The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp)

by J. R. Ward

  By the weight of her pack, and the way it moved, he knew she had more weapons with her. Probably ammunition, too.

  “Give me my shit back,” she demanded.

  The Jackal frowned. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard me, asshole.” When he didn’t reply, she snapped, “I already know you speak English, so don’t pretend you’re confused.”

  “I understand every word you’ve spoken. I’m simply not used to hearing females curse as readily as you seem to.”

  She blinked. Leaned in a little, like maybe he was stupid. “Exactly where do you think we are? A gourmet restaurant?”

  “I just believe that the fairer sex has better ways of expressing themselves.”

  The female put her hands on her hips. “Just my luck. I get mugged by Emily Post.”

  “Emily who?” He narrowed his eyes. “And I did not mug you.”

  “Then why do you have all my shit.”

  As she drew out the enunciation on that last word, something unfamiliar woke up in the back of his brain. To cover up the thoughts and feelings, he forced himself to focus.

  “Where do you think you’re going,” he said.

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I’m asking the wrong question,” he muttered. “Why are you here.”

  “Also none of your business.”

  Heat went through him, and he studiously ignored the area between his thighs where it pooled. “You don’t seem to understand your situation. You are going to die if you don’t get out of here, and unless you have some help getting free of this hellhole, your grave is a sooner-not-later situation.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “What is worth more than your own life?”

  “It’s not about me.”

  When she simply stared at him, the Jackal looked away. It felt odd to hide his eyes from a stranger, but it seemed vitally important that she guess nothing about him. Especially not what was happening to his body.

  Although something told him she wouldn’t be shocked. The female was brazen, and not just with her vocabulary.

  “Who are you looking for?” When she crossed her arms and narrowed her stare, he smiled. “Ah, it would seem I got it right, and spare me the games. You’re not in a position to play them. You have no idea where you are, where you’re going, or how to find someone in the maze down here.”

  “I will figure it out.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ve spent a hundred years in this prison. I know more about the tunnel system than anybody else still alive in it. You have no idea where you are. Now tell me, who are you here to find.”

  The female broke off from him and walked around. As he gave her the space to come to the inevitable, he was acutely aware of what was going on outside the secret passageway. A squad had gone down to where she had gained entrance. And the guard whose presence had not been accounted for, who had not been where he should have been, was the one she had killed.

  “Where did you put the body?” he asked. When she stopped short and glanced over with feigned regard, he rolled his eyes. “Stop the acting. After you killed him, where did you leave him?”

  Silence. And then she started to pace again.

  As he thought about his own prime directive, he lost interest in the art of persuasion. She was stubborn and she was arrogant, and life had corrections for that. Especially here, underground.

  He had too much to lose himself to spare her the evolution.

  The Jackal went back over to the sliding panel. Listening carefully, which was easy because the female sure as hell wasn’t saying anything, he heard nothing out in the tunnel. Triggering the panel to retract, he was aware of a tightness in his chest as he off-shouldered her pack and tossed it back across to her. Her gun and flashlight followed, and she caught each with a suspicious surprise.

  “Good luck,” he said as he turned away. “The panel will close in three seconds on its own. Whether you’re in or out is up to you—and where you go next is the same. Good luck unto your quest.”

  Stepping out into the tunnel, he walked off in the direction of the Hive. He had to hurry to catch up to where he should have been on his route G, although with the disruption the female had caused, there was a chance that all guards would be out of sync for the rest of the night.

  And it had to be night, or as a vampire, she wouldn’t have been out and about in the above. It was probably earlier rather than later in the evening as well, assuming she’d wanted to provide herself with the maximum amount of travel time. No doubt she was stupid enough to think she could free whoever she had come to liberate before dawn’s inevitable arrival.

  As he made note of the time frame reference, and integrated it into his knowledge of the guard shifts, he didn’t like the sense of anticipation as he waited for her to call him back.

  When she didn’t, he wasn’t surprised, although the grim pall that darkened his emotions was a surprise. Why should he care about her? If prison had taught him anything, it was that one had to take care of oneself.

  It was the only way to survive.

  Rhage’s eyes returned unto their service in the midst of the tending to his wounds. It was early for his vision to come back upon him, but the combination of an unfamiliar environment and the fact that someone was cutting into him seemed to cultivate an urgency with regard to that particular of his senses.

  ’Twas all rather blurry, but he could see enough to ascertain the race’s healer, Havers, dressed in a tuxedo and bending over with a scalpel. Further, Rhage could make out his two brothers on either side of the bed he had been laid upon, both in ballroom togs. And there, across the opulent bedroom by a door, was Jabon. The master of the estate was likewise in formal evening attire, and his expression was one of great satisfaction, as if the fact that there were multiple members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood under his roof was a reward brought unto him by providence’s good nature.

  Somewhere on a level down below, stringed instruments played on, and Rhage imagined members of the glymera, gentlemales and gentle females, linked by delicate touch, the fine figures moving smoothly through carefully dictated dance positions on the black-and-white marble floor of a ballroom. Colorful gowns would twirl and toss their skirting, and the diamonds and colored stones upon slender throats and wrists would flash and sparkle. No one would be smiling, and there would be a hierarchy within the hierarchy about when, and in what fashion, and by whom/to whom, eye contact could be made.

  The rules of the glymera were legion and dispositive, and the consequences of violating them were dire and potentially generational in nature. More than their money and their land, their possessions and their position in the race, the aristocracy’s strictures on conduct were their most precious resource. Whether it was the purity of an unmated female or the seating chart of a dining table or the manner in which an individual responded to an invitation, they had long ago created a battlefield of their own, land mines of propriety due to combust at any moment.

  Rhage had never understood it. If he were going to be on such alert? It was going to be to keep from being stabbed. Beheaded. Shot. It was not going to be worrying about which fork he used—

  He groaned as a streak of agony at his ribs stole his breath. Were they taking out his lungs?

  “Forgive me,” Havers said in a gentle tone. “The bullet is removed.”

  There was a clank! as something metal hit something metal. And then there was a momentary relief before the next sharp pain, this time lower down, by his hip. The sequence of a spike of pain followed by that clank! was repeated two more times.

  “Thank you, healer,” Rhage mumbled.

  “It is my honor to be of service.”

  There were stitches to follow, but they were a mere inconvenience rather than anything uncomfortable. And then everyone seemed to take a step back and regard him as if they were looking for further injury. Or perhaps his expiration.

  “Will you take no pain relief?” the healer asked.
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  “No, none.”

  Time to go, Rhage thought.

  With that resolve, he went to sit up, fully invested in the intention of getting upon his feet, but every hand that was around him landed upon him. As a chorus of “No, stay down” rippled through the bedroom, he was prepared to argue—and yet his tongue seemed sluggish in his mouth and his brain couldn’t quite get the wording right.

  “You need to feed,” Havers said. “Is there a . . . would there be . . .”

  “A female of whom to avail myself?” Rhage prompted as he collapsed back against pillows that he must have stained. “I am sure I could find one.”

  “That is a difficulty he has never suffered from,” Darius muttered.

  “No, no, allow me to bring you a fitting vein,” Jabon spoke up. “I will be certain that you will be revitalized by her. I have one presently in mind and she is downstairs.”

  “All right.” Rhage glared at them all, even though they were little more than a fog around him. “But then I will be off.”

  Havers cleared his throat. “I’m afraid, sire, that you must rest the day herein. And perhaps stay longer. You have much to recover from.”

  “You have to stay here,” the aristocrat rushed in. “We shall attend all of your needs with promptness and precision, ensuring your speedy recovery.”

  Just what he was looking for. A debt owed to a sycophant. The infernal repayment of such an obligation was going to be more than he could endure cheerfully.

  “You overestimate my injuries.” To prove his point, Rhage pushed their palms off of himself, sat up and swung his legs off the edge of the bedding. “I do not need to feed and I am—”

  As he put weight upon his soles, he had a brief moment of triumph.

  The collapse that followed was a total repudiation of his purported strength and independence. And but for Darius’s quick hold upon his biceps, he would have hit the floor—and likely shattered as glass dropped upon stone.

  The other brother did not address him. “Yes, Jabon, we shall avail ourselves of your hospitality, and if there is indeed a willing female with a vein, we would be most grateful for her service. Further, please reassure her that the feeding will be witnessed.”

  “Right away,” the happy host said.

  As a door opened and closed, the sounds and smells of the gathering below flared briefly. And then all was quiet.

  “I have done what I can thus far,” Havers said. “Send a doggen unto me if he requires aught during the day. My home is across the street, as you know, so I will be able to get to him in a covered conveyance if I must. I believe he will be well enough provided he feeds, however.”

  “Thank you, healer,” Tohrment intoned.

  When Rhage was alone with his brothers, he grimaced. “Mayhap we should clean me if there is a female to be present?”

  “Aye,” Tohrment said. “I shall start the bath. Jabon took all pains to inform me that his tubs have gas burners underneath, so you will be warm.”

  Thank the Virgin Scribe, Rhage thought as the male went into the bathroom.

  When the sound of rushing water drifted over, he turned his head to Darius and frowned. “You are in formal dress as well.”

  “I was attending the ball when you were found down by the river. I was summoned unto you.”

  “Who found me?”

  There was a pause. “Zsadist.”

  Now Rhage lifted his head, in spite of his sore neck. “You lie.”

  “Whyever for? ’Tis the truth. To keep you safe, he slaughtered the population of that lesser encampment in the forest there. He fought them all off after you collapsed, and the stragglers he hunted down and killed after he came and found me here at the celebration. You should be grateful unto him.”

  Rhage pictured the brother with the scarred face and the dead, black eyes. “That male kills because he likes to, not to protect anyone. He cares not even for his blooded brother.”

  “Whatever his motivation, you are alive only because of him.”

  “Where is he the now?”

  “Who knows.”

  After a moment, Rhage frowned. “So he sent word unto you somehow?”

  “Oh, no. He walked right into the ballroom, lesser blood dripping from him and a black dagger in his grip. His entrance was a scene to remember, I assure you.”

  Rhage chuckled. “I can only imagine.”

  “The announcement of his presence was the virtuoso violinist’s bow screeching across his strings. All stopped. Two females fainted, and at least three males ducked out of the ballroom and ran. As a public service, I went readily unto him and rerouted him out of the gathering.”

  “He has the stare of a demon.”

  “And the cold heart of one as well. He is as dangerous as your beast in many ways.”

  As they fell into silence, Rhage considered his wakeful hours during the previous day. “My brother, I must explain something unto you.”

  “What of it, then?”

  “I know you do not respect me—”

  Dimly, Rhage was aware of the brother putting both his palms up and leaning away. “Now, Rhage, let us not set upon this—”

  “’Tis true. And you are not the only one.” He cleared his throat. “I know there are others in the Brotherhood who feel as you do. You believe me frivolous and distracted by females, unfocused and uncommitted.”

  “My brother, again, now is not the time—”

  “Now or later, the truth is what it is.”

  Rhage wished he could read the nuances of Darius’s expression. Except then he realized it might be best to have them blurry. Disdain and distaste were not going to help him farther unto his speech.

  “You are well aware of the curse I live with,” he said, “and this night, when you went unto the shores of the river, you saw anew what it is capable of. I do my best to keep it in check, and the way I manage the beast is by laying with women and females and fighting. If I do not burn my energy off, then it can come out, perhaps at an inopportune time. Perhaps around you all.”

  “Truly, my brother, there is a better circumstance for this conversation—”

  “Is there? Or will you avoid the awkwardness again? I am unsure that you comprehend the extent of my weakness of will and command when the beast is expressed. I do not know what it does. I cannot see or hear or temper its strength and fury in any fashion. But I must live with the aftermath. If one of you were hurt by it? Then it is my fault and I would have to carry that burden for the rest of my nights. Which would be unbearable. I would never recover.”

  He pushed himself upward upon the pillows, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if he had stained all the bedding, not just what was against the headboard.

  Of course he had.

  “You believe,” he continued, “that I am more committed to the hunt for females than the war. This is not false. I am compelled unto them because I must manage the energy that seethes within me every waking moment and all the ones whilst I sleep as well. I hate the sex. It is a meal I am not hungry for in the slightest. The alternative, however, is something I cannot abide. So please know, I am as focused as ever upon the war. But when I fight our enemy, I am at times with you and the other brothers, or imminently to be in your company. My primary concern is, and always will be, the safety of the Brotherhood. It was a blessing of luck I was alone this eve. However, that is not, and will not, always be the case.”

  There was a moment of dense quiet. And then Rhage felt his dagger hand clasped by Darius.

  “I did not know,” the other brother murmured. “I had no idea.”

  Embarrassed by his revelations, Rhage shrugged. “As I said, it is what it is.”

  “Why have you not spoken of this before the now?”

  “Let us change the subject—”

  “Your honor has been unfairly maligned.”

  “I’d rather be known as a whoremonger than a coward.”

  “How are you a coward?”

  Rhage closed his eyes. “
I fear that which is inside me. It terrifies me, for I cannot ensure the safety of those I care most about, and it is mine own self whom I cannot trust. But enough of this. It is done.”

  The water rushing in the bathroom beyond seemed to grow louder in the silence.

  “I am sorry, my brother,” Darius whispered.

  “I should not have said aught.” Yet there was something about Darius that made a male want to have his respect.

  Clearing his throat, Rhage tried to consider what else they could discuss as that tub, which was evidently deep as a pond, filled at a snail’s pace.

  “I must confess, I am surprised that you attended Jabon’s fête,” Rhage forced himself to comment. “Not readily for his company you have ever been.”

  “This is true.” Darius cleared his throat, as if he were changing the course of his thoughts. “As it turns out, our host has an acquaintance who may be of aid to me.”

  “You need a vein as well, my brother?”

  “No, a master of the works for my house upon the great hill. I have had no success finding workmen within the species, and moreover, I believe I have gotten ahead of myself. I need plans and supplies first . . . as well as a person who can conduct a crew. All I have is the mountaintop. Yet there is a male here this eve who has built several constructions in Caldwell and also in New York City and Philadelphia. I met him. He seems a fine sort, although he has an odd name.”

  “What does he go by?”

  “The Jackal.”

  I can’t pay you much!”

  Nyx shouted the words as she jumped out of the hidden space, just before the panel slid back into place. Then she cursed at how loud she was.

  Up ahead, the male with the broad back and the long braid stopped. When he didn’t turn around and look at her, she had no idea what the hell he was going to do. What she was clear on? It was good to have her weapons back on her body. And in her hand.

  The male slowly pivoted on his heel. As their eyes met, her breath caught, but damned if she was going to show it.