by Candy Nicks
Her head spun. How could he leave her? After all they'd been through. The symbols on her palm burned and screamed for him. The pain of betrayal too much to bear. When he appeared at the door, bloodied and brandishing a blast-gun, she barely registered him.
"It's clear. Let's go,” he said. And then louder, “Carine, did you hear me? We have to go now."
She couldn't move. He'd returned. He hadn't abandoned her. “The tracker,” she said. “It will set off the alarms."
Ancel twisted, showing her the gouge marks on his shoulder. “Not a problem. Come here and I'll get rid of yours."
She noticed the bloodstained knife rammed into the waistband of his pants and took a step back. Ancel crossed the room in a few strides, pumped and totally in command. She stepped back into the bathroom, her hand going automatically to the tracker on her shoulder. Unable to fend him off as he ruthlessly pinned her to the wall and brandished the knife.
"Keep still and it won't hurt so much."
It hurt like hell. Her knees buckled under his assault, but there was no time for explanations, or soft words of comfort and reassurance. He did what was necessary and she endured as best she could, groaning into the hand covering her mouth when he pulled the tracker from her flesh. Without giving her time to recover, he jammed the knife back into his pants, grasped her hand and pulled her, stumbling, into the corridor. Surprise was their best weapon and she had no time to ponder the alternatives.
He pushed himself against the wall and listened. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears, the banging of her heart. And, she realised with a sinking feeling, the familiar whirring of a camera, high up on the wall, swivelling on its mounting.
Ancel heard it too. Aiming the gun he blasted it from the wall, leaving it hanging by a tangle of smoking wires. “Damnation. That's our advantage gone."
"It's hopeless."
He turned to her, his face grim. “I told you before. It's only hopeless when we're dead. And that's not going to happen. Not if I have anything to do with it."
A sudden and overwhelming burst of pride swelled in her chest. He set his course and then followed through without question. What could she do but the same? How could she deny him this chance to regain his honour?
"Ancel,” she said tugging at his arm.
He turned distracted eyes to her. “What?"
"Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder and raised her face to his. “I just wanted to say thank you."
"This is how an Eagle says thank you.” He pulled her up for a swift, hard kiss. It lasted seconds, but made an impression to last a lifetime. In a heartbeat he was again pressed back against the wall, head cocked, gun raised. Still holding her hand.
"I can think of a better way,” she said, still dazed from the speed of events. “Get me out of here, and I'll show you."
* * * *
Not the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, but certainly the most compelling. And the most determined. To the victor, the spoils. He wanted to save her for so many reasons.
"Stop distracting me,” he said, unable to contain a smile at her words. “I need to concentrate. You need to do as I say."
"I will."
She tucked into his side, moving with him along the edge of the corridor. For now, trusting him to get this right. Experience told him that wouldn't last long. “If we're separated, you must run,” he said. “Promise me you will."
He wasn't really expecting an answer and, other than a quick squeeze of his hand, she didn't give one. Whether it was a yes, or a no, he had no idea. Doors lined the corridor, all of them closed. At the end, double doors and stairs down to the lobby area. Beyond that freedom. Or, more likely, that noble death he'd been courting for so long now. “Not that way,” he said, tugging her back.
"Will you show me the mountains?” she said, breathless behind him. “They've always looked so beautiful. And so far away."
"Yes.” He replied without hesitation. A rash promise since he already knew his people would never accept a Moon-Child amongst them.
Before them, the corridor stretched out, a barred window at the end. He counted ten, maybe twelve doors set in the walls. Holding cells, similar to theirs by the look of them. It was eerily silent. The kind of silence you get before all the demons of hell break loose.
"Ancel, the wardrobe room. The window wasn't barred."
"Which way?"
"Down the stairs. Can we make it?"
"We can try."
"Let's go then."
Energy flowed between them. A rare moment of perfect balance which made him dizzy with euphoria. Like that moment in a fight where you suddenly see all the moves laid out before you. Where victory is in plain sight. The guards who barrelled through the doors to the stairs didn't stand a chance. Ancel took them one by one, three with the blast-gun, another in swift hand to hand combat. Throwing the gun to Carine, he whipped out the knife and slit the man's throat, ruthlessly, efficiently, almost ripping off the head with the effort. Carine paled and swayed.
No time to explain or justify. The moment of connection severed abruptly when he saw her horrified expression. He wiped the blood from his hands, retrieved the gun, unrepentant, still buzzing from the kill. Sorry only that she had to witness him at his worst.
The stairs were clear, but the ear-splitting shriek of the alarm told him that wouldn't last long. Behind them, he heard shouts and bangs on the metal cell-doors. Below them, bellowed commands.
"Which one?"
"That one, I think."
Damnation, but she still looked terrified of him. He kicked open the door, gun at the ready. Inside, on a low stool, sat an old woman, needle and thread in hand, eyes wide at the intrusion.
"No!” Carine grabbed the arm holding the gun. He shook her off, incensed that she would think him capable of killing a defenceless old woman. The crone was no threat to them; any fool could see that. Carine bit her lip and looked away, aware of her transgression. Ancel quelled the indignation inside of him. How was she to know what he was capable of? This was only the half of it. She was right to be afraid of him.
"Keep still,” he barked at the old woman, “and you'll live."
She nodded fervently, needle and thread still held aloft.
"Does the door have a lock?"
The woman shook her head.
"Hold this,” he said handing the gun to Carine. “And don't be afraid to use it.” She was still a little catatonic, her movements mechanical. Savagery was part of survival, she needed to learn that. And the ability to shut down everything but the goal. “Freedom,” he told her. “Think only of that. And do anything you must."
He didn't wait for a reaction. With his back against the largest of the shelf-units, he heaved it in front of the door, already knowing that it wouldn't hold the guards for long. The low-key security was an illusion. No Master would pay the price laid out for him and Carine without the means to protect their investment.
"The window,” he said catching his breath. “How many floors?"
"Two, I think. Ancel, I can't..."
"Yes, you can.” He removed the knife from his belt and handed that to her too. Arguing only wasted precious seconds. They might yet need a miracle to pull this off. Quickly he scanned the courtyard below. Empty apart from what looked like rubbish containers in amongst the shrubbery. The wall was devoid of any likely hand-holds apart from a water pipe which ran from roof to ground. He had no idea whether it would hold them.
Did he go first, and risk breaking it from the wall, trapping her up here? Or did he send her first, possibly to her doom? “I'll go first,” he said. “If it breaks, and I make it down, you can jump. I'll catch you. If I don't, then try another way out.” He pushed open the frame and heaved himself up onto the ledge. “Don't do anything foolish."
"This isn't foolish?” She leaned past him to look down and almost pushed him out when she shot back abruptly. “I can't do it ... I'm ... I'm afraid of heights. You go..."
"Carine.”
He took her hand, pressing the symbols close. Covered it with his other hand to hold her there. “It's not an option, and you know it.” Behind them, the old woman stood and took a step towards the door. “You! Sit!” he said. She fell back into her stool, head in hands. “One move and I'll wring your neck."
The lover warred with the warrior. Carine could be pulled gently this way. He let go her hand and patted it. But all the bluster in the world couldn't push her into anything. His biggest weapon wasn't his strength, or his ability to kill on demand and walk away without looking back. It was this—the connection she'd given them, which trapped her as much as it did him.
"I want you to make good your promise,” he whispered, close. “And I want to see you with your hair grown. And show you the sunrise from Mount Helios."
The tears took him by surprise. Made him hesitate as he swung his legs over the ledge. Her dark eyes filled to the brim, her mouth quivered, but yet she stood firm, letting them spill even as she said, “I'd like that."
He almost changed his mind about going first. Would she follow, or were the tears a goodbye? If he sent her before him, who would be there to catch her? A commander made his decision and stuck by it. And in this there was no right or wrong, only something they must do. He leaped back into the room and laid out the old woman with a swift punch to the jaw. “Trust no-one,” he said grimly.
Carine caught him just before he reached for the water-pipe. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Touched what was left of his hair. “Our true worth is inside of us,” she said. “Now go. I will follow."
He didn't look back. His task now was to get down as fast as possible. They were already on borrowed time. He realised his mistake the moment he touched the pipe. Instead of cold hard metal, his fingers closed around a soft pliable material that crushed in his grip and bowed under his weight. The momentum caused the retaining clips to ping from the wall and the pipe to swing outwards in a wide arc, with him still clinging on. The rubbish canisters zoomed towards him at an alarming speed, leaving him little time to twist into a position which might minimise his injuries. They gave as he hit them, hip and shoulder first, the rubbery material compressing under his weight.
Dimly, he heard dogs barking. Shouts. A door slamming. He moved his arms and legs, found them all working. The only injury, one to his pride, thank the Gods. Slime and rotting food trickled from his back as he swam his way out of the garbage, anxiously scanning the window for Carine. Would she trust him to catch her? Could he trust himself?
"Carine?” He cupped his hands around his mouth trying to stifle the sound. No answer. He called again, louder this time, unable to believe that all of his efforts had come to this. Or that they were destined to end their days as playthings for the super-rich. Not going to happen, he vowed, and called again. “Carine, where are you? What's wrong?"
The symbols asked the same question. Where is she? Why isn't she here? A panic he could ill afford. He wiped himself down and shaded his eyes, searching for another way back up. Cursing himself for going first. The flimsy water-pipe might have taken her weight. Damnation, he couldn't know everything. Best concentrate on finding her before the guards did. He could well imagine the mayhem inside the building. The alarm still blared, the dogs snarled. It wouldn't be long before they found him.
Behind the garbage cans a wall flanked a low outbuilding. He took it at a run, flinging himself forward to catch a hand-hold and pull himself up. Here, at least the dogs couldn't get him. Where the hell was Carine?
"She's here, big-boy."
Vin's voice, from the window, mocking, assured. Just a hint of mirth. “You alphas, you're such hard work! Have you any idea how this kind of behaviour screws with the budget? No, of course you don't. Nobody seems to care that I have to square all this with the Mistress ... no..."
"Shut the hell up. Where is she?"
"Ooh, ornery. Just how I like ‘em.” Vin leaned out of the window. Behind him, Ancel caught a glimpse of a blast-gun. “That's for you to find out, Ancel. Love the name, by the way. Very noble. And we all know how noble you are, don't we? You're not going to leave her behind.” Vin waggled his fingers. “Well, must run. Got a show to organise. New act tonight. It's going to bring down the house. You know where the front door is."
Ancel let him ramble, his mind already retracing the steps from the front door to the main room of the club. Weighing the chances of getting through the guards, freeing Carine from whatever Vin had in mind for her, and then getting them both out of there. Chance. Ultimately everything came down to that. You could do everything right. Fight your best fight, and still come out the loser. Lady Luck was as fickle as she was gracious with her favours. After a spectacular run, which had seen him become undefeated champion of the Tournament circuit, she now seemed to have abandoned him completely.
From the low roof he could see the main gate policed by a single guard. Beyond that, the tantalising promise of freedom. With one last despairing glance he jumped from the wall and crouched low. What could he do but try to free her? The Bonding left him no alternative. Carine's expression, when she'd at last put her trust in him, left him no alternative. You're dead Vin. He sent the thought and heard Vin's returned laughter.
"Maybe soon.” Vin called back. “But not yet, Ancel, my boy. Not yet."
* * * *
"He makes quite a habit of this, so I believe?"
"He'll never give up trying, if that's what you're asking. Would you, if you were him?"
Vin tilted his head and eyed her. He shrugged. “They all do, eventually. I was a major pain in everyone's butt for a couple of years. But I came round to it. And you will too."
"Never."
"Love the body language, dearie. Defiance ... hmm. Think we can work that into the act. Try as they might, the Bonding would not be denied. What do you think? Too much of a cliché?"
"He won't come for me. I'm a Moon-Child, he's an Eagle warrior. It was never going to work."
"Nice try sweetheart.” Vin leaned close, flashing his tongue-piercing. Making her recoil from his stale breath. “Your every pore is screaming out for him. You want him, Carine. And he wants you. I don't have to be a Reader to see that."
She glanced around, expecting at any moment to see Ancel come charging headlong into the dim interior of the bar. Wished she could break the Bonding here and now and allow him to take the chance to escape.
"Not going to happen, sweetie. Unless you have your Crystal—which I know you don't.” Vin beckoned over a guard and pointed to a pair of padded restraints, chained to the wall.
"Let's start with something simple. We haven't had a virgin sacrifice race for a while. And don't give me that. I know you are,” Vin declared with a raise of his eyebrows. He turned away, directing the guards from the curtained entrance at the back of the room to more discrete positions and then beckoned over a young man who moved obediently behind him to massage his shoulders. A few other people milled quietly about the room, wiping tables, collecting drinking vessels. Behind the bar, a tall man piled bottles into the cooler. Vin was at the centre of it all.
"Better believe it, honey.” He leaned back and pulled the young man down for a kiss, his hands moving to cup the man's crotch. The man moaned on cue.
Guessing that the display was for her benefit, Carine looked deliberately away. Unless you have your Crystal ... What did that mean? The Bonding was sealed in stone. It couldn't be undone ... could it? She gave up trying to block Vin and let her skittering heart have full rein. One thing she must do is stay free as long as possible. Ancel might still pull off the impossible and rescue her. She twisted away from the guard holding her arm and threw herself from the stage. He was on her immediately, his brawny arms squeezing out her breath. Crushing her and re-opening her shoulder-wound. She elbowed him, making little impression on the band of muscle holding her so securely. He simply tightened his hold and hauled her back onto the stage.
The restraints fitted snugly around her wrists, allowing her no room to wriggle her ha
nds free. They forced her arms upwards, almost hauling her from the floor. Hiked up her skirt. Her feet, they left free, so she could fight back, Vin said and grinned. She caught her breath, unable to stop the guard's roving hands as he strapped her in place.
"Perk of the job,” he growled, his hand under her skirt, fingers probing. She kicked him and made him laugh, hurting her bare feet more than she'd hurt him. He cranked the chains up a few more links.
"Leave off.” Vin beckoned him over. “You can have one of the girls—later,” he added. “Go get me a couple of bracelets and a contraceptive shot. And see if Rock's recovered from last night. Tell him he's on again."
The guard left, after a last insolent caress. Someone turned up the house lights, testing them one by one. A burst of music filled the air, then died away. An Overseer appeared dragging a girl, manacled and dirty and barely into her womanhood. Vin stared at her for a long moment before throwing up his hands. “By all that's holy. Just what do you have to do to find a virgin these days? Okay, but only half the agreed price. Go get her hosed down and repaired. She'll do for the late-night-special, when they're too drunk to notice."
All around Carine, the club went about its usual routines. Vin the queen bee, very much in his element, his drones running to do his bidding. Exposed as she was centre-stage, Carine felt forgotten in all the bustle. She concentrated on the pain in her shoulder and in her arms, which felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. It grounded her and reminded her that this was very real, not some dream she would to wake up from, heart pounding. Vin gave her an occasional glance, but still no sign of Ancel. Carine prayed that he'd done the sensible thing and run. She gritted her teeth against the insistent throbbing of the symbols. Too long apart. They were calling him back. Silently. Insistently. She tipped back her head and fixed her eyes on the curtain covering the door to the lobby. She was lost, but Ancel could still be saved.
Run, Ancel. Run and don't look back.
Vin sent her a curious stare. Head tilted, he studied her and for a moment she glimpsed something of the person he might have been, once upon a time. A flash of sympathy before the mask came down and he directed one of his lackeys to administer the contraceptive shot. He turned his gaze to the curtain and nodded, smiling to himself. Beckoned two of the milling staff.
