Flux Flame (A Flame Moon Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “So early this morning, I went in there to try and help. And this is what happened.” Charlotte reached up and pulled her shirt down in the middle of her chest. A gaping wound, still healing, was just inches from her heart. “There was an old knife down there—we didn’t know it was there, but Skye found it. Helen just barely got me out.”

  Aiden was silent as his eyes took in her wound. Silent and tortured. Charlotte was inches from death. Death by his own wife.

  Charlotte read the look on his face. “Triaten doesn’t know. And I’m going to try to hide it from him. I don’t want him thinking this of Skye. Thinking she’s capable of such a thing. Not on top of what she just did.”

  She pulled her shirt back up, covering the wound. “But you needed to know, Aiden. You needed to know how far she would go—how deep in trouble she is. I don’t know what to tell you to help. But if Helen is right, if this other half-breed she knows of can help Skye, you need to find him. It may be your only chance to save her. Because if she would do this to me…”

  “You need say no more.”

  Helen stepped into the cabin, closing the door on Triaten bitterly pacing outside in the snow.

  Aiden looked at her.

  “Where is this half-breed you speak of, Helen?”

  { Chapter 9 }

  “I will be keeping what I saw at the camp in confidence,” Helen said as she paused at the door of the waiting black sedan.

  Triaten, Charlotte and Helen had taken the helicopter back to the landing field outside of Brigton. Aiden and Skye had departed by the suv Aiden had driven to the camp. Helen had been able to give an approximation as to where the Panthenite-Malefic half-breed was, but it had been years since he had been seen.

  The near non-existent trail was enough for Aiden. After the scene in the cabin, he was ready to grasp at the shortest of straws. So Aiden and Skye had set off to the nearest airfield, where Helen arranged a plane to meet them and deliver them to Nepal.

  Triaten leaned to look around Helen, making sure the car was empty save for the driver. He looked back to Helen. “You mean you’ll keep it in confidence until it suits you?” Triaten challenged, tired and not willing to take Helen’s charity.

  She tilted her head to him, acquiescing. “Most likely.”

  Charlotte waved her hand, dismissing Triaten’s rudeness. “Thank you, Helen. Even as relations are strained amongst us, I do appreciate your coming to the camp, and your help over the past several days.”

  Sitting, Helen’s hand went to the door handle, then stilled. She looked at Charlotte, and her face softened for the slightest second. “I must say, I was surprised to get your call. But pleased you felt you could trust me. You do know where your loyalty lies, don’t you?”

  Charlotte refused to openly agree, but she did offer a smile. “I had hoped, correctly, that you would choose to help. For that, I am grateful.”

  Helen’s lips whipped back to their pursed state. She closed the door of the sedan and the driver took off, crunching icy snow along the way.

  Triaten turned to Charlotte, eyebrows high. “She’s working on something.”

  “She was there.” Charlotte shrugged. “I needed help, and she was there. So let her concoct whatever she wants. I’m tired and want to get up to the ranch.”

  Triaten reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into him. His arms enveloped her, chin on her head.

  Charlotte bit her lip at the pain that shot through her chest, his arms crushing her into him. Normally, she loved curling up against his body. But not when she had a gaping wound next to her heart she had to hide.

  She pushed her forehead into his chest, talking into his coat. “You’re going to tell me you need to head into the hotel, aren’t you?”

  "Sorry, my heart.” Triaten’s hand ran through the long strands of her blond hair. “The losses. The ambush at the Folotto compound. What to do next. What we need to protect. The elders are waiting.”

  “Yea, I know. I’m sick over what happened. Sickened that someone betrayed us.” She looked up at him, kissing his chin. “But I still want you up there with me.”

  “As do I, don’t doubt that. I’ll be up as soon as I can.” His lips went lightly on her forehead. “God, I need you. I am just so grateful you weren’t with us...” His arms tightened on her again. “Dammit. That you would have been anywhere near that massacre.”

  His body tensed to such a degree that Charlotte could tell it wasn’t just about her—about what could have happened. “What is it? What has a hold of you right now?”

  Triaten’s jaw hardened against the images in his mind. His words spilled out, ragged. “It was their faces, Char. God, their faces. They all knew what was happening. We flew over them, and they knew death was theirs. But none of them broke. None of them begged. Not a one.”

  Her hand went to the side of his face, trying to soften the torment she felt running in his body. “I know who you were with, Tri. I’ve known them all—and all of them brave to their cores—they would only go with grace. You choose your warriors well, Tri.”

  “But they could have been saved—holy hell—that Skye would do that. She could have saved those lives. And she didn’t. She chose not to. She is dead to me.”

  Charlotte pulled back. “Tri, no. She doesn’t know what she’s doing right now. She’s not herself.”

  If anything, Triaten’s jaw set even harder. “Don’t defend her to me, Char. She chose. She had a chance to save them, and she didn’t. She blatantly threw them away. In one blink. Threw them away.”

  “Tri, you didn’t see her like I did. This isn’t the Skye we know. Whatever happened with the Malefic blood in her—it’s brutal. She tried to fight it, but she was in agony.”

  “She wasn’t in agony when she chose to cut time off. She looked absolutely fine when she did that.”

  A buzzing interrupted them, coming from under Charlotte’s coat. Triaten didn’t let go of her body, so she leaned back to unzip her jacket, fishing in an inside pocket.

  It was an international call. She slid it on. “This is Charlotte.”

  “Doctor Charlotte, Doctor Saima is ill.”

  Charlotte could scarcely make out the words through the thick accent.

  “Saima—what is wrong with her? Who is this?” Charlotte turned from Triaten, thick concern etching her brow.

  “She sick, three days now. You must come. We no help to her. She can’t move. Cough blood. You must come.”

  “Where is Amaani? Where are the other doctors we sent in?” Charlotte asked. Doctor Saima’s head nurse, Amaani, was usually quite capable and adept at taking charge. And the three physicians Charlotte sent to the camp to handle the backlog of refugees were all highly-skilled.

  “Doctors not here. Amaani told me to call you.”

  “Is the rest of the camp okay?”

  “Yes, yes. Fine. It is just Doctor Saima.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way.”

  Charlotte hung up. She stepped back into Triaten, using his warmth against the cold on the tarmac.

  “You heard all that?”

  “Yes,” Triaten said. “And you need to go, even though I was hoping for that bed of ours. I really don’t want you to go down there without me.”

  “You heard. They need my help right away—I don’t know where those damn doctors are.” She slipped her hands around his waist. “I don’t want to leave either, but it’s Saima.”

  “I know.”

  Charlotte knew exactly where his mind was going. The last time she was at the African camp she was almost killed. “There is no need to worry, Tri. Those latest attacks in Africa were countries away from Saima’s camp. Everything has stabilized in her area since those first attacks months ago. You don’t need to worry.”

  “I can’t help it Char, it is you, after all.”

  She smirked at him. “You’re saying I get myself into trouble?”

  “I’m saying trouble does have a way of finding you.”

  “Can you come with?” Charlo
tte looked hopeful.

  “I can, but not right away. At the moment, I need to get to the elders.”

  “How long will it take? I want to leave now, but I could wait a couple hours, and then push the pilot hard.”

  Triaten shook his head. “It’s going to take a day at least, I’m guessing. I don’t know who betrayed us, but it had to have been one of the elders. This trap was too well-orchestrated. The Folottos had long-term knowledge that we were coming. And they knew exactly when we were to arrive. That could have only come from our inner circle. Someone involved in the planning.”

  “Do you really expect to find out who it was?”

  “No. But if I’m not there, I have no chance of tracking down any clues. I talk to enough of them, someone is going to let something slip. And the sooner the better.”

  Charlotte sighed. “Yes, fine, you need to. I was just hoping, even though I knew the answer.”

  His hands went along her face, cupping her elegant beauty. “But I will come. I swear I will leave and join you just as soon as I can. I don’t want you down there by yourself. And then we’ll stay there as long as you need to. How’s that?”

  “That sounds,” she went to her toes to kiss him, “like it can’t come soon enough. You hurry to me.”

  Triaten smiled. “I will.”

  ~~~

  The second she stepped off the helicopter into the heat of the arid land, Charlotte knew something was wrong. They had approached the camp as usual, and from the air, in a quick survey of the land as they descended, Charlotte saw nothing out of place. People walked about in the tasks of daily life. Children played.

  So she didn’t hesitate in grabbing her bag and hopping out of the helicopter. She hated how much dust the blades kicked up, so she was in a hurry.

  There was a second of sudden dread when she saw the flashes of black surround her, and then a blade landed on her neck. A shot rang out, and as she turned back to the pilot, another blade appeared, aimed at her heart. The pilot was slumped over, his body being pulled from helicopter.

  Charlotte’s head whipped around and the blade on her neck drew a line of blood. A wall of head-to-toe black-clad bodies surrounded her. All had swords at the ready. All had swords pointed at her body.

  They surged in on her, forcing her back onto the helicopter. One of them grabbed her wrist, ripping the bag from her hand. She couldn’t see his eyes through the dark helmet that covered the top half of his face. He pushed her down onto one of the four seats. Over her shoulder, she could see someone get into the pilot’s seat.

  Metal went around her wrist, and before she even realized what it was—before she could struggle against it—she was handcuffed to the metal bar that ran along the seat. She jerked at the metal, but it was solid, and tight, reddening her skin.

  Triaten was going to kill her.

  The swarm of assailants backed off, disappearing into the cloud of dust the helicopter produced, save for one, who took the seat next to her, dagger still out and at the ready. She stared at the metal in his hand, wondering if she would be quick enough.

  Just as she was about to lunge and find out, a hand grabbed her free arm.

  “You’re not going to win that one.” The voice was loud in her ear, shouting over the sound of the blades.

  Charlotte looked up. Suit. Tie. A sleek body, widening into a thick chest. She couldn’t see his face, which was still by her ear.

  “You won’t be escaping, so I encourage you to make this as easy as possible on yourself.” He had a slight accent—French, maybe Spanish?

  His hands moved down her body, stopping at her waist. Charlotte stiffened under his touch, trying to pull her torso away with no success. He clipped the lap belt over her thighs.

  He stood, and went to sit opposite her. Securing his own belt, he nodded to the replacement pilot over Charlotte’s shoulder. The helicopter swayed, pulling up and away from the small dust storm it created.

  His eyes didn’t leave her face as they gained altitude. She glared back him.

  Clear of land and high above the jungle behind the camp, he grabbed the headset that hung by his head. He put it on, pushing his dark hair back, and motioned for Charlotte to do likewise.

  She had just been abducted, and he expected her to put on a headset and chit-chat?

  He flicked his finger at the soldier next to her. The soldier reached up and grabbed a headset, putting it over Charlotte’s head.

  As much as she hated to, she clamped down on her anger and let him set it in place. If they wanted her dead, she would have been dead the moment she got out of the helicopter. So she had to know what the hell was going on.

  The suit’s voice came through the headset. “I’m surprised you’re as beautiful as you are. I held out little hope in that regard.”

  Seriously? That was what he had to say to her?

  She used her free hand to pull the microphone to her mouth. “What do you want from me?”

  His answer began before the words finished leaving her mouth. “I refuse to have important conversations such as this in a helicopter. Enjoy the ride. After we reach our destination, you will be told what you need to know.”

  He removed the headset before she could ask another question.

  Frustration boiled, and Charlotte ripped the band of the headset from her head and threw it. No reaction. He just leaned back in his seat, eyes out on the jungle changing over to desert.

  Charlotte looked down at her lap and tempered her breathing, accepting the fact that she had just been abducted. She scanned her brain—what was the protocol for kidnapping? Beyond stay alive, first, the mind needs to be a blank slate. Remove all thoughts of any loved ones, any joy, any fears, from one’s mind. They can’t use against you what they don’t know about. Charlotte closed her eyes, emptying her mind the best she could.

  Second, find a way out. It may not appear right away, but there is always a way out. It just needs to be found. And if she was going to find a way out of this, anger would be no help. She closed her eyes tighter as she tried to dissipate the shards of rage in her chest.

  After ten minutes, satisfied she had made herself benign, she looked at her captor, a mask of calmness across her eyes.

  She assessed the lines of his face as they flew, desperate for some clue as to who he was and what he wanted with her. The whole of him was pretentiously refined. From his cut cheek bones, to the solid clean-shaven jaw, even his brown eyes callously disregarded the landscape with boredom. Boredom only those who have seen the world over many times could muster.

  His suit was expensive, tailored to perfection. The only things that looked out of place were the few strands of dark hair that fell across his forehead. Barring the wind of the helicopter, Charlotte guessed that mussed hair was usually not the case.

  As hard as she stared, she couldn’t conjure up a memory of this male. And she had plenty of time to stare. Other than his first appraisal, he hadn’t given her another look.

  She was almost positive he was a stranger. But in all that she had seen in the past century, she couldn’t be sure. If he was a Malefic, and she was pretty certain that was the case, it was possible she had met or fought him in the past.

  But she remained flummoxed as to why anyone would kidnap her. Her power of healing was replicated in plenty of other Panthenites around the world—plenty of other healers that were way more accessible than stealing her from the middle of Africa.

  Charlotte’s arm unconsciously pulled at the handcuff. It wasn’t until she felt wetness, a ring of blood on her wrist, that she realized she fought metal she couldn’t beat.

  Her hard gut sank even lower when they landed at a sparse airstrip near the ocean.

  Hell. Now she was in major trouble.

  The helicopter set down next to a jet, where a row of the black-garbed mercenaries were lined in front of the plane. If she was taken onto the jet, that would mean there was no telling where she would end up. Without refueling multiple times, helicopters only had limited r
ange, and she would have had at least a chance of figuring out her location.

  The suited male unbuckled and exited the helicopter without a glance her way, striding to the plane. The soldier next to her waited until the line of mercenaries moved forward, surrounding the helicopter opening. Only then did the soldier unbuckle her and unlock the handcuff from the bar, leaving the one end clamped tight on her wrist.

  Blade on her neck, she was escorted off the helicopter. The soldiers swelled tight, surrounding her, and then moved in unison to the plane.

  What did they think she would do—could do? Whoever the suit was, he was allowing no chance for her to escape.

  In the plane, she was prodded to a side chair, and quickly re-attached to an exposed metal bar. The suited male was not in this part of the cabin. Just her and six of the soldiers, all silent. The other half remained on the airstrip.

  Hours later, in the dark, they landed. All Charlotte could discern was that they had landed in the thick of snow-covered mountains. Blade tip on her back, she stepped down onto the tarmac. It was cold. In a tank and light cargo pants, she was dressed for African heat, not freezing temperatures. She was ushered into one of three black suvs. The suit was not in it.

  The castle was a surprise. From the middle back of the suv, still under multiple blades, Charlotte watched through the windshield as the castle manifested before her eyes.

  Married into the cliffside, in the dark, it was hard to tell where the mountain ended and the castle began. The vehicle curved back and forth up the twisty single-lane road, and Charlotte could catch glimpses of the elegant structure at the turns.

  Out of the snow and rock, tall white limestone walls glimmered against the moonlight, framed on the ends with spire-topped towers that rose, both framing and mimicking the stretch of the mountaintop behind. Evenly-spaced turrets dotted the outer wall of the castle, hanging precipitously over the air that descended into a deep ravine.

  For all that she didn’t have a clue about what was going on or where she was, the castle told her something—she had to be in Europe by the looks of it. The architectural blend of neo-gothic and Romanticism screamed of European aristocracy run amok.