Prince of Shadows (8 page)

From behind her, a shriek sounded as Derrick Terriot’s young mate, Sadie, pushed her way through to embrace the body.

“How did this happen?” Bram demanded, his voice shaking.

The Jeep’s driver confided quietly, “I don’t know, my king. I went to check on him when he didn’t call in within the allotted time. There are no marks on him. He had no weapon.”

Relief was quickly replaced by shock. Unarmed. Cale wouldn’t have killed a defenseless boy, leaving a wailing, hysterical child bride. Not the Cale she knew. But then this Cale, driven by the ruthless intensity of his goal, was a stranger.

Martine had come outside to examine the boy’s body. She’d had some legitimate medical schooling, but it was a long line of handed-down knowledge, bordering on shamanistic, that made her so powerful in their clan. She checked Derrick’s eyes and gums, sniffed at his breath, and pronounced, “He’s been poisoned.”

All Rico had to do was wait out the clock. If Cale didn’t finish the Gauntlet, there would be no reward. No crown. No queen. No future worth living.

Rico, smug-faced, sat a short distance away, gun trained on him. “Tick-tock. It’s not looking good for you.”

“What have I ever done to you, Frederick?” Conversation was provoked by the damp trickle of urgency shivering down Cale’s spine as the afternoon ebbed away.

“He never sees any of us with you standing in front of him. We might as well be invisible. Some of us have pretty damn good ideas, but he can’t hear us over your voice.”

Cale shook his head. “He doesn’t listen to me, Rico. He doesn’t see any of us. The only reason he acknowledges me is because I
put
myself in front of him and won’t go away. I can’t afford to let myself be ignored. If he doesn’t see you, that’s not my fault, it’s yours, brother.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rico hissed.

“Nothing about living in this House is easy. What makes you think that crown will fit better on your head than mine?”

“Because you don’t give a damn about any of us, any more than he does.”

Those words took Cale like another hard punch. “That’s not true.”

A harsh laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking when you were pounding my face in. He’s made you over into an exact copy, and none of us wants to live under that rule anymore.”

Cale shook his head as if to deny that. Then he dove into an unexpected forward roll before his brother could react. He had Rico around the neck, pulling him over onto his stomach so he could come up astride him with the pistol in hand. While Rico squirmed furiously, Cale leaned over to confide, “When I rule, you’ll stand beside me,” before clipping him sharply with the butt of the gun to knock him out.

From there on, Cale ran full tilt. He never slowed as he came upon James. The underbrush was thick, making Cale a hard target, but his brother was an exceptional marksman. An arrow thudded into a tree trunk beside Cale at chest level. He’d taken three more running steps when another missile ripped past his ear, caught the edge of his sunglasses, and sent them flying. Cale dodged low and scrambled, forcing his body through the dense scrub until he was out of sight. He heard no sound of pursuit. Whether his brother had missed him intentionally or not, he didn’t care to stick around and ask.

He checked his watch and swore.
Tick-tock.

He could smell the alcohol Stephen had brought with him to help pass the time. It not only gave away his presence but slowed his reactions enough for Cale to charge him, taking him out with a few punishing hits. They were going to have words, but the lesson would have to wait until tomorrow—providing he could get through the rest of today.

The terrain grew brutal, an obstacle course of rocks and gullies that quickly sapped his strength. It was impossible to move quietly. Pain throbbed in his head and stabbed his thigh. His lungs burned. Four miles. He could make it.

He could feel Wes but couldn’t see him, a constant shadow at his back. Cale tried not to think of the tension between his shoulders as he waited for a bullet or a blade to find him. As he crossed into the next mile with three to go, Wesley shouted after him, “Is she worth it?”

Cale grinned wide and shouted back, “Yes!”

After that, he came upon one of his youngest brothers so abruptly that they both were surprised. Derrick spread his hands wide to show he meant no harm, saying, “We’re cool, we’re cool. Take a second, bro, or you’re not going to make it.”

Cale rested his palms on his knees, breathing hard. “Can’t. Running behind.”

“Here.” A canteen was extended. “At least have some water.” At Cale’s wary glance, Derrick laughed. “Just water. See? Look.” He uncapped it and took a long, deep drink.

Anything to ease the fire in his throat.

Cale nodded his thanks and took the canteen. Tipping it up to dry lips.

eight

“Cale? Can you hear me?”

Cale could hear, but he couldn’t understand where he was or what was happening. He tried opening his eyes. Nothing was in focus. He was on the ground with someone crouching over him. Instinctively, he tried to roll, to get his hands and knees under him, but movement woke the tearing agony in his abdomen until all he could do was tuck and groan.

“Easy. Easy. Drink this.”

A sliver of memory made him protest, barely a whisper, as a firm hand clasped the back of his neck and something cold flooded his mouth. It was swallow or choke. The liquid went down with a silky comfort and came boiling back up in the wake of awful cramping spasms that went on and on until he was sure he’d heaved his insides out. Shaking, sweating, icy cold, he let the damp cloth mopping his face and neck bring him around again. When he looked up, he met Turow’s silvery eyes.

“You’re going to be all right. Probably hard to believe right now.” Just the ghost of a smile. Cale didn’t think he’d ever seen his taciturn brother smile. “Did you have anything to eat or drink?”

“Some water.” He vaguely recalled taking a canteen, swallowing a sip, rinsing his mouth before starting out again. Then everything had gone upside down. Time . . . “How long?”

“Twenty, thirty minutes.”

Protest growled up through him. No! Cale twisted, digging with his toes, clawing up the earth with his fingers to get leverage. He managed a wobbly stumble before tasting dirt.

The trees bobbed in a jolting rhythm, making it hard to focus with the way blood pounded in his head. He was hanging upside down? No, that wasn’t right. He could feel a hand clamped on his thigh and another on his arm and realized he was draped across Turow’s shoulders as his brother ran, carrying him.

The world finally righted, but his knees wouldn’t lock as he was passed from Turow into another’s care.

“I gotcha, man. I’ll get you back in time.” Kip.

“Thanks, brother. Thank you—” Cale turned, but Turow was already gone.

“I’m gonna need some help here. We’ll make better time if I don’t have to drag you. Can you walk?”

Cale tightened his arm about Kip’s shoulders and vowed, “I’m gonna run.”

His little brother laughed at that unlikelihood. “We’ll see. One foot in front of the other for now.”

And for a while it was. One foot, then laboriously, the other. Cale’s thoughts reached ahead to what was waiting for him. To what he might lose.
Tick-tock.
His gait steadied, his breathing deepened. A shambling trot became a jog, then a sprint that had Kip hurrying to keep up with him. Then one last hill.

He pulled Kip into a tight hug. “I couldn’t have done this without you, little brother. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me jack.” Kip gave him a push. “Go.”

Cale scrambled up the incline, mostly on all fours, then crested the top to look out on his family’s compound below. Relief shook through him. Going down was harder, and by the time he reached the bottom, his breath was gone. As he lay on his back against the steep pitch of moss and ferns, staring up at the dimming sky above, his senses faded, and his eyes began to close. An image drifted through his consciousness, a picture of a pretty young blond girl with a tenderly innocent smile.

Get up. Get up!

With a roar of determination, Cale swayed to his feet, rocking for a perilous moment, then moving forward at a walk-run. He crossed the cul-de-sac and continued up the drive, peripherally aware of figures moving to greet him, but he saw only one thing: Kendra standing motionless on the front porch, her gaze on him.

He put everything he had into reaching her. He heard his father’s voice, but it dropped away as unimportant.

My queen . . . my love. Anything for you.

Cale tried to speak those words, but they wouldn’t form. He thought Kendra started to reach out for him, to catch him as he began to collapse, but at the last instant, her eyes widened, and she took an almost imperceptible step back.

Letting him drop, unconscious, at her feet.

With the heat from the main fireplace and a cup of coffee between both unsteady hands to warm him, Cale didn’t think anything could make him go ice-cold so quickly.

“What?” He blinked at his father, thinking he’d heard wrong. His breaths quickened. “Dead? What happened?”

Bram’s tone was very cool. “I thought you could tell us.”

“Me?” He blinked again, slow to make the connection.

There were only a few of them in the great hall. His brothers were being collected from their sections in the woods. It was just his father, Bull, Martine, who had looked him over carefully but had yet to offer an opinion, and Kendra, who stood back, removed from the others. He was surprised that she’d been allowed to be there at all. More surprised that she’d want to be.

Cale glanced her way, and her quick evasion enlightened him cruelly. She thought he’d killed Derrick. They all did.

“He was alive when I left him,” he told Bram, his flat voice reflecting how stunned he was by the news. “We talked. He gave me . . . water.”

“Did he drink any of it?” Martine asked sharply.

“He drank first. I took a little and spat out the rest. He—he had a lot. What was in it?”

Martine’s dark stare pierced his. “You are very, very lucky to be alive.”

Cale set down his coffee to put his hands over his face and scrubbed hard. “Why would anyone hurt that boy just to get to me?” He leaped out of the chair and stalked to the wall of windows, staring out blindly. Another soul to weigh upon his. He flinched at the light touch on his arm, at the quiet voice that followed, tearing that heavy soul to shreds.

“Cale, it’s not your fault.”

He stared down into those big, seemingly sincere eyes. “Since when?” He pulled away from Kendra’s tardy sympathy to address his father. “Let’s get things finished here. I’m ready.”

Bram hesitated. “Perhaps under the circumstances—”

“No. Now. If they’re so anxious to see me bleed, I don’t want to disappoint them.” He crossed the room, waving Bull off as he stepped forward to give escort. “Don’t need your help,” Cale spat at him. “I know the way.”

If he could stand it, so could she.

The long tails of the whip hissed through the cold evening air, slapping across bared skin, coming away with chunks of flesh in taloned barbs. Cale’s hands gripped the straps binding his wrists, but no emotion shifted the hard set of his face.

Kendra clenched the muscles of her stomach, struggling to hold on to composure. She was very aware of Bram Terriot beside her, gauging her reactions just as he did his son’s.

Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t beg.
She could hear Silas speaking those words to her and his sister. She clung to them the way Cale did the pieces of sweat-soaked leather, as if they were the only things that could save her. The way he’d saved her.
Thank him with your strength, in a way he’ll understand.
But it grew harder as the glittering bits of silver trailed strings of blood.

“Hang on, brother,” Wesley muttered from the other side of her as the count passed a half dozen.

How had it suddenly gotten so hot? Her face burned. Sweat trickled down her neck, dampening her hair at the nape. Nausea became roiling waves of dizziness as the brutality narrowed into one solid focus: Cale’s unwavering stare holding hers.

Nine. The strokes of the whip grew labored. A ripple of quiet murmurs went through the gathering of brothers.

“Almost there. Stay strong.”

“C’mon, Cale. You’ve got it.”

“What don’t kill you, brother.”

The encouragement seemed to displease their father, but Cale’s stance strengthened until he no longer swayed with the fierce blows. He released the straps, his gaze leaving hers to lock on to his father’s. Not in defiance but with a humbling contrition, as if to say,
I’ve killed my brother. I can’t bring him back. Forgive me for my crime.

Because he couldn’t forgive himself.

The silence after the last blow fell was deafening. Bram gave a single nod and then told her, “Go to him.”

The straps had been cut free, leaving raw circles about his wrists. Cale watched her approach, standing still and straight and steady. With all eyes upon them, she tucked in beside him, easing his arm across her shoulders as he spoke softly. “Don’t let me fall.”

This time
.

She hooked her fingers beneath his belt and held on tight. His ordeal wasn’t over until he’d walked away under his own power. If he went down . . . Kendra couldn’t think of that.

The somber line of his brothers parted to let them pass. Cale kept his eyes straight ahead and his jaw gripped tight. His fingers bit into Kendra’s arm as one of his knees gave, and she nearly buckled under the drag of his weight. He steadied and urged her with a hoarse “Go on. Don’t stop for anything.”

She got him to the chalet, using the key she’d been given to unlock the door. Once she maneuvered him over the threshold, he went down, crumpling to hands and knees, his breathing raw and awful. She found the lights, then regretted the brightness that illuminated his shredded back. She had to avert her eyes to keep the gorge from getting past the tightness in her throat.

“What can I do?” she asked helplessly.

“I need to shower.”

She helped him stand. Under the remaining streaks of camouflage paint, his face was pale and dripping, his skin alarmingly cold. He stumbled at her direction until they reached the large bathroom filled with gleaming black and white tiles and, thankfully, a huge walk-in shower. She left him leaning on the sink to regulate a heated spray.

“I can’t get my boots off.”

Kendra knelt to unbuckle and unlace them. His bloodstained pants and briefs dropped even before she’d moved her hands away, and he was stepping out of them, reeling into the shower. For a moment, she couldn’t lift her gaze, keeping it on his bare feet, where water pooled a deep, vital red, along with swirls of camouflage black and green. Slowly, her head lifted, and she took in the strong calves, the thighs shaped by lean muscle, the firm butt, then the ruined length of his back. The silver from the whip’s hooked tips had begun to interact with his Shifter physiology. His skin was red and raw, the tears bubbling like-third degree burns.

“Help me, Katy.”

Katy.
Her heart staggered. He’d called her that when they were children.

Then she remembered Sylvia’s gift. For cleaning and healing. Now it made sense. She hurried into the main room, returning with the ointment. Taking off her shoes, she stepped into the shower fully dressed to apply the cream to his open wounds.

Cale flattened against the tiled wall, palms slapping against the wet surface before curling into fists. His muscles jerked with a startling violence, making her pause. When he got control of his breathing, he urged, “Go on. It stings a bit, is all. Go ahead, baby.”

Stings a bit.
Biting her lip, she continued to rub the harsh compound into the jagged tears, hoping it would do what Sylvia had promised and neutralize the caustic effect of the silver. By the time she’d finished, repair had already begun. Bleeding had stopped, and the acid-like burns were fading. Cale leaned in to the wall, eyes closed, breathing shallow, energy at a dangerous ebb. He glanced over his shoulder at her as she began to shampoo his hair to wash out whatever he’d used to darken it. “What are you doing?”

“You’re already wet, so you’d might as well be clean.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. Be quiet.”

A faint smile sketched over his lips as he shut his eyes again, relaxing into her care.

As the massage of his scalp eased down to the tension knotting his neck, Cale’s low moan quickened a strange tightness in her middle. She tried to focus on charitable service, but she’d grown too aware of the strong bones of his face and jaw as she gently washed them, of the taut line of his throat and the powerful range of his shoulders. Restless with the odd urgency, she tipped his head back into the spray, causing him to sputter and spit and finally utter that deep rumble of gratification again. She imagined it was how he’d sound after satisfying sex.