Darkness Bound (A Night Prowler Novel) Page 17

  Using gentle force on Jack’s arm, Morgan propelled her forward. Jack allowed herself to be led away, glad for the elegant presence beside her and the hand that felt more and more as if it were the only thing holding her up as they moved through the crowd, faces turning as they passed, the silence almost suffocating.

  As it turned out, the punishment tree was aptly named.

  It was old and crooked, its branches black and devoid of leaves like a haunted tree in a ghost story, the kind of thing you see silhouetted against a fat orange moon on greeting cards at Halloween. Wound around its thick, gnarled trunk were heavy iron shackles on chains. Dangling gruesomely from the upper limbs like hellish ornaments were dozens of skulls, pale and grinning in the moonlight.

  That wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was the dark stain in the dirt at its base, a sinister, spreading splotch that belied the countless punishments that had taken place beneath its naked boughs.

  Hawk stood before it with his head bowed, eyes turned to the ground, hands hanging loose at his sides. Around the tree in a circle hundreds deep, the tribe gathered, still with an eerie silence, to watch. The Alpha stood at the edge of the circle with spread legs and folded arms, smirking.

  Jack and Morgan were allowed to pass to the front of the crowd, and Jack’s cheeks burned molten hot as they went.

  “How bad will it be?” she whispered through stiff lips.

  Morgan hesitated a moment before answering. “Depends on how squeamish you are.”

  Jack swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Shaking hands, pounding heart, a cold sweat . . . she recognized the signs of panic, and tried to take deep, slow breaths to counteract the impending hyperventilation.

  She’d seen many horrible injuries in her career. The human body was fragile, and could be torn apart in a million gruesome ways. She’d become somewhat immune to it, to the sight of blood and the wretched screams of pain from wounded soldiers and civilians in war zones, but the thought of hearing Hawk scream . . . the thought of watching him bleed . . .

  “No. Weakness.”

  Morgan’s voice was barely discernible above the roar of the blood rushing through Jack’s veins, but she heard the steel in it nonetheless.

  They halted at the front of the ring of silent witnesses. With a final look of warning, Morgan released Jack’s arm. She walked with regal grace to the other side of the circle, and grasped the outstretched hand of a man waiting there for her, an enormous, amber-eyed male with dark hair shorn close to his head and a glower that could freeze lava. One of the few others fully clothed, he pulled Morgan against his body in a tight, possessive embrace, and leaned down to murmur something into her ear.

  Morgan glanced at Jack, looked over at Hawk, then nodded. She looked back at Jack with that warning still evident in her eyes.

  No weakness! Don’t cry! Don’t let the Alpha win!

  Realizing this might be one of the more difficult things she’d had to do in her life, Jack nodded back, determined.

  “We’ll do this in English for your benefit, my dear,” said the Alpha to Jack without taking his gaze from Hawk, who lifted his head and stared straight at her.

  That focused look reminded her of his warnings, uttered such a short time ago.

  One: the Alpha is always right.

  Jack stayed silent, staring back at Hawk while the panic in her body rose to a burning, bright shriek of noise and pressure, painful as if her nerves were being scraped with the blade of a knife.

  Was he afraid? Would he be badly hurt? What was that look in his eye?

  Was it fear? Resignation?

  Was it . . . blame?

  Two: opinions won’t be welcome.

  “Lucas Eduardo Tavares Castelo Luna,” the Alpha intoned, “Salsu Maru of the House of Air. For your disobedience you will be punished in accordance with the ancient rites, and will receive two hundred”—he glanced at Jack, hesitating only a moment before amending it to—“one hundred lashes. What do you have to say before punishment commences?”

  Hawk’s gaze was so focused on Jack’s face, his stare so burning and intent, she felt as if he was trying to slip inside her body using only his eyes.

  Three: Don’t go anywhere without me. Especially at night.

  “The same thing I always have to say. Nothing.”

  Hawk’s voice was empty, so empty and hollow and cold, but those eyes . . .

  He’d tried to warn her. He’d tried to tell her to be quiet, to be safe, to let him lead the way, yet she’d ignored all the advice he’d given her simply because she was hurt and confused over his kiss, over the way he’d reacted to it as if putting his mouth against hers had been the biggest mistake of his life.

  It’s your fault for writing that article and pushing us into a corner and forcing our hand!

  God . . . he was right. This was her fault.

  This entire situation was her fault!

  “Then we’ll proceed,” said the Alpha, sounding smug, flush with anticipation.

  As if cued, a man stepped forward from the crowd.

  Sinewy, squat, and shirtless, he sported a black hood that covered his head. Only his eyes were visible through the dark cloth. They peered out with a feral, quicksilver flash like a wild thing from a nighttime wood. Two more males approached, stripped Hawk’s shirt off his back, turned him around, and shoved him toward the tree.

  Oh God—oh God—No!

  They chained him to the trunk. He remained mute and as placid as a lamb, allowing them to encircle his wrists in metal and raise them over his head so he stood flush against the dead tree with his legs spread, his broad, naked back exposed, his cheek turned to the black, broken bark.

  He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.

  From a small wooden stand beside the tree, the hooded man selected a cane from among perhaps a dozen of different widths and sizes. Long and tan and curved to a handle at one end, it sported small notches along its slender length, breaks that seemed sinister, able to inflict more pain than a solid one. The man in the black hood took the cane, positioned himself behind Hawk, and raised his thickly muscled arm.

  The lower half of the cane was stained red.

  The storm inside Jack rose to a howling, bright peak.

  No! No! No!

  “Wait!” Jack screamed.

  Hawk stiffened. The Alpha’s head snapped around. Across from her, Morgan’s mouth opened into a silent O of horror, the same shape as her huge, disbelieving eyes.

  The same shape as every eye in the crowd around her, as far as her own could see.

  “This was my fault . . . this wasn’t Hawk’s fault . . . even the reason he hit Nando was my fault!” The words poured out, one over another, as Jack stepped forward into the open heart of the circle, pleading with the Alpha with her eyes, with her voice, with her outstretched hands.

  “Please, he shouldn’t be punished . . . I should be the one to take the lashings! It should be me! Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll . . . I’ll stand in his place!”

  Gasps and cries of disbelief from the crowd.

  “No!” roared Hawk. He strained so hard against the chains every muscle in his body flexed taut with the effort. “Jacqueline—shut up! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “You offer belu?” the Alpha breathed, his face gone white.

  All around her were astonished, gaping faces. Even the hooded man’s eyes were wide and shocked.

  She didn’t understand the word, but she understood the meaning.

  A ritual punishment. A ritual pardon . . . with a price.

  “Yes.” Jack said it again, louder, to the crowd, lifting her head so her voice could travel over their heads. “Yes. I offer belu.”

  Hawk screamed in outrage. He began thrashing against his binds like a madman, kicking against the trunk of the tree and twisting his body so h
e could see her over his shoulder.

  “She doesn’t understand!” he shouted to the Alpha, the cords in his neck standing out. “She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to! Don’t listen to her! Don’t listen!”

  A tumult began in the crowd. Whispers became chatter, then shouts. Bodies turned to one another in astonishment, gesturing at her, at Hawk, at the Alpha, the energy mad and electric, until everyone seemed to be talking at once, moving closer, the circle tightening like the invisible noose that squeezed around her neck, cutting off her air.

  Voices crested over her in a wave. A flash of heat engulfed her. Jack stood with her heart in her throat, staring at the Alpha in breathless anticipation, awaiting his response.

  “A female cannot offer belu.” He looked around the crowd for confirmation. “This isn’t done! This is unprecedented—”

  “It can be done,” countered a firm, raspy voice.

  The old man who had spoken stood near the Alpha, slightly behind him, hidden in long shadows cast from the tree.

  Alejandro turned. He recognized the old man, and gave a small, respectful bow. All around him, others did the same, until the entire gathering had paid their respects to this diminutive figure. The shouts died back to whispers.

  Short and bent, leaning heavily on a cane, he was clothed in a simple cloak of white, his feet bare, his head wreathed in a fluffy halo of snowy hair like a floating ring of clouds. He stepped forward slowly, gazing at Jack with eyes as keen as a freshly sharpened blade. The tiniest of smiles lifted his wrinkled lips.

  “It is in accordance with Ama-gi. The girl can offer substitution—”

  “She’s not one of us!” Alejandro protested, shooting Jack a horrified glance. “She’s—she’s—human!”

  Quietly, the old man said, “Ama-gi does not discriminate based on race, Sarrum. The principle of belu holds true regardless of the birth—or sex—of those who invoke it.” His gaze, brilliant, blazing green, undimmed in spite of his obvious age, rested on Jack. His small smile grew wider, almost challenging. “If she wills it, the human woman may stand in Hawk’s stead. She may offer her own pain as a tithe for his.”

  Jack blurted, “Nando, too! It wasn’t his fault, either. This entire situation is my doing . . . it’s my fault and I should be held responsible. I-I offer belu for Nando, as well!”

  The defiant, agonized, sustained scream that emitted from Hawk’s throat sent a rash of goose bumps crawling up Jack’s spine, but she was undeterred. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and nodded at Nando, who stood gaping at her on the side of the crowd in shock.

  Across the circle, Morgan stood speechless, clutching her giant male, the look on her face one of awed disbelief.

  Anyone who’s stupid enough to even look at you the wrong way will have to deal with me.

  Hawk had offered his protection. He’d gone to his punishment willingly, without complaint.

  But it wasn’t his fault. It was hers . . . all hers.

  Above all things, Jack believed in justice. She believed in an eye for an eye. She believed in “manning” up to mistakes.

  She believed in honor.

  Because her own childhood had been entirely devoid of fairness, of any semblance of what could reasonably be deemed right and wrong, Jack fervently believed in taking responsibility for those errors one could claim as one’s own . . .

  And this one was all hers.

  Hawk. My strange, maddening, wonderful enemy/protector/betrayer/friend . . . this one isn’t on you.

  “Mr. Alpha,” Jack said quietly, looking at Alejandro, “I will tithe for both of them. I offer belu for Hawk and Nando.”

  The hooded man seemed aghast at the turn in events. He stood dumbly with the cane gripped in his hand, looking back and forth between her and Alejandro, his gaze confounded.

  The Alpha stared at her long and hard. He muttered, “So be it,” and gestured for Hawk to be released.

  It took four men to subdue him once his wrists had been unbound. They wrestled him to the ground, shouting, throwing punches, until finally he lay on his stomach with his arms bent painfully behind his back, a knee between his shoulder blades, pinned but still struggling to get free.

  He kept shouting as the Alpha opened his palm toward the hooded man, kept shouting as Jack stepped to the tree, kept shouting as the hooded man instructed her to remove her jacket and shirt. She did, hands shaking, and stood there in only her bra, deeply frightened but understanding this kind of ritual punishment meant there were rules, rules that could be learned and obeyed—or smartly circumvented.

  If they meant to kill her, there would be a different kind of ceremony for that, she felt sure.

  The hooded man’s two assistants encircled her wrists with iron, and chained her to the tree. The rough bark scraped her stomach and breasts. The night air felt cool and soft against the bare skin of her back.

  Her heart pounded so frantically she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Jacqueline Dolan,” said the Alpha, his voice tight and dark. “Reporter for the New York Times . . . human. You have invoked belu in accordance with the ancient rites, and will stand in place for the two you have named. You will receive . . .”

  There was a long, terrible pause. Jack closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the tree trunk, waiting.

  “Fifty lashes.”

  Only fifty. She sagged against the chains, grateful for this show of mercy. On the ground, Hawk began screaming.

  “No! No! No! Alejandro, please! Don’t! I’ll take twice my punishment! She can’t heal the way we do—she’ll be hurt—she’ll be scarred!”

  His screams were ignored.

  The Alpha asked her, “Do you have anything to say before punishment commences?”

  Jack began to shake so badly the chains rattled. She looked up and found Morgan’s face in the crowd, saw her standing with both hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  It hit her like a wrecking ball. Morgan was going to cry for her.

  Witnessing her fear, this woman, this stranger—this creature she’d once argued should be exterminated—was going to cry. She was going to engage in that dreaded, deadly show of weakness. And there was Hawk on the ground, screaming he’d take twice what he’d been given, so she could be spared. Even the hooded one didn’t want to hurt her. She’d seen it in his eyes. As she looked around the gathered faces—most stunned, some confused, others obviously feeling compassion for her predicament—she had the startling epiphany that Hawk had been right.

  She was a bigot. She’d judged them all based on the actions of one.

  Then came another swift, terrible realization: they lived in isolation like this, here in the darkest heart of the jungle, because of people like her. Because of humans, who’d hunted them near to extinction centuries ago, who were even now trying to do the same thing.

  And this Draconian system of punishment she was about to become so familiar with was, in all likelihood, designed in an effort to keep them safe. Hidden.

  But it actually kept them oppressed.

  In a hoarse, tremulous voice, Jack said, “Yes, I do have something to say.” She took several deep breaths, trying to steady her shaking voice and body, but it didn’t help. So when she spoke it was with that awful, telling tremor of fear, her voice as loud as it would go. It carried well past the tree and the clearing, into the humid dark of the night.

  “I was wrong to judge you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  There was another silence, broken only by Hawk’s continual pleading.

  Then Alejandro said simply, “Begin.”

  Four feet long, half an inch thick, soaked in an antiseptic bath made from boiling the roots of the suma plant and the leaves of the flowering herb clavillia, the cane applied with full force to the naked skin of Jacqueline Dolan’s back and shoulders was mad
e of a lightweight, flexible wood from the Capirona tree.

  Flexibility causes less damage to the underlying tissues. The skin, however, disintegrates.

  At the first crack of impact, Jacqueline sucked in a loud, hard breath. Her back bowed, her head flew back, and her mouth opened wide, as did her eyes. She pulled hard against the wrist restraints, her fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the chains.

  What she didn’t do was cry out.

  The next strike distorted her face to a grimace of pain. Her eyes clenched shut.

  By the fifth horrible, echoing whack, all the color had drained from her face and she was shaking uncontrollably, her jaw gritted so hard all the tendons in her neck stood out.

  She still didn’t make a noise.

  Standing beside Morgan, watching with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Xander muttered, “Damn.”

  Hawk, still being restrained by the four men on the ground, had turned his head away.

  When the count reached ten, someone in the crowd behind Morgan whispered, “Ten.”

  Whack!

  Someone else said, “Eleven.”

  Whack!

  “Twelve.” More voices, joining in with the first.

  Whack!

  “Thirteen.”

  Now the crowd took up the count in unison, their voices growing stronger with each unforgiving strike of the cane.

  Whack!

  “Fourteen!”

  By the time the count reached twenty, the entire crowd was shouting together. And still Jacqueline was silent, though her body jerked violently with each blow. Nando looked as if he was going to vomit.

  A female had never before been caned against this tree.

  Their punishments, though handed out liberally, were typically less severe than the males’, who were able to withstand more vigorous physical discipline as they tended to heal faster than the females. The punishment tree had seen floggings and canings and beatings of various violence and bloodshed, but never had a woman stood chained to its trunk.

  Never had a human stood there.

  Never had a female offered belu for a male . . . one she wasn’t even mated to.