The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  What would happen if he found out that Fern could track her?

  Her mouth went dry. Alan saw something in her face, and his smile died, but his eyes lit with anticipation. Fear, it was fear he saw, and heaven help her but he knew what it meant — that she was fresh out of tricks.

  “Come to the glass, Emma,” he said, quiet. The words tugged at her, like heavy suction, like her skin was magnetized. More than her skin; something deep inside her brain. She planted her feet and pulled.

  Alan cocked his head. “This doesn’t have to be hard.”

  Emma ground her teeth together, shoved focus into her mental shields, an arm wrestle with nothing more than thought. She stayed where she was, but her legs began to tremble.

  He’d barely even started.

  “You’re still stalling, Alan,” she bit out. “You’re not sure of me, are you?” She licked sweat from her upper lip, tried to ignore the phantom feel of her temples bowing outward, unable to contain the growing pressure, like a hand squashing down on her brain.

  Come. The mental command slammed into her, reverberated inside her body, filled her up until there was nothing but the terrible noise, a screaming silence. She jerked forward and slapped her left hand against the glass. Her eyes opened and she didn’t know she’d closed them. Meeting Alan’s steady gaze, she knew she was done for.

  Give in to me. His eyes blazed with pale fire, and something woke up in his face, the thing that lived behind the mask, the real thing. Drop — your shields — and GIVE IN TO ME!

  His mind dug-pushed-shoved inside of hers and her knees gave out, only her hand on the sill kept her upright, she was blind and wrapped in the weight of the universe crashing down around her with the sound of his voice. He wanted everything, all her secrets, wanted to know her and how much power she had and what she could do with it, wanted to know how to control her, her fears, her loves, who she cared for, what she’d die for, what she’d stay alive against all odds for and who she’d sacrifice and what she’d already given up —

  And part of her snapped open, rushed forward, sprinted at the speed of light down the essence of the magic that made her the caller of the blood and found what it wanted.

  Kahotep.

  Jackal. Pharaoh. Living vessel for the power of Re — god of the sun.

  21

  Emma felt furnace heat, felt a woman’s face in her hands, breasts pressed to her chest, before Kahotep opened his eyes — her eyes — their eyes, thousands of miles away, and without hesitation opened himself to her. Power didn’t merely flow into her but detonate inside of her, and somewhere in the sonic boom she heard Alan scream.

  The world turned blinding white; heat whipped out from her every nerve ending, gold pulsed behind her eyelids. Kahotep sensed what she needed and kept pushing it down the link between them but there was no sensation of send and receive, like with Fern or Alexi’s telepathy, Kahotep was her power and she was Kahotep, shining like the sun — no, not like the sun. Emma knew from experience that the gods were real, that what shone and pulsed and sang through her mind and body were real, a gift from the gods, a piece of divinity. She could taste it, like warm honeyed summer on her tongue, like arms made of sunlight wrapping around her, a voice without words telling her she would be all right, she’d survive.

  She smelled incense and realized the pressure in her head was gone. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, slow at first — then fast as she glimpsed her arm and left hand glowing golden against the glass of the observation window. Then the glow receded but the warmth did not; she felt bathed in sunshine, like she’d been sunning on a rock for hours.

  Finally she looked up. On the other side of the glass, Alan crouched in the middle of the table, one hand thrown up above his eyes — two bright lines of blood ran out of his nostrils and over his lips. More trickled out of his ears, down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar.

  And the look on his face was closer than Emma ever wanted to come to Death.

  Dying was one thing, she’d pretty much done that; having Him come for you personally was another. There was more murder and hunger in Alan’s eyes than any monster Emma knew could muster. She vowed that if — when — she got out of here, she would never be frightened of Seshua again. Seshua might be a bastard, but there was something home behind his eyes, a man, with a beating heart in more than one sense of the word. She didn’t know what was behind Alan’s ribs, but it was nothing she knew what to do with.

  Except cut it out the first chance she got.

  Had she really thought that? Yes, she had — but somebody seconded it. You are in grave trouble, Emma. Kahotep’s voice breathed through her mind, gentle and fluid and sweet, like milk chocolate. Indeed, kill him if ever you get the chance. His mental voice clotted with worry. If there is any more I can do — if you need me to come to you —

  No, she sent. Nothing you can do here that you can’t do just fine from where you are. Your kingdom needs you. I need…Well, a rescue team, and I’ve already got one. They’re coming.

  Kahotep didn’t say anything more, but did what words couldn’t: enfolded her in a deep, thick mantle of comfort and unconditional love, warm like sunlight and bittersweet. Somewhere in all that warmth was the touch of Kahotep’s mate, his queen, Nathifa — her essence swirled with more fire and anger than Kahotep’s did, but both of them pushed strength down the bond of the pledge, and Emma pulled it to herself. Katenka’s hand touched hers, and she opened herself to the girl without thinking about it, without knowing exactly what she did, but she wanted her to have some of it. Standing there in the cool, white cell with the monster facing them across the glass, the void in his eyes, they huddled to Kahotep’s essence like he was a miniature sun. And he was.

  Alan lowered his hand, the movement slow and jerky, and Emma braced herself again for the assault of his mind on hers — but it didn’t come. He just watched her with eyes gone wide and pale gold, the color of champagne. She didn’t dare say anything, but she wanted him gone. Katenka’s hand trembled in her own; they were both tired, but how long would the girl hold up? The thought made Emma’s chest tighten.

  Alan coughed, a deep, hacking retch. Emma blinked. He coughed again and she was sure this time: smoke escaped his lips before he pressed them shut.

  Mouth twisting, he slunk off the table and out of the rooms with a boneless grace even the shapechangers didn’t have. Perhaps Alexi came close, but Emma didn’t want to think about Alexi — even if she did have to suppress the urge to ask after him as she touched Fern’s mind, confident now she wouldn’t be caught by Alan with the Enam-Vesh bond open.

  Alan would be back, and unhappy, but for now she and Katenka were alone. They crawled onto the cot and Katenka dutifully fell to the food again.

  You feel different, Fern sent with a sharp, bitter pang of fear. Warm. And you’re in pain, what —

  Fern, stop. Wordlessly she shared her mind with him, let him absorb everything that had happened. We’re both okay. What about you, where are you?

  Silence for so many moments. When he spoke, his mental voice was hollow. Not close enough. Getting there though. We’re maybe an hour away — but then we have to scope out whatever this place is you’re being held at, assess it for an attack. We’ve got heavy weapons, explosives, everything — but none of it’s any good if we can’t pinpoint where you are.

  Emma drew Katenka into the circle of her arms, careful of the bandages on her own hand, and scrunched them both into the corner to conserve their body heat. Katenka relaxed against her, sighing around a mouthful of sandwich.

  Emma put her chin on the top of the girl’s head and frowned. Fern was throwing himself into the plan for her rescue to stop himself from going insane, she understood that, but she was still alive — he shouldn’t be so…

  Terrified? She felt more than heard his harsh bark of laughter, and something dark soured it. You’ve been shot, Emma, shot and — what — His mind twisted against hers with frustration, she sensed him swallow panic and try to ca
lm himself. What were the others doing while Fern talked to her, she wondered — what must it be like? And were they all there… Everyone?

  Everyone. He sounded better. Even Alexi. Emma’s arms tightened around Katenka, and her wounded hand pulsed. Yevgeny brought Nadya and Ivan, too, plus a few other wolves. He wants to know how Katenka’s doing.

  Emma looked down, noticed Katenka had stopped chewing — her breath came deep and even, and a sandwich crust lay near her open hand.

  Emma smiled. She’s sleeping. Just had some food. The smile died. I won’t let anything happen to her, Fern. Make sure he knows.

  Fern’s thoughts rolled beneath hers, she caught them before he could censor himself. How was she supposed to protect both the princess and herself?

  Alan can’t touch my mind, she sent gently. I showed you that. Kahotep’s power is there now, I can feel it, I can call on it whenever I need to. Just gotta hope it keeps him out for good.

  Fern was quiet, thoughts humming. He’ll try to find another way to get to you.

  Emma was more concerned with why Alan wanted to get to her in the first place — and how much he knew about her, and the prophecy, and the powers of the caller of the blood.

  As soon as she thought it, she knew Fern had been thinking it too — all of them had, probably from the moment she was taken.

  Fear flooded her mind, metallic and heavy — Fern’s, not hers. He can’t know, Em. You can’t let him know.

  Well, Fern was just a font of confidence, now wasn’t he? You don’t say, she sent dryly. A change of subject seemed like a good idea. Do you know how they got past Yevgeny’s security?

  Fern’s thoughts darkened. Yevgeny didn’t anticipate vampire mind powers when he assigned his guards to the perimeter — they were simply overwhelmed. The vampires must have shielded the wolves whose minds they were controlling so Yevgeny couldn’t feel them. We found them with their brains leaking out, minds crushed like…well, yeah. We just can’t figure out how he knew you were in the country — Yevgeny feels guilty as hell, thinks maybe one of his wolves leaked the information.

  Emma closed her eyes, winced. Fern’s touch in her mind went very still. I know how, she sent quietly, and told him about the necklace — still sitting warm and large in the hollow of her throat. She resisted the urge to reach up and rip it off, didn’t want to disturb Katenka.

  Well, he sent finally, At least Seshua and Yevgeny can stop blaming themselves.

  Emma’s eyes stung with tears. And I can start, right?

  Fern flooded her mind with something bitter and warm at the same time; regret, sorrow, compassion, apology. That’s not what I meant.

  I know. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She could not cry; if she started, she wouldn’t stop.

  Fern stirred in her mind. He was about to say something when Emma heard a distant pneumatic hiss — the door to the second other room.

  She closed her mind to him, shields cutting down. Katenka came awake in her arms with a gasp. Emma carefully moved the girl over so that she was tucked into the corner, shielded from view, and then she stood up.

  She glimpsed somebody walking past the second glass partition, but they disappeared when they reached the door, and then she watched a nondescript man come through into the room with the table in it. He carried a covered tray in one hand and something like a baton in the other.

  Emma recognized him. Robert. Alan’s personal assistant. She’d met him a couple of times when she and Alan dated — he’d been at Alan’s house, or what must have been one of Alan’s houses. He’d always been on his way out, finishing up a business meeting, except she knew now there had been no such thing. Not the kind of business she’d been led to believe.

  He stopped outside the observation window, looked in at her with mild, true brown eyes. He was the most unremarkable person Emma had ever met: brown hair, medium build, a pleasant face you might forget as soon as he left your sight. He was dressed in a brown cable knit sweater and black slacks. For the first time, Emma wondered just what the hell Robert was.

  He held up his left hand — the one not holding the tray. “This is a cattle prod,” he said. The device looked like a miniature walking cane — until the tip crackled with blue charge. “I’m going to put the tray inside the door. If either of you move, I’ll use this, and I don’t know what it will do to her.” He glanced at Katenka. “But that won’t stop me using it.”

  Emma’s right hand twitched, tried to form a fist before the nerves remembered they were wounded. Rage swelled behind her breastbone like cold, dark water, and the next breath she took burned through her nose and smelled like ozone.

  Robert lifted his eyebrows at her. “I do know what the prod will do to you. Nothing permanent, but it hurts.” He shrugged. “Either way I’m leaving the food.”

  Emma set her jaw. Pain curled through her hand, a merry whisper of agony to come. “I won’t touch you,” she said. “Neither will she. She’s just a child.”

  Robert laughed, more a huff of breath than anything else. “Come now, we both know better.” He moved to the door; click, hiss, it slid back, a widening gap of false freedom beckoning Emma. She planted her feet and watched Robert appear in the doorway, set the tray down one handed.

  He straightened and met her eyes. “It would be easier to give him what he wants.” Brown eyes sincere. “He’ll find a way, no matter what you throw at him.”

  Emma wondered if Robert was human. None of the emptiness of Alan’s gaze. “I don’t know what he wants,” she said.

  Robert stepped back, closed the door, but Emma didn’t see how. He came around to the window. “He wants you.”

  She walked to the glass and put her face inches from it, only a foot separating them. “No, he doesn’t. He wants what he thinks I can give him. He doesn’t know me enough to want me.”

  Something like amusement warmed Robert’s features, softening his mouth, and Emma wanted to punch him for it. He said, “You dated for three months. He knows everything about you.”

  It was Emma’s turn to laugh, and it didn’t sound pretty, or even sane. “Do you think he learned even the first thing about me that I didn’t want him to know?” Her left hand hit the glass. “Whatever he knows about me, he learned from spying on me, nothing more. I never told him shit, Robert. Not the stuff that matters.” Robert’s eyes flickered with some dark thought, and Emma read it like a book. She said quietly, “He never even knew what I was, remember?”

  Robert stepped away from the glass, small smile tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were hard and never left her. “I remember.” The smile died. He rolled his shoulders, as if stretching out a kink in his neck. “He was right about you.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What about me?”

  Robert just shook his head, and then left without looking back.

  “You have creepy friends,” said Katenka. “You know that, right?”

  “They’re not my friends.” Emma turned around, gave Katenka a tight smile and went to pick up the tray. She stopped with it in her hands and reached for Fern’s mind, but he wasn’t there; he’d said she wouldn’t be able to contact him while he and Red were jumping ahead of the rescue party.

  She walked back to the bed, lifted the lid of the tray. More soup. The sandwiches were peanut butter and jelly. “Vampire catering,” Emma murmured. “It’s really something.”

  Katenka smothered a laugh with her hands, eyes glittering. Voice muffled, she said, “Things could be worse.”

  Emma sat the food beside the bed and grabbed a sandwich. “Sure,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich, deadpan. “We could have gangrene on our faces.”

  When Katenka had stopped giggling long enough to finish off the food, they curled up together, and eventually slept.

  Emma had been asleep for over an hour when Fern started to suspect they were close; he could track her sleeping mind just as he could when she was awake, so he didn’t bother trying to rouse her. She needed the rest. He knew because her exhausti
on dragged at him like it was his own, made his eyelids slide closed as he stared out the window at the silent forest they’d been driving through for hours now.

  They had followed Emma over twelve hundred miles across Russia to the feet of the Ural mountains in the Komi Republic. Ivan drove the black Suburban like he was looking for a fast way to hell, which would have been scary if they hadn’t needed the speed; Yevgeny’s other wolves drove the other two vehicles, navigating through increasingly isolated tracts of forest and mountain and marshland. The last real town they passed was Troitsko-Pechorsk, fifty miles back. They had stopped twice since then for Fern and Red Sun to scout ahead for Emma.

  Now, the trees thinned out, and the overgrown service road disappeared. Fields beyond, patched with scrub and washed with the cinnamon glow of approaching sunset, with more trees in the distance where the land dropped off. Mountains on the horizon. Emma’s mental signature drew Fern onwards, stronger than before — stronger than it was ten minutes ago.

  Fern glanced around the car, decided not to say anything just yet. They were all too wound up. Seshua and Horne rode in back with Red Sun, and only Red’s calming presence stopped them going over and over potential rescue scenarios, war tactics, endless possibilities of numbers versus firepower versus this variable or that — it had been torture. Especially when they found out Emma was awake — and even then she could tell them nothing.

  Fern was only thankful there wasn’t enough room in the first car for Alexi and Yevgeny to ride with Seshua as well. It was bad enough they all had radios, and could contact each other whenever they felt the need to press Fern for more information or worry over another unthinkable thing that might be happening or that could go wrong. Fern felt as though his brain was about to start melting out his ears: over twenty four hours spent actively monitoring Emma through the Enam-Vesh bond, casting his awareness as far and deep as it would go, pausing only to jump ahead with Red Sun. Over forty eight hours without sleep.