Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3

by Walker, Heather

  Boyd stepped out of the shadows. He didn’t bestow his genteel smile on them now. His smooth face twisted in a horrible mask of cruel, calculating malice. He cast his brutal glare from Malcolm to Vic and back again.

  “Ye understand,” he began, “it all turned out so strange and unexpected. We should have taken the Prometheus unawares, and yet they still got the better of us. They kenned we were coming, and they went straight for the cabin where ye were stowed, Vic. It was almost as if they expected us, and they kenned all about ye and where ye were hiding. I couldnae account for it, and when ye showed up in that crate, I had to ask meself what it all meant.”

  Adrenaline wrenched Vic’s gut into knots. She still couldn’t figure out how much he knew. Was he just yanking her and Malcolm around? How long would he keep this up before his men fell on Malcolm and exterminated him before her eyes? Boyd was capable of that and so much more. She realized that looking into his steely countenance. How could she ever have let this monster pull the wool over her eyes? How could she have believed he cared about her or that his kind were the righteous victims in this war?

  He and Malcolm confronted each other in unvarnished hatred. This was the man who killed Malcolm’s family. If it wasn’t him in person, it was Falisa just like him. They’d spent the last several millennia hunting the Angui down, one man at a time.

  Vic’s spine tingled. She found herself staring into the face of her enemy. The Angui might not have been perfect. They kept slaves, but that was generations ago. Now they were just men trying to survive, just like Malcolm said.

  Boyd turned away. “Anyway, I couldnae let the matter go without finding out what was what. I thought ye’d like to see this. Once we get the information out of him, we’ll ken who to send the teams after in the future. We’ll track them down and stop them making the elixir.”

  Vic swallowed hard. “Get the information out of who?”

  Boyd raised his arm and stuck a match into the lantern over their heads. The flame blazed bright and hot for an instant; then he moved the flickering light to a second lantern, lit the wick, and blew out the match.

  Without answering, he walked deeper into the basement. The circle of yellow glow bobbed along with him, lighting up a crypt set into the back wall. He hung the lantern on another peg in the ceiling. The light spread out, and Vic gasped in horror.

  A straight metal bar rested on two brackets in the hollow. A thick hemp rope bound a man by the wrists, and he dangled from the bar by his dislocated shoulders.

  Blood and grime stained his bare chest, and angry, ragged slashes cut into his muscles all over his torso. His sweat-saturated hair hung in his face, and his head drooped, but Vic would have recognized Noah Kelly anywhere.

  Chapter 18

  Malcolm braced himself at the sight of Noah in the Guild House basement, his worst fears materializing before his eyes, but he couldn’t show his feelings.

  Boyd grinned in his face. “Ye see? I’m no’ such a slouch as all that. This boy was the only person who kenned where we were and when we left Stornoway to intercept the Prometheus. He’s the only one who could have warned them we were on our way, and he’s the only one who could have alerted them we had Vic on board.”

  Vic launched herself at him in a rage. “You bastard! You took me on board that ship on purpose to put me in danger. Don’t you dare blame this on him. He didn’t do anything except sail you over to Lewis in the first place, and this is how you repay him.”

  “Calm yerself, lass,” Boyd fired back. “We ken who our enemies are. He’s one of those vermin, and there’s only one fate good enough for them.” He pulled out his dirk and turned on Noah.

  Vic screamed, “Don’t you dare touch him! If you harm him, you can forget about me helping you find my friends. You can do your worst, and good luck to you.”

  “Ye’ll help us.” Boyd leered at her over his shoulder, but he didn’t take his blade away from Noah’s helpless form. “Ye’ll help us, or ye’ll watch me cut out every scrap of flesh from his pretty young body, piece by piece. Which one shall we take first? A kidney, perhaps? How about the spleen? Shall I make ye a present of it, lass, as a token of my appreciation in advance for yer help?” He turned to Noah and jabbed his dirk into the prostrate boy’s flank.

  Vic launched herself forward.

  Malcolm slammed his arm in front of her just in time. “Stand down, lass,” he snarled in her face. “Dinnae interfere.”

  “Don’t interfere!” she shrieked at him. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know what he’ll do?”

  “I’d advise ye to start talking,” Boyd added. “Tell me all ye ken about yer friend Ree’s activities in San Francisco to create the Cipher’s Kiss, or I’ll start carving on our young guest here.”

  He pinched out a section of Noah’s skin below the rib cage and laid his dirk against it, letting the edge dig in. A film of blood curdled around the blade and dripped down Noah’s side.

  The boy lurched into consciousness with a terrified shriek. He jerked against the ropes holding him. His eyes flashed around the ring of faces, but he couldn’t break free.

  “You son of a bitch!” Vic bellowed. “I’ll never forgive you for this. I never should have told you anything.”

  “If you hadnae told me anything before,” Boyd snarled, “ye’d tell me now.”

  “I already told you everything I know,” she yelled. “Let him go.”

  “Ye’ve no’ told me everything,” he chided. “Ye’re hiding something, even now. Go on. Tell me all ye ken, or ye’ll watch me kill him before yer eyes.” At that, he jerked his dirk back and sliced into Noah’s skin, carving off a hunk and leaving a tattered hole in his side.

  Noah let out an ear-splitting screech and struggled against his bonds as blood flowed into his kilt where his belt held it around his waist.

  Vic rocketed forward.

  Malcolm caught hold of her just in time and held her back. “No, lass!” he growled in her ear. “He’ll kill ye too.”

  “I don’t care!” she roared. “You bastard! I hate you! I’ll kill you for this. I’ll never forgive you for this.”

  Boyd took hold of Noah’s ear and rested his blade against the boy’s scalp. “Tell me the name of yer friend’s company that ye work for in the future.”

  “It’s Primary Industries!” she shrieked. “We work for Primary Industries. Let him go, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  “Ye’ll tell me everything I want to know either way,” he returned. “Now tell me the names of all yer competitors.”

  Vic slackened in Malcolm’s arms. Her heart thundered against his sternum, but she gave in just a fraction of an inch. “We only have one competitor, and that’s Allied Chemical.”

  “Now tell me the names of all yer friends,” Boyd ordered. “Who else works for the company besides Ree Hamilton?”

  Vic tensed against Malcolm’s chest. The moment she paused, Boyd flexed his shoulders and sliced down hard, severing Noah’s ear off his head to expose the bare skull underneath.

  Noah let out a shriek that shot to Malcolm’s brain. Blood poured down Noah’s jaw, and he convulsed against the ropes.

  Vic screamed and flailed against Malcolm’s grip. “You bastard!”

  Boyd flipped the disembodied ear between his thumb and forefinger. “Ye have no notion what a bastard I can be. If ye dinnae want to watch him torn to bits, ye’d best tell me what I want to ken and hold nothing back.”

  Noah roared in agony and rage, “Tell him nothing, lass! Tell him nothing!”

  Vic shook with sobs. “You son of a bitch! You stinkin’ son of a bitch! I’ll never help you again.”

  Boyd spun around and stabbed his dirk into Noah with all his strength. The speed and force of his movement shifted his blow a few inches to one side, and instead of slamming into Noah’s heart, it drifted to the left and embedded in his side. It thunked into the flesh up to the hilt, and the blade stuck out of Noah’s back just above the scrap of flesh Boyd had carved
off.

  Noah collapsed. His shoulders yanked the ropes when his legs gave out, and he hung unconscious by his wrists again.

  Vic buried her face in Malcolm’s chest and convulsed with sobs. Her tears soaked through his shirt as he hugged her head close to his heart. If only he could find a way to protect her from this, he would gladly die to do it.

  Malcolm stared at the fallen figure of his friend, but he had to stifle his own feelings. He’d seen more than one of his brothers cut to pieces, and the sinking anguish didn’t get any easier with the passing years. One of these days, he himself would hang from that bar. He’d prefer to die there himself than stand aside and watch one of these glorious immortals fall to their bitter enemies.

  Boyd tossed the ear at Noah’s feet and waved his bloodstained hand. “Get her out of here.”

  Malcolm didn’t wait for the Gunns to take her away from him. He steered her shaking form up the steps and down the hall, upstairs to her room, and sat her down on the bed. She covered her face with her hands and gave vent to her sobs.

  Malcolm drew in a shaky breath. He had to hold himself together for both their sakes. At least she could cry for Noah. That was a lot more than he could do. He crossed to the washstand and wet a towel. He brought it back to her, but she wouldn’t take her hands away from her face.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and pried her hands down. “Now, now, lass,” he murmured. “Dinnae take on so.”

  Her swollen face twisted all the wrong ways. “He’s dead! He killed him, and for what?”

  “He’s no’ dead, lass,” Malcolm whispered. “He was still breathing when we left. Boyd’ll keep him alive a while longer before he puts an end to him.”

  “What are we gonna do?” she moaned. “If he finds out about you, he’ll do much worse to you. You know that, don’t you?”

  He wiped the wet towel over her forehead and down her cheeks. “Wheesht, lassie. I’m no’ dead yet.”

  Her eyes popped open wide. “You have to get out of here, Malcolm. You have to escape while you can. I’ll distract him. I’ll tell him what he wants to know while you make a run for it. It’s the only way.”

  “Och, lass,” he chided. “I cannae leave ye here with him to save me own skin. That’d no’ be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “I mean it, Malcolm. I can’t let this happen to you. You have to run for it. Your friends will take you to America. You have to get out while you can,” she pleaded.

  He laid the cool towel against her burning skin. “Och, lassie, if I left now, ye’d be stuck here for life. Ye’d no’ get back to yer home—ever. Do ye no’ understand that? Ye’d be Boyd’s prisoner in me place. I cannae allow that.”

  She wiped away tears and smoothed back her hair, trembling as she struggled to quell her tears.

  Just for an instant, he found himself gazing up at the woman he’d held in his arms in that crate. God, she was precious to him beyond words! He could never let any harm come to her, even if it meant dying in this house.

  “You…you know how to send me back?”

  “Aye, lass,” he breathed. “I ken how to send ye back. I ken the spell.”

  “Then it could have been—” She halted.

  They gazed at each other in silent understanding.

  Malcolm looked away first, not wanting to say it out loud. He didn’t even want to think it.

  There weren’t many people in the world who could have sent her back here unawares. He might be one of a handful of highly ranked Falisa who knew that spell. He couldn’t guess how many remained in 2018, but he could have been the one who sent her back.

  Looking at her tear-streaked face right now, he could understand why he would have done it, and it didn’t have anything to do with the Cipher’s Kiss. He wanted her for himself. He wanted this one piece of contentment and happiness in compensation for centuries of service to his people. Why couldn’t he have that? Didn’t he deserve it?

  He got to his feet. He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t let Boyd suspect there was anything going on between him and Vic. He laid his hand against her cheek. “Try to rest, lass. I’ll see what I can do for Noah later. Ye must reserve yer strength before Boyd makes another try at getting what he can out of ye.” He turned toward the door.

  She called after him, “He’ll try to find out what other Angui I know about. You know that, don’t you?”

  He stopped in his tracks but didn’t trust himself to turn around. He dreaded seeing the expression on her face. Of course he knew. Boyd would stop at nothing to force Vic to reveal everything she knew. If he succeeded, if he managed to break her great spirit, he would find out about Malcolm. The jig would be up, and Malcolm would be just as finished as Noah was downstairs.

  Chapter 19

  Vic woke up in the deep gray dusk of evening. She rolled over on her bedspread and gazed out the window. The awful scene down in the basement paraded before her eyes. More than anything else, Noah’s agonizing screams pierced her ears.

  “Tell him nothing, lass! Tell him nothing!”

  If Boyd killed Noah, or if he concocted some other horrendous atrocity to compel Vic to talk, she had to honor Noah’s last wish. She had to keep the Angui’s secret. In the end, she held their lives in her hands, exactly the way Malcolm told her she would.

  She held Malcolm’s life in her hands. One slip, and it would be Malcolm hanging from that bar instead of Noah.

  She’d lived her whole life in peace and serene contentment, in goodwill toward all men and all that crap. For the first time in her life, she’d screamed at someone, “I’ll kill you!” And she’d meant it. She meant it to the bottom of her soul. She hated Boyd, and that hatred went a lot further than wishing him dead. She wanted to take his life. She wanted to make him pay for what he’d done—not just to Noah and not just to Malcolm, but to her. He turned her into something she never wanted to be. He’d turned her into a cold-blooded killer. She’d never be able to get the image of stabbing Noah’s attacker out of her mind.

  The light faded beyond the window. With the black of night, the ordinary sounds of people and carts in the street outside faded to silence. The Guild House rested from the day’s labor.

  What a sick, evil organization this Guild had turned out to be! Death and torture and slaughter kept them going through the centuries. They weren’t satisfied annihilating a civilization and reducing the Angui to broken, tormented fugitives. The Guild would never rest until they exterminated every last Angui from the face of the Earth.

  She shuddered in disgust. The Falisa had killed all the immortal females. They’d killed babies and pregnant women. And then they surely must have killed young boys in their obsessed hunt to destroy the rest of the Angui race. Boyd Gunn inherited that legacy, and it showed in his treatment of Noah. He was probably down in the basement harassing that poor boy to death right now.

  Vic jumped to her feet. Malcolm had said Noah was still breathing when he took her out of the basement. Could Noah still be alive down there?

  She paced around the room in the dark before she summoned the courage to poke her head into the corridor. Lamps burned on the walls to light up the house, but she didn’t see any people. She strained her ears to listen but heard nothing.

  She tiptoed onto the landing. Lights blazed all over the place. While she stood there, three of the kilted men who’d taken custody of her and Malcolm at the warehouse emerged from a parlor off the main entrance foyer. They chatted and laughed while they opened the front door; then they slipped out into the night and quiet descended over the building once more.

  Vic’s heart thumped against her sternum. She didn’t really think she could free Noah from these demons, did she? Why shouldn’t she? Her life was just as forfeit if she got caught. At least she would get killed trying to save a human life rather than waiting on the inevitable in a comfortable room.

  She glided down the stairs, pausing in the foyer at the sound of more voices she recognized. Boyd an
d Malcolm were talking behind the parlor door where the men had just left. They sounded friendly enough, so she breathed a sigh of relief. Boyd must not suspect Malcolm after all.

  She couldn’t bring herself to go near the basement door, though. What would she find down there? What if Noah was already dead and she got caught for nothing?

  She had to find out. She couldn’t live with herself if she left him down there. She took a few tentative steps down the hall, past Boyd’s apartment. The kitchen opened just beyond that, leading into the garden. She stopped by the basement door to listen.

  Malcolm’s rolling laugh floated to her ear through the walls.

  Her blood screamed in her veins. She still hadn’t done anything wrong. She could walk away right now. She could go up to her room and forget all about this.

  She heard nothing but the faint drift of voices coming down the hall, but Noah called her down to the basement. If she found him dead down there, at least she would know for certain. If she didn’t go, uncertainty and guilt would plague her for life.

  She put out her hand for the doorknob when her gaze flicked to the empty kitchen. The large worktable gleamed burnished orange in the firelight. No other light shone in the room. The cook’s work knives glistened in the rack next to the counter.

  Quick as a flash, Vic dove into the room, seized a carving knife out of the slot, and scooted into the basement. She pulled the door closed behind her and halted on the stairs. Her breath tortured her with every gasping inhalation. Her ribs ached from the tension tearing her apart, and her heart flip-flopped into her throat. She imagined all kinds of noises coming at her from every side but could hear nothing. A faint glimmer lit up the basement below from the lantern still burning on its hook.

  She stole down the stairs, picking each footfall with extreme care and brandishing the knife in her shaking hand. Cold sweat crept up her arm. What did she really think she was going to do with it? She’d never harmed a flea in her life, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.