by Lee Roland
We walked across polished white marble floors toward stairs that led to a balcony. Our footsteps, though light, sounded loud, and a slight echo danced around us.
Michael seemed calm, too perfectly calm to be genuine. The calm turned to pure tension as a man came toward us from the side of the room.
Michael stopped. He muttered under his breath and stepped away from me. All his body language said he was prepared to fight. He spoke to the man. “Get out of here, Clark.”
I barely knew Michael, but had he spoken to me in such a voice, I would have run. Apparently, that marvelous charm he exuded at times had an equal and terrifying opposite.
Clark sneered at him. He wore rumpled fatigues like a soldier who had been in the field for months. A pregnant gut hung over his belt. Even at a distance I could smell him—unclean; not just unwashed, but filled with some deeper rottenness.
Clark carried a serious gun. Not that he’d ever be able to draw it in time to do any damage to me. He had it in one of the holsters that strapped to the thigh, a holster a little too big for the weapon, so it slid down too far. I’d put a knife in his heart before his hand could close on it.
I glanced at Michael. “Who is he?”
“Clark is a pedophile and murderer who has long escaped the justice he deserves. He’s the poster child for the FBI’s Most Wanted List. For reasons I don’t understand, my father thinks he needs a security force with absolutely no morals. Clark’s résumé qualified him.”
Clark leered, running his gaze up and down my body. “Now, where did Daddy’s boy find the little freak?” He had a voice well abused by alcohol and other unsavory things. He chuckled. “You want to come play with a real man, bitch? We can put a bag over your head.”
I glanced at Michael, then back at Clark. “A pedophile?”
Clark grinned. “Nope. I just like to fuck little bitty pussy. The littler, the better. I like it when they squeal.”
He liked to hear them squeal. I’d seen some like him during my time on the streets, looking for the killers. Always hunting the youngest, offering to pay for even younger. You got a little sister, honey? I’ll give you money for her. More than you’ll make here. At the time, I’d lacked the skill to seriously injure the assholes. Things were different now. As with the Drow that had attacked Michael, this was something I could do. Something I should do. Like the Bastinado on the bus. My years at Justice demanded it.
“Michael, I don’t want to be a poor guest in your father’s house, but may I express my loathing for this man with violence. Please?”
“My father has no objection to violence. He considers worms like Clark beneath notice.”
Clark gave a deep, grunting laugh. “I got a job, and you know it. What I do on my own time is my business.”
Michael chuckled. His genuine mirth was far more appealing to me than the magic charm for a crowd he sometimes displayed, as was his faith in my ability to handle Clark.
“As you wish, Madeline.” He graciously nodded his head.
The game changed. Six men came out of the darkness and surrounded us. None of them appeared to be armed like Clark. If Clark was their leader, he would be understandably reluctant to let them carry guns.
“You go talk to Daddy, pretty boy.” Clark moved in closer. He chuckled. “Leave the bitch with us.”
“Madeline?” Michael said, his voice growing steely.
“Yes, Michael,” I responded coolly.
“Do it.”
Clark stepped forward as I pulled back and drew the small knife from the back of my belt. I wouldn’t honor him with the big blade.
Clark grinned. “Come on, bitch. Let me make both sides of your ugly face match.” He pulled a knife, too. He stood with his arms open, hands flung out. “Do it, you ugly whore. Cut me!”
How stupid was the man?
I jumped in and slashed his face—not deep, but a good clean cut. For the first time, I actually paid attention to my speed. I’d always been fast. Never that fast, though. A gift from the Earth Mother? Maybe.
Clark screamed. My cut ran a diagonal across his face and had taken out one of his eyes. He dropped his knife and slapped his hands over his wound. He staggered back and choked on the blood pouring between his fingers. I kicked him in the knee, dislocating it, and grabbed the gun from his holster as he went down. He made mewling sounds for a second, then passed out.
I whirled to help Michael. Except for the unconscious Clark, we were alone.
“Where . . . ?”
Laughter danced in those beautiful blue eyes. “They were smarter than Clark. They left.”
Another man approached. Tall, over six feet, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he had tan skin, dark hair, and tattoos on every inch of his forearms. Nice muscular arms for such a slender and graceful man. Not gorgeous like Michael, but compelling anyway. This one would not be taken as easily as the ill-fated Clark.
“Étienne.” Michael nodded his head, recognizing the man.
Étienne returned the nod, but his attention was on me. He had really nice dark eyes and his mouth formed a half smile. Apparently the situation did not displease him.
“I thought you were getting rid of Clark,” Michael said.
“Don’t have a replacement yet.” Étienne winked at me. “Unless the lady is looking for a job.”
“She works for me.” Michael stepped closer. His shoulder brushed mine.
Étienne smiled, obviously interested now. “She’s yours.”
“Yes. She’s mine.”
I gritted my teeth. He’d made an enormous leap from “she works for me.” Michael and I needed to have a serious discussion about the dramatic difference between employees and possessions.
“What’s your name?” Étienne asked me.
“Madeline.” I didn’t see any reason not to tell him.
He inclined his head toward the moaning Clark. “Don’t try that with me, Madeline.”
“Then don’t pull a knife on me.”
Étienne laughed—a laugh that I would have enjoyed under different circumstances. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I handed him Clark’s gun. “You shouldn’t let him play with grown-up toys.”
“I keep hoping he’ll shoot himself.” Étienne accepted it and nodded at Michael again. “If you ever get tired of Prince Charming, Madeline, come see me.”
Still angry at Michael for claiming me as his property, I gave Étienne my best smile. “I could do worse.”
Étienne grinned back. “Honey, you already have.”
Michael hissed softly. He grabbed my hand and started for the stairs. Surprised, I let myself be dragged along until we reached the steps. I certainly didn’t want to stay with Clark, especially after Étienne kicked him.
When we reached the stairs, I jerked my hand away and glared at Michael.
“Madeline, I . . .” Whatever he saw in my expression silenced him. He turned and went up the stairs without speaking. I followed because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I sheathed Lillian’s knife and glanced back. Étienne smiled at me. For the hell of it, I smiled back.
We walked down a wide hallway on the second floor, softly lit and less spectacular than the entrance, but well maintained. As soon as we were out of hearing distance, Michael stopped. He crossed his arms and frowned at me.
“You like Étienne?”
What was this about? He sounded offended. Jealous, even.
“Yeah, I like him.” I would not let him make me defensive. “But it’s a shallow first impression. Don’t worry.” I patted his chest. “I like you best.” Act like a child and get treated like one.
He laid his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Madeline, Étienne is an ex-con. He was convicted of three murders.”
“Michael, I’m an ex-con. And you’ve seen my capacity for violence. You think I can’t deal with him?” That Étienne was a murderer didn’t surprise me, but I wouldn’t judge him without knowing his story. “Would you please tell me why you suddenly felt the need t
o claim ownership of me? Telling me you like me doesn’t give you that right.” I clamped my teeth together. This was not the time or place.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He released me. “We should go. This wasn’t a good idea.”
“Oh please, don’t leave,” said a smooth, masculine voice. “I rarely have such an interesting guest.”
That voice, a deep baritone, caught me and made me turn—compelled me to turn. The source of the voice stood ten feet from us. My mind stopped working. Stunned at the sight of something so strange, so alien, I could not think. I could not speak.
Michael spoke softly. “Madeline, this is my father.”
Chapter 17
I am not, by nature or training, given to awe or amazement of the supernatural. I have always accepted the idea that humans aren’t the only sentient beings in the universe. But I stood, motionless, and gazed at the magnificent creature before me.
The ultimate Drow—Michael’s father—stood at least seven feet tall. Gold. His skin was the color of a deep gold coin, his eyes the same. Impossibly beautiful, impossibly masculine, he had a lion’s mane of bronze-red hair that made him glorious—and an absolute alien in this world.
Even standing frozen in wonder, I knew, beyond a doubt, this was the cause of the Earth Mother’s ward around the Barrows. Stunned as I was, I realized the danger here. While I felt no desire to worship him, I knew men and women would fall on their knees if he were to go into the world. He would be like a movie star or charismatic politician or preacher—or, worse, a god.
Good and evil would do his bidding.
There’s a demon in the ruins, Hildy had said. A big, badass demon. The king of the Drows.
Michael’s father gave him a beneficent smile. He spoke with a gentleness that surprised me. “It’s been months. I thought you’d forsaken me, my son.”
“His name is Aiakós,” Michael said to me, ignoring his father. His voice filled with deep emotion I didn’t understand—until he spoke again. “He lived in another world, controlling people in the Barrows from afar, influencing them to do his bidding. His powers were limited until my mother, a troubled witch who escaped from an insane asylum with the help of my brother, cut her throat for him and bled out on an altar in the plaza outside. Her sacrifice brought him here to the Barrows, and my mother and brother are now dead.”
“And the Earth Mother binds him here.” My own voice sounded harsh compared to theirs.
Aiakós stepped closer. He was dressed in well-cut clothing. He wore a cream-colored silk shirt that framed broad shoulders and thick muscles. It had to be tailor-made for someone of his size.
“How are you called, little witch?” Aiakós asked. “Are you one of Innana’s?”
Innana, of course, was one of the Earth Mother’s multitude of names. To my amazement, I found my voice. “My name is Madeline. I’m not a witch.”
Aiakós stepped closer. Too close. Reflex, years of training, or maybe the recent violence sent my hand to the knife at my hip—the one Lillian had called the Morié. It didn’t escape me that instinct made me choose the knife, not the gun. The fighting stance I’d learned from Sister Lillian—one foot forward, knife level, ready to strike—also came without thought.
Aiakós stopped.
“A warrior, then.” Curiosity filled his silky voice. “Has a new Huntress come among us?”
“I’m looking for someone, if that’s what you mean.” At least I could still talk.
“How delightful.” Aiakós nodded. “Perhaps some new game has begun. This is such a boring prison Innana has constructed for me.” He laughed, and the sound caressed me. “The binding between you and my son is strong. Innana must be trying to seduce him away from me.”
“What binding?” Michael and I spoke at once.
Aiakós laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing. But it will be interesting to see which is stronger in my son—my blood or a witch’s spell.” He gestured to a room behind him. “Please, come in. I have some wine.” He stared at my knife. “Unless you wish to stab me.” His voice had an edge, a deadly edge as sharp as the Morié.
I shook my head and sheathed the blade. Having seen Michael’s cut heal, my knife would probably only irritate him while he tore my arm off. I suspected that, while he was sensitive to bronze, he was a lot harder to kill than the Drow that attacked Michael.
Curious, though, that he’d seen the strange connection that I felt to Michael. A binding, he called it. But I knew from my mother that a binding was a two-way thing. If the connection was a binding, it imprisoned both of us, not just me.
Michael stepped closer to me. “You’re not frightened.” His voice carried a bit of surprise.
“You thought I’d run screaming down the stairs?”
“He is dangerous, Madeline.”
I glanced at Aiakós, who stood smiling at us.
“What gives it away? The claws?” The danger was not immediate, and curiosity filled me now that the initial shock had faded.
Michael sighed. Relief? Maybe. Had he thought he’d have to defend me? He had a lot more to learn about me.
The surprises kept coming. I stepped into an opulent room filled with red and gold. I immediately went into sensory overload. My parents were not poor, and my mother loved luxury, but even she couldn’t fathom this. Walls covered with gold drapes, fine wood paneling, red upholstered furniture, gold vases and bowls, rich rugs scattered across a stone floor—the room screamed of wealth.
I turned to Michael. “This is a prison?”
Michael’s face went hard. “He has resources, plus a small cadre of worshippers who import things he can’t get in the Barrows. He has each of them convinced that he or she is special, a favorite. My brother created a network for him before he came here.”
We sat at the table. Michael sat close to me. Too close. I didn’t object in spite of the discomfort. He knew this creature far better than I did.
“Michael, have you been avoiding me?” Aiakós asked. He poured three glasses of wine. I suppressed a shiver. Though I’d noticed them before, his claws looked deadlier up close. Short claws, short enough not to interfere with his use of his hands, but they looked sharp enough to tear through flesh. He was like a big cat, walking carefully and silently through the night, ready to pounce and shred whatever crossed his path.
“No, I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”
Aiakós smiled directly at me. “Which reminds me, thank you for saving his life, Madeline. I arrived that night just as the creature attacked. You were magnificent. Michael is stronger than it, but taken unawares, it could have been fatal. Innana requires that I hide myself here. To amuse myself, I walk these empty ruins at night when no one can see. I try to kill those beasts when I can. I fear they might start breeding.”
I didn’t like that. “You don’t kill the gentle ones, do you? The ones with scales.”
Aiakós’s laughter filled the room. It bubbled and rolled, giving the illusion of true mirth—with an edge. He leaned back, obviously interested. “You feel sorry for the creatures?”
Michael laid a hand on my knee. I shoved it off. He grabbed his glass of wine and swallowed it in one gulp.
“You kill just for fun?” Anger slid through me. “It doesn’t matter that they probably don’t want to be here? That some of them wouldn’t hurt anyone?”
Aiakós stopped smiling. He leaned forward. “I do not wish to be here. But I am. And though I must hide, I will control my surroundings. This place, this prison, is mine. And, yes, Madeline, I have killed many times simply to amuse myself. I warn you this one time: Never come between me and my prey.”
“Are you invulnerable?” I don’t pray, but I thought I would ask the Earth Mother to keep her ward tight.
Aiakós didn’t speak for a moment; then he said, “Not entirely. You could probably kill me with a bomb or a missile. Your little knife will only annoy me.”
I thought about it for a moment. “My mother was a witch. A powerful witch. I did not inherit
her power, but she taught me other things. The biggest, most violent creature can be driven to its knees with the right magic.”
A smile curled his lips. “True, but you have said you are not a witch. And your Earth Mother will not intervene to save you here in the Barrows should I choose to destroy you.”
“No. The holy bitch did not intervene to save her faithful servant, my own mother, the night she was raped and murdered. She would not come for me.”
Aiakós laughed, loud and strong. “Well, it’s nice to see that not all of Innana’s followers blindly worship her. Someday I’ll tell you stories about your precious Earth Mother. We were friends before . . . Ah, so long ago. But I wonder, are you one of those fanatical humans who throw their lives away for some foolish cause?”
“Love and honor are not foolish. Destroy me you may, but I would stand between you and those I love.”
He stared at me with those alien eyes. I could not read that wonderful face, except to note the similarities between it and Michael’s.
He gave a brief nod of his head, as if acknowledging my statement—or judging its veracity. He turned his smile on Michael. “Have you given more thought to my request that you join me?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“What do you want him to do that he finds so onerous?” It was a personal question that I would not ask in many situations, but Michael had drawn me into an intimate, though possibly deadly, situation.
Aiakós’s fingers, his claws, tapped lightly on the tabletop. It sounded like the rattle of old, dry bones. “I wish him to come here, accept his heritage, and truly be my son, not some pretty human. Somehow, I must overcome his reluctance. He blames me for the death of his mother.”
Michael shifted. His outer thigh pressed hard against mine. That statement disturbed him. Much of what Aiakós spoke of was indecipherable to me, but I would demand that Michael explain later.
“And if he joins you, what then?”
“With him to act on my behalf, I will find a way to force Innana to free me. Innana lives in the past, rigidly adhering to her ancient principles. She refuses to control the scurrying mass of human animals overrunning her land. Because of her insistence on free will, she’s allowed them to breed and create weapons that could destroy every living thing in this world.” He clenched one of his great hands into a fist. “I would do a better job.” He stared straight at me. “And once I am free of this place, I will.”
