by Viehl, Lynn
Jamys woke from the dream slowly, roused by the setting of the sun. He could hear the sound of water splashing from Christian’s shower, and glanced at the empty space beside him before he rose and left the bedroom. She would want privacy to dress and groom herself, and as much as he would have liked to help her, he doubted her clothes would stay on for very long.
Thanks to her he had rested in a deep state for the entire day; now he felt ready to begin the search for the emeralds in earnest. He would have to speak to Lucan about taking Christian with him, but he expected no difficulty in obtaining the suzerain’s permission.
Nothing seemed impossible now.
Chris had called him her friend, but she had saved his e-mails as if they were treasures. She did care for him and, he suspected, not only as a friend. It made him feel hope as he never before had.
He found a bottle of bloodwine in her refrigerator, and drank a glass as he rummaged about in the kitchen. When Chris emerged from the bedroom, he had a pot of tea and a plate of fruit, cheese, and bread waiting for her.
“Hey.” She surveyed the table. “You didn’t have to make me food.”
“You need to eat.” She smelled of citrus and flowers, and damp tendrils of her hair curled all around her face. “I would have prepared a hot meal, but I have never cooked.”
“I mostly nuke stuff anyway. This is really nice.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Do you want to use the shower before we head out?”
He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to the bed, this time not to sleep. “Yes, thank you.”
Once Jamys had showered and dressed, Lucan’s private car had arrived downstairs, and took them back to the stronghold.
“I need to finish up a couple of things,” Chris said after they arrived at the club. “Meet you in the suite in thirty minutes?”
Jamys nodded. As soon as she had gone, he went to the suzerain’s office, where he found Lucan in conversation with his tresora.
“When she asks, my lord—”
“You will lie to her, Herbert. Or, if you find yourself incapable of such a heinous act, you will feign ignorance of my activities.” After Lucan inserted a clip into a semiautomatic pistol, he said to Jamys, “My apologies, Durand. I have an urgent appointment to keep.”
The scent of night-blooming jasmine hung heavily in the air, but so did another odor. Jamys couldn’t identify it as he breathed it in, but he felt it crackling like icy fire in his lungs, and exhaled quickly.
“At least take your guards, my lord,” Burke said to Lucan, his tone almost pleading.
The suzerain eyed his tresora. “The bitch that whelped me has been dead for well on seven centuries, Herbert. I do not require a new mother.”
Jamys offered a polite bow. “May I join you, Suzerain?”
“Nor do I need a boy to trot after me.” He tucked the gun inside his jacket. “Burke, look after Jamys until Christian reports for duty, will you?”
Jamys got between Lucan and the door and, when the big man approached him, looked up into his eyes. The ghost gray irises had expanded, reducing his pupils to thin black slivers; a direct indication of the extent of his agitation. Lucan reached to adjust the medallion hanging from the thick gold chain around his neck, running his thumb over the cross in the center of it.
“Excuse me.” Lucan strode around him.
The tresora almost followed the big man out before he paused at the threshold and stepped back.
“No good will come of this,” Burke muttered to himself before he turned to Jamys. “Forgive me, my lord. The suzerain meant no insult; he is … in one of his moods. Would you care to take a tour of the underground levels? I don’t believe they had been finished during your previous visit.”
Jamys nodded at the door. “Where has Lucan gone?”
Burke looked uncomfortable. “The suzerain prefers that I keep his business concerns confidential.”
Jamys reached out and removed Burke’s spectacles, and showed him the crack bisecting one lens. “Bad business, I think.”
“So do I.” The tresora grimaced as he took the glasses and pocketed them, and then went and closed the door. “My lord, my oath to Lord Alenfar prevents me from voluntarily giving you the information you desire. I am also immune to l’attrait.” His expression grew hopeful. “However, were you to use your gift to compel me …”
Jamys nodded, and rested his hand against Burke’s neck. You wish to tell me where Lucan is going, and why.
“The master has learned that a casino owner named Dutch sent roses to the lady Samantha’s workplace,” Burke said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.
The door behind them opened and closed, and Chris joined them. “What are you doing?”
“Wait.” Jamys nodded to Burke.
“My lord then intercepted a texted invitation from this man for Lady Samantha to meet him tonight at an abandoned dockside bar called ‘the Turtle’s Nest.’” The tresora sighed. “He destroyed her mobile and told her nothing. He goes there now to confront Dutch and, I fear, kill him.”
“Jesus Christ.” Chris went to the desk. “I’ll call up to Samantha.”
“No.” Jamys released Burke to put his hand over Chris’s on the receiver. “I will go and stop him.”
“Stop him?” Chris chuffed out some air. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
Did she think he was helpless, like his father? “It is what a warrior does.”
“It’s what a crazy person does,” Chris corrected. “There are two things on the planet that make Lucan go postal. Brethren, and anyone trying to hurt Samantha. I’m not kidding,” she added. “You know the guy who shot her? Lucan touched him with one hand and he exploded. Literally. They had to mop him off the walls.”
Jamys put his hands on Chris’s shoulders. There is something wrong about this, Christian. Lucan insisted on going alone. There was a strangeness to his scent.
Chris bit her bottom lip. “One of the girls up front told me that last night he went to the lists and got into a sword match. Beat the crap out of the guy, too. He never does things like that.”
He saw the panic in her eyes. What are you thinking?
“Whatever is going on here, it’s not about Sam, or he’d be going after her, the way Dwyer did. This guy wants something else.” She took in a quick breath. “I think Lucan could be walking into a trap.”
Samantha’s safety would serve as excellent bait. He removed his hands. “I must go after him.”
“I’m driving you.” When he started to reply, she glared. “You don’t know where the Turtle’s Nest is, and you don’t know how to drive. I do.” She took a set of keys from Burke’s pocket. “He’s your friend, Jamys, but he’s my lord. This is my job; let me do it.”
He might have compelled her to think otherwise, but it would take more time they didn’t have. “Very well.” He reached out to Burke one more time. You will remember none of what you have told me here.
Burke’s expression blanked and, when Jamys withdrew his hand, grew puzzled. “Lord Durand, Christian, good evening.” He glanced around. “Did you, ah, need something?”
“We’re good,” Chris told him. “I’m going to borrow your car and take Lord Durand for a ride around town, okay?”
“Of course.” Burke smiled as he reached into his pocket, and then frowned. “Oh, dear. I seem to have misplaced my keys.”
Chapter 9
Chris knew the Turtle’s Nest from its brief tenure as a fairly awful bar and its more recent rep as a popular flop spot; when horny tourists weren’t getting high or having sex inside the building, runaways and street kids used it for temporary shelter. It stood on the far end of an old pier, and the only way to get to it was by walking the length of the dock.
She parked Burke’s Mercedes in a metered curb space directly behind Lucan’s red Ferrari. “Well, he didn’t stop for coffee.” She peered out through the side window, but all the lights of the pier’s lampposts appeared to have burned out. Glass never had a ch
ance when Lucan was in a temper; she’d bet her next paycheck that each bulb had shattered the moment he’d passed under it.
“Chris.” Jamys pointed to a couple of dark shapes bobbing at the base of one piling. “Boats?”
“Too small.” She got out of the car and walked around it. As Jamys joined her, she finally made out the silhouettes of the speedy water vehicles. “Jet Skis. Come on.”
He held her back. “You should remain here.”
“I should get a day job working for normal people who don’t think blood banks are a buffet, but sadly, I haven’t.” She smiled. “And I don’t wait in the car.”
The ramp leading up to the pier creaked under their footsteps, but the rush of the waves covered the sound. Chris strained to see any sign of Lucan or a setup, but the dock seemed entirely deserted.
As they approached the old bar, Jamys came to an abrupt halt, holding up his hand to signal her to do the same. When she looked around him, she saw something flash and heard wood crack.
“Gun.” Jamys dragged her behind a wall of rusty metal siding.
Chris didn’t protest as he covered her body with his. Bullets that would definitely hurt or kill her would only bounce off his Kyn flesh. Unless they were copper, in which case they’d both end up looking like Swiss cheese.
“Come out with your hands up,” a man shouted in an ugly tone, “and no one will get hurt.”
“There’s a guy who loves bad cop shows,” Chris muttered in Jamys’s chest. “They never say that, you know. Sam always goes with ‘Drop the weapon’ or ‘On the floor, asshole, hands on your head.’”
“There are two of them,” he murmured. “Both mortals.”
The corrugated metal behind her back suddenly hammered into her as the adjoining wall exploded outward in a burst of splintered studs and chunks of drywall.
“Which one of you is Dutch?” she heard Lucan ask in the pleasant, polite tone he used whenever he was in a full-blown rage.
“Don’t move,” a man replied. “Dutch sent us to have a little chat with you. I said, don’t move.”
Jamys went to the edge of the wall to peer around it, and then vanished as a man screamed. Chris followed, only to come up short as she took in the sight of Jamys checking a man on his knees clutching a ruined arm, and Lucan advancing on another who was backing away as he fired directly into the suzerain’s chest. The gun emptied quickly, and in true bad cop-show fashion, the thug threw the useless weapon at Lucan.
The suzerain caught it with his bare hand, and crushed it into a mass of twisted metal before dropping it. “Where is Dutch?”
“I don’t know.” As the man reached the end of the pier, he glanced over his shoulder. “But I got his number, right here. I’ll call and find out.” He whipped up his hands, but when Lucan kept coming, he cried out, “Don’t do it, man. I can’t swim.”
Lucan seized him by the front of his shirt and lifted him up over his head. “Then you should have no difficulty drowning.” He heaved him into the water.
Jamys ran past Lucan, diving off the end of the pier.
Chris looked up from the wounded man as Lucan turned around and walked toward them. She stood. “He’s had enough, my lord.”
“I think not. He still breathes.” When Chris blocked his path, he reached out as if to touch her.
She braced herself. God, I hope this is worth all the broken bones.
Something flashed in Lucan’s eyes, and then died away, and he lowered his arm and stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “Christian. What are you doing here?”
He sounded completely bewildered. “I was showing Lord Durand around town and saw your Ferrari parked over there.” She glanced over the side of the dock, where Jamys was pulling a limp body out of the surf. “He’s busy rescuing that guy you just tried to drown.”
“I tried to …” He fell silent and still, as if someone had shut off a switch inside him, and then just as quickly came back to life. He seemed to forget she was there as he strode away.
Chris pulled out her mobile and speed-dialed Sam’s number as she hurried after the big man.
“Hey, kid,” her friend answered, and yawned. “Taking the night off?”
“No, I’m on duty. Hang on.” Chris jumped off the steps onto the sand. “Jamys and I are by the old abandoned pier on Loggerhead Beach. So is Lucan, and something’s seriously wrong with him.”
“How wrong?”
“He just threw a guy who can’t swim off the pier.” Chris raced through the pilings toward Jamys. “Sam, we need you down here. Now.”
“Four minutes.” The line clicked.
By the time Chris reached Jamys, he was standing over the coughing, heaving thug and holding a copper dagger.
“Get out of my way, boy,” Lucan said as he approached them. He jerked back as Jamys made a quick motion, and looked down at the horizontal slash in his shirt. The edges of the white fabric grew dark as blood soaked through them. “You cut me. You fucking little bastard.”
“Stay back,” Jamys ordered.
Chris went to the man, and helped him to his feet. “Can you run?” When he nodded, she gave him a push. “Go. That way. Get your friend, and get the hell out of here.”
Lucan noticed the thug as he staggered away, and moved to follow. Jamys countered him, still holding his dagger ready.
“I have fought armies, and slit the throats of more men than you could count,” Lucan said. “Think you can end me with one tiny blade, boy?”
“We can find out, my lord,” Jamys assured him.
“Suzerain, please,” Chris begged. “Stop. Just stop.”
“And you, you treacherous little slut.” Lucan turned his head toward Chris. “I took you into my household, did I not? Gave my protection and my affection, and for what? So you might whore yourself behind my back for this nothing of a boy. Is that how you keep your oath to your master?”
“I haven’t taken the oath yet, and I don’t whore myself for anyone.” It took everything she had to smile instead of bursting into tears. “I think you have me confused with some other treacherous little slut.”
“I will deal with you later.” Lucan turned on Jamys. “You are no longer welcome in my territory, Durand. You will leave at once, tonight, and you will not return.”
“No.” Chris felt horrified. “Lucan, please.”
Jamys politely inclined his head. “As you say, my lord.”
“That’s more like it.” Lucan bared his fangs. “If I ever find you inside my boundaries again, I will take you apart and send you back to your father in a basket.”
“I will go.” Jamys lowered his blade. “First you give your word you will not harm Christian.”
“My word? I am the master of this territory, and she belongs to me.” Lucan grabbed hold of Chris’s arm and dragged her to his side. “I will do whatever I damn well please with her.”
“If that is how you feel,” Jamys said, “I will take her away with me.”
“It seems you have a choice, girl.” Lucan sneered down at her. “Go with him, or stay with me. Or perhaps you don’t care who crawls between your thighs.”
Chris blinked. Lucan had a terrible temper, especially where Samantha was concerned, but even in his worst mood he always maintained a frigid politeness, especially toward women. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing a bit of slap and tickle wouldn’t cure.” Lucan focused on Jamys. “Shall I have her now, boy? If you watch a real man at it, you might even learn something.”
“What about me?” Sam walked up and planted herself in front of Lucan. “You want to teach me something, too?”
Chris didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for cringing. “Sam, he didn’t mean it. He lost his temper.”
“At last, my lady arrives.” Lucan turned Chris loose and pushed her away. “Now we’ll each have a whore to plow, boy.”
Sam’s expression turned to from stone to ice. “Jamys, please take Chris back to the stronghold.”
“He can’t. I’ve banished Durand from my territory,” Lucan informed her. “He’s not taking the little slut any—” His head rocked back as Sam’s fist connected with his jaw, and the force of the punch made him stagger.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Sam demanded. “Jamys and Chris are our friends. You don’t banish him, and you don’t touch her. And who the fuck do you think you are, calling me a whore?”
Lucan rubbed the fading dark spot on his jaw as he eyed her and sneered. “I am your lord and master, my lady.”
“Oh, yeah?” She drew a gun and shot him. “Now you’re just beach trash.”
Chris couldn’t breathe until she watched Lucan pull the tranquilizer dart out of his chest before he toppled over. “Jesus, Sam.”
“Lord and master, my ass.” Her friend stood over her unconscious lover, aimed, and shot a second dart into his back. “Son of a bitch. If it wasn’t impossible for the Kyn to get smashed, I’d swear he was drunk.” She turned to Chris. “You feel like sharing?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s been acting so weird, ever since we got here.” As her friend’s eyes narrowed, Chris felt an irrational surge of guilt. “Listen, Sam, what Lucan said about—you’ve gotta know he was just talking off his head. He’s never even looked at me sideways. Or me at him. Ever.”
“Relax, sweetie. This isn’t on you.” Sam gave her shoulder an absent, awkward touch before she looked at Lucan again. “I don’t get it. I’ve seen him behave like a jackass before, and he never talks trash like that. When he’s angry, he’s an iceman. Wordy, sarcastic, and vicious, but an iceman.” She said to Jamys, “Is this one of the big secrets I don’t know about? Some kind of personality change Kyn males go through when there’s a full moon, or what?”
“The moon has no effect on us.” His dark eyes went to Lucan, too. “I have never seen him like this.”
Chris thought fast. “Could he have hit his head on something? Maybe that would have made him forget that he’s a decent guy that never acts like this.”
“Decency.” Lucan pushed himself up from the sand, looking as if he’d never been drugged. “You know nothing of that.” He regarded the three of them as he reached back and pulled the second dart out of his shoulder to examine it. “Poison. Pathetic.” With a contemptuous flick of his wrist he tossed it to the sand in front of Sam’s feet. “At least the whelp there had enough spine to wield a blade.”
