by I. T. Lucas
Kian took the parchment and lifted it for everyone to see. “The contract was signed and witnessed.” He held it up for a few moments, moving it from side to side so everyone had a chance to see, then rerolled it and stashed it back inside his robe.
Turning to Dalhu, he asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I am. How do you want to do this?” He took another glance around to see if a whipping post had magically appeared.
“Nothing will hold you, it’s part of the test. You’re going to lean against that wall”—Kian pointed at a narrow stretch of wall that was free of niches and nearly smooth—”without a thing to grab onto—the only thing holding you up is going to be the power of your will.”
This was going to be a lot tougher than he’d anticipated. To endure the pain while immobilized and restrained was one thing, to maintain position voluntarily was another.
“I can do it. I will do it.”
“I know.”
CHAPTER 55: KIAN
On his way to Amanda’s penthouse, Kian deliberated how much to tell her. On the one hand, he’d promised to give her a full account, on the other, he didn’t think she could handle the uncensored, blow-by-blow report.
Damn, it had been hard to watch.
But he had to admit; Dalhu had gained his respect and then some. Kian couldn’t think of a single man, himself included, who could’ve taken the whipping Dalhu had without moving an inch, without crying out even once, and without eventually collapsing from the massive blood loss and exhaustion.
To say that the guy had an iron will was an understatement—a will hard as a diamond was more like it.
Micah had chosen a vicious implement, a three-stranded whip with metal tips for added injury.
At first, Otto had seemed to relish wielding the thing, but after only a few blows he was looking at Micah before delivering the next one, hoping she’d give the signal to end it.
Dalhu’s blood had formed a pool at his feet, and speckles of it as well as pieces of his flesh had landed on Otto’s clothes and even as far as the line of spectators.
When she had finally raised her hand and given the signal, Otto had thrown the whip to the ground. “I want this evil thing destroyed—” had been his parting words before he’d stormed out, leaving his sister behind.
Anandur hadn’t wasted any time before going over to Dalhu and taking him in his arms with infinite care for his injured back, then sinking his fangs into the guy’s neck and ending his misery.
The one good thing about the brutal whipping was that the fangs of all immortal males present had been ready for action with no additional aggression required.
Dalhu had proven to be one of the strongest males Kian had ever encountered. But there was no way he could’ve offered even a token fight after the beating he’d taken.
As he reached Amanda’s door and knocked, Kian pondered the peculiar feeling that had been on the edge of his awareness since Dalhu’s trial had ended. He felt at ease for some reason, like there was one less thing he had to worry about. At first, he’d thought that he was simply relieved that Dalhu had prevailed and that he wouldn’t have to deliver bad news to Amanda. But now, standing in front of her door, he realized that there was more to it.
The truth was that there was no stronger protector for Amanda than Dalhu. The guy would not only give his life for her without a moment’s hesitation but more to the point, he could singlehandedly take down an army to save her.
The fates hadn’t been cruel to Amanda when they’d paired her with Dalhu, they’d given her exactly the kind of male she needed.
The door opened, and the woman standing before him looked like a wreck, emotionally and physically. Amanda’s eyes were so red and puffy that he suspected that she’d been crying the entire time since leaving the chamber.
“It is done, and Dalhu passed with flying colors.”
She stepped aside to let him in. “Is he okay?”
“He is in stasis.”
“Thank you, merciful fates.” Amanda collapsed into a chair. There was a pile of used tissues on the floor next to it. “I want you to tell me everything.”
Kian glanced at his mother who had the I-knew-he-would-be-fine expression on her face and was probably itching to say I-told-you-so.
“Let’s just say that you should be proud of your man. I don’t know of anyone who would’ve taken Micah’s punishment as well as he did.”
His choice of words hadn’t escaped Amanda’s notice and her eyes widened. “You called Dalhu, my man.”
“Yes, and I also said that you should be proud of him.”
“So you have no more reservation about him and me? You accept Dalhu a hundred percent?”
“How about ninety-nine?”
“I can live with that.”
CHAPTER 56; AMANDA
The good thing about clan celebrations was that no one had partners. Otherwise, Amanda would’ve felt even worse than she did.
It didn’t seem right to stand there in a designer evening gown and diamond jewelry, surrounded by her family’s smiling faces while her man was all alone in a dark, cold tomb. But there was no way she could’ve missed Kian and Syssi’s wedding. After all, she was the matchmaker who had made it happen. Not to mention that her only brother was marrying her best friend and the whole clan was celebrating for the first time since its inception.
Her sisters, Sari and Alena, had arrived this morning and the three of them had a nice, tearful reunion. Kian had stopped by her apartment a little later but hadn’t stayed for long, so he’d escaped the guilt trip her sisters had laid on her.
There was really no good excuse for why she hadn’t visited them more often. Sari had her hands full running the Scottish arm of their clan, and it had taken some juggling for her to get away for a couple of days to attend the wedding. And Alena was busy managing Annani, which the three of them agreed, was a much more challenging job than Sari’s.
Searching for her sisters, she stretched her neck, which was all she needed to do to peer over the crowd. The four-inch heels she had on made her just as tall as most of the Guardians. She spotted Sari chatting up a storm with Brandon, while Alena was standing amidst a large group of females. Someone must’ve told her a joke because she was doubling over with laughter.
It was good to see them having fun, and Amanda felt the vice squeezing her heart loosen a notch, allowing her at least to fall back on her well-practiced routine.
Plastering a confident smile on her face, she sauntered over to where Syssi’s parents and Annani were greeting the guests. She got there just in time to see Anandur and Brundar enter.
“I thought the day would never come. You? In a tux? And Brundar too? You guys look amazing.”
Brundar’s long blond hair was tied at his nape with a black leather cord, his fallen-angel face looking as austere as ever. Anandur must’ve spent time at the barbers because his wild, curly red hair was sleeked back away from his face with the help of plenty of hair product, and his beard and mustache were trimmed a lot shorter than usual. The brute looked almost civilized.
“Syssi made me do it,” Anandur complained. “I can’t even move my shoulders in this damned penguin suit.” He demonstrated, the seams on the tux straining from the pressure of his muscles flexing beneath them.
Amanda slapped his shoulder. “Stop it, you big oaf. The tux was custom made for you and it fits perfectly. You are not supposed to play football in it, just stand next to Kian during the ceremony and look handsome.”
“I’ll play my part because Syssi asked me to, but I still think bridesmaids and groomsmen do not belong in this ceremony. It is not part of our tradition.”
“What tradition? We have none. This is the first wedding we ever had. We are creating tradition tonight.”
“Exactly. And from now on we’ll be stuck with this stupid human custom.” Anandur bunched his shoulders again.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “You’ll get used to it. I don’t see Brundar complaining.”
Brund
ar shrugged.
The range of the guy’s emotions spanned between indifferent and stoic, oscillating at the rate of once a month.
Someone tapped her bare shoulder. “Good evening, gorgeous.” Drink in hand, Andrew, the third groomsman, looked much more comfortable in his fancy suit than the brothers. He kissed her cheek. “I’m taking advantage of the opportunity that your guy is not around.”
She kissed him back. “Don’t be silly, Andrew, you can kiss my cheek whenever you like. Dalhu is not the jealous type.”
Andrew’s quick reflexes saved her gown—he spun around before spewing his drink on the floor. His shoes, however, hadn’t escaped the splatter. Anandur deep belly laugh almost popped the buttons on his tux jacket. He fished out a folded kerchief from a back pocket and handed it to Andrew. “Here, buddy, for your shoes.”
“Thanks.” Andrew wiped his face before attending to his footwear.
“What so funny?” What did they all know that she didn’t?
“You are one clueless princess.”
“Okay, just tell me. I can see that you’re dying to.”
“Your guy almost choked the life out of Bhathian at Kian bachelor’s party. Dalhu had a nude picture of yours stashed underneath his bed, and when Bhathian found it and showed it to everyone, he attacked him so viciously that even I couldn’t pry him away—not until I explained to the idiot that your nudity has no effect on the males of your own family.”
Oh, wow. Her guy was jealous.
Sweet. Amanda likes.
Syssi could cling to her opinions and regard ungrounded jealousy as offensive, but Amanda was flattered. Heck, if Dalhu were near she would’ve grabbed him and kissed him long and hard to show him that she was all his, and that he had nothing to be jealous about.
Regrettably, Dalhu wasn’t there, and she couldn’t show him or tell him anything. She would, though, in four days, eighteen hours, and fifty-three minutes.
CHAPTER 57: SYSSI
“Are you ready, my love?” Kian smiled and offered Syssi his arm.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded.
It was time for their big entry.
She and Amanda had planned the ceremony, incorporating traditions they both liked and replacing the ones they didn’t. After all, they were in charge of creating a new script that would provide the foundation for future clan weddings.
They had agreed that bridesmaids and groomsmen were nice to have, but there was no need for more than three each and the girls should choose their own gowns. Amanda had been adamant about that.
Kian had chosen Andrew, Anandur and Brundar, and Syssi had chosen Amanda, Kri and Bridget.
The walk down the aisle with a father giving away the bride had been thrown out the window. The obvious reason was that aside from Syssi, other clan females had no fathers to call on. Besides, it was an outdated custom that should’ve ended along with everything else that still stunk of patriarchy—like taking on the husband’s last name.
Amanda had insisted, however, that a grand entry was necessary and that Syssi should walk down the aisle by herself.
Syssi had refused.
To make the walk alone while everyone was watching?
No way.
Not her style.
It was her wedding and she was the one making the rules.
She would walk down the aisle with Kian by her side.
“You look stunning.” Kian kissed her cheek, gently, careful not to mess up her makeup—per Amanda’s instructions. She had warned him, threatening to unman him if he dared.
Syssi had to admit that this was the most beautiful she had ever looked. Her dress was long-sleeved and had a simple cut, the bodice following her contours without being too clingy, and a long train that she was certain would get stepped on—a lot. The décolletage was wide and low, leaving the tops of her shoulders bare but stopping short of her cleavage. Her concession to tradition was that the dress was white and long, but she refused a veil—another outdated custom that should’ve been tossed out a long time ago.
Kian had requested that she leave her hair down, and Armando, who had shown up with two assistants each carrying two cases filled to the brim with tools of his trade, had been so proud of the job he’d done with her hair and makeup that he’d cried. Not a few pretend teardrops for drama, but for real, claiming that this was his masterpiece and he would never achieve such perfection again. So he should quit and retire while at his peak.
The guy was no more than thirty.
And yet, after all the effort everyone had invested so she’d look her best, gazing at Kian, she doubted anyone would be looking at her while this Greek god in a tux walked beside her. There was no way she could compete with his perfection.
“Not to add to your already overinflated ego, but you must be the most good-looking man to ever exist.” She took his hand.
Kian dipped his head in a slight bow. “Thank you, my lady. But I assure you that no one else shares your opinion. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.”
Yeah, right.
There was a moment of quiet as the soft music that had been playing in the large assembly hall stopped.
A new, familiar tune began.
Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga
Kian grinned from ear to ear. “This is our cue.”
Syssi laughed. “That’s the song you’ve chosen? Hooked on a Feeling?”
“Isn’t it perfect?”
“It is.”
“Then let’s go.” He pushed through the double doors, and they danced their way up to the podium to the beat of Blue Swede’s Hooked on a feeling while their guests clapped, cheered, and sang along.
I can’t stop this feeling deep inside of me.
Girl, you just don’t realize what you do to me.
When you hold me in your arms so tight.
You let me know everything’s alright.
I’m hooked on a feeling.
I’m high on believing.
That you’re in love with me…
CHAPTER 58: ANDREW
It was after seven, and even the most diligent of his fellow agents had left—some to go home, others down to Barney’s.
Like in the old days, before he’d gotten involved with the clan and had taken on an after hours part-time job, Andrew was the last one in the office and wasn’t expecting to be done anytime soon.
Tim’s sketch had been sitting inside a large shopping bag next to Andrew’s desk, calling to him throughout the entire day.
He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into the investigation.
Now that he was no longer on the clock, he could finally pull it out and start digging.
There was something very compelling about the woman in the picture. It wasn’t her beauty though she was a looker—it was something about her eyes—a mystery begging to be solved. Andrew had the odd feeling that she was staring at him from the paper and imploring him to find her.
Doubtless, it was all in his head. The expressive eyes were nothing more than testament to Tim’s talent, and his interpretation of Bhathian’s longing for a lover the guy had lost over thirty years ago.
I’ll do my best, he promised her anyway.
Trouble was, Patricia would be seventy-five years old—if she was still alive, that is. She could’ve died from natural causes by now, and there was always a possibility that someone other than herself had arranged her disappearance.
People disappeared all of the time—some voluntarily, some not.
Sadly, in the case of beautiful women, it was more often than not the latter.
Fuck, he hoped Patricia hadn’t been the victim of some scumbag like Alex.
True, they had no proof yet that Amanda’s cousin was engaged in the business of kidnapping and trafficking women for sexual slavery, but the circumstantial evidence Amanda had gathered during her trip aboard Alex’s yacht, together with Dalhu’s observation, suggested that he was.
This was going to be Andrew’s next pet pro
ject.
He just needed to figure out the logistics first. There had been talk of using the clan’s private satellite to spy on the boat, but William had shot it down. Their communication satellite wasn’t designed for that purpose. However, the clan had the resources to build one, and it had been decided to hire a team to start working on it.
Obviously, the thing wouldn’t be ready anytime soon.
He’d have to resort to more mundane means—like finding the weak link in the Russian crew and manipulating her, one way or another, to cooperate with them.
Later.
Now, he needed to focus on finding Patricia.
There were several databases to go through. But first, he decided to run the social security number even though he was certain it was fake. Government agencies issued them for various purposes, and if this were the case, then he would strike gold. They typically made use of a real, recently deceased person’s social security number instead of producing an entirely fake one—which was the method most amateurs and small-time criminals used.
A minute later he found it. The number belonged indeed to a Patricia Evans, born September 1951 and deceased November 1987. For a moment, his heart sank. Patricia had died about a year after meeting Bhathian. But then he glanced at the year of birth again. The math didn’t add up. Patricia had claimed to have been forty-five at the time, which would’ve put her birth year at somewhere around 1940, not 1951.
Was it possible that she’d lied about her age? Claiming to be a decade older than she actually was? Not likely.
And the fact that the year of death was not before, but after she had met Bhathian? A death certificate could’ve been falsified. The elaborate setup, however, was more appropriate for an undercover operative than someone in the witness protection or relocation service.
The year of birth didn’t match Pat’s real age, but it matched the way she’d looked at the time Bhathian had met her. The guy had thought she was in her late twenties. If Pat had been working undercover at the time, her assumed social security number would’ve not raised suspicion. If anyone had bothered to check, they would’ve found a Patricia Evans who matched the agent’s perceived age—and who wasn’t dead. The death certificate hadn’t been entered into the system.
