Darkyn - Incarnatio Part 5

He resisted dreams whenever he felt them hovering around his thoughts, for he never dreamt of anything but the terrors and sorrows of the past, but this time he forgot to keep up his guard, and found himself walking through the quiet forests of his homeland.

Relief surged through him. No bad memories dwelled here for him; when he had hunted with his uncle he had always known keen pleasure and a sense of belonging, as if he had been born to hunt. As Kyn he could no longer feed on animals, but that didn't seem to matter now. He followed one primitive scent after another, surprising a hare, then a boar, then a doe nursing a beautiful white-spotted fawn.

He watched the deer for a long time, taking solace in the sight of such innocence, until someone came up behind him and frightened off the pair.

Jamys turned to see Thierry dressed in his white Templar tunic, copper-edged swords in both of his huge hands. He wanted to greet him, but his mouth would not move, and neither would his body.

"I know you are in trouble." Thierry thrust his swords into the ground. "Show me where you are, and I will come to you." He waited, but when Jamys didn't answer he scowled. "I shall kill anything that harms you. You know this. Tis why you summoned me."

Jamys looked down at the swords, and words spilled from his lips. "Those times are over, Father."

"You are in danger, boy, and I will not-" Thierry stopped and stared at him. "Do you speak to me, Jamys?"

Speaking was all Jamys could do. "I did. I am." At least here, he could.

Thierry grinned and tried to embrace him, but something came between them and pushed him back. "Jamie. What is happening to you? Tell me now."

"One of the old ones has come here," he said. "A hunter who can use mortals as weapons. Lucan has become prey, as have his people. They see only the bait, not the trap." He felt frustration snarling inside him. "I know, but I cannot tell them."

"Alexandra should never have done this to you." Thierry turned away. "I will wake, and I will come to you. Together we will find the hunter and defeat him."

"You cannot help the boy, Thierry." Gabriel stepped out from behind the trunk of an old oak. He wore only an old pair of buckskin trousers. "This is Jamys's battle."

"Uncle." Jamys saw the terrible burn scars on Gabriel's torso. "I do not think I can do this alone."

"The hunter is always alone," Gabriel chided. "So is this one. No matter how many mortals are used for the traps, in the end, it will be you and the other."

"I do not have your power," Jamys protested. "I cannot defeat him."

"You have all you need," his uncle promised. "You have but to remember what I taught you here. Remember that you are also your mother's son."

"Do not speak of Angelica." Thierry seized Gabriel's arm. "My son has nothing of her inside him. And he cannot use a bow and arrow to defeat a Kyn lord."

"He has but to use his gifts." Gabriel took Thierry's arm, and pulled him away. "Leave your son to his work now, brother."

Jamys wanted to call after them, but they vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Then he was left alone again alone and with no thought of what next to do.

"You could come and get me out of here."

He turned around, but only when he tipped his head back did he see Chris, standing on a high branch of the oak. She jumped down, floating to the earth, where she landed lightly on her feet.

"Sam told me about this place," she said, smiling. "I didn't think I could come here."

"Where are you, Chris?"

She shrugged. "Someplace small and dark. Not much fun here."

She must still be in pain from bleeding herself for him. "I never meant for you to hurt yourself for my sake," Jamys told her, reaching out for her. "Forgive me."

"I didn't mind. I really like you. And this place is fabulous." She threw out her arms and whirled around. "How long can I stay here?" Before he could answer, her arms fell and her shoulders slumped. "They're waking me."

"They?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Yeah, I have to go."

A fierce dread settled over him. "Chris, where are you?"

"I don't know. Not a good place." She climbed up the side of the tree, pausing to glance down. "Your uncle is right. This is your battle, Jamys, and you are your mother's son. Don't forget what they both taught you."

Jamys jerked awake and pulled the jacket from his head. The south Florida sky had turned pink and gold, with dark blue clouds stretching out over the setting sun. As soon as he opened the window, the unlovely smell of hot grease and cheap meat wafted in. Parking behind the fast food restaurant had given him a chance to rest without attracting notice, but he couldn't imagine why humans patronized such places. The food smelled so vile he wouldn't have fed it to a goat. And if he kept thinking about that, he wouldn't have to remember the dream.

The last rays of the sun made his eyes burn, so he searched in his pockets until he found his shades and slid them on.

Whatever his dream meant, he knew Chris was safe, although he would have to go back to her apartment and use her again. This time he would have her call Lucan's stronghold and relate what he had discovered. This time he would write it all down rather than use his talent, so that he would not further exhaust her.

When Jamys arrived at the girl's apartment, however, he found the door ajar and the place empty. Her scent was all over everything, but it was faint, as if she had not been in the flat for some hours. He turned and saw her purse still sat where she had left it on the small table in the kitchen, and went back to the bedroom. There, by the bed, he picked up another, unwelcome scent.

Luce had stood here, and put her hands on the coverlet. She had come for Chris.

Jamys cursed himself as he followed the scent of both females, which lead out of the apartment and down to the parking lot, where it abruptly disappeared. She must have taken Chris away in a vehicle.

Chris, who as a tresora in training would know everything about Lucan's stronghold, his defenses and the number of warriors guarding him.

Jamys jumped back into the car and began driving toward the beach before he realized he couldn't go into the Kyn's lair alone. He would have to return to Lucan's stronghold and somehow explain what had happened. He was tempted to pick up a human from the street and compel them to speak for him, but with as much as he had to say, they would only end up falling unconscious.

He stopped at a petrol station and parked next to a telephone booth in the lot. For the first time since Alexandra had operated on him, he tried to use his voice. His tongue, which the Brethren had mutilated and Alex had rebuilt, moved sluggishly, but no sound came from his throat to form words. He tried again, but the muscles in his neck knotted, and all that came out were bursts of air.

You didn't tell your father about your mother's evil. You hid away inside yourself and let him suffer. Why would you think you could tell Lucan about the danger to Chris, and how she is now being used against him? Jamys choked on the bitter taste of his own helplessness, and without thinking rammed his fist into the windshield. The gla.s.s exploded outward, bouncing all over the hood of the car. He pulled back his hand and watched the gla.s.s shards fall from his unmarked flesh. Chris's blood had restored his strength and he couldn't say a word to warn her friends and save her life.

A car pulled up beside him, and he got out and went around it to the driver's side. The woman behind the wheel was short, plump and middle-aged, with a tired but kind face. She stopped hunting through her purse when she saw him, and then stared at his chest. "My lord, but you're a mess. Were you in an accident, honey?"

Jamys glanced down; he'd forgotten the dried blood on his garments, now covered with bits of the shattered windshield as well. He held out his hand, and when she took it he released his scent and spoke in her mind. I need you to make a phone call for me.

She nodded, smiling as she got out of her car, and walked slowly to the booth. He touched her once more to give her the number, and then took out his pad and pen and began to write.

Chapter Six.

Samantha was waiting for the Dutch inspector to fax over the credit card receipt used to purchase all the seats on the flight Carcher had taken from Belgium to Florida when her phone rang. She saw the number displayed by caller ID, hesitated, and then picked up the receiver. "I'm almost finished here, Lucan."

"Glad I am to hear it," he said. "I am enjoying a myriad of spanking fantasies now. If that is all you wished to tell me, you needn't rendezvous with me. Just go up to the penthouse and wait. I shall be along shortly."

"What are you talking about, rendezvous?"

"Burke gave me your message, from when you called earlier."

She frowned. "I didn't call you."

"This small piece of paper says that you did, and you wished to meet me in the bar at midnight."

"Lucan, I never called or left that message." "Give me a moment." Lucan then called for his tresora.

Sam tucked the receiver between her cheek and shoulder as she pulled on her jacket.

"Darling," Lucan said, "Transfer me over to Rafael if you would."

"He's still out hunting Jamys." She switched the receiver from one ear to the other. "Who does Burke say left that message?"

"You need not concern yourself with-"

"Fluffing me off hasn't worked since I was human," she reminded him. "Tell me."

"As you wish." Lucan sighed. "Burke swears on a stack of good books that he spoke to you an hour ago."

"An hour ago I was on the phone with Europe," she said. "Nice people, the Dutch. Very helpful."

"Burke must have made a mistake." Lucan sounded remarkably unconcerned.

Sam knew Lucan's tresora, his most trusted human servant, didn't make mistakes. Not only had Burke and his family had been in service to the Darkyn for centuries, but he took his duties very seriously. He was also utterly devoted to Lucan, and would have set himself on fire before he allowed anyone to get at the suzerain.

Which was what was happening. Someone was trying to get to Lucan, and he knew it, and he didn't want her to know about it. Sam could hear it in his voice. "Ask Burke what line the call came in on."

Lucan did, and then said to her, "The main number to my office downstairs."

Which Sam never used. She grabbed her car keys. "I want you out there. Now."

"I think not." Lucan's drawl took on a hard, cold edge. "I shall deal with this. You will stay downtown." He hung up before she could tell him to go to h.e.l.l.

Sam dialed Rafael's number as she hurried out to the employee parking lot. As soon as he answered, she said, "Someone pretending to be me is meeting Lucan at the club at midnight. How far away are you?" "We are at young Chris's apartment."

She unlocked and jerked open her car door. "Tell her to stay there and meet me at Infusion. Now."

"Chris is gone, and so is her vehicle," Rafael said. "Jamys Durand's scent is all over the apartment."

Sam froze. "He took her from the apartment?"

"That or she invited him in and left willing with him," her partner said. "That is more likely, my lady. She is a friendly child, and sympathetic to him."

"She's an idiot and I'm going to kill her," Sam promised.

"That is not our concern now." Rafael's tone changed. "If our lord is in danger, he must be our first priority."

She knew he was right, but she didn't have to like it. "I'll get to the club before you do and see what's going on. Send all the men in."

"Do not try to get between Lucan and this intruder," Rafael warned. "If he is as powerful as our lord, you will only get yourself hurt."

Sam put on her emergency lights and used them to speed downtown. Along the way she took out the vial of bone marrow from her pocket and thumbed off the top. Placing the open end against the gunshot scar in the center of her palm, she turned the vial over.

As soon as the fluid touched her scar, it invoked her talent, which allowed her to see through Wilson Carcher's eyes during the last minutes of his life. The first thing she saw was Luce Figueroa's face. The missing girl lay under her, her face blank and her eyes staring up at the ceiling, her body bobbing back and forth against damp sheets. Sam shuddered as she realized Wilson was having s.e.x with the girl by penetrating her with strap-on. The device didn't repel her as much as the grinding motions Wilson was making with it, as if he were some kind of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g machine trying to get as deeply inside the girl as he could. Two blank-faced boys stood on either side of the bed, their trousers open and their fists working up and down their erections.

Wilson climbed off Luce, unstrapped the artificial c.o.c.k and watched as the two boys e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed on Luce's b.r.e.a.s.t.s and face. Their s.e.m.e.n mixed with tears from the girl's eyes. Why do you weep, pretty girl? He was only thinking the words, but somehow Sam knew Luce could hear them just as well as if they were spoken. This is what you wanted. Was it not enough?

Shall I f.u.c.k you again?

Sam didn't know how she knew it, but the psychic voice didn't belong to Wilson Carcher as if his mind and body were clothes that the voice dressed itself in. She also sensed Luce, trapped somewhere inside that mask of a face, was also being controlled by the voice. The girl was still inside her head, however, and screamed silently through the revulsion and hopelessness in her eyes.

Sam felt nauseated, and pulled over, switching off the emergency lights. As soon as she did the images took over her vision, blinding her to everything else except what seemed to be the last hours of Wilson Carcher's life. He dressed in his leisure suit, taking care to bind down his b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stuff his crotch with another fake c.o.c.k. As he did, he also watched Luce get up from the bed and pull on a sparkling red dress. She didn't attempt to wipe the s.e.m.e.n from her face or body.

We will go out and have dinner, Wilson thought to Luce. I will show off my new pretty girl to the world, and then you may climb under the table and use your mouth to pleasure me.

Sam followed them out of the hotel room, down a flight of stairs crowded with boxes and heaps of tarps, and out of plywood-covered doors into the night. They walked north until they reached a traffic light, and Wilson turned to see Luce staring into the street.

Who is that? A pretty boy?

Sam saw Jamys Durand sitting in the limo with Chris, who had stopped at a red light. He was staring back at Luce, who must have had some effect on him, for his pupils shrank to black slivers.

Wilson seemed almost pleased. You cannot have that one, pretty girl. He is one of my kind.

Through some impossible surge of will, Luce broke free of the voice for a moment and stepped down from the curb, walking in front of taxi that just stopped short of running her down.

I am not done with you, Wilson screamed into Luce's mind. Come back to me at once.

Luce did the exact opposite, turning away from him and heading back south along the strip. Wilson didn't seem disturbed by it, however, and continued on into the restaurant. Sam could feel a spreading numbness inside as he walked into the men's room and took out the blade he was carrying. At the same time, whatever presence was in his mind began to fade.

You were a good child, Wilma. Wilson drew the blade over his wrists, opening his veins. A mist of red blood escaped through the cuts and formed a cloud in front of him. I shall miss you. He then used the knife to cut his own throat.

The cloud shrank in on itself and seeped out of the small window while Wilson fell to the floor, the knife skidding away out of sight behind the trash bin. As the presence vanished, Sam felt the body rapidly decaying, and heard a single thought flashed across what little was left of Wilson's mind before it shut down.

Free.

As Lucan stripped off his gloves and walked out of the elevator, he wondered which enemy would be waiting for him at the bar. Whoever had entered his territory might have heard that Lucan had given up his role as Richard's pet a.s.sa.s.sin and had vowed not to kill again. Perhaps the fool considered that a measure of safety that would protect him while challenging Lucan inside his own stronghold. This unknown lord had made a serious tactical error by coming to here, but he had in essence committed suicide by pretending to be Samantha.

Burke had followed his orders and cleared out the mortal patrons and the staff, except for one lone redhead sitting on a stool and sipping a martini. As soon as Lucan smelled her, his tension grew. He didn't need some b.l.o.o.d.y mortal female getting in the middle of this.

He was only mildly surprised when she turned and he saw her features. Alisa had been in his employ until he met Samantha, and had provided him with regular relief. When love had destroyed his common sense, he had broken off their arrangement. "You must leave here at once, my dear."

Alisa set down the martini. "My master sent me to bargain with you," she said in a low, flat voice.

"If I recall, you serve many masters." Lucan saw how dilated her pupils were. "But perhaps you will tell me more about this one."

"My master was not aware of your presence until after our arrival. Apologies are made for the intrusion." Alisa slid off the stool and began walking around the club. "This is an imaginative place. You must attract many humans each nightfall. My master envies you."