Hearts of Darkness (21 page)

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Authors: Kira Brady

BOOK: Hearts of Darkness
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“Don't talk about my sister.”
“She wasn't yours to keep. She was mine—”
Kayla stared at him. “Because of you she's dead.”
Norgard's smile slid from his face. If she had been fanciful, she might have seen sorrow flicker in his eyes.
“Mine,” he said. His hand clenched against his side.
“Did you rape her?”
He recovered his composure and straightened. His lips drew back in a sneer. “Desiree was quite willing. Only the good die young, so they say. And your sister,” he said, coming close and brushing his lips along her cheekbone, “was very, very good.”
“You bastard.” She tried to kick him, but he clamped his hands down on her knees.
“Now, now,” Norgard clucked. “Name calling doesn't become you. My parents were married. Though I don't suppose my mother had much choice in the matter. Like father, like son.” He laughed. “My father was a berserker. He had quite a few wives. Pale Irish lasses. Dark Russian women. A lusty French wench or two. A dragon's treasure is his most prized possession. We have centuries at our disposal to discern the best of the best.”
She spit at him, but missed.
“If you insist.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth. His hands clasped her biceps hard enough to bruise, and lifted her up. “We might have been civilized, but oh, no. You Americans and your foul mouths. Such a waste when there are so many preferable uses for them.”
Her arms ached as he carried her to the bed. Pulling manacles from behind the headboard, he locked her wrists and ankles in cold, hard iron, spread-eagle on the dainty flowered bedspread. He removed the handkerchief from her mouth, stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
“Mr. Nils,” he called out as he twisted the ring on his finger three times. “Please come welcome our guest and alert Dr. Roy that his assistance is required.”
No one answered.
“You're crazy,” she said.
“Don't be tedious.”
A little man in a white lab coat and round glasses walked in. An old-fashioned stethoscope hung from his thick neck. He carried a carpetbag with a half-circle bone handle, out of which he pulled bottles and a syringe. His eyes were glassy.
“Doctor Roy, I believe our patient may need to relax a bit more.”
“Don't do this,” Kayla pleaded with the doctor, but the man didn't even glance in her direction. “What about the Hippocratic Oath? Do no harm?”
“So naive.” Norgard brushed her hair away from her face, and she tried to bite him. “So innocent. What a refreshing change of pace.”
The doctor pushed up her sleeve and wrapped a rubber band around her upper arm. He tapped her inner elbow, looking for a vein from which to take her blood.
“Immortality is, as you would say, a bitch.” Norgard shrugged elegantly. “You should know about my kind, since you are to bear my child.”
“Fuck that—”
“First of all,” he said, speaking over her, “I will not tolerate that kind of language. You will reform your behavior. And if you survive the birth, I may let you see the child from time to time. The Drekar will rule the world one day soon, make no mistake. You should consider yourself lucky to be on the winning side.” He reached down his shirtfront and pulled out a familiar jade necklace.
Kayla caught her breath.
“Yes, your furry little friend returned to me what is mine.”
Hart had said he would keep it safe. Hah. She
was
naive. Stupid. He knew she had promised it to the Kivati. He knew Rudrick would come after her if she didn't deliver. Did he care? Another betrayal. Why should it hurt any more than the first?
The doctor finished taking her blood and measuring her blood pressure. He released the rubber band and secured a cotton ball on the puncture wound with a cloth tie. His movements were efficient, impersonal, robotic—almost like no one was home. He didn't meet her eyes, but from the few glances Kayla got from him, they were dead.
He stuck her in the neck with a syringe.
The world started to spin. All her muscles relaxed as a warm heat infused them. It was the same giddy feeling she'd had before, but twice as strong. Her body sunk into the thick feather mattress. Her thighs fell open. “What . . . what did you give me?”
“Only more of what you took willingly,” Norgard said. The pupil of his left eye lengthened, so that only a thin line of blue remained of the oval iris. “A drug based on oxytocin, the chemical responsible for human bonding, trust, and love. I have simply given you a larger dose directly into your vein. The chocolate recipe should have the same effect, but it isn't quite right yet. As you might remember.”
She remembered all right. The chocolate at Butterworth's. The alley afterward wasn't quite so clear. “You drugged a minor,” she said.
“The Kivati princess knew what she was getting into when she stepped foot inside my parlor. She delighted in the risk, the taste of danger. Naughtily rebelling against her lord and master. If she had stayed, I would've fulfilled all her fantasies.”
“She's only a little girl.”
Norgard scoffed. “Spare me your cultural prejudices. In my time girls became wives and mothers at puberty. Besides, her own people intend to see her wed in a few short weeks.”
He bent over Kayla, bracing himself with one hand on either side of her head, and kissed her. She didn't kiss him back. She tried to keep her lips firmly closed and unyielding. He didn't care. He just barged right in with his tongue and ravished her mouth.
Her body betrayed her. The drugs made her hot and sluggish, made her nipples hard against his chest, made her wet and wanting. That was almost worse than being restrained in the first place. That this psycho could call forth such a response—it was a rape. She hated him.
Norgard covered her lips completely, suctioning them together like he was doing mouth-to-mouth breathing. He began to suck.
There was no other word for it. He sucked in, and she felt herself moving. Not her body, but something that was tangibly
her
—Kayla Friday, her sense of self, her emotions, her life force. Tingles shot up every nerve ending. Electricity jolted through her system. Her body felt both too hot and too cold at the same time. Everything inside her was moving toward his mouth.
He was sucking the soul out of her body.
God help her.
Panic made her seize up, but she knew what she had to do. With sheer force of will, she managed to pull back. A tug-of-war over her soul ensued. She would win. She had to.
She couldn't talk, but she screamed at him inside her head,
Get your fucking hands off me!
Norgard broke off. He fell back, breathing rapidly. “Tiamat incarnate,” he wheezed, “That was . . . You are . . . quite impressive.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes, well,” He straightened his jacket and dabbed his mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Perhaps the drug doesn't work quite as well as a good, old-fashioned fucking. Next time we'll try it instead.”
“Never—”
“Oh, you will. I'm very impressed with your strength. Very.” He had an eager grin on his face like a little boy at Christmas. “You'll do quite nicely for breeding.” He tucked the handkerchief into his vest pocket and patted it.
The doctor stepped forward and began poking and prodding her again.
“Get away from me.” The room revolved lazily around her. Sometimes she saw two doctors interposed on top of one another: the little man in a lab coat, and a taller, rail thin man in a bowler hat and striped three-piece suit. When she blinked, there was only one again.
“Mr. Nils is currently possessing Dr. Roy, an excellent obstetrician. We lured him away from the most prominent medical research facility.” Norgard accepted some sort of report from the doctor and skimmed over it. “It was so kind of you to have the preliminary test results done at Norse Hospital.”
Anger rolled through her. Did he own everyone in this city? The “doctor” stuck her with a needle and gave her another shot.
“What are you giving me now?” she asked.
“Something to strengthen your eggs and make you more fertile. I thought you were a nurse. What were you expecting?”
“You're rich. You're handsome. You could have women falling at your feet. Why are you doing this?”
“Ah, here's the crux of the matter. Drekar bodies can live forever, untouched by disease or old age, though we can be killed by an old-fashioned beheading.” Norgard drew one thin finger across his neck to demonstrate, and Kayla wished fervently she had a knife to complete the action. “But children are terribly hard to come by. Conception rates are very low, while miscarriage rates and birth fatalities are very high. Desiree stole something very precious. Two things, really. She was eight months pregnant. My child might have survived if she hadn't run off in the middle of a storm and been attacked by wraiths. You will repay me what was lost. I dearly hope strong eggs and a robust constitution run in your family. You'll need it to survive.”
Had Desi wanted the baby? Sadness curled in Kayla's belly for what might have been. Desi would have been a wonderful mother, but she had died trying to protect the world from Norgard. She was a hero, though no one would ever know. Kayla had to carry on her memory, and to do that she had to escape.
“In all my years upon this earth,” Norgard said, “I have yet to have a single child survive to maturity. My father, damn him, had two.” His pleasant smile hid a deeper pain. The muscle in his jaw clenched.
The doctor finished his inspection and stepped back, still and strangely lifeless. His hands hung limply at his sides as if the marionette strings had been cut.
“Mr. Nils,” Norgard said. “Please check Miss Friday to see if she's ovulating. I wouldn't put it past that dog to play with the merchandise. Hart did well, didn't he? He's always so prompt at fetching things. Never lets any messy emotions get in the way of his work. Almost Dreki-like in his efficiency.”
“Burn in hell,” Kayla told him.
Norgard smiled. “That fate was sealed a long time ago. Welcome, dearest Persephone, to Hades.”
Kayla watched in horror as a spasm shook the doctor, and something glowing and translucent flowed out of his nose and mouth. Shimmering in the air, it was more an absence of light than light itself. It flowed toward her, and it was all she could do not to open her mouth to scream.
Lights flashed in the back of her eyelids as the thing swooped through her nostrils and possessed her body.
Chapter 12
Hart loaded weapons into his car with shaking hands. The moon climbed toward the horizon, pulling him like a lodestone. He didn't see the Crow in time to raise his sword.
The Crow swooped, extending his claws like blood-seeking blades. Hart raised his arm to protect his head, and the Crow's claws plowed through his leather jacket and hit skin. His arm throbbed. Wet dripped down his sleeve. The Crow wheeled in the air for another dive, but Hart already had his gun out and ready.
“I'll shoot,” Hart called up. “Don't try me.”
The Crow swooped low and Changed in midair, landing gracefully on his feet. “Found you,” Johnny said. “Rudrick wasn't done talking to you.”
“I don't have time for this bullshit.” Hart swung a black bag back into the trunk and slammed the lid. He kept one eye on Johnny as he shuffled around the side of the car to the driver's side.
“I never pegged you for a coward,” Johnny called. He was spoiling for a fight.
Hart wiped his brow with the arm holding his gun. His skin stretched taut across his bones. It felt as if one touch would pop him like a balloon. The beast threw itself against his rib cage with wild desperation. Adrenaline raged through his bloodstream. Rabid thoughts flashed through his head as if someone were sitting on the channel changer of his personal remote:
run, tear, hunt, rip, blood, kill, KILL, KILL.
Johnny must have recognized the haggard expression and the bloodlust flickering in his eyes. He took a step back. “The full moon. You're close to the Change.”
“Ya think?” Hart's voice was little more than a raspy growl. He had to hold on to his humanity just a little longer.
“Hell, man. Don't you think you should get locked up or knocked out or whatever it is you do?”
“I wish.” Hart opened the car door and got in.
“Where are you going? Hey, I'm talking to you.” Johnny ran around the side of the car and jammed his foot in the door.
“Knock it off, bird boy.”
Johnny's face darkened. “Oh, I don't think so. You've got something Rudrick wants—”
“Settle your feathers.” Hart took a vile of dragon's blood out of his pocket, uncapped it, and shot it down like cheap tequila. Perhaps it would keep the madness at bay. He had an hour, maybe two if the Lady was merciful. “I'm off to get it now.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Hart leaned back heavily while the Drekar blood burned down his throat and speared through his body. “Norgard has Kayla.”
“Shit. She saved your life, and you fucked her over?”
“Yeah. Not going to fight you. Need”—he took a ragged breath—“all my strength to get her back.”
Johnny laughed. “How? That's a suicide mission, even if you weren't half dead. You look like shit warmed over.”
Hart shrugged.
“No.” Johnny shook his head. “I'm coming with you. Rudrick sent me to protect his asset, and I'm sticking with you till the job is done.”
Hart managed to turn his head to give the kid a flat look.
“You have extra ammo in that bag, or what? Where is she?” Johnny asked.
“The chocolate factory.”
“Shit.”
Hart nodded. There wasn't much else to say.
“So what's your plan? You do have one, don't you?”
Hart grunted. The Drekar blood was working already. The images of blood and death faded from his mind until he could see the gritty street clearly again. His beast stopped tearing at his insides.
Oscar stepped from a nearby alley, followed by Grace. “He needs a diversion,” Oscar said.
Hart felt his gut twist. He needed help, but he didn't want anyone else to get killed because of him. “It's not your fight.”
“You planning to bust in guns blazing, cowboy?” Oscar asked, irritation pitching his tenor voice higher. “'Cause that'll do the woman a whole lot of good.”
“Stand down.” Hart took two high-powered rifles out of the backseat and loaded them. “Neither of you are free.”
“Whoa. Does that mean
you
are?” Johnny asked Hart. “No one lives long enough to pay off a blood debt.”
Hart shoved up the sleeves of his shirt to show his bare biceps. Stark tan lines were all that was left after half a lifetime of service.
“Blessed Lady,” Johnny swore. “So what's the plan? We burst in the factory's back door and—”
“No one's going in there but me.” Hart cut him off. “You three can set up a diversion to get the troops out. Something big.”
“I'll blow up the Locks,” Oscar said. “It's a one-man job, and it'll get the guard away from the factory.”
“Norgard has ordered me to ink at the bridal ceremony,” Grace said quietly.
“No,” Hart croaked. He didn't want to think of Kayla married to anyone else.
Where had that thought come from?
“I can pass her a message,” Grace said. “She'll be ready for you. Bird boy here can provide you cover.”
“Can we trust him?” Oscar asked, staring hard at Johnny.
“My enemy's enemy is my friend,” Grace answered, but she didn't look convinced.
Johnny puffed up. He slapped his right hand over his heart. “I swear to the Lady that you can trust me to fight the Drekar. The only good lizard is a dead one.”
Hart nodded. Johnny would be there to protect Rudrick's investment, nothing more. Hart didn't mind giving the Drekar another target besides himself. “Oscar, twenty minutes to get into position. Johnny, provide cover,” he ordered. “When the soldiers arrive, lead them on a wild-goose chase. Don't get caught.”
Oscar grinned. “All right. Let's do this thing. They won't know what hit them.”
 
 
In Norgard's private chamber, slave girls lit tall, white tapered candles. Ten brass sconces stretched over the iron headboard. The king-sized bed was outfitted with red silk sheets and covered with a lion pelt, head intact. A blazing fire in the huge fieldstone fireplace chased the chill from the room.
The wraith infestation had been mercifully, painfully brief. Kayla's limbs still shook with the memory of it. She had fought it and won. She'd thrown it out of her body three times, before Norgard had called off his spirit minion. Thank whatever capricious deities ruled this place; no ghost would get the better of her. She was stronger than she ever knew.
Now the drug hummed through her system, soothing muscles, relaxing inhibitions, easing worries, and clouding her mind. Fear and anger dissipated under a blanket of warm fuzzy feelings. She had to stay alert. She had to try to escape, but it was easier to drift along and watch the candlelight play across the ornately painted walls. Visions of hell from every culture, some gruesome, some peaceful, wove and twisted over the uneven stone surfaces. Ravens presided over bloody battlefields, ushering the dead to a great feast in the clouds above or fiery torment in the caves below. The four horsemen of the apocalypse rode above the headboard, leaving carnage in their wake. Even the ceiling was covered in grotesque images of the afterlife.
The images didn't scare her, though she knew they should. She felt detached, more interested in the colors than the grizzly subject of the painting. The slave girls finished lighting the room and exited, leaving her alone. After a few moments, the door opened again, and a slight figure in a red hooded robe entered.
“Please take off your clothes.” The voice was feminine.
Kayla considered the statement. She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “I prefer to keep them on.”
The figure drew back her hood, revealing blue-black hair and a familiar scowl.
“Grace!”
Grace shook her head, quick but firm. “Your assistance is not voluntary.”
Hope shattered. Kayla wanted to recoil from the pain and hide beneath the smothering blanket of the drug. She pinched herself, trying to keep her brain in the here and now. “Not you too,” she whispered. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Must we deserve our pain and suffering? We are all playthings of the gods. If there is a sense of cosmic justice at all, it doesn't balance out until we reach the other side.”
Play along
, Kayla told herself.
Keep alert for an escape route.
Her fingers fumbled with the robe tie.
Grace pushed her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sat. Her eyes bore into Kayla's, pleading and commanding at the same time. “Don't say anything,” she whispered, moving her mouth as little as possible. “I'm here to help, but you need to follow my orders. Relax your shoulders. Try to look loose and a little drunk.” She pulled Kayla's robe apart, baring her to the waist.
Kayla crossed her arms over her naked chest. Part of her was embarrassed to be exposed like this. Part of her wanted to float back to that fuzzy, happy place.
Grace removed a small vial and a long black feather. She uncorked the vial and dipped the feather quill into it. The gold-flecked ink bled up the quill and spread into the feathered shaft until the whole thing glittered in the candlelight. “Sit still,” she ordered. She pulled Kayla's arms away from her breasts and knelt on the floor in front of her. Carefully, she raised the quill to mark Kayla's skin.
Kayla tried not to jerk away when the ink burned into her breast. The sting helped keep her focused. “What are you writing?”
“Runic inscriptions calling for Freya's blessing.” Grace scratched sticklike marks around each nipple. “She's the Norse incarnation of Ishtar, the goddess of sex and fertility.”
“Great.” Kayla wiped her sweaty palms on her silk skirts.
Stay alert. Stay strong.
It was a struggle. “Do they work? You don't have to do this. You could write something else—”
“He'd know.” Grace marked the skin over Kayla's heart and drew a circle around her naval. The runes spiraled out over her womb.
Kayla's eyes followed the swirls of the feather. She felt herself detaching again, the haze thickening in her brain. She tried to stand up. “You don't have to do this.”
Grace took her hands and pulled her back down. “I don't have a choice.”
“There's always a choice—”
“No. Not for me. Not for Hart.”
Kayla's stomach turned over at his name. Emotions churned beneath the drug's dampening mist. Anger. Hurt. How could the choice not have been Hart's? She wanted to believe Grace.
Grace glanced up from her runes. “We're slave-bonded. I don't have time to explain.” Her voice was low and urgent. “Norgard will come in soon. There are manacles at the head and footboards. Don't make him tie you up.”
“Won't he be suspicious if I suddenly agree to his demands?”
“You've been drugged, haven't you?” Grace examined Kayla's pupils and nodded. “You're still dilated. How do you feel?”
“Confused. I want to trust you, but—”
“Swallow this.” Grace took a small red pill from the pocket of her robe and slipped it between Kayla's unresisting lips. “Quickly!”
Kayla swallowed. “What was that?”
“Caffeine pill. Might help wake your brain up.” Grace stood and began painting runes on Kayla's forehead and cheekbones. “You need to slip out of this room before”—she swallowed—“anything happens. Turn left and go down the corridor. Exit the personal chambers through the wide gilt doors; it will lead you to the main tunnel. Climb up to the second floor and exit. Do you remember the Great Hall?”
Kayla nodded.
“Try to get back there.”
“What then?”
“There will be help.” Grace stood back and corked the vial again. “I hope.”
Kayla pretended she hadn't heard that last bit. The caffeine seemed to be kicking in. Fear roused once more. “Why can't I go now?”
“Because he—”
“Eager to leave already?” Norgard's cultured voice from the open doorway deflated any hope of escape. “The best part is yet to come.”
Kayla prevented herself from hurriedly pulling the robe over her naked chest. Norgard couldn't know the drug was wearing off. She stood slowly and let a lazy smile turn up the corners of her mouth.
Norgard looked pleased. “Leave us,” he told Grace. He resembled an opium warlord, dressed in a red silk robe intricately embroidered with a Chinese dragon in yellow and green. The open neck left his glistening chest exposed. He had no chest hair, like a snake, and his skin glittered in the candlelight as if made up of a thousand tiny scales.

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