by Ciana Stone
“And did you give him one?”
“I did.”
“Good. Then we can keep an eye on him, and you can work to gain his loyalty. Do whatever it takes but make sure that he’s reluctant to give Harris Garen any more information.”
“Whatever it takes? Like buy his silence?”
“If you think that will work.”
“And if I don’t?”
His mother pinned him with a look that reminded him she was more than just his mother. Genevieve Legacy was, on the surface, the cultured and elegant wife of Senator John Logan Legacy. John had served as the Republican Senior Senator for Texas since 2002. He and Logan’s mother split their time between DC and their home here in Texas and Genevieve had proven herself to be quite adept at political games. Thanks to her, John’s power and influential backing had grown exponentially over the years.
Beyond that, she was one of the highest ranking members of the Council of Elders, the governing body of the combined clans of the Legendre and Beaudreaux. She was also a witch, a fact that was closely guarded.
Logan knew that if the responsibility of Micky’s silence fell to his mother, Micky might not fare well. Logan didn’t believe that Micky would be killed, but he would not be surprised if the man disappeared. The Legendre and Beaudreaux clans had ways of hiding people—of placing them where they could not be found.
Like Sabine. Suddenly it seemed of paramount importance that he locate her. She had to be told that Micky was back. After all, if the story of what happened that night was made public, she stood to lose the most.
“I have confidence you will take care of it in a responsible and humane manner,” his mother finally said.
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all we can ask, son. Now walk me back to the house. I need to take care of a few things here before I leave for Washington in the morning. Will you join me for dinner?”
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. I’ll expect you at seven.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They were both silent on the walk back to the house. Logan walked his mother to the door, opened it and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. She smiled up at him. “Don’t think I don’t know what I ask of you, Logan. I know it’s a heavy burden your father and I have placed on you, but I also know you’re strong enough to shoulder the weight. Our family—all of us, need a champion and while you may not have asked for it, you were chosen.”
“I know.”
“And do you hate us for it?”
Logan shook his head. “We all have responsibilities to the family. Mine are no more than anyone else, I don’t guess.”
Genevieve reached up to place her hand on the side of his face. “I love you, son. Never forget that.”
“I won’t. See you at seven.”
With that, he turned and started the walk home. His house lay a couple of miles east of the main house. Logan didn’t mind the walk. He had a lot to think about. As happened more often than not when he was alone, a face intruded upon his mind, one with eyes the color of lilacs.
On impulse, he pulled out his phone and called his mother.
“Logan? Did you forget something?”
“I did. I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Tell me where Sabine is. I need to see her.”
“Logan, I don’t think—”
“I’ll see you at seven. Have the information for me then.”
He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. His fingers brushed over the lock of hair and he pulled it out and looked down at it. Sabine. He had to find her. Either his mother would do as he asked or he would go above her head to his grandmother, but whatever it took, he was going to find Sabine.
Chapter Six
Marcus wrapped his hands around the bars and jerked with all his strength. Just as it had been for the last two weeks, the bars didn’t budge. The cage was of iron, bars at least three inches in diameter, spaced less than eight inches apart, far too close together for a man to squeeze through.
The floor was wood, laid on top of metal bars, as was the roof. There was no protection from the elements other than the wood overhead and the blanket she’d tossed him. His bathroom was a tin pot. Marcus cursed and for the hundredth or so time, scanned his enclosure. There had to be a way out.
Get me the fuck out of here.
Marcus couldn’t stand the idea of dying in a place like this but that didn’t scare him nearly as much as the idea of being a prisoner for years on end. That brought a kind of fear he was not familiar with, one that filled all of the dark places in his mind and threatened to turn him into a sniveling lump of mindless flesh. A coward. God help him, he couldn’t be reduced to that.
For over two weeks he’d been trapped in here. Weeks of eating out of a plastic bowl with his hands. She wouldn’t even give him a spoon. She watched him eat every meal she delivered, asking him the same questions over and again.
“What is your name? Who do you work for? Why did you follow me from the bar and what did you hope to get from me?”
He’d told her a version of the truth. He didn’t care if she knew his name. Who he worked for varied. He was a freelancer, he had many clients. His latest was Harris Garen. He was an investigator and did work for Garen from time to time. He’d followed her from the bar because he’d thought she was hot and he wanted to fuck her.
She always listened without comment and then asked one more question. “Esti Umbra?”
Marcus didn’t know how to answer because he didn’t understand the question. She wasn’t speaking Spanish. He understood a bit of that. What was Umbra? He’d never heard the word and said as much.
She didn’t answer his questions. She quietly watched him eat. If he gave her back the plastic bowl, she would give him a big paper cup of some kind of tea. It had a flowery taste that wasn’t unpleasant, but it tended to make him sleepy.
Considering his living conditions, that wasn’t necessarily bad. He needed to rest, to eat and sleep and workout as best he could in the confines of his cell to stay strong. That way when the opportunity presented itself, he could escape.
When days turned into weeks, and he still could not find an avenue of escape, he started to despair. He had to get out.
Get me out of here. Please.
“Hardly a fitting place for a warrior.”
Marcus whirled at the sound. Just outside the cage stood a woman, a beautiful woman who made him think of gypsies and campfires. Her hair cascaded in soft curls the color of midnight. Eyes like the amber of a cat’s were lined with thick lashes and set beneath dark arched brows.
Her lips were lush and her smile sensual. His eyes moved lower, taking in the ample breasts, artfully displayed by the low cut sleeveless top that drooped low over one shoulder. The skirt she wore ended just below her knees and floated around her in the mild breeze.
“Who are you?” He walked to the cage door.
“A friend.”
“Of hers?”
She laughed. “Whatever would make you think that?”
“Why else would you be here?”
“Perhaps I’m here for you.”
“You’re here to release me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Of course it is.”
She took a step closer. “How much is your freedom worth?”
“Anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“I’ll give you anything I have. Name your price.”
She cocked her head to one side. “A kiss.”
“A kiss?” Marcus hadn’t expected that.
“Yes.”
This chick must be as crazy as the Legendre bitch. Not that he cared. If she could get him out of this damn cage, he’d French kiss her ass. “Deal.”
She smiled and walked up to the cage, positioning her face between the bars. Marcus leaned down, and she surprised him by reaching through the bars to take his face in her hands.
Her touch was gentle and her breath sweet.
She spoke something to him that he did not understand and then pressed her lips to his. When her lips parted, he accepted the invitation and did the same. Something hot and wet invaded his mouth, filling it. He tried to pull back, but her hands had turned to claws that were clamped viselike to his head. He couldn’t break free, couldn’t stop whatever it was in his mouth from pushing its way into his throat.
Marcus gagged and convulsed, trying with every bit of strength he had to pry her hands from his face. His strength was no match for hers, despite their difference in size. He felt whatever had invaded him move lower into his esophagus, choking him, making him weak from lack of air.
He was going to die. His strength was fading. He struggled to hang onto the bars of the cage, to remain on his feet. Only the woman’s hands, gripping his head, kept him upright. His heartbeat hammered like the beat of a giant drum, faster and faster. Black spots danced before his eyes and all the while that thing, whatever it was, filled him.
He felt his stomach distend and the jolt of pain that had his body going rigid. It was like hot acid being pumped into him, his stomach and then his bowels, filling until he felt his anal sphincter release and smelled a sulfuric stench as wetness washed down his legs.
Take me.
Marcus surrendered to the idea that he was going to die. Better to embrace it than fight. He reached for the darkness.
And suddenly all pain was gone. The woman released him and smiled up at him. She produced a key and inserted it into the lock of his cage. One twist and the bolt disengaged. She pulled the door open and extended her hand to him.
It felt like a dream. His vision was sharp, his hearing enhanced. Even the sensation of the breeze on his skin felt magnified. She took his hand and guided him through to forest to a small cabin. Inside a fire burned. She led him to the bathroom, undressed him and then herself before stepping with him into the small shower.
Marcus leaned back against the wall, allowing her to wash him. She was methodical and fast; her touch not that of a lover, but of someone with a task to complete. He didn’t care. It felt too good to be clean.
When he was rinsed and dried, she indicated a stack of clothing on the sink, but he shook his head.
“First we fuck.”
“As you wish.” She led the way into the main room where the fire burned. A thick rug lay on the floor in front of the fire. She knelt down on the rug on hands and knees and then lowered her head to the floor.
Marcus felt himself swell to full erection within seconds, seeing her supplicate herself before him, her sex wet and open. He fell to his knees behind her, rubbed against that wet opening and then grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto him.
Breath hissed from her as he pounded into her willing body, but that was the one and only sound she made. When an orgasm shot through him, he grunted and collapsed onto her. She wiggled out beneath him, and a few moments later he felt something soft and warm covering his body.
“Thank you,” he said as his eyelids closed. “For setting me free.”
Had he not been so tired, so sated and so warm, he might have felt apprehension at her scornful chuckle.
*****
Sabine finished straining the flowers, gently pressing them to release more of the oils. Once satisfied, she dumped the spent flowers into a large trashcan. When the can was full, the contents would be added to her compost. She wiped her hand on the oversized apron she wore and then turned her attention to adding fresh flowers to the oil.
This blend of essential oil was one of her favorites, night blooming jasmine. It would have a lovely scent when finished and carry a spell of protection as well. When your world was populated with people like the Legendre and Beaudreaux family, it never hurt to have a little protection.
Oddly, that thought sent her careening back in time, to a night ten years ago that would be forever etched in her mind.
She didn’t care about the chill from the cool, damp air, or the small sticks that protruded from the thick moss beneath her, pricking her skin. Nothing mattered but the man who lay beside her, his chest rising and falling gently as he slept.
Tonight had been the night she’d dreamed over since she was old enough to understand what it meant to want someone. She’d loved Logan James her whole life, looked up to him as the pinnacle of male perfection. He’d been her hero and protector, her charge and her dream.
And now, finally, she knew what it felt like to have his hands on her, to feel him inside her. It was more than she’d wished and she didn’t want the night to end. She kissed his chest, and just as her eyes closed she sensed them.
Fear pierced her as sharp as a blade. There was little time. She eased away from Logan James, felt around and located her dress. In the right pocket was a tiny vial. She opened it and dumped it into the palm of her hand. After rubbing both hands together, she smeared the oil on his chest, his face and his arms. An oil of concealment—it should mask his presence. At least she hoped so.
Logan James made a sound and rolled over onto his side. Sabine waited to see if he would wake. When he did not, she hurriedly rose, put on her dress and ran, not away from the presences she sensed but straight in their direction. She made it several hundred yards before she encountered the first of them.
Two men made grabs for her. She dodged around one and raced into a grove of trees. Sticks and rocks tore at her feet, but she kept running, leading them away from Logan James. Light beaconed, and she headed for it, but someone stepped in her path, and she collided with a big hard body.
Seconds later, the man she’d run into had his hands clamped around her throat. Sabine clawed at him, kicking and thrashing. Something sliced into her from behind and wound around her body. She would have cried out at the pain but she had no air. Black spots danced before her eyes.
Just as she was sure she would die, the man released her. She would have crumpled to the ground had others not caught her. She gasped and coughed, eyes watering and legs weak.
Clarissa Legendre Beaudreaux and her daughter Genevieve approached and stood before her. “You were told to stay away from him,” Clarissa said. “Warned of the consequences.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Sabine gasped, terrified that Clarissa would take her rage out on Logan James.. “Please.”
“You were warned of the consequences, were you not, Sabine?”
“Yes, but…”
“What were the consequences?”
“Please.” Sabine fought back tears, so afraid of what might happen her body was shaking like someone experiencing a seizure. “He isn’t to blame. I—”
“What were the consequences?” Clarissa’s voice rose.
“We would be whipped.”
“And yet you ignored the warnings and chose to bring pain down on the man you claim to love.”
“Please.” Sabine reached for Genevieve. She might hate Sabine but surely she would save her own son. “Please, he’s your son. Don’t do this. Please. Let me take his punishment for him.”
“You would take double the punishment?”
The thought of it nearly paralyzed her with fear. She didn’t know if she was strong enough. But she couldn’t let them hurt Logan James. “Yes. Just let him go. Please.”
“Only if you vow never to see him out again.”
“I do. If you leave him unharmed, I promise. On my life, I promise.”
Genevieve took Sabine’s chin between thumb and fingers, jerking her face up. “That is exactly what it will be. Listen well to me, girl. If you ever contact my son again, I will have you flayed to death. Slowly over a matter of days so that you suffer as much as possible. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Then I will hold you to your vow.” Genevieve looked at the men holding Sabine. “Take her to the barn, strip her and prepare her for punishment.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sabine didn’t struggle. While she hated Clarissa and Genevieve, she also respected t
hem and knew they would keep their word. Logan James would be safe.
And that had to be enough for Sabine. She’d lived a dream tonight and would now live a nightmare, but she would have had this night, and nothing they could do could take that from her.
Sabine’s phone rang, and she jumped. She glanced at it where it lay on the surface of the worktable. The caller ID had her pressing the accept button and activating the speaker.
“Ravyn?”
“Am I calling at a bad time?”
Sabine shook off the memory. “No. I was just working on a new batch of oil. What’s up?”
“Trouble.”
Sabine’s mood threatened to turn dark. “What kind of trouble?”
“Wayne. The press is crucifying his family over this pipeline.”
“As well they should.” She heard the soft intake of breath. “Look, I know you love Wayne, and I don’t fault you for that, but that pipeline is wrong. But I’m pretty sure that concern over publicity is not why you really called.”
“No. Wayne’s father is going after my family and this time he may have something that can hurt us.”
“What exactly does he have?”
“Not a what. A who.”
“Pardon?” Sabine was confused.
“A man,” Ravyn said. “Micky Andrews. He was apparently friends with Logan when they were children. His dad worked on the ranch for years. Anyway, he told a pretty wild tale about those kids that were killed way back when I was just a baby.”
“What kind of wild tale?” Sabine hated the way her palms had gotten damp and the quickening of her heartbeat. Micky Andrews’ tale wasn’t one that needed to be shared. Now Harris Garen had something that could indeed hurt them. Not in the way he imagined, but it posed a real danger to all the Kindred.
“I can’t go into it over the phone. Wayne will be here any moment. But this Andrews guy mentioned you too, and Wayne’s father is gloating over how he’s going to destroy all of you.”
“Do you know where this Micky Andrews is?”
“Believe it or not, at the ranch. It seems that Logan gave took him in.”
