The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp)

by J. R. Ward

  Willing herself into a fast-track backtrack, she re-formed when she was about twenty yards from where she believed the entrance to the hidden pool’s corridor was. Her heart was pounding and her brain scattered, and she had a thought that her being able to dematerialize had been a Hail Mary and a half. She couldn’t do it again. The whole calm-and-concentrating thing was now out the window.

  Left side. Hadn’t the release been on the left side?

  She put one of her guns away, and patted her palm down the carved rock. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, and wished she’d paid more attention to what the damn thing had looked like—

  Nyx froze and glanced over her shoulder. Shouting.

  Prisoners? Or guards? Probably guards looking for her. Her heart went haywire in her chest, and she frantically patted the rock—

  Without warning, there was a click and part of the walling slid back soundlessly.

  “Thank God,” she said as she jumped into the darkness.

  But then it was a case of panicked waiting. Three seconds, right? Jack had said it took three seconds until the panel closed automatically.

  More shouting. Rushing footfalls that were heavy getting nearer.

  “Close . . . close . . .” She reached out and tried to pull the barrier into place. “Goddamn it!”

  She felt like she was in a horror film, standing in an elevator, praying for the doors to shut before the monster skidded around the corner on clawed feet with jaws gnashing. But the urgency wasn’t just her own survival. As pissed off as she had been at Jack, she didn’t want to be the one who blew the cover on his secret place—

  The panel finally started to close. And as the boots got ever nearer, the fricking thing took twenty-five million years to lock into place. Just as it did, and the hidden passageway plunged into darkness, the commotion got much louder.

  Directly outside the panel.

  Nyx stepped back and put her free hand over her mouth. As she panted in and out of her nose, she told herself they didn’t know where she’d gone. They couldn’t know about the release. They weren’t going to find her.

  In the choking sensory void, she screamed inside her skin.

  “No, she must have gone this way!” one of the guards barked in a muffled voice. “The other tunnels are blocked—”

  “She couldn’t have made it this far—”

  “For fuck’s sake, stop yelling, I can’t hear my earpiece—”

  And then a fourth voice, low and sinister: “I will shoot her the second I see her.”

  “You can’t kill her. The Command wants her. You’ll get us all fucking killed.”

  Nyx took another step back. And another. The idea that she was not going to get out of the prison didn’t just dawn on her. It submerged her, sinking her down into a terrible mental state.

  Splaying her arms out, she moved to one side to orientate herself, and she connected with the wall when the muzzle of the gun in her hand hit the rock. As the clang of metal rang out, she froze, sweat beading on her forehead.

  Her heart pounded so hard that she couldn’t tell what was coming from her chest and what might have been more guards racing to find her. Stumbling, tripping, she retreated in the darkness, the sound of her windbreaker shifting against her body under the tunic, the soft rattle inside the backpack, the shuffle of her boots over the ground, loud as bombs going off. Desperation and exhaustion drove her past the point of breaking into a state of numb despair. She tripped on something. Kept going.

  After what was a lifetime, her ears perked to the sound of falling water.

  The sweet, soft chime of the pool’s feed was such a relief, she worried she was imagining it. But as the water got louder, and the voices of the arguing guards disappeared, she was tempted to outright bolt for the sanctuary.

  The possibility of tripping and falling was too great, and besides, there was no magic to the pool. It offered no special cover or protection.

  When she finally stopped at the pool’s edge, she didn’t immediately will the candles on. She stood where she was, one hand going back to lock onto her mouth, the other keeping its death grip on her gun. Her lungs were burning even as she sucked in air through her nose, and she was aware of the cave spinning around her. Afraid she was going to pass out, she let her knees go loose and landed on her ass on the rock floor.

  The ringing in her ears was not helping. She couldn’t hear properly.

  And her shoulder wound hurt.

  After a while, after a long, long while, she dropped the hand clamp from her mouth. When her heavy breathing eased up, she listened hard, and when she could hear nothing but the waterfall, she willed one of the candles to life.

  The fragile yellow light did not carry in the dense darkness. It was more like a star in the galaxy, a twinkle far off that revealed nothing about its immediate environment.

  Lowering her head into her hands, she was acutely aware of the nine millimeter’s metal across her forehead, cool and hard. With every breath she took, she smelled gunpowder residue, and it was hardly reassuring.

  Prison on lockdown. Guards looking for her. No way out that she was aware of.

  Jack was right. She’d been reckless and naive to come down here. Never once had she considered a mortal risk to herself. And now she was trapped—

  Without warning, all of the candles lit and she jerked her head up, blinking in the glow. When her eyes adjusted, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing.

  “Is it you?” she whispered.

  Jack—or what her mind was telling her was Jack—seemed to be standing in front of her, dressed in a fresh tunic that was free of blood, his face clean, the scent of herbs coming off him. Something was in his arms, a bundle.

  “Is it you?” he countered softly.

  Bread, she thought. She was smelling bread.

  “You brought food?” she said in a voice that cracked.

  “I didn’t know . . . whether you made it. And I thought if you did . . .”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and she was aware of embracing him in her mind. She saw everything about the contact—from her jumping up and lunging forward, to his arms coming around her, to his chest, solid, strong and warm, up against her own.

  But then she remembered what she had said to him.

  It was clearly on his mind, too, as he stayed back.

  Eventually, he cleared his throat and sat down on the sofa rock. Unfolding the fabric wrap, he took out a loaf of white bread, and as he bit into it, she thought his hand shook. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t.

  Leaning forward, he offered her the thing. “You better eat. You’re going to need to be strong for what’s coming.”

  In contrast, as she reached out, her hand trembled visibly, and when she took a bite of what he had brought for her, her mouth was so dry, she didn’t think she could chew. She did, though. And she was hungry again—

  “Your shoulder is bothering you?” he asked as he tried the cheese.

  “What—oh, I don’t know.” She looked down at her arm. “It’s fine.”

  “You need to feed.” He held out some cheese. “Soon.”

  “I am eating—” Nyx stopped as she realized he was talking about her taking a vein. “Oh. Ah . . . I think I’m fine.”

  “We can talk about that later.” He opened a container of Kool-Aid, or whatever that red-colored drink was. After he took a sip, he put the bottle forward. “Here.”

  Nyx set the bread in her lap, placed the cheese on the ground in its wrapper, and took the liquid. As she swallowed deeply from the bottle, she realized she was parched.

  Lowering the container from her mouth, she stared across at Jack. His brilliant blue eyes were locked on the waterfall, but she had a feeling he wasn’t seeing anything. The far-off look on his face suggested he was thinking of options for her.

  For her safety and her escape.

  Even after everything she’d said to him, he was still taking care of her.

  “I’m sorry,”
she blurted. “You know, that I jumped down your throat earlier. ”

  “There’s no reason to discuss any of that.” He shook his head and seemed to refocus. “But how did you get away from the guards?”

  To hide her emotions, Nyx took a bite of the cheese. Drank some more. Ate more bread.

  Then she frowned. “How did you know about the guards?”

  The Jackal still couldn’t believe he was sitting across from his female—and thank God he had snagged those meal provisions.

  As he had rushed here from his cell, heart in throat, terror ripping through his body, he had passed an abandoned food-delivery cart and taken a serving on a lark.

  The fuck it was on a lark. He had grabbed the bundle as a talisman, as if maybe the food he had for her would ensure her presence, her survival. Such bullshit.

  The only thing he’d known for sure was that if she was alive, she would come here.

  When he had seen the single lit candle, off in the distance, at the terminus of the passageway he had ducked into, he had felt a glimmer of hope. And then, as he had willed the candles on and she had been there . . . he had wanted to throw himself at her. Embrace her. Feel the warmth of her body.

  Mindful of her low opinion of him, he had stayed back.

  And he had taken her current apology for what it was: gratitude for the food.

  What had she asked of him? Oh . . . right.

  “The guards went through all the cells and performed a bed check. During the process, one of them rushed up to the others and reported the disturbance.” He was not going to speak about the Command around her. “But they said they had you at gunpoint. I don’t understand how you made it back here.”

  “I dematerialized,” she said in between bites of bread and cheese.

  Fates, but the malest part of him—stupid as it was—was gratified to see her eat the sustenance he had brought to her, but he was worried about that shoulder. There was a fresh bloodstain on the tunic he’d forced her to put on—

  “Wait, what?” Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he leaned forward. “You dematerialized?”

  Surely he had misheard that.

  Nyx shrugged and took another drink from the glass bottle. There was a soft pop as she released the seal of her lips around the open neck. “The guards were in front of me and I was up against some kind of dropped-down steel wall. I couldn’t retreat any farther, there was no going forward, and I wasn’t going to win a shoot-out with them. So I did the only thing I could. I got the hell out of there.”

  The Jackal blinked. “I can’t . . . how did you do that? How did you calm yourself?”

  “I just made it happen. You do what you have to do in situations.” She took another long drink, nearly finishing what was in the glass container. Then she tacked on dryly, “Which was how I ended up down here in the first place. Anyway, do you want any of this?”

  “No, thank you. I brought everything for you.” He found himself continuing to shake his head. “That is . . . remarkable. That you could have the presence of mind, the self-control, in that confrontation to save yourself.”

  “Like I said, it was just what I had to do.” She picked at the bread, pulling free a soft wedge from the center. “And now I’m here.”

  “I have another way to get you out.” When she looked up sharply, he told himself he felt nothing. At all. “The work shifts have been canceled, and as soon as they’re reinstated, I’ll take you out that way. They’ll be behind in production, and there will be a scramble to catch up. I’ll bet they double up on workers and the chaos will be in our favor.”

  There was a long silence, and he was confused. “What.”

  “You’re helping me.” She chewed slowly. “Again. Even though I owe you an apology.”

  The Jackal watched the candlelight play over her face. She had a scratch on her cheek. Dirt on her forehead. Hair that had frizzed up by her left ear.

  She looked worn-out, and he preferred her full of piss and vinegar, even if she was yelling at him, even if her comments were unfair. It meant she could fight. And he knew, without asking or waiting to see if he was wrong, that the food was not going to revive her enough.

  For what was ahead of her, she was going to need more physical strength and mental acuity than those prison rations could give her.

  “You have to feed.” As her brows rose, he put his palm out at her. “You’re bleeding, again, and I bet you don’t even know it.”

  The way she looked at her shoulder answered that one.

  He cursed softly. “If we’re going to get you through this, you need to be strong, and you’ve used up a lot of your energy. You know this, too.”

  She muttered something under her breath. “I don’t want to . . .”

  “You don’t want it to be me? Fine. Use Kane. He’s a gentlemale and will not take advantage of the . . . shall we say, situation—”

  “I don’t want to have anyone but you,” she said sharply. And then the fight went out of her fast. “I just don’t want to use you again.”

  “When have you used me up until now?”

  “Really? You’re asking that?”

  “I volunteered.” Besides, he had needed her for his own purposes—so they were even. “And I am volunteering my vein, if that’s what you want.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still helping me.” Her eyes went back on the food, which she’d stopped eating. “You’re a saint.”

  “Not even close,” he said bitterly. “Remember how I ended up in this prison?”

  “You said you didn’t touch the female.” Her eyes flashed up. “You said you were falsely accused.”

  “And you didn’t believe me. So I’m merely dubbing in your thoughts.”

  “You don’t know what’s on my mind.”

  The Jackal stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Yes, I do. Now, finish the food and we can argue about you taking my vein—”

  Nyx cut him off. “I was angry at you before because I don’t understand why you wouldn’t free yourself from this. Especially if you’re here under false pretenses, because someone lied about you.” She shook her head. “I was also pissed off because you know my reason for coming here, and I resent the fact that you didn’t tell me yours for staying.”

  Before he could respond, she rubbed her eyes. “Look, I know that doesn’t make any sense. And things don’t need to be fair between us. But that’s—well, that’s why I said what I did, and I’m sorry. You’re right. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and you owe me nothing. Not even explanations.”

  After a moment, the Jackal sat up. “It’s safer for you not to know anything.”

  Nyx shook her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

  “That’s the truth, though. The less you know about me, the less danger you’re in.”

  “Can you at least tell me why? Why you stay?”

  As her eyes rose to his again, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. She was so beautiful to him, even in her disheveled state—or maybe especially because of it, given her unbelievable feat of self-preservation— and he entertained a brief, vivid fantasy of them on the outside, up above, back before Ellany had spread her lies and Jabon had done something about them and then so many other, more terrible things had happened.

  “You’re right,” Nyx whispered in the candlelight. “There is a you and me. I didn’t want to acknowledge it because I don’t want to feel as crushed as I do—you know, when I think about me leaving . . . and you not. It kills me, even though it shouldn’t. The reason I was so mad . . . is that I want you to come with me.”

  As Nyx spoke, she was aware of Jack’s utter stillness. And going by his lack of movement, she guessed that she’d shocked him.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t really be saying any of this.” She shrugged to downplay the very important things she’d given airtime to. “But something about almost getting shot full of holes—for the second time in twenty-four hours, or was it the third or fourth?—makes me want to t
alk.”

  The joke fell flat, even to her own ears. “Sorry.”

  “Nyx . . .”

  “I know. I’ll stop.” She forced herself to eat more even though she wasn’t tasting anything. “So what’s the new plan?”

  Jack looked away to the wall. When he refocused on her, his expression was neutral. “I have to go find the others. We’re going to need them again.”

  “Will Lucan and Mayhem get into another convenient ‘fight’?” She put air quotes around the word. “Or is there another strategy this time. At this point, I’m open to anything.”

  As she waited for him to talk, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to hold him. But she stayed where she was and finished the food as he watched her eat.

  “Let’s check your shoulder,” he said. “And then I’ll go round them up.”

  “Okay.”

  As Nyx went to pull off the tunic, she winced. Her shoulder did hurt, as it turned out. Who knew?

  She took off her windbreaker, too, and pulled the sleeve of her T-shirt up. “Oh . . . yeah, it is bleeding.”

  In spite of the fact that she had managed to save herself and had somehow gotten here, she felt like she was making a mess out of everything.

  When there was a shifting sound, she glanced up. Jack had come over, and as he bent down to inspect the injury, a flush went through her body.

  “It’s reopened,” he said grimly. “I wish I could stitch it up for you. And there’s no way I can take you to the infirmary.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “When you take my vein, yes, it will.”

  His stark statement made her recall another ubiquitous phrase, one that was used far and wide when not-so-hot ideas were brought up in whatever way they were: Now is not the time, and here is not the place.

  It covered things nicely at this moment. The problem was not his vein. It was what was going to happen the instant she took it: Now was definitely not-time/not-place for her to get him good and naked. Not that she would take it for granted that he’d be down for that again.