The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  His black eyes sparkled. “And you were just trying not to treat me like my sister does. It’s okay.” It was his turn to shoo her hands away. Reluctantly she let him untie her boots as she studied his face. All traces of Cara’s scratches and the injuries from flying debris were gone, his skin smooth and pale once more. Only the slashes in his t-shirt and faded jeans were proof of the wounds.

  He tugged the boots off, but let her do her own socks. She peeled them off and scrunched her toes against the bumpy woven rug underfoot. “Fern, about before, with Cara…”

  He put a hand on her arm and silenced her, and didn’t look at her when he spoke in her mind. Cara is eight years older than me. I don’t remember our parents, but she does; she was too young to understand a lot of things about the way we she was raised, but she remembered enough to raise me the same way. He took his hand back, raised his bony knees to his chest, and wrapped long arms around them. It was a bad time for our people. Our parents raised her to be without hope, and then when I was less than a year old, they died, confirming everything they ever taught her.

  Emma blinked, hard, wishing Fern had chosen another time and especially another place to tell her this — wishing she could tell him he shouldn’t make excuses for his sister. But she couldn’t. Even if it was true.

  Emma ducked her head as Horne walked in, mirroring Fern’s pose but closing her eyes so he didn’t have to look her in the eye as he dredged up the rotten, moldering past.

  Not long after that, she started having the visions. Dreams. She was only nine years old and it drove her nuts, terrified her. She couldn’t control it. After two years of pickpocketing through Panama with me on her hip, and living out of alleyways and hiding on ranchero land, she collapsed in the street one day and one of Seshua’s jaguars saw it. He recognized the trance of vision where everyone else saw drugs or insanity, I guess. He took us to Guatemala. I didn’t remember the really bad days, before that, but Cara did, and for her it was too late.

  Emma inched closer to him, shoving cushions out of the way. Has she always hit you?

  Fern’s eyes had been closed; now he opened them, and the expression in their dark depths caught Emma off guard. Such compassion. It made Emma want to scream. Only since I was old enough to start questioning her. Only since I was big enough to hit back.

  Emma’s cheeks flamed. But you never did hit back.

  He gave a little shake of his head. Why? She was so afraid. But not of me. Not until she had the first vision of you, the one where she saw you at Seshua’s sanctuary.

  Emma was speechless.

  She only ever wanted me to be safe. I don’t kid myself that she did the right thing, she almost never has. But I know her too well, Emma, to hate her. Hate destroyed her.

  Emma sat in silence for a long while, and Fern let her. Finally, she sent, If you questioned her, why did you still go through with the Enam-Vesh?

  He smiled at her, a small, fierce smile, but his eyes were shiny with regret. Because I had to get away from her, Emma. And her visions never lie. She said you would be our savior, and I, your familiar. I just don’t think she ever knew exactly how it would happen — I don’t think she ever foresaw this.

  Yeah, Emma thought, heart hurting at the mere idea of such a long lifetime full of suffering and darkness, where the only light was the prospect of binding yourself irrevocably to a complete stranger and hoping for mercy.

  Hey. Fern unfolded his arms from his legs. It’s nearly sunset.

  Emma straightened, blinking at the change of subject. So?

  He grabbed her hands and dragged her to her feet. So, we’ve got some time before dinner — let’s get to the roof and watch the sky turn purple.

  Dinner looked almost as spectacular as the sunset, though by the time Emma got to it, the sky was blue velvet and shot with stars. She stood in the arched entranceway to the enclosed courtyard — not one of the three which fronted the palace, but a smaller, more intimate space toward the back of the tiered structure, closer to Seshua’s personal chambers. Emma had to marvel at the grandeur of the feast spread out on a low, carved stone table, illuminated only by the huge stone basins that blazed with fire, positioned in a semicircle around the long stone table and seating benches. Every inch of the vast table was crammed with bowls and serving dishes full of delicious-looking stuff.

  Seshua and Kal were already seated. Seshua looked up as though he hadn’t known she was there, with Fern at her side and Red Sun and Horne at her back, and a dozen ocelot maidens murmuring in the torchlit hall that led to the rest of the palace.

  “Come, pequeña. ” Seshua stood, gesturing broadly with one bare arm, showcasing not merely the dinner but also his massive, unadorned upper body. “Sit.” He cocked his head and let warmth fill his gaze. “Eat.”

  Emma leveled a dry look at him and proceeded down the steps to the courtyard. The combined scents of food, shapechangers, and night blooming jungle flowers enveloped her — and then were washed away by the humid, electric wave of Seshua’s aura as he moved around the table to help her to her seat.

  “As lovely as you are, mi pico blanca flora, ” he said, reaching for her hand, “I am afraid you are not dressed for dinner.”

  Emma stopped in her tracks, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Did you just call me your little white flower?” One corner of his perfect mouth quirked in concert with one thick, black eyebrow. Emma gritted her teeth against that cocky look. “Well,” she ground out, “You’re hardly dressed at all, let alone for dinner.” She slipped past him and took a seat at the other side of the table.

  Seshua was totally unfazed by the cold response. Either that or he just didn’t have a comeback, since his loose cream pants, though striking against his dark blue flesh, weren’t exactly formal dining attire. Emma really didn’t think he had a right to complain about her black jeans and stretchy red long sleeved t-shirt.

  She was relieved when Fern slipped in at her right and Teremun took the place to her left. She wanted to give the jackal guard a silent thank you, but didn’t know him well enough to squeeze his arm or bump his shoulder with hers — and all of a sudden it made her feel very, very lonely. Hell, it was probably the whole trip — just stupid homesickness.

  But as she looked around the table, watching everyone take their places, she realized how much a stranger she was here. She hadn’t known anyone more than two and a half months, and most of them far less than that. The one friend she’d had for longer than that — Ricky — was back at the ranch.

  Seshua stood up and uttered a deep, grunting cough to get everyone’s attention, as though they hadn’t already looked up at the sight of him towering above them. A night breeze stirred his hair, loose now, falling in glossy waves around his shoulders and down his back.

  He crossed his arms — or tried to. Difficult with biceps the width of Emma’s thighs and all that pectoral muscle getting in the way.

  He fixed Emma with a stare that was all business. “I’ve rescheduled your flights back to California; you leave tomorrow morning.”

  Relief speared through her but she didn’t let it show. “Why?”

  “Because you need time to prepare for the trip to Russia. I thought you’d want some time at home. You have almost three days.”

  Horne leaned forward, elbows on his knees, shrewd black eyes on Seshua. “How much ranch security do you want?” He meant, how many guards from the ranch in California. Seshua huffed a breath out through his nostrils, thinking, and Emma tried not to stare at him too suspiciously — he was letting her have time at home, just because he thought she’d like it? He never did her any favors — not genuine ones, anyway. She’d been scheduled to spend four nights in Central America, and now here she was going home after just one.

  Seshua finally answered Horne. “You and Andres proved yourselves in Egypt — there is no question of your loyalty, not only to me, but to Emma. The maidens must be present, for they are Emma’s —” Seshua barely blinked when Emma shot him a searing look — “And the
jackals for much the same reason.” Seshua nodded at Ashai and Teremun, who merely nodded in reply. “Also, the Russians have had ties to the jackals in the past — their presence can’t hurt. As for the rest…” Seshua glanced at Fern, who would go wherever Emma went because they were magically bound, and then at Red Sun, who he couldn’t control anyway. Finally he looked at her. “You, pequeña, may choose the rest. I know you would have it no other way.”

  “The rest?” She narrowed her eyes. “You mean, anyone I want?”

  Seshua, to his credit, dipped his head and blinked graciously, disguising the flicker of unease in his storm-dark eyes. “Anyone. I trust your judgment in this matter. Of course, I will choose a number of guards from my own ranks, and we will proceed to Russia a day ahead of you, with Nadezhda Denisova and her guards as insurance.”

  “You’ll be going ahead.” Emma chewed her lip, wondering if there was a subtle way to ask what she wanted to ask. “Can you tell me who you’ll take with you?”

  Seshua blinked, a slight frown creasing his brow. He rocked back on his heels. “Why does it matter?”

  Emma busied herself picking food from a nearby plate. “Curious. That’s all.”

  He arched a brow. “Very well. I’m not sure. Certainly Kal, and Marco and Leah. The rest will be chosen from the ranks of my most skilled jaguar guards. Does that satisfy your curiosity, pequeña? ”

  Emma nodded, hiding her disappointment from everyone but Fern, who gave her the courtesy of privacy and pretended not to be able to read Alexi’s name in her mind.

  There was no such thing as a dawn hush in the jungle. As Emma crossed the vast distance of the helipad with Fern and Red Sun at her back, Horne leading the way and the maidens and the jackals bringing up the rear, the air was full of raucous sound: the whine of insects, an indistinguishable number of birdcalls, the sharp cries of monkeys mere yards away in the now visible forest canopy. Beyond the edges of the helipad, treetops undulated and occasionally thrashed as things moved through the unseen lower branches. The sun had only been up an hour, yet the jungle was humid and wet from a late night downpour, and Emma found herself regretting the blue jeans and snug black Ghostbusters tee she’d chosen.

  Ahead, three helicopters sat like huge squat insects, rotors turning — but Emma and her present party only needed two, one for the loot and one for Emma and her entourage.

  Fern tensed. In front of Emma, Horne slowed. His hand went to the gun in the holster at his hip; usually he and most of the other guards wore a shoulder rig as well, but since he was on his own this trip, he’d opted for just the hip holster in case he needed to change — easier to slip out of a belt when in jaguar form than a shoulder rig, and less painful, especially since leather tended to flash-char in the searing light of the change, as Horne had explained. Leather belts and rigs fared better when they had some fabric to insulate them. The jeans would disintegrate if he changed, but the belt would just be singed.

  Emma got no warning; Horne threw his shapechanger senses out, opening the call that could tell him who lay ahead in the third chopper, and invisible icewater dumped itself over Emma. She stiffened, hissing, but didn’t gasp — progress was a beautiful thing. She staggered forward and Fern caught her arm.

  A heads up would have been nice, she grumbled in Fern’s mind, teeth chattering, skin puckering as though an army of frozen ants gnawed at every inch of flesh. Fern smothered a smile. Emma glared up at him. What?

  His grin got away from him, making his eyes sparkle. You look like somebody stuffed a handful of ice blocks down your underpants.

  Her glare turned nuclear. Maybe next time one of you opens the call without warning me, that’s what I’ll do to you.

  He held his hands up in surrender, but before he could come up with a retort, Horne made a curious noise in front of them.

  The tall, lean jaguar guard half turned, giving them his sharp profile. “It’s all right, my lady. No danger here.” He faced the choppers again and headed for them, shaking his head. “He’s finally back.”

  Emma was about to ask who, when up ahead, the rotors of one of the choppers slowed to a halt and the big side hatch opened, and she no longer needed to ask. She could see him for herself.

  Her heart kicked against her ribs and began to gallop as Alexi stepped out of the chopper.

  5

  His long black braid whipped about his shoulders, tossed in the wind of the other two chopper’s blades; the lapels of his cream linen shirt flapped, gaping to his navel. Even his black pants billowed in the warm, blade-whipped air. But his lean, angular face was completely still, as always, and his solid yellow gaze fell unerringly on Emma as she followed Horne to the choppers.

  Fern brushed Emma’s mind with worry, but she sent him a brief push of reassurance. She was surprised to see Alexi, but not afraid. Curious, but nowhere near as intimidated as she once had been by the cold, arrogant, likely sociopathic serpent priest.

  Emma reached out and put a hand on Horne’s arm. “I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He frowned at her. “It’s fine. I just need a minute.”

  His eyes flicked from her to the third chopper and back again. “All right, chica. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Emma squeezed his arm and flashed him a quick grin. “Define stupid.” She broke away before he could answer, ignoring Felani’s brief cry of protest.

  She tugged at the neckline of her shirt, suddenly conscious of how much cleavage would be visible to anybody taller than her — which was everybody but the maidens. But she was too curious for the thought to stop her marching up to him.

  Her initial curiosity turned to something darker as she drew closer to Alexi and saw what hadn’t been visible from a distance: the thick new scars on his previously perfect alabaster face. From both corners of his mouth, the silvery purple and red lines ran like jagged lightning razed into his flesh, up each cheek to disappear into the thick black mass of his hair. The scars were the only proof that six weeks ago, in Egypt, the false jackal king had almost torn Alexi’s face off. The last time she’d seen him, his mouth had still been hanging open at a horror movie angle, held together by mere threads of flesh.

  This was better. But if he’d looked like this the first time they’d met, she would have peed her pants.

  Fern brushed her mind again. Me too. It was a joke, but Emma couldn’t find it in her to laugh.

  Alexi blinked and turned away from her as she approached, reaching into the chopper to drag out a large duffel bag. Emma glimpsed movement from inside the chopper, a jaguar guard she didn’t recognize, pushing wooden crates to the edge of the hatch. But there was something else beyond, in the shadows of the chopper’s interior. Something long and still, and bundled on a stretcher.

  Emma walked straight up to Alexi. “You’re back.” She met his eyes dead on as he hauled the duffel bag over his shoulder and looked at her.

  He hitched the bag higher, exposing a wide swathe of muscular bare chest — and the puckered, circular scar above his flat left nipple, where a jackal’s spear had lodged in his chest. He just stared down at her, his strange, canary-yellow eyes flat and expressionless, as though he didn’t recognize her.

  “Is the serpent priest with you?” The other serpent priest — the one who had been kidnapped in order to lure Seshua — and Emma — to Egypt. Emma glanced again into the chopper, where another jaguar guard had joined the first. Their kneeling forms obscured the bundled heap.

  Alexi stirred, gaze still on her. His severe black brows twitched in a slight frown. “Yes,” he said, voice soft, cool, empty. “He is.”

  Emma’s eyes flicked back to Alexi. “Is he healed? Will he recover? He looks sedated.” That was actually an understatement. The other serpent priest looked dead. Shrouded. Wrapped for burial.

  Alexi’s face became, if it was possible, even blanker. “Some of his wounds are healed. But he will never recover.” He looked away, toward the sad shape in the cargo hold. The jaguars lifted it gingerly and carried it between them, and Al
exi moved out of their way as they descended the foldout stairs.

  “Never?” Emma could feel Fern listening in, just as she knew the others must be, even though they were already busy loading their own cargo chopper.

  “No.” Alexi’s eyes tracked the stretcher with its shrouded burden as the jaguars took it across the helipad. “He was beaten, depleted of energy both physical and magical, and then they cut his tongue out and continued to do so until he was no longer capable of growing it back.” Alexi turned back to Emma, and beneath the jagged, shining scars, his jaw tensed. “The Egyptian healer was able to save his arms, but he won’t have much use for them now. Shortly after I found him, he…” Alexi swallowed, nostrils flaring. “He slipped into a coma, and has not resurfaced.”

  Emma had heard it was bad, but nobody was willing to give her the grisly details until now. She should have known she could count on Alexi not to pull any punches — or to do whatever he could to gross her out, frighten her, and generally make her life uncomfortable. But there was something about the way he’d spoken, something about the perfect blankness of his face, that made her forget her revulsion at the other serpent priest’s torture and cock her head at Alexi.

  A coma. After all they’d done to save the priest, after finally succeeding, he was lost to them anyway. “Will he ever wake up?”

  Alexi looked at her down the length of his arrogant Roman nose. The line of his mouth was grim, but the scars tore a sinister smile across the rest of his face. “It depends.”

  Emma frowned up at him. “On what?”

  Felani suddenly appeared at Emma’s side, wrapping small fingers around her wrist. “We must go.” She shot a wary look at Alexi from beneath golden brows and gave him a curt nod — more acknowledgment than Felani had ever given him, probably in deference to the fact that his disfiguring scars were earned in defense of Emma’s life. He didn’t bother returning it.