by Hazel Hunter
“’Twas also how the Ninth moved the entire legion across Caledonia to attack us here,” Raen reminded the laird. “I remember the tribune taunting you about expecting to fight a thousand men, when he had gathered six thousand to slay us.”
Kinley took hold of Lachlan’s hand. “Since that attack ended up making the clan immortal, and the legion our undead enemies for all eternity, we might want to jump on this.”
“Aye, you must learn their purpose, my lord,” Bhaltair said. “Which you cannae do if you are trifling with this outsider woman. Bring her to Cailean, and he will take charge of her.”
“Since I’m the reason Lieutenant Burke came here, I’d like to speak with her before she returns to San Diego,” Kinley said. “Otherwise she could come back again, and bring reinforcements.”
“Agreed,” Lachlan said. “Raen, arrange an escort to take Master Flen and Ovate Lusk back to their settlement. For now, we will keep Diana Burke here at the stronghold.”
“I think I should also stay,” Cailean said quickly before he turned to the old druid. “With your permission, Master, so that I may be available, should circumstances require my assistance.”
The old druid exchanged a strange look with his acolyte, and then seemed to settle into a calmer mood. “Yes, I think that wise. The laird’s men will look after me. Should you need my counsel, you may send a message by dove.”
The prospect of Diana staying at Dun Aran made Raen feel a strange mixture of relief and dread. He tried to shake it off, and caught Kinley giving him an odd look. “Is there something else, my lady?”
She smiled a little. “It’s just your face. I thought I saw your ink glitter for a second.”
Chapter Five
THE MOON ROSE, full and frosty over the vast acres of woodlands surrounding the enormous country estate. Tribune Quintus Seneca looked up at the cold eye of night as he walked past the castle’s new guards, whose bloodless flesh made them appear like statues instead of men. As they saluted him he saw the hunger burning in their black eyes, but it did not trouble him. Over the last year his undead army had endured meager rations and everything else Quintus had asked of them.
Soon enough they would be rewarded.
A centurion intercepted him at the threshold, and brought his arm up diagonally across his chest.
“Tribune, the last cohorts have arrived.”
“Assemble the men. I will address them shortly.”
Once the centurion had departed Quintus continued through the hall and entered the buttery. From there he walked down into the labyrinth of wine racks, brine barrels and cheese presses that crowded the lower levels. Once past the household stores he descended again into the torch-lit second level, formerly the dungeon, which he had ordered his men to prepare as his command center and personal quarters.
As he changed out of his tunic and trousers into his formal uniform, he heard rustling sounds coming from the room that served as his bed chamber. He wondered if the countess would be as well this night as she had been the last.
I was a fool to trifle with her, Quintus thought as he finished dressing by donning his armor, and clipping his paludamentum to his right shoulder with a simple fibula. Before they had been cursed, a tribune wearing the red cloak in front of his troops was a signal that the legion was being sent into battle. Now he wore it every time he spoke to the men.
They had fought long and hard to survive. Victory now awaited, just over the horizon.
“Who is out there?” a plaintive voice called.
Quintus entered the bed chamber, and looked down at the beautiful mortal woman tied naked to the bed. The laird’s wife was the loveliest mortal female he had ever seen, and after they had taken the castle last night he could not resist using her as his blood thrall. She had begged him to stop, and offered him instead the use of her divine body. Although he never toyed with mortal women, her beauty made it impossible for him to resist. Later, while she lay sleeping in his arms, Quintus had stared at the bite marks on her long, white throat. He hated seeing her perfection spoiled, and had used a little of his own blood to heal them.
“There you are, my master,” the countess said, her languid voice filled with longing. “I have waited all day for you to return. Willnae you have me again?”
He frowned. Blood thralls rarely resisted after they had been used, but that was from weakness and shock. “Why would you wish me to?”
“I want you,” she said and rolled her shoulders to jut her breasts in an inviting manner. “Please, touch me.”
He felt his cock swell as he sat down beside the countess, and fondled her breasts until she moaned. Fucking her last night had given him almost as much pleasure as the sweet, hot blood that pulsed through her veins.
“Are you not afraid of me?”
She smiled as if she were in love with his every word.
“I wish only to serve you, Master. I will spread my legs for you, so that you might fuck me and drink from me again.” Her dark eyes shifted toward the cords binding her to the bed posts. “Release me and I will.”
Quintus leaned closer and saw that her green eyes had darkened considerably since last night. If he had drained her to the point of death and then forced her to drink his own blood, that would have changed her into an undead. But all he had done was use her. He rose from the bed and used his dagger to cut through her bonds.
“On your knees before me,” he ordered.
The countess flung herself from the bed to the floor, where she knelt and looked up at him with visible adoration.
“Do you wish to put your cock in my mouth? I will suck it and drink from you, my master.”
“Guard,” he shouted, and when his men hurried in he gestured to one of them. “Stand over her,” he ordered, “and take out your shaft.” When the guard did as ordered, Quintus said to the countess, “I want you to suck him.”
She pursed her lips, then turned her head and began to fellate the guard.
Quintus watched her suck the man until he came, and ordered her to do the same to the second guard. He then commanded her to let them use her mouth and quim at the same time while he watched. She obeyed with such obvious pleasure that it could not be an act, but he was still not yet convinced.
“Bring the lowest, most odorous servant in the castle to me,” Quintus instructed the guards, who left and returned a few minutes later with a filthy, terrified swineherd. “Strip him.”
Once the shivering man was naked, he saw the open pox sores around his groin, and knew that would have to be too much for the countess to continue her farce.
“Give yourself to this man,” he told her.
Without hesitation the beautiful woman hurried to the bed, spreading herself there as if for a refined, perfumed lover. The bulge-eyed swineherd had to be dragged by the guards to her. But once they shoved him on top of the countess he began to use her vigorously. All the while she kissed and caressed his dirty, scabrous body with loving hands.
As the swineherd slobbered kisses over the countess’s white throat, Quintus remembered the minor healing he had performed. Could his blood have caused her to behave like this?
As the guards watched the mortals, the tribune went back upstairs and ordered the countess’s husband brought to him. The earl, who had been beaten bloody by the legion as they stormed the castle, had to be dragged into the great hall.
He swore loudly as soon as he saw Quintus. “You facking monstrous demon, where is my wife?”
“You would not believe me if I told you.” To the guard Quintus said, “Bring him here to me.”
The earl struggled as Quintus sank his fangs into his wrist and drank from his veins.
“You’d better kill me now, you bastart,” the earl yelled, “for I’ll cut out your black heart the moment I’ve a chance.”
The mortal continued to threaten and rage as Quintus dragged his own thumb over the tip of his fang. He smeared the bite marks he had left on the earl’s wrist with his own blood, and watched them slo
wly heal and disappear. Silence filled the great hall as the furious mortal went still and quiet. He stared at Quintus as if he were startled. The earl’s expression slowly softened, and his mouth curved.
“I shouldnae have fought you, my laird,” the earl said. “Forgive me.” He bowed his head.
“What do you wish to do now?” Quintus asked the earl.
“Naught but what will please you, my laird.” The earl’s blue eyes began to darken, and his ruddy skin took on a distinct pallor. “Command me and ’twill be done.”
“Why don’t you go and share your wife with her new lover?” Quintus snapped, and said to the guards, “Take him down to my chambers and put him with the other two until I return.”
As he strode out to the front lawn, where the legion’s cohorts stood waiting, Quintus tried to imagine what would happen when the proud earl found a swineherd fucking his wife. He almost felt sorry for her.
Quintus took his position before the legion.
Brutus Ficini, his most trusted centurion, shouted, “Noto. Animus attentus.”
Thousands of gauntlets slammed against chests as the men of the Ninth Legion came to attention, their pale flesh and black eyes absolutely still. Since Gaius Lucinius’s death they had been forced to follow Quintus’ strict orders, even when it defied their undead nature. But now he had the pleasure of rewarding them all for it.
“Brothers,” Quintus said, his voice piercing the stillness. “I am honored by your loyalty, and humbled by your diligence. The sacrifices you have made have preserved this legion entirely. As my ancestor, Marcus Annaeus Seneca once wrote, every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. This night I have learned that our scouts have prevailed at last. They have found a well-concealed, easily defensible location in the north territory that can serve as the Ninth’s new castrum. There, with your help, we will rebuild our stronghold. Centurio, fere spectare.”
The long line of sixty centurions within the legion took one step forward, turned and faced their cohorts.
“Your centurions have your orders,” Quintus told the men. “Travel quickly and quietly. We will next meet at the northern encampment. Aquilifer.”
The standard bearer stepped forward, and lifted his pole to raise the legion’s golden eagle high in the air.
“Rome that ruled the world is no more,” Quintus said. He despised reminding the men of that bitter fact, but for once it could serve another purpose. “We, too, have been cast into darkness, but we have never surrendered. I am no god, or emperor, but like all of you a soldier who has fought long and hard for what is rightfully ours. We will take back dominion over this land.” He lifted an arm, saluting them. “Ave Legio nota Hispania!”
The men returned the salute, but they shouted, “Ave Seneca! Ave Seneca!”
Once the men were dispatched by their centurions to make the long journey by different routes, Quintus instructed his own guard to ready their horses. His last task was to return to the cellar, where the earl, his countess and the swineherd awaited him.
Both guards looked confused, but snapped to attention as soon as he entered the bed chamber. Quintus saw why as he took in the strange tableau on the bed.
The earl had his wife under him as he busily worked himself in and out of her body. At the same time the swineherd stood beside the bed, the countess’s hair in his fists as he made use of her mouth. The countess lay unresisting, her slumberous eyes brightening with pleasure as she saw Quintus.
“Keep sucking him, my lady,” the earl said as he reared up. He jerked out his cock as he watched Quintus, and then shook as he came all over his wife’s breasts and belly. As the swineherd stiffened and grunted, the nobleman climbed off the bed and tugged up his trews. “She’s well-primed for you now, my lord.”
“Take the servant out of here, and send Ficini to me,” Quintus told the guards before he asked the earl, “You allowed your wife to service a filthy, pox-ridden peasant while you took her. Why?”
The earl looked confused. “You told me to, my lord.”
“If I say to strangle the life out of her, you would?” Quintus demanded. “You would kill the woman you love for me?”
“Of course,” the other man said, smiling in the same adoring way that his wife had. “I would do anything for you, my lord.”
“I do not believe you.” Quintus strode out into the next room, kicking the door shut behind him and pacing until Ficini arrived. “Something has happened.”
Once he told the centurion about the nobles’ bizarre behavior, Ficini said, “Some of the men have had similar incidents with mortals they have used and healed. They follow them, and behave as if they are devoted slaves. They have helped to hide the men during the day, lure other mortals for them to feed on, and even kill their own kind to prevent them from raising the alarm.”
Last year, after the disastrous destruction of the legion’s underground lair, Quintus had been forced to disperse his men to search for a new stronghold. To prevent the McDonnel clan from tracking their movements, he’d also issued orders for the legion to stop killing mortals altogether, take only enough blood from them to survive another day, and conceal any sign that they had been used for blood. Smearing a bite wound with a little undead blood made the mortal’s injury vanish.
Just as he had used his blood to heal the countess’s throat.
“Do you mean to tell me that we can make willing slaves out of mortals?” Quintus demanded. “That we have wasted twelve centuries draining them to death, when we might have enthralled armies of them to do our bidding?”
“I can repeat only what has been reported to me,” Ficini said. He looked uncomfortable now. “I did always wonder how Tribune Gaius Lucinius had such control over his blood thralls.”
“Before that druid woman burned him to death, Gaius believed himself a god,” Quintus said. “He ordered us to use mortals until they were dead. I despised him, but if he knew about this healing enthrallment… No, I cannot believe it. Even Gaius would not have been that foolish.”
“Perhaps these mortals went insane,” the centurion said carefully, “and the men mistook it for enthrallment.”
“Then I will demonstrate it for you, and you may tell me what it is.” He gestured for the centurion to follow him into the bed chamber, and came to an abrupt halt.
“I have strangled her for you, my lord,” the earl said as he dropped his wife’s limp body to the floor. He pointed proudly at the mottled bruises marring her throat. “Now do you believe me?”
Chapter Six
WITH HER TEETH Diana finished tugging the knot around her right wrist loose, and cupped her hand. Twisting it slowly one way and then the other, she worked her hand free of the makeshift restraint. Keeping close watch on the door, she untied the other wrist and then freed her ankles. A quick, silent search of the room turned up several things she could use as weapons. She settled on a long, sturdy rod with a crude hook carved on one end. She’d batted .411 when she’d played softball in college, so kneecapping the next person through the door would be no problem.
Unless it was Raen Aber, and his gorgeous, unyielding body. What kind of man turned into a walking brick wall during a fight?
Once Diana armed herself she looked for another way out. The narrow open slit that served as the only window seemed promising, if she could squeeze through it. She got her head and arm out, at which point she saw the two-hundred-foot drop down into the ominously black pit surrounding the base of the castle. While she’d survived that last, horrific fall from Horsethief Canyon, she had no way of knowing if her monumental luck would repeat itself.
Her hair fell in her eyes as she came out of the window, and when she pushed it back she couldn’t help threading her fingers through it. Her hair hadn’t felt this thick and silky since she’d been in the academy. Back then she’d chopped it all off when her firearms instructor had threatened to shave her head if she didn’t keep it out of her face on the range. After that keeping it short had been convenient. More re
cently, it hadn’t been a matter of choice.
God, she’d missed having long hair. She wanted to brush it and curl it and she would—as soon as she woke up from this dreamy nightmare.
Low voices spoke outside the door to the room, and galvanized Diana into action. She positioned herself beside the hinges, adjusting her grip on the rod until it felt balanced. As it opened she shifted, ready to swing. The woman who walked in was slender, golden-haired and practically glowing with health. She also looked exactly like Kinley Chandler before an explosion knocked her face-first into a rescue helicopter.
Diana froze as she looked into the white-streaked blue eyes she’d only seen in case file photos.
“Captain Chandler?”
“Yes,” Kinley said as her gaze shifted to the rod. “Lachlan, you should stay in the hall.”
“And what fun would that be, my wife?” A man almost as big as Raen stepped inside, and immediately shoved Kinley behind him. “Put it down now, lass.”
“Be happy to,” Diana said and could see the dangerous gleam in Lachlan’s dark eyes, but he didn’t worry her. Seeing Kinley Chandler healed of her very serious, life-threatening injuries as if they’d never happened, on the other hand, scared the snot out of her. “Soon as Captain Chandler explains why she looks like that, where I am, who these guys are, and how the hell I got here. Oh, and if you can define what, exactly, made my hair grow out two feet in a couple hours, that would be great, too.”
“If you’ll hand over that rod to my husband,” Kinley countered, “I’ll tell you everything.” Diana didn’t want to let go, but she suspected if she didn’t the big guy would take it from her. “On one condition: no one ties me to the bed again unless I ask them to.”
Lachlan exchanged a long, silent look with his wife before he said, “Agreed.”
“Okay,” Diana said and handed him the rod, and felt her knees shake as the rush of adrenalin wore off. “Before anything else, how’s the old guy?”
