a short salute, which was all the good-bye he needed.
Hart broke into a run. He needed more weapons if he was going to attempt an assault on the chocolate factory. The Drekar laboratories were housed belowground, which meant entry and exit points would be severely limited.
It was a suicide mission, but his life was worth shit. Kayla, on the other hand, was a ray of light. She had dedicated her life to healing. He'd only known her for a short time, but he knew the world would be a worse place without her in it.
 
 
Kayla watched the sun bleed from the sky in harsh streaks of red and purple from her prison beneath the chocolate factory. The elegant room held a brass-knobbed bed, a Victorian, rose-painted vanity, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Puget Sound, but it was still a prison. The floor was covered in another of those barbaric fur rugs. She waited on the vanity's matching stool and watched stars bloom across the heavens. The moon hadn't risen yet, but a dim glow on the western horizon heralded its coming dawn.
Two of Norgard's slave girls attended her, as if she were some gothic romance heroine preparing to be sacrificed. The redhead brushed Kayla's hair, while the blonde rubbed perfumed oil into her skin. Passive as a china doll, she allowed them to dress her in a red silk robe and sat again facing the window. It didn't break—she had already tried. Inside, she steamed. Damn Hart. Damn Norgard. Damn Desi for getting into this mess.
The devil himself entered. She didn't need to turn around; his smell was enough to identify him—iron, with a hint of cinnamon. The women left and shut the door.
“Your sister loved this room.” Norgard circled in front of Kayla and leaned against the windowpane, studying her. The light of the candles carved deep shadows on his face. “She named it the Queen's Room. Such a fanciful imagination she had. She used to sit here, just as you are, and point out shapes in the clouds. Never saw anything mundane. No, Desiree only saw dragons and mythic beasts—”

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