Darkness Bound (A Night Prowler Novel) Page 21

  “It will be a few days from here, depending on how quickly we move,” said Leander quietly, nodding a welcome to the silent, watchful animals who’d come to guide their way through the forest to the colony where the rest of them awaited.

  Bollocks! Days? Who knew what trouble that wretch of a Queen could stir up by then! Sweating profusely in his formal, fitted vest and cravat, Edward’s fury grew.

  There was nothing to be done about it, however. He’d just have to keep his fingers crossed that Caesar might discover her and take care of that part of the Plan by himself. If truth be told, Edward was more than a little afraid of the Queen . . . and not entirely sure she was as ignorant of his duplicity as she seemed.

  He assured himself that didn’t make sense—certainly she would have had him killed immediately if she knew—just as Leander instructed them to remove their clothes.

  “I’ll Shift last and ensure the saddlebags are in place, and the children are secured. Then we’ll begin.”

  He nodded to Olivia Sutherland, Grayson’s young wife, who’d been assigned to care for the twins in their mother’s absence. From what Edward had seen, she’d done a thorough job, cooing and clucking over them just as she did with her own small baby, but for some odd reason she was becoming more and more pale since they’d left Sommerley.

  Afraid, most likely. She’d never been outside her home colony in her life.

  On the sand, the men lined up the specially made nylon bags that would strap around their bodies in animal form, holding the clothing they now wore and the few mementos they’d been allowed to take. Then with the exception of Leander, Olivia, and two other females who held the children in their arms, the gathered group disrobed silently and swiftly, Shifted to panther, and stood waiting.

  Edward was last.

  He’d long ago decided he preferred his human form to the animal one. He didn’t want to be human, but he enjoyed fine clothing and fine dining and all the elevated pleasures of the highest of their society, such as eating with a knife and fork, not tearing into steaming, bloody flesh with his fangs. He was not looking forward to running around in the jungle like so many primitive beasts.

  Which he was, to be sure . . . but he was also British, for God’s sake! He was a viscount! His rainforest kin living in the wilderness were, in all likelihood, no better than savages!

  He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here and head on to Morocco, where Caesar, he guessed, knew how to serve a proper meal.

  With a sigh of regret and more than a little distaste at being forced to take off his clothes in front of others—more savagery, no doubt the natives went naked all the time where they were headed—he stripped. Then he shed his shape like a snake shedding its skin, and Shifted.

  Standing on four paws on the hot riverbank in the blistering tropical sun, he sighed again, only this time it sounded like a hiss.

  Leander folded and packed the clothing, while Olivia secured another custom-made satchel around her husband’s body that would carry the twins, snug in fur-lined pouches, secure on his back. Their own child went on the back of another male, a sturdy, reliable Assembly member with an equally sturdy wife. Once the bags were packed, Leander strapped them to the waiting animals, careful to make sure the buckles were neither tight nor loose, then removed Hope from Olivia’s arms.

  “In you go, love,” he murmured to the baby, tucking her into one of the pouches. She gazed up at her father, silent and impassive, eyes round and unblinking, and Edward repressed the shudder that always wracked him when he looked too closely at the twins. There was just something . . . off about them. He glanced away as Leander repeated the procedure with Honor.

  “Ladies,” Leander invited. The two other women undressed and Shifted, but Olivia stood frowning, the fingers that she’d been using to unbutton the front of her dress faltering, then freezing in place.

  King of the Jungle, thought Edward with a sneer, watching the worry lines on Leander’s face deepen. How far the mighty have fallen!

  “Olivia?”

  She glanced up at Leander. Blinking, glancing around in confusion, she said, “I-I’m sorry. I’m not sure what’s wrong . . .”

  Edward’s ears pricked, as did the others’. The calls of the birds and the burbling of the river took on a sinister cast.

  “What do you mean? What is it?”

  She moistened her lips, obviously panicking. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she concentrated, then released her breath in a rush. “I can’t! I can’t do it!” she shrieked, shaking her hands as if trying to rid them of crawling spiders.

  “Calm down, it’s all right!” Leander strode to her side. Several feet away, her husband lifted his huge, wedge-shaped head and stared at her with brilliant yellow eyes, long silver whiskers twitching.

  Olivia looked up into Leander’s face and whispered in horror, “I can’t Shift, Leander. It’s . . . it’s gone. It’s just gone!”

  Can’t Shift? Tosh! What’s she getting on about? Edward stared at her in confusion. Of course she could Shift—they all could. From puberty on, their latent Gifts became realized. Some later than others of course, but all eventually discovered their heritage. And their Gifts certainly didn’t come and go like some kind of head cold!

  Except . . .

  Edward’s gaze cut to the twins, nestled on Grayson’s back. They were both staring at him with inscrutable calm, like tiny Buddhas. Together, they smiled.

  All the fur on Edward’s neck and haunches stood on end.

  Tension gripped the group, palpable as a squeezed fist. The six animals watching from the tree line slunk forward on silent paws, hackles raised, ears upright.

  “You must be cut somewhere, Olivia, that’s all,” Leander reassured her gently.

  “Th-this is different. I can feel it—”

  “No.” Leander interrupted her, his voice flinty cold. He repeated it again as he reached out to squeeze Olivia’s arm. She looked up at him, open-mouthed, white-faced, trembling. “You’re obviously just slightly injured. A scrape, a small break in the skin—you know it can be anything. There’s a cut you can’t see somewhere, something you did during our travel. Perhaps in the canoe; it was a bumpy ride. Even a splinter would suffice, you know that.”

  The Alpha was staring at Olivia in unblinking intensity, radiating authority . . . and something much darker. Something that had Grayson prowling forward, his own hackles raised.

  “It’s all right, everyone,” Leander reassured the group in a controlled voice. “I’ll stay behind to travel with Olivia and Grayson.” He broke eye contact with Olivia to regard the group of six guides. “One of you can travel with us, to show us the way. The rest of you can proceed ahead with the remainder of my group. I don’t want to delay the majority from reaching the colony and settling in.”

  There was a moment of indecision, a slight hesitation. But they were accustomed to taking orders, so even though there was an unspoken consensus that something was definitely amiss, Edward and the other refugees from Sommerley followed as five guides turned and vanished back into the lush green landscape from whence they came.

  Before stepping into the humid, leafy unknown, Edward glanced back one final time.

  Leander still had his hand on Olivia’s arm. Grayson, still in animal form, stood beside her, a low growl rumbling through his chest. The lone remaining guide still waited patiently at the edge of the forest for the trio to move.

  And the twins were still looking at him.

  Smiling.

  Three days. She can’t lie. This is what I’d do every day if I could.

  The chaos inside Hawk’s skull was composed of howling winds, volcanic eruptions, and those fifteen words, repeating themselves with such vehement, shrieking force he wondered if he’d slipped over the fine line between sanity and insanity, and had finally lost his mind.

  It definitely fe
lt like it.

  Clumsy and distracted, he trudged blindly down the hill from the priest’s cave, bumping into everything as he went, not even bothering to slap away the low-hanging tree branches from his face.

  Three days. This couldn’t be happening!

  She can’t lie. That can’t be possible! Can it?

  This is what I’d do every day if I could.

  That one was the worst. That was the clincher, the lighted beacon atop this towering skyscraper of disaster. Combined with the impossibility of numbers one and two, number three was sheer madness. Because oh Dios mio . . . what if it were true?

  What if it were all true?

  Groaning aloud, Hawk put his head into his hands, which was why he didn’t see what lay on the ground in front of him. He walked right into it, stumbled, and fell flat on his face.

  “What the . . . ?”

  He leapt to his feet, shook his head, and looked around, hoping no one saw this display of complete idiocy, and realized he’d arrived home far more quickly than he realized, wrapped as tightly as he was in the tumult inside his mind.

  But this didn’t look like his home.

  In a circle all around the base of the large tree he called home were strewn flowers, a riot of orchids, water lilies, and passion flowers that carpeted the ground, thick and fragrant. Atop the flowers were bowls of fruits of every shape and variety, handmade soaps wrapped in squares of fine linen, candies made of boiled sugar and dried fruits, pottery and figurines carved from rare wood and jewelry . . . so much jewelry laid out on swaths of embroidered silk as fine and intricate as a spider’s web that the air glittered in fractured rainbow prisms of light.

  He stood stunned, uncomprehending, until Morgan appeared, bearing a package in her arms. She came and stood beside him, surveying the scene.

  “Well,” she said after a short silence, “I can see they beat me to it.”

  Hawk managed a weak, “Huh?”

  “You’ll have to preserve most of this fruit, though. There’s no way the two of you can eat it all before it spoils.”

  “Uh . . . uh-huh.” He stared at the bounty laid before them, words failing him.

  Morgan nudged him with her elbow. He turned to look at her, and she smiled. “You have the exact same look of bewilderment my husband gets when I tell him I love him.”

  “What is all this?” Hawk gestured to the display.

  Morgan regarded him for a moment, dark brows lifted, her expression sympathetic, if slightly amused. “You men. It must be hard to go through life so completely clueless.”

  Hawk blinked at her. “I’d say ‘huh?’ again, but that would be redundant.” He paused. “It’s honestly all I have right now, though.”

  Morgan patted his arm. “I know, duckie. I have every confidence you’ll figure it out eventually, however.” She deposited the bundle she carried into his arms. “A little something for our new friend. Tell her it’s from me, will you?”

  Hawk looked down. Whatever she’d given him was light, wrapped neatly in a soft, soft fabric of indigo blue, and tied with a white silk ribbon. He looked back at Morgan.

  “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?”

  “I could, but watching you flounder is too much fun to resist. I have to take it where I can get it.” She winked at him. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Hawk scowled. He wished he could cross his arms over his chest to look more intimidating, but her bundle wouldn’t allow it. He made his voice stern when he demanded, “Morgan, I’m in no mood for games. Tell me what this is!”

  She produced a lovely, ladylike laugh, chiming like a bell.

  “Oh my! Positively terrifying!” she teased, looking up at him. “You forget who I live with, Hawk. Xander makes fire breathing dragons look like bunny rabbits. And if he doesn’t scare me, you’re certainly not going to!” She looked at him sympathetically. “Although that was a good attempt. Had I been anyone else I’m sure I would have been very, very afraid.” She smiled. “Extremely.”

  He growled and she laughed again, moving away. “Just don’t forget to tell her it’s from me,” she called over her shoulder with a wave. Then she was gone.

  And Hawk was just as confused as he was before she’d come.

  He gazed up the trunk, looking at the underside of his home, and wondered what he would find when he climbed the rope.

  Only one way to find out.

  He carefully picked his way through the sea of gifts and began to ascend.

  But Jacqueline was sleeping just as he’d left her, innocent and peaceful as a child. He laid Morgan’s gift on the dresser, and checked Jacqueline for fever by pressing the backs of his fingers to her forehead. Her skin felt as it always did: soft, fine, and warm, but a normal temperature, not flush with the heat of fever. His fingers drifted down her temple and caressed her cheek, and she sighed softly in her sleep and pressed her face against his hand.

  He froze. His damn traitorous heart began to pound in glee.

  Hawk eased slowly away from the bed, trying not to think of those three words that might just be the death of him.

  She can’t lie.

  He turned away, deciding to busy himself with cleaning up the mess.

  By the time Jacqueline awoke to the first of the early evening rainfall, Hawk had managed to gather all of the jewelry. He’d laid it out on every available surface, where it glittered on every table and dresser and chair, festooning his home like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Making, trading, and collecting shiny trinkets had been a favorite pastime of the tribe for centuries, and though he’d never had an interest in amassing his own treasure trove, he was now in possession of a substantial collection. He didn’t know exactly what to do with it all, but had a vague idea that he’d ask Jacqueline’s opinion.

  He’d brought up the fruit in the large basket he usually used for foraging, and had left it in an enormous pile in one corner of the living room. He didn’t have a kitchen—none of them did—the preparation of food was a communal activity—so he’d no idea how he’d “preserve” the fruit, as Morgan had suggested, but thought he might ask Jacqueline about that, too.

  He was just about to make another trip down the rope to gather the rest of the pottery, figurines, and candies when Jacqueline appeared at the top of the stairs, looking sleep addled. Her hair stuck up all over her head like the bristles of a bottlebrush tree.

  “Do you have a shower?” she mumbled, rubbing an eye with her fist.

  Hawk wondered if she remembered anything she’d said earlier, deciding quickly that he hoped she didn’t. Drug-induced amnesia would make it much easier to deal with the situation.

  Much easier to deal with than drug-induced nymphomania, that was for sure.

  “Yes.” Strange that his voice could crack like that over a single-syllable word. He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you. It’s this way.”

  She descended the stairs from the second floor and followed him silently, her eyes barely open. Once they passed through the living room and stepped out to the deck that ran along the perimeter of the first floor, she stopped dead.

  Hawk turned to look at her. “What is it?”

  She blinked drowsily several times. “There’s a giant pile of fruit in the corner of the room.”

  Hawk nodded. “I know.”

  “What’s it doing there?”

  “Well . . . beginning to rot, probably.”

  She blinked a few more times, eyes clearing. “It wasn’t there when I came in.”

  He was surprised she’d noticed anything when she came in last night, considering her condition. And the fact that she had been hanging upside down over his shoulder. “It was here this morning . . . I found it all at the base of the tree.” He gestured to the low dresser behind her overflowing with piles of jewelry. “Along with that.”

  She turned,
did a double-take, and stared open-mouthed at the booty. She turned back to stare at him with lifted brows.

  He shrugged. “I know. Don’t ask me; it just appeared while I was out. There’s still a mess outside. Look.” He pointed to the round opening in the floor where the rope that acted as the sole means of an entrance and exit hung down; it was bolted to the ceiling above, which was the floor of the second level.

  She crossed to it with tentative steps and peered down. She said softly, “Oh. That is so sweet.”

  “Sweet?” he repeated, confused. “What is, exactly?”

  “Well, if I’m not wrong, that looks to me like some kind of . . . offering.” She glanced up at him. “Like a ritual thing. You know, when worshippers leave gifts at the temple, like that.”

  All the breath left Hawk’s body in a soundless rush.

  Maqlu. The tribe had performed the sacrament of Maqlu for Jacqueline, in honor of the sacrifice she’d made.

  The sacrifice she’d made for him.

  She was looking at him with concern. “Are you all right?”

  He hadn’t recognized the sacrament for what it was because he’d never seen it before. It had never occurred in his lifetime. And he was so detached from the ancient rites . . . He didn’t attend the ceremonies, he didn’t listen to the teachings of the priest, he’d even refused to take the bride the Matchmaker had insisted he mate with as a young man because he’d rather take the lashings than marry a female he didn’t love. And he had taken the lashings. And more, when he refused again several years later; it was a different female this time but it had the same result. After that there were no more proffered matches, and it became sport to the unmated females of the tribe to see who could land him . . . but no one ever had. His heart remained untouched.

  Until now. Until her. Until this human woman, so different from him yet so alike.