Nightbred: Lords of the Darkyn (20 page)

When the last mortal had stopped speaking, Jamys said, “My lady is in danger, and I need your help.”

Once he had commanded them, he went back to the kitchens, and did the same with the waiters and all the staff except one teenage boy who had been washing dishes, from whom he borrowed his high-top sneakers.

“You will guard the premises until the others return,” he instructed the boy as he finished tying the laces.

A final stop at the executive chef’s station provided him with the last of his needs, and Jamys was ready. He walked through the now-empty dining room, plucking a napkin and a lighter from one of the tables as he passed.

Outside on the street the barricades lay on their sides, knocked over by a hundred bespelled mortals, who now filled the street in front of the stronghold. Lucan’s warriors had left their positions to surround them and attempt to herd them away, only to find themselves being drawn into the mob of dancers.

Jamys chose an empty spot on the far side of the building as he stuffed the linen napkin in the neck of the bottle of brandy he had taken from the chef’s station. He flicked the lighter, setting the brandy-soaked napkin aflame, and lobbed the bottle high over the heads of the mob. It smashed into the empty sidewalk, the spray immediately bursting into a large fireball and a plume of black smoke.

The secondary distraction of the fire drew away all but two of the warriors still standing guard at the entrance to the stronghold, and Jamys attacked them from their left flank, dropping beneath the thrust of their blades and coming up between them to bury his daggers in their sides. He struck to disable, not to kill, and one toppled to the ground while the other clutched his side and turned on him.

“Durand.”

“Glenveagh.” He countered his movements. “As you are, you cannot fight me. Stand down.”

“The order is to kill anyone who attempts to intrude.” He grimaced as he lifted his sword. “I must end you or die trying.”

“So be it.” Jamys feinted with one blade at Glenveagh’s heart and, when the warrior parried, used his other fist to knock him into the street. As Glenveagh scrambled to his feet, Jamys entered and barred the door behind him.

Inside the nightclub twenty warriors stood in combat formation, their bodies surrounding a seated figure. The captain of the guard regarded him steadily, but he appeared pained, as if he was locked in dread.

Jamys advanced, stopping just out of range of the captain’s blade. He stared past Aldan at Lucan, who lay sprawled atop an armchair that had been dragged out of his office, a bottle of bloodwine in one gloved fist and a long sword dangling from the other.

“Where is she?” Jamys demanded.

“The prodigal traitor returns.” Lucan toasted him with the bottle before taking a swallow. He tossed the bloodwine aside, clambering to his feet with uncharacteristic clumsiness. “How biblical of you, boy.”

“Give Christian to me,” Jamys said, “and you need never lay eyes on either of us again.”

“Finally bedded her, did you?” Lucan grinned. “Was she any good at it, or did she whine and flop about?” He shook his sword at Jamys. “There be the rub with fucking these mortal wenches. All tears, no stamina.”

“Captain,” Jamys said to Aldan, “Lord Alenfar has insulted me and Miss Lang.”

The captain’s expression turned grim. “So it would seem, my lord.”

“You’ve no right to the Pearl Girl,” Lucan snarled. “She is my property, as are these men, this stronghold, and all that surrounds us. They will all do my bidding now.”

“No oath to you binds Christian,” Jamys said. “Tonight she agreed to become my
kyara
, and gave herself to me.” As Aldan stared at him, he nodded before he said to Lucan, “My scent is all over her. You had to know she was mine when you took her from the island.”

“So I had her taken,” Lucan sneered. “What of it? You can do nothing about it.”

“Stand down and bear witness,” the captain ordered, and the men moved to line the edge of the dance floor.

Outrage darkened Lucan’s face. “What are you doing? Get back over here and defend me.”

“Forgive us, my lord.” Aldan sketched a bow so shallow it bordered insulting. “While the circumstances are yet unclear to me, by your own admission you have verified Lord Durand’s claims against you. You have given him the right to challenge your rule.” When Lucan’s face remained blank, he added, “You have to fight him to the death, my lord.”

“Oh, is that all?” Lucan dropped his blade and stripped off his gloves. “Come here, whelp. I will be merciful and make it quick.”

“Using ability in a death challenge is not permitted, Suzerain.” Aldan picked up his sword and thrust it at him. “You must fight by blade.”

Jamys saw Lucan grasp the sword, and reach with his free hand to touch the golden medallion hanging around his throat. Ghost images of it echoed in his memory. He had seen the piece on Professor Gifford’s Web site . . . and, before that, hanging from the bull neck of the Kyn Jamys had encountered on the night he had arrived.

The visiting warrior who had come to his suite to take Christian and use her for sex, what had he called her?
No need to play shy, Pearl Girl. I know how it is with ye household wenches.
He’d used the same sly nickname Lucan had just uttered—
You’ve no right to the Pearl Girl
—and had worn the same medallion.

Jamys had no more time to think, for Lucan came at him, his sword sweeping through the air toward his neck. Jamys dodged the blow meant to decapitate him and brought up his daggers to parry the vicious backhand thrust that followed.

Jamys ducked under his arm only to find himself pinned against one of the bars. As Lucan charged, he vaulted over the counter.

“Durand.” A sword came flying at him, and Jamys reached up and caught the hilt. By then Lucan had reached him, and he barely eluded a blade thrust to his chest. The suzerain’s sword cut through the flesh of his upper arm, causing his blood to spill in a wide swath.

Jamys dropped down, using his Kyn strength to leap over the bar behind the suzerain, who spun around to prevent the blow to his own neck. As their blades clashed, sparks burst from the metal, and Jamys used the split second of blinding light to fling his remaining dagger into the center of Lucan’s neck.

With a roar the suzerain staggered backward, slashing at Jamys as he reached for him. He stumbled as Jamys yanked his dagger free, using the shorter blade to cut through the chain holding the medallion, which fell to the floor between them.

Lucan put a hand to the shallow wound at the base of his throat, and stared down at the glittering gold piece. When he looked up again, his eyes turned pure silver, and he threw his sword away from him in disgust. He then straightened and bowed his head. “The match is yours, Lord Durand.”

Behind him Jamys could hear the murmurs of the men watching. By surrendering, Lucan had lost not only the fight but his rule over the
jardin
—and, if Jamys so chose, his head.

“So it is.” Jamys lowered his blade and returned the bow. “But I did not challenge you, Suzerain. My quarrel is with the Kyn who held you bespelled.”

“Bespelled. So that explains my madness.” Lucan eyed Aldan, who had come to join them. “Captain, where is Mr. Vander?”

Aldan looked uncomfortable. “You permitted him to leave the stronghold unattended some hours ago, my lord.”

“He has taken the women to a ship,” Lucan told Jamys. “I know not where it is moored, but we will find it.” His eyes shifted. “Herbert?”

“My lord.” Burke appeared, his face battered and one eye swelling shut. At his side he held a pistol, which he returned to the holster inside his jacket. “I trust you are yourself again?”

“Indeed. Lord Durand was kind enough to free me of Vander’s control.” Lucan looked disgusted. “Did that bastard use me to do that to you?”

“He did, my lord, but it was not an especially impressive beating.” Burke sniffed. “I’ve actually suffered worse at the hands of my chiropractor.” He removed a device from his pocket. “I also know where our ladies are being held.”

The
tresora
tapped the small screen, which zoomed out to show a map of the South Florida coast. Two lights, one blue and one red, clustered together a few miles off the coast of Miami.

“Herbert.” Lucan looked enormously pleased. “When this is done, I believe I shall send you to my private retreat in the Bahamas with the lady of your choice for as long as you desire.”

“I thank you, my lord, but I already have a lady friend, and we’d much rather prefer Marlins season tickets. Shall I summon the fleet?” When Lucan nodded, Burke bowed and hurried off.

Jamys regarded the suzerain. “You have a fleet?”

Lucan smiled. “Of sorts.”

Aldan brought a cordless phone to Lucan. “There is a call for you, my lord. It is from Vander.”

Lucan’s expression turned icy. “Put it on speaker.” When Aldan pressed a button, he said, “I do hope your affairs are in order, Mr. Vander. You will find them quite impossible to manage when I reduce you to a heap of rotting flesh, which shall be the moment I find you.”

A harsh laugh came over the speaker. “You may look, my lord, but you will not find. But I can be persuaded to give you back your slut. Give me your men and your stronghold, and she is yours.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Vander.” Lucan reached for the phone.

“Would you care to bid your whore the same?” The sound of a scuffle came over the speaker, and then Samantha’s tight voice as she said, “Lucan, we’re in trouble.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice as gentle as his eyes were murderous. “I’m coming, love, very soon now.”

“Vander is Dutch, and he has barricaded hundreds of people inside his casino,” she said. “He’s had his men douse the entire place with gasoline. If you don’t give him Alenfar, he’s going to burn them alive.”

Several bottles behind the bar exploded.

“Don’t worry,” Lucan said. “We know where you are, and we will give him what he wants.”

“I love—,” Samantha said before her voice was cut off and Vander spoke again. “Since you know where I am, you will come and surrender your territory and men to me at sunset tonight. Or I will set your women on fire and toss them in the casino.”

Chapter 18

C
hris had known something was wrong with Lucan from the moment they’d left the island. The men piloting the speedboat didn’t belong to the
jardin
, while the suzerain sat down next to the cage he’d shoved her in and simply stared at the deck.

“Don’t you think you should tell me what’s going on?” she asked. “I mean, am I in trouble? Do I have to leave South Florida? What?”

Lucan’s handsome face lifted, and then began to melt. “I suppose it does no harm,” he muttered as he turned into a thin, snarled-haired woman with a dirty face.

“Oh, God.” Chris shoved herself back into one corner of the cage. “Who are you?”

“My name is Werren.” She tugged down the ragged hem of her tunic, which to Chris’s eyes looked more like a burlap sack than something wearable. “You smell like Kyn, but you are mortal.”

Chris wrapped her arms around her knees to keep them from knocking together. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” Werren nodded at the backs of the two men at the controls. “They will, if you resist.”

“Resist what? Why did you take me?” She thought of Jamys, and shot across the cage. “Did you tranq him? Is that why he couldn’t move?”

“If you mean the boy, no. His affliction was not my doing.” Werren glanced back at the wake behind the boat. “When I came into the house, I felt the presence of another like us. An old one, like Dutch.”

Chris heard the engine throttling down and looked over, squinting as bright lights blinded her momentarily. The men were guiding the speedboat alongside an old-fashioned wooden ship that seemed to be sitting on top of the water. A bump on the side of the speedboat drew her eyes to the side, where a shelf of coral reef appeared just beneath the water’s surface. At the other end of the wooden ship were walkways attached to a bigger, more modern yacht, and ladders that dropped down to the decks of a half-dozen smaller boats.

One of the men caught something thrown down to him from the old ship, and came over to Werren. “He wants to see you on deck, Duchess.” He reached up to the top of the cage and attached the cable before he let out a piercing whistle.

Chris was thrown to the bottom of the cage as it was jerked up into the air. She gripped the bars, looking down at Werren, who touched a finger to her lips before moving to climb off onto one of the ladders.

Chris felt her stomach roll as the cage swayed and jerked, but within minutes she was lowered down onto the deck of the ship, where more men came and removed the crane hook. They stepped aside as a blocky figure strode up and pulled open the door to the cage.

“My Pearl Girl.” Vander bent to grab her by the hair and haul her to her feet. “Now you’ll be servicing me whenever I want it.”

Chris thought of the finger Werren had pressed to her lips, bowed her head, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling him where he could go.

“You see?” Vander told the other men. “This is why you teach them proper while they’re young and still mortal.” He gave her a shake. “You can use that tongue on me later, girl.” He shoved her at one of the men. “Take her below.”

The man hustled her over to an opening above a tiny staircase, and nearly pushed her down it. “Move your ass, slut.”

Chris took the steep steps two at a time until she reached the deck below. The old, splintering planks forming the floor had been patched over with sheets of plywood, vinyl siding, and an assortment of scrap lumber, making the deck look like a quilt patched by a demented carpenter. The guard pushed her again, this time toward an adjoining space that held six empty cages and one occupied by Samantha, who appeared unconscious.

“What did you do to her?” Chris demanded without thinking, and was slammed up against an empty cage.

“I thought you knew how to hold your tongue,” the guard said, jerking her back long enough to open the door to the cage and shove her inside. Once he’d locked her in, he eyed Samantha, and grinned as he dragged Chris’s cage over alongside hers. “There. If she gets hungry and wants a snack, you can stick your arm through the bars.” He laughed as he left the room.

“Chris.” Samantha raised her head to look around them before she slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her right arm hung unmoving, and as she turned, Chris saw the odd bulge under her jacket.

“Who dislocated your shoulder?”

“The asshole that kicked me back down here when I tried to run.” She rested her head against the back of the cage. “You think you can help me pop it back in?”

Chris inspected the space between the bars and their positions before she nodded. “Scoot as close as you can.” She reached for Sam’s limp arm, and gently lifted it. “Brace your feet against the bars. You know in the movies when they say this is gonna hurt like a fucking bitch?”

“Yeah.” Sam screamed as Chris snapped her arm out and to the side.

“They lied.” She reached in to feel the bone, which had slid back into place. “Try moving it now.”

“You’re right. Hurts like ten fucking bitches.” Sam gingerly tested her arm, and glanced up. “Burke didn’t teach you to do that.”

“No, Dan did. Burke had me work with him for a couple months in the infirmary.” She glanced over as Werren entered, carrying a ring of keys. “This one is a shifter.”

“Yeah, I know.” Samantha hauled herself to her feet. “You leave the kid alone.”

“The master has sent me to attend to your instruction.” Werren unlocked both cages and opened the doors. “If you attempt another escape, he will kill the mortal and give you to the hull.”

“Give me how?” Sam asked as she stepped out.

“It is an old punishment,” Werren said. “You will be hung by a rope and dragged up and down against the hull until the barnacles strip the flesh from your back.”

“Coburn,” Sam muttered.

“I vote we don’t try to escape,” Chris said. “What instructions are we supposed to get?”

“I will explain,” Werren said, “when we join the other women.” She gestured for them to follow her.

As the raggedly dressed Kyn led them down another tight stairway, Sam quickly told her everything she knew. Chris didn’t have much to add, other than what had happened between her and Jamys, which she kept to herself. If Vander killed them, it wouldn’t matter that she had agreed to be his human wife.

Werren brought them down to a third level, and through a hatch in a bulkhead to the back of the deck.

She’d seen better living space in juvie, Chris decided as she looked around the empty area. All that decorated the wooden-planked walls was water stains and black streaks of tar or mildew; a sour, dank smell rose from the slatted floor, where the gaps showed them the shallow layer of brackish water beneath them. Dozens of women wearing pretty gowns watched them from where they lay or sat in an irregular spider’s web of ropes hung from the upper beams; it took Chris a moment to realize they were crude hammocks.

Several guards came down the stairs, and one called out for the women to line up.

As Chris watched, each woman climbed down and formed a line in front of a guard. The first woman in line stripped out of her gown and shift, and handed it to the guard in exchange for a ragged sack like the one Werren wore. As the women slipped the ugly tunics over their heads, Chris saw how, like Werren’s, they barely covered the women’s naked bodies.

A guard carrying two more bundles of rags walked over to Chris and Sam. “Take off your clothes.”

Sam stepped in front of Chris. “Not happening, pal.” When he reached for the blade on his belt, she punched him in the face, sending him staggering backward until he landed on his ass. When a second guard came barreling at her, she sidestepped his hands and drove her knee into his abdomen. As he doubled over, she grabbed his collar and heaved him over toward the other men. He was unconscious before he hit the slats at their feet.

Chris watched the men shuffle back. “They weren’t expecting a fight.”

“Anyone else want me or my friend to take off our clothes?” Sam called out loud. The guards grabbed the man she had knocked out before they hurried up the stairs. The light from the upper deck vanished as they slammed shut the door. “I didn’t think so.”

Someone struck a match, and a glow appeared around Werren as she brought a candle in an old-fashioned brass holder over to Chris. “We can see in the dark,” she said as she handed the light to her. “You cannot.”

Now Chris could see some of the women climbing into the hammocks and covering themselves with thin blankets. “What is this, like, the punishment section?”

“This is where we live,” Werren said. “The crew calls it the sluts’ quarters.”

“You mean, this is where he keeps you when you’re not working on the casino ship?” Sam, who obviously knew a lot more about the women, demanded. “Down here? All of you?”

“Yes.” Werren nodded to a pretty young brunette, who climbed up the stairs and sat on the step nearest to the door. “But it does not look like this all the time. Only when Dutch or the guards are here.”

A blur of color and light encircled Chris, who found herself standing in the middle of a beautiful garden of flowers. Overhead the sun glowed in a bright blue sky, and an orange butterfly fluttered right by her face. The women, all of whom were wearing gowns even more lovely than those they had removed earlier, reclined on cushioned chaises and armchairs. Some picked up books to read; others worked on needlepoint.

“Holy Toledo.” Chris reached out to touch the curling petals of a tiger lily. “What is this?”

“It’s what she does,” Sam answered for Werren as she inspected their surroundings. “She can produce three-dimensional illusions. Very convincing ones. I speak from personal experience.” She looked at the blonde. “So how long can you keep it up? An hour? Two?”

“It will last as long as I will it.” Werren walked over to a pretty marble fountain, and sat down on its edge.

Sam caught Chris’s arm as she started to go after her. “Hang on.” She went to one of the other women, who smiled up at her. “When do they feed you?”

The woman looked bewildered. “We cannot stomach food. We are sustained by the water of the fount.” She gestured at the water streaming from the tiered basins.

“Oh, you’re living off imaginary water.” Sam looked disgusted. “I should have guessed.” She guided Chris over to the fountain. Once she leaned over and breathed in, she shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”

Chris, who couldn’t smell anything, frowned. “They can’t live without feeding, can they?”

“Nope, but obviously they believe they do.” Sam gave Werren a hard look. “I wonder why.”

“Some illusions need not be seen,” Werren said quietly as she looked up at Sam. “Please, Detective. It is a mercy.”

Chris looked from one woman to the other. “Okay, I’m not getting the subtext here at all.”

“Don’t drink from the fountain, kiddo,” Sam said to Chris as she bent over and dipped the end of one finger in the basin. When she drew it back and showed it to Chris, it was wet and red. “You won’t like the taste.”

Chris’s throat tightened. “Guess I won’t.”

“Come with me.” Werren rose and led them to a little gazebo shrouded in sweet pea vines. As soon as they stepped inside, the walls turned to bare wood and the vines faded from sight.

Werren closed the door to the women’s quarters behind her, and lit a small glass storm lamp. Sitting atop a small table were stacks of envelopes and money bands. “Dutch sends me in here to count the money each night,” she explained.

“What the hell have you done?” Sam gestured at the door. “Those women have no idea what they are.”

“I told you, it was a mercy. They were brought on board as humans, like your friend.” Werren sat down in the only chair in the room and rested her forehead against her hands. “Dutch kept them in his quarters until they were changed, and only then were they brought to me. Most of them were out of their minds with terror and pain and confusion. The few who understood always attempted to escape.”

“So you’ve been keeping the truth from them for the last four hundred years.” Sam shook her head.

“I kept them sane and alive.” Werren dropped her hands. “Have you ever seen a woman being decapitated? I have, many times. That is what Dutch does to every woman who tries to flee him. Then he forces me to toss their bodies into the sea and clean their blood from deck.”

“Why don’t you just fight back?” Chris asked. “There are, what, at least fifty of you. He has maybe twenty guys at the most, and they’re all still human.”

“None of them have these.” Werren curled her fingers around the medallion chained to her throat. “Dutch controls all of us through the gold. He can make us do whatever he wishes.” She nodded at Sam. “Just as he made your lord do what he wished.”

“That fucking medallion he gave him.” Sam stomped around the room. “That’s how he’s been controlling him. He can channel his ability through the gold.”

Chris recalled something Burke had told her about Kyn ability and its natural limitations, which included the number of humans which could be affected by it. Only a few Kyn like Richard Tremayne had talents powerful enough to affect large groups of people. “When does he do all of you?”

“I do not understand.”

“When has he controlled all of you women at the same time?” Chris watched the other woman’s expression. “He’s never done it, has he?”

Werren cringed. “His power is absolute. He has simply never had occasion to—”

“Hang on.” Chris held up her hands. “Have you ever watched Dutch take over a group of people at the same time?” Werren shook her head. “How about five at once?”

“No, never.”

“Has he done three? No?” Chris braced her hands on the table and leaned in. “Have you ever once seen him control more than one person?”

“Not with my own eyes.” Werren’s expression turned resentful. “But he has done it. Dutch has often told the tale of how he took this ship and slaughtered the crew, without a single man at his back.”

“Captured the ship all by himself, when no one else was around,” Sam said. “Imagine that.”

“Convenient as hell,” Chris put in. “No witnesses.”

“You don’t know him. You are wrong.” Werren shot to her feet and began shaking her head. “He would not say such things if they were not true.”