Shadowed: Brides of the Kindred book 8 (2 page)

“You know I can’t.” Saber started to put a hand on his friend’s knee and then stopped himself, remembering that touching made the RTS worse. He sighed. “I’m so sorry, Reddix, but you know how our people would feel about Lissa and I being together. The Clans would be horrified that I had taken a female of my own clan as a bride, and I can’t give her up. I wouldn’t even if I could.”

Reddix’s muscular body twitched nervously, and then the big male jumped to his feet and began pacing again.

“So that’s it then. I’m doomed to a life of pure hell, because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“I’m sorry.” Some of Saber’s guilt turned to anger. “I didn’t plan this—any more than you planned on having RTS.”

Reddix barked a laugh. “So you’re saying love is like a disease? Like a fucking cancer eating into your heart that you can’t cut out?”

“It’s not like that,” Saber protested. “You’d understand if you could just—” He stopped abruptly, biting the inside of his cheek.

But it was clear Reddix knew what he’d almost said.

“If I could just
what
, Brother?” he demanded. “Just find a female to love? One who won’t pity or resent me for not being able to give her the Deep Touch? One whose emotions I won’t have to wear like an ill-fitting suit of clothes every Goddess damned day for the rest of my life? Well, guess what?” He laughed bitterly. “My parents and yours have already gotten together and found me one.”

“What?” Saber frowned. “But I thought…who? Who did they pick for you?”

“Tilla. You remember her?”

“Of course I do—she was just a few years behind us at school.” Tilla was a gossipy girl, well known for her love of pretty clothes and expensive jewelry. Her father, a prominent merchant on Tarsia, kept her well supplied with both, but she wouldn’t have struck Saber as Reddix’s type. Not that anyone really was, not with his RTS. Still, if he had to pick anyone for his friend, Tilla would have been the last on the list.

“Feeling her emotions is like swimming in slime.” Reddix’s harsh voice sounded weary and disgusted. “And she hates me too. Nevertheless, she’s got the right bloodlines for succession, and she’s agreed to be my bride.”

“But…but why?”

“You know how important social position and prestige is to her family—she wants to be the wife of the Overlord, even if the Overlord is a fucking cripple who can’t give her the Deep Touch. Who can’t even stand to touch her
physically
enough to have sex with her.”

“About that…” Saber cleared his throat. “If you can’t even stand to touch her, how will you—”

“I’ll have to manage, somehow. I have to give her an heir and
soon
—before my RTS….” Reddix shook his head. “The line of succession
must
be upheld.”

Saber sighed. “Look, Reddix, this doesn’t have to be your life if you don’t want it. Give it up, like I did.”

The silver eyes glinted. “You mean abandon my post and abdicate my responsibilities? You know who’s next in line for the succession of Clan Overlord if I pass on it, Saber?”

Saber shifted uncomfortably. “Um…isn’t it Fendrick? He should do well as the Clan Overlord.”

Reddix looked away. “He might have—if he hadn’t died in a duel a few days ago.”

“Fendrick’s dead?” Saber couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

Reddix nodded grimly. “The damn fool was always too quick to take offense—this time he happened to take it from someone who was better with a knife than he was. Now that he’s gone and you’re off playing house with your
amalla
, there’s no one else besides me. And you know how hot blooded most of our males are—do you remember what happened the last time there was no clear leader to succeed the old Overlord?”

Saber felt sick. “The war of the Clans…” It had happened hundreds of years before, but the bloody conflict was still well remembered. Every clan of the Touch Kindred had brought forward a male they felt should be leader, and none had been willing to compromise. The resulting civil war had decimated the Touch Kindred and cemented the belief of the other Kindred races that they were too volatile and vicious to be allowed to consort with the rest of the Kindred as a whole. It had resulted in the banishment of the entire Touch Kindred people—what were left of them after a winner had finally emerged, that was.

That leader had been Saber’s ancestor and up until now, the line of succession had never been broken.
But I’m breaking it now,
he thought to himself sickly.
I’ve already broken it. Reddix is right—I’m forcing him into the public eye—forcing him into a life that’s going to be a living hell for him. And all because I couldn’t help myself and had to have Lissa.

“Stop.” Reddix put a hand to the flat plane of his abdomen. “Now you’re making me nauseous. Your guilt is like a stone in my gut.”

“Sorry.” Saber shook his head. “Reddix, I’m desperately sorry about
all
of this. But I love Lissa, and we’re already bonded. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I didn’t think there was. I just had to ask. Don’t worry, old friend, I’ve got a plan B.” Reddix sat back on the couch.

“Plan B? What are you talking about?”

The melted silver eyes inside Reddix’s hood flashed dangerously. “I’ve been to see Xandra.”

“The swamp witch? You went to see
her?
” Saber shook his head, disbelieving. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was,” Reddix said fiercely. “It wasn’t a very fucking pleasant experience. But I needed help, and there was no place else to get it.”

“All Xandra can offer you—can offer anyone—is death,” Saber protested. “You need to stay away from her, Reddix!”

“Too late.” Reddix laughed, a deep, harsh sound that hurt Saber’s ears. “We’ve already struck a bargain—a bargain in blood. See?” He held out his arm and pulled up the sleeve of his hooded jacket.

On the inside of his wrist, Saber saw something that made his gut clench with fear and loathing. There, on his friend’s pale skin was a black mark shaped like a small, slithering creature called a
lthss
. It looked remarkably like the Earth animal called a snake except that a
lthss
changed color after it fed, by sucking the blood from its victim, going from black to red. The mark on Reddix’s inner wrist was still small and still black. But what color would it be when Xandra was done with him?

“Reddix,” he said. “You can’t do this. There has to be another way.”

“To overcome the RTS long enough to get Tilla pregnant and make sure the Clans don’t kill each other?” Reddix barked a bitter laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“But this is extreme,” Saber protested. “I really don’t think—”

“No, you don’t, old friend. You don’t think about anyone but yourself. But you know what?
I
do.” Reddix jabbed a thumb at himself. “I’m thinking of my little sister—of Minda. Did you know she’s found a male from the Wind Clan? He doesn’t have much status, but he loves her and he’s good to her. They’re already joined, and she’s going to have a baby. What do you think will happen to that sweet, happy little family if the Clans go to war? How long do you think they’ll survive? And who should Minda side with—the clan she was born into? Or the clan she married into?”

He stood suddenly and swayed unsteadily.

Saber jumped up to help him, but Reddix shook off his hand and took another step back.

“Stop touching me,” he muttered. “Just makes it worse.”

“Sorry.” Saber took a step back. For the first time it occurred to him that his old friend looked more than just tired—he looked sick. He couldn’t get much of a look at Reddix’s face with the hood in the way, but from the little he could see, his friend looked unshaven and unspeakably weary.

“I’d better be going,” Reddix growled. “I need to get back and tell your mother and father and the rest of our people I’m their next Overlord.” He snorted. “You can imagine for yourself their overwhelming joy at the prospect.”

“Don’t go just yet,” Saber protested. “Stay for a while and recuperate—you look terrible.”

“Don’t look nearly as bad as I feel,” Reddix rasped. “But don’t worry, I’m not running straight back to Tarsia yet. I have some unfinished business right here on that little blue-green ball of rock all our Kindred Brothers seem so fucking taken with.”

“On Earth?” Saber frowned. “What do you want there?”

“It’s not what—it’s who.”

“Reddix, if I could—” Saber began.

“Don’t say another word—your mind is made up, I can
feel
it. The certainty that you’re not coming back is like a weight around my neck. A
heavy
fucking weight.”

“But—”

“And don’t worry.” Reddix pointed to the half unrolled vid screen, which lay on the floor. “I’ll swear to your mother you watched that and still wouldn’t come home. It’s doubtless only the first of many lies I’ll be forced to…”

His words trailed off, and he swayed again, much more alarmingly this time.

“Are you all right?” Saber took another step toward him in concern. “Brother?”

“Saber, I…I…”

But Reddix never finished. His silver eyes rolled up, showing the whites, and he dropped heavily to his knees. Then, before Saber could take even one more step forward to catch him, he toppled forward like a fallen tree, face down onto the floor.

Chapter Two

Nina Kerrick sighed as she dusted the glass case containing the brightly colored Seminole dolls and the display of sweet-grass coiled baskets. Moving methodically but quickly, she cleaned the rest of the exhibits and straightened the stacks of brochures located near the front of the small tribal museum attached to the Hard Rock Casino. The museum didn’t pay much, but she only worked there two or three times a week. She loved being surrounded by the fascinating history of the Seminole Tribe even though she was only half Native American on her mother’s side.

Her father was Welsh, and the resulting combination gave Nina an exotic look with high cheekbones and warm copper-tan skin. She also had long, straight black hair with reddish highlights, but it was her deep blue eyes, so unexpected in one with her coloring, that drew the most attention. Nina liked her looks, but she wished she had inherited a smaller behind—her big hips and bottom were a constant source of consternation, but no matter how hard she worked and dieted, they never really got any smaller.

She moved to the small gift shop area, swiftly straightening the array of handmade items—the patchwork vests and jackets, the pillows, potholders, and ornaments, as well as the miniature dolls attached to key chains. Crafted of palmetto husk fiber and adorned in brightly-colored traditional skirt and capes, the doll key chains were by far the best seller. Every woman who nagged her husband or boyfriend away from the gaming tables for a second had to have one.

The small space was straightened and ready for the next day’s patrons—mostly bored gamblers who trickled in from time to time from the casino next door. It was time for Nina to go. She barely had time to run through the drive-thru and get Mehoo-Jimmy her favorite fast food burger before she had to be at her night job as a therapist at Massage Envy in South Tampa.

She paused in front of a framed black and white photograph depicting a Seminole woman from 1910. The picture was part of the Camera-man exhibit, taken by renowned photographer Julian Dimock. The photographs he’d taken revealed fascinating details of Seminole Indian life deep in the interior of the Florida Everglades back at a time when few whites dared to venture so far.

The woman in the picture caught and held Nina’s eye not because of her historical significance but because of what she wore—strands and strands of glass beads woven around her neck. Not just a few either—the woman was wearing literally
hundreds
of strands, so many that they started just under her chin, covered her entire neck, and dripped down the front of her breasts. Their weight must have been enormous but the woman stood straight and strong, staring into the camera with an unyielding look in her dark eyes.

Nina didn’t need a degree in Native American studies to tell her why the woman wore so many beads. In the past, it had been a matter of pride—of status—for Seminole women. The beads were an outward exhibition of their wealth and worth, not just received as gifts but bought with the money they made themselves, selling handcrafted baskets, blankets, dolls, and anything else they could make. Seminole women would wear the beads, only taking them off at night, even though the immense weight of them eventually led to severe back and shoulder problems. It was a matter of pride to keep them on, and more than once a female who slipped accidentally into the river was drowned because of the great weight around her neck.

“So heavy,” Nina murmured, staring at the woman from over a hundred years ago. “How did you carry that weight day in and day out? How did you keep standing so straight?”

Her own weight to bear was nothing so tangible as hundreds of strands of glass beads, but Nina still felt it pulling her down. It was the dreams, of course—they were like an anchor tied around her neck. If she didn’t stop having them soon, they would drown her as surely as the Seminole women, too proud to take off their necklaces, had drowned in the swamps of the Everglades. And like a woman adding strand after strand of beads, the dreams kept getting worse until she woke up every night in a cold sweat, feeling like she might be sick.

“It’s going to be all right,” Nina told herself bravely. She lifted her chin. “Everybody has weird dreams once in a while.” Except these dreams had been happening for months. At first, they were no big deal, but lately…

If only I didn’t feel so…funny every time I have one.

Except funny wasn’t really the word, was it? It was more like aroused.
Incredibly
aroused. Nina didn’t know why, but whenever she saw the faceless man in her dreams, her heart started pounding and her palms got damp. And that was only the start—when he came closer, her nipples tightened and her pussy suddenly got so hot and wet she felt swollen between her legs. And all the time the man whose face she couldn’t see was talking to her in a low, harsh voice. Telling her all the things he wanted to do to her. Saying that she was the only woman for him, that she was the only one he wanted to touch…