Secrets in Blood: Lake Of Sins, #2

by L. S. O'Dea

  “Mirra doesn’t want that, but it is what Benedictine ordered. He told me that he’ll release Mirra once I deliver you to him.” He closed his eyes. “Mirra begged me not to bring you. She wants me to keep you safe.”

  Her eyes were no longer dry. Mirra, the great, big oaf was willing to die for her. She crawled on her knees over to him. “No. I won’t let her suffer because of me.”

  “This is not your fault.” His voice was thick with anger and frustration. “This is Benedictine’s fault and his alone.”

  “Let me save Mirra, like she saved me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. You said that yourself.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t know.”

  “Stop it! Don’t start lying to me now. I was not equipped to survive out here alone. I’m still not. Even with your training, I wouldn’t last long.” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Don’t argue. We both know I’m right.” She swallowed and then smiled slightly, her lips trembling. “We all die, Gaar. You said that yourself. Let me choose how.”

  They stared at each other for a long time, the anger in his eyes changing to sorrow. She exhaled slowly. She’d won. He’d trade her for Mirra.

  “If Benedictine doesn’t kill you right away, we will come back for you.” He hugged her. “If he does kill you, find comfort in the knowledge that his life will not be long.”

  A soft puff of laughter burst from her lips. “Somehow, that does make me feel better.” When had she become so blood thirsty that the thought of another’s death would bring her a measure of peace?

  “We should go,” he said as he stood.

  “Wait.” For all her talk, she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to die. “There is one more favor. Well...two actually.” She knelt, looking up at him.

  “Go on,” he said kindly.

  “First, find my mother and father and tell them I love them.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, fighting back tears.

  “I’ll do that.” He held out his hand and helped her to stand.

  She turned back toward the encampment. Travis walked their way. He looked better, stronger every day. If she knew that he and the others had a chance, then it would be worth it. Everything would be okay. “And promise me that you’ll help the Producers.”

  He looked from her to Travis. “I promise. I’ll do my best to keep him safe.”

  “Thank you.”

  Travis stopped by them, glancing from her to Gaar. “Mirra?”

  “She’s alive,” she said.

  “Thank Araldo. I know how close you two are,” said Travis.

  She looked down at her feet. This was hard. Saying goodbye last year before he’d been taken had been difficult, but they’d both hoped to see each other again. Saying goodbye now was almost impossible. He’d been part of her life for almost as long as she could remember.

  “What’s wrong.” He touched her arm.

  She glanced up at him. It was easier to just say it. “I have to turn myself over to Benedictine.” There. Straight to the point.

  “You can’t.” He turned to Gaar. “Tell her. Tell her she can’t do this. They’ll kill her.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” said Gaar.

  “No. It’s not. If she goes, she dies. If she doesn’t, she has a chance. It’s simple.” Travis grabbed her hand. “I won’t let you do this.”

  She frowned at him. Like he could stop her. “Travis, they have Mirra. She saved my life. Now, it’s my turn to save hers.” She tugged on her hand but he refused to let go.

  “Don’t do this.” He looked to Gaar for help, but the Handler averted his eyes. Travis’ face crumbled.

  She squeezed his hand once and then pulled away. He didn’t fight her this time.

  “It’s okay. This is my choice. Now, that you’re free, it’s okay.” She was amazed that she meant it too. She touched his face and then gave him a quick hug.

  “I’ll wait by the gate,” said Gaar as he walked away.

  Travis grabbed her arms. “You don’t understand what they”—he let her go and turned away—“are capable of doing to you. Will do to you.”

  She touched his shoulder and let her hand fall when he didn’t respond. “I do know. I saw what they did to you. I know what...”

  He spun around, his brown eyes hard with anger. “You...do...not...know. You saw.” He ran his hand through his hair and laughed, a harsh angry sound. “There’s a big difference. And they will do worse to you.” His voice gentled as he cupped her face. “Me, I was one of many. You escaped.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “I have to,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. This was familiar. This was Travis.

  He stepped back, breaking contact. She opened her eyes. His back was to her.

  “I missed you,” he said. “I thought about you a lot.” He turned back around and sat on the ground.

  She sat next to him.

  “I was happy here at first,” he said softly. “There was plenty of food and games to play. A lot to keep you busy inside, but then I thought of you and how you always said not to trust anything that is good and easy. That good was never easy to find and never easy to keep.”

  She playfully bumped his shoulder with hers. “Unfortunately, I was right about that.”

  “Not completely. It’s always been easy between us and that is good.” He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “I don’t want to lose you again,” he said.

  She lifted her head. If she could make him understand, maybe, it would hurt less. “I have to do this. Just like I couldn’t leave you, I can’t leave her.” She kissed his cheek and stood. “I have to go.”

  “I will find you,” he said. “When I’m better, I will come and find you. Then I will rescue you.”

  She fought back tears certain she’d never see him again.

  CHAPTER 23

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when the Handler stepped into the clearing at the Tracker camp for the second time. Jackson braced himself for the encounter. It could go either way. It all depended on the Handler.

  “Benedictine,” roared Gaar.

  The Trackers in the yard began howling. He sniffed the air. The camp was downwind of the Handler. How had Gaar approached without anyone, especially the Trackers, knowing?

  “Gaar,” whispered Mirra. She was strung up at the back of her cage. Her blood dripped from her body into tubes which once full, were harvested and taken into a back building.

  He turned away from the Tracker. It sickened him to watch the once magnificent creature brought so low. He’d be glad when this was over and she was once again free.

  “Benedictine,” roared Gaar again. “Come out. I have your Producer.”

  The door to the Guards’ building opened and Benedictine stepped outside. “Gaar, back so soon?” He looked over at Mirra. “Too bad. I would have liked a bit more blood.”

  “Let her go,” ordered Gaar.

  “Not so fast.” Benedictine waggled his finger. “Where’s my Producer?”

  “You’ll get her as soon as Mirra is free.”

  “No. I gave away a captive once on only a promise. It didn’t work out as I was told.” Benedictine walked over to Mirra’s cage. “First, I get the Producer. Then you get your pet.”

  “No, deal,” said Gaar. “I don’t trust you.”

  Jackson tensed. It wasn’t smart to trust Benedictine, but it was stupid to taunt him.

  “How quaint. You think you have a choice.” Benedictine turned to the Guard manning the equipment that was draining Mirra’s blood. “Put it on the fastest setting.”

  Benedictine’s favorite motivational device was torture which was a shame because Jackson didn’t think the Tracker could handle much more bloodletting. She was already lethargic. She stared at the Handler, fear palpable in her faded green eyes.

  “No. Wait,” shouted Gaar.

  Be
nedictine held up his hand, stopping the Guard. “Bring me the Producer.”

  Gaar’s chest heaved and his visage radiated rage as he turned and disappeared into the forest. He appeared again, momentarily, with the Producer draped over his shoulder. He dropped her to the ground and steadied her. Her hands were bound together and she was gagged.

  “Why does he want you so badly?” whispered Benedictine.

  Jackson glanced at the Almighty and then back to the Producer. Who else wanted her? There wasn’t anything special about her unless they were interested in interspecies mating. She was quite striking with her tiny frame, heart shaped face and long, dark hair, but it was her large, golden eyes and black lashes that drew his attention.

  “Bring her to me,” called out Benedictine.

  “No,” said Mirra, her voice weak. “Gaar-Mine, no do this.”

  Three Guards from a hunting pack that had arrived an hour ago stepped forward at Benedictine’s command.

  “Release Mirra first.” Gaar moved in front of the Producer and drew his knife. It was a long, wicked blade.

  The Guards hesitated, glancing back at Benedictine. The Almighty nodded and they stepped back a little. Benedictine signaled to the Guard behind the cage who immediately plunged a needle into Mirra’s backside. The Tracker hissed in pain and then sagged against the bars. The Guard unlocked the chains and she slid down to the concrete floor.

  “Mirra,” yelled Gaar.

  “Relax. I simply gave her a sedative. Even with a little blood gone, she’s still a threat.” Benedictine turned toward the Guard. “Unlock the cage.”

  Jackson’s pulse raced. The last sedative wore off quickly. She was weaker now, but still, they had better not stay in the area for long.

  “Now, you send the Producer over to me and then you can retrieve your pet,” said Benedictine as he faced the Handler.

  “Bring Mirra over here,” said Gaar.

  “Of course, but only halfway.” Benedictine smiled.

  The hair on Jackson’s neck stood on end. He looked at a few of his Guards. His worry was reflected in their faces. Benedictine was most dangerous when agreeable.

  “Agreed,” said Gaar, glancing around like he could sense danger.

  Benedictine nodded to the Guards. Four of them entered the cage and picked up Mirra. They carried her halfway to the Handler and dropped her on the ground. She hit with a thud.

  “You will pay for that,” growled Gaar.

  The Guards bristled and snarled as they walked back toward the cages.

  “Send the Producer here,” said Benedictine.

  The Handler gave her a slight shove and the two moved forward. When they were next to Mirra, he whispered something to the captive and then bent and picked up the Tracker. He darted toward the forest with Mirra in his arms.

  The Producer kept walking toward Benedictine. Two Guards rushed forward. One grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, while the other fired a blow gun. The dart penetrated Gaar’s shoulder. The Handler straightened with the impact but continued to run.

  Benedictine was going back on his word. Jackson wasn’t surprised. No one thwarted Benedictine and lived, but why had he not been told? This did not bode well for him. He eyed the Almighty, but Benedictine remained focused on the Handler.

  It was several moments before the Handler staggered and crumpled to the ground, still holding Mirra close. He crawled toward the forest, dragging her behind him.

  Jackson was impressed with the fortitude of the Handler. He didn’t know of any creature who could have lasted that long after taking a dart. Finally, after several yards, Gaar collapsed.

  “Put the Tracker back in her cage.” Benedictine pointed to Gaar. “Place him in the traveling box and take him to the Handler camp. Start drawing his blood immediately.”

  “What about her?” asked a Guard, pointing at Mirra. “Do you want me to continue to drain her?”

  “No. We need her alive. For now.” Benedictine turned to Jackson. “Get the Producer.”

  “Of course. What do you want done with her?” So, now he was included in Benedictine’s plans. Was there still a chance to avoid punishment for whatever he did that had angered the Almighty?

  “Take her home. I need to keep her safe until I deliver her to Professor Conguise.”

  The other Guard dropped the Producer to the ground. She stumbled at the impact, almost falling. Jackson stopped himself from reaching to assist her. He didn’t dare, not with Benedictine watching. He held his breath as she staggered forward, picking up momentum. She was going to hit the ground, hard, and with her hands tied she had no way to break her fall. Then, suddenly, she regained her balance, standing tall and silent. He let out his breath and stepped forward, grabbing her by the arm and escorting her to the carriage. She did not fight. She was docile, accepting of her fate which was typical of her kind. He lifted her and placed her on the top seat and then climbed aboard and sat next to her. He removed the gag from her mouth. She continued to stare at the yard where the Handler was being crammed into the small traveling cage. Was that sadness in her eyes? What had Gaar whispered to her before they’d separated? Was there more to their relationship than captive and captor?

  “Let’s be on our way,” said Benedictine as he entered the carriage.

  Jackson commanded the Grunts and the carriage took off. So, Conguise wanted this Producer, but why? He now had more questions than answers, and that did not sit well with him. It wasn’t healthy to work for Benedictine and not anticipate the next step.

  CHAPTER 24

  Jackson knocked on the door to Benedictine’s house. He stifled a groan when Kim opened the door. He avoided her as much as possible because whenever she was around he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Today, she looked great in her jeans and T-shirt. It took all his effort not to stare at the way the tight clothes hugged her curves. If he weren’t careful, Benedictine would catch him and that would be the end for him. The Almighty did not tolerate attraction between classes.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Well, hello to you too,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here to visit Jethro. He’ll be having his surgery soon.”

  Suddenly, it made sense. The Producer was the payment for the surgery, but why did Conguise want her? He needed to figure out what was going on before he wound up on the wrong side of Benedictine, if he wasn’t already. He was still unsure as to why he’d been kept in the dark about the Tracker and Handler Camps. He brushed past Kim, his body tensing with the contact. He stopped in front of the den and knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” said Benedictine.

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  Benedictine sat behind his desk writing. He glanced up. “Speak.”

  “The Producer is secured in the back room of the barn. There are three Guards on duty at all times and the other six are always in the area.”

  “Good, good.” Benedictine finished writing and then put the letter in an envelope and sealed it. “I need you to have someone deliver this to Professor Conguise immediately.”

  “I will take it now.” He stepped forward and took the letter, sliding it into his jacket pocket.

  “No. You stay here. It’s your responsibility to make sure that nothing happens to that Producer.” Benedictine stared straight into his eyes. “Your life depends on it.”

  He stared back for a moment and then looked down. The Almighty never tired of the threats, but they certainly wore on him.

  Benedictine turned back to his work.

  He waited a moment and then walked to the door. This had gone better than he’d thought. With all that had happened recently, the failure to catch the Producer, the secret Handler and Tracker Camps, and Benedictine’s obvious displeasure regarding his beating of the large, male Tracker, he’d been prepared for a punishment.

  “Stop. You have not been excused.”

  He turned back around. He should have known he wouldn’t be so luc
ky. He was never lucky. The Almighty walked up to him.

  “Today, you were concerned for the Tracker and Handler,” Benedictine said softly. “Two creatures who would happily tear you limb from limb.”

  He remained silent. Benedictine smiled, but it was false. He could smell the anger wafting off the Almighty in waves. Benedictine was toying with him. An angry, playful Benedictine was not a good thing. He swallowed a lump in his throat, but refused to flinch. Not this time.

  “You were...unhappy with the way that I handled things.”

  He could kick himself for making his displeasure that obvious. The only chance he had was to keep his mouth shut and his eyes averted.

  “You are my most trusted Guard. I would like to know what bothered you.”

  “Nothing, sir.” He wanted to scream that everything about the Almighty displeased him, but he held his tongue.

  “Do not lie to me.”

  He had to say something, but what? “It was not honorable.” Inwardly, he cringed. He was either an idiot or self-destructive because that was the worst thing he could’ve said. He tensed for the blow.

  “Honorable?” Benedictine laughed and strode back to the desk. “What do you know of honor?” He turned back around and slowly approached. “You are a Guard. You do what you are told. You do what I tell you. You...honor...me,” he shouted, his face only inches away.

  Jackson looked down, refusing to meet the Almighty’s stare. Suddenly, his head snapped back from a blow to the side. He staggered and almost fell to his knees from the pain. Then another strike landed on his shoulder. What was Benedictine hitting him with? He was very familiar with the abuse from the Almighty’s hands and this wasn’t it. This was more. Much more. He lifted his arm to protect his face as he glanced up. Benedictine held an iron paperweight in his hand. He averted his head and braced for the next blow. The Almighty would tire soon. All he had to do was make it through a few more hits, but Benedictine continued to strike him along the arm and chest, landing in the same spots more than once and sending red hot pain searing through his body. He stumbled backward. He could not fall. He refused to show such weakness. He backed against the door and crouched, covering his head the best that he could.