Wings In The Night - Twilight Memories Part 19

The shout brought him up short, but he knew an instant later it came from Eric. He faced his friend, accepted the harsh embrace. "Roland, what's happened? We've been out of our minds with worry."

Roland's soul felt as empty, as hollow as he knew his words sounded. "Rogers. He got me with one of those darts of his, then left me for the dawn to find."

"And Rhiannon?"

Roland felt his throat seal itself off. He closed his eyes. "I... I don't know."

Eric grasped Roland's arm and both men approached the cabin. Eric flung the door wide, so hard it smashed into the wall, and the two went in different directions, searching the place with methods none too gentle.

In the small, empty room, Roland stopped, his heart twisting as he eyed the circle of candles and the dish of incense. It's exotic scent still tinged the air. Then he saw the b.l.o.o.d.y little dart, lying on the floor in a corner. In a voice gone hoa.r.s.e with pain, he called to Eric, and pointed. "They've taken her," he whispered.

"We'll get her back."

Roland nodded, then scanned his friend's face. "Where is Tamara?"

"She's taken the boy back to the castle, Roland. They're in no danger, now. Jamey was suddenly released last night. It was never him they wanted, only Rhiannon. Once they had her, they let him go. If they need bait to lure the rest of us, they'll use her."

Roland nodded, for the explanation made perfect sense.

"I'd have been here to help you, Roland, but Jamison was turned loose in a forest, and left to find his own way. We spent most of the night searching for him, and I had no idea what had occurred up here--although I think Tamara did."

Roland c.o.c.ked a brow. "How?"

Eric shrugged. "She heard something from Rhiannon... it was what led us to that particular patch of woods in the first place. Then she heard no more. She kept saying she was certain something was wrong, but she didn't know what." He shook his head. "I was d.a.m.ned afraid for you, Roland. How did you manage to escape the sun, with that tranquilizer in your blood?"

Roland thought again of the wolf, of the knowledge in its eyes. "I'm not certain." He shook himself. "It doesn't matter now. We have to find Rhiannon."

As the drug's effects waned, the day sleep took over. Rhiannon roused only very briefly between the two. In a fogged, floating kind of state, she glanced around her, knowing she was in a chilly place with no windows or doors, no light of any kind. She sat hunched on a cold floor, with another cold surface at her back. And when she moved her arms or legs, there was the sound of metal clanking against metal.

Then she slept again, so she thought it must be day. When the sleep evaporated, she knew it was night. Or was it? For with the setting of the sun would come the rush of tingling energy, and the zinging awareness in h.e.l.l every nerve ending. With night would come strength, and power.

Why did she still feel as if her limbs were made of lead, and her head stuffed with wet cotton?

Lucien's face loomed above her, grinning lasciviously "Don't fret, Rhiannon. It's only Curt Rogers's handy little drug making you feel so weak. I gave you a half dose just before sunset. Looks as if it was enough."

Vaguely, her brain began to function. She felt the damp; chill of the stale air around her, smelled the stench of stagnant water, and rodent leavings. "Rogers... told you he'd never... give you the drug."

"Rogers didn't have a choice in the matter. Did you really think I'd let him drag you off to some sterile laboratory and hold you under military guard before I had what I wanted from you?" He laughed low in his throat and shook his head. "He had no more intentions of keeping his promise to me than you did."

Her body weak, Rhiannon struggled to her feet, only to realize that iron manacles encircled her ankles, with chains that were bolted to the stone wall. Her wrists were likewise imprisoned, with longer lengths of chain. She turned her head to one side, then the other, testing the strength of the chains with an experimental tug. The cold iron bit into her flesh.

I'll keep you weak enough so you won't be able to tear them free, Rhiannon. Don't doubt that."

She faced him, feeling her anger well up inside her. "What has become of Roland?"

"Your friend who was lingering outside the cabin? Curtis shot him with a dart, like you, and left him there for the sun. He's probably dead by now. No hope of rescue there."

His words were like the lashes of a whip across her heart. She closed her eyes against the flood of tears.

"Oh, how touching," Lucien said, gripping her chin and lifting it. "Now, unless you want to follow him, after you watch me kill the boy, you will transform me."

Her eyes flew open. "You still have Jamey?"

"Of course."

She studied his face, wondering if he was telling the truth. She'd awakened with the sense that Jamey was well and safe. Had it been a dream? Wishful thinking? Or had someone been attempting to rea.s.sure her?

"I can keep you here indefinitely, Rhiannon. I have plenty of the drug, and all the time in the world. If the boy's life isn't incentive enough to convince you, we can try using pain as an impetus. I know how much you dislike that."

Her neck was so weak she had trouble holding her head up when he took his hand away from her chin. Her memories of the time this man's father, and his partner, Daniel St. Claire, had held her captive, loomed in her mind in an attempt to drive her from her senses. She pushed it away with effort. "And if I capitulate? If I initiate you into the, world of unending night, what then? Am I to suppose you will release me, when I heard you admit you live only to see me die?"

"Suppose what you will. I'll free the boy if you do a say. If not, you both die. The choice, fair Rhiannon, is yours."

She lowered her head until her chin rested upon her chest. It was hopeless, then. She had no need to fight the fear, for her grief overwhelmed it.

"I have things to do. I'll return for your decision in a: hour." With that, he left her, his steps echoing in the darkened, stone dungeon.

Yes, dungeon. Where on earth had he brought her? A dungeon suggested a castle, and a castle likely meant they were still in France. Perhaps even in the Loire valley where thousands of medieval castles dotted the lands cap Roland's among them.

Roland.

Just the thought of him brought a stab of pain to her soul. She called out to him, sending her mental voice into the night like a mournful wail. Again and again she called to him, but she heard no reply.

Could he truly be dead? Gone forever before she' managed to tell him the truth she'd kept locked away for so long?

"I love you, Roland de Courtemanche, baron, knight immortal, man. I love all of you," she whispered. She lifted her head skyward, as if to cry out to the G.o.ds. "Return him to me, and I swear I will become what he wants No more will I seek out danger and flaunt myself in its face. No more will I live recklessly, walking an unsteady line along the very edge of sanity. I'll become the staid and quiet woman he wants, anything he needs. Never will I leave his side, if only I am given one more chance!"

Her words died on a broken, ragged cry, and she let her head fall forward once more on a neck gone limp. Her sobs racked her body, and only the lengths of chain kept her from falling. For she knew in her heart, her chances were gone. Roland had not answered her desperate cries. He'd been taken from her, torn from her heart before she'd realized he'd made his way into it.

Her grief paralyzed her, and she sobbed endlessly, wellsprings of tears pouring from her eyes.

Still, she knew that if Roland would ask anything at all of her from beyond the grave, it would be to do what was necessary to protect young Jamison. The last gift she could ever give to him would be the boy's life. She had no choice but to do as Lucien asked. He'd kill her when the deed was done, there was no longer any doubt of that. She could only hope it would be swift and clean.

Halfway down the mountainside, her cries reached him. Roland's head came up, and his stomach clenched in a tight knot at the anguish in her voice.

Eric's hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vise. "Don't answer her."

"Are you insane? Listen to her--"

"I am. No doubt, Lucien is, as well. If you answer, he'll be ready and waiting for us. He already has too many weapons in his a.r.s.enal, Roland. That drug, Rhiannon's life, Curt Rogers's aid. No use giving him fair warning, as well."

Roland swallowed hard. Rhiannon's cries kept coming, and he heard her grief, her tears, her pain. G.o.d, but he'd never been aware how much she truly cared for him. No wonder his careless words had hurt her, time and again. He cursed himself now, for having to hurt her once more, and swore on the graves of his family that he would never, in all eternity, ever cause her pain again, even if it cost him his life.

He closed his mind off, for her pleas were driving him to near madness, and his rage added to that still more. He focused only on honing his mind to her location, and then pointed himself in that direction.

He and Eric sped through the night until all at once, Eric skidded to a halt, gripping Roland's arm. "I was mistaken in that list of Lucien's advantages. Look." He pointed down a steep embankment.

Far below, a smoking wreck was all that remained of Curt Rogers's Cadillac. Roland sent the fingers of his mind into the wreckage, and saw the vision of Rogers's charred body, twisted grotesquely behind the wheel.

"This was no accident," Roland said softly. "He died by Lucien's hand."

Eric nodded his agreement. "Then Lucien has no intention of turning Rhiannon over to DPI once she's transformed him."

"No." Roland's voice was grim. "He intends to kill her."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

They circled the mined fortress twice, in search of guards or watchmen, before leaping the crumbling wall. They crossed the barren courtyard, Roland's palms itching to feel a steel hilt, his shoulder aching for the b.u.t.t of a crossbow. A moat, filled with green brackish water that appeared thick with filth and stunk to the heavens, surrounded the castle. The drawbridge was raised.

In days of old, they'd have fashioned a bridge of a freshly cut tree, a battering ram of another. Today, matters were much simpler. The two leapt the moat, side by side, and edged around the square stone shape of the keep, in search of a way to enter quietly. Both were careful to guard their thoughts, even from each other. A steel wall had been lowered around their minds. Lucien must not know of their approach.

It was difficult, for Roland knew that somewhere within these decaying stone walls, Rhiannon was imprisoned. Weakened, perhaps in pain. Were she well, she'd have torn the place apart by now, and Lucien along with it. Her patience would have found its end.

They finally came to a small opening in the stone, a window, which had never seen gla.s.s. Roland clambered through, and stood, looking around him while Eric followed. The place was in ruin, no question. The very walls were crumbling. The stone floors had spider webs of cracks, and huge gouges. It was black as pitch within the cold walls of this castle, but with his piercing night vision, he made his way slowly forward, along decrepit corridors, his mind on Rhiannon.

His heart grew heavier with every echoing step he took. Surely these weak stone walls could not hold her in her normal state. How he wished to see her, enraged, bringing Lucien to his knees with the sheer force of her anger. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. That he'd ever thought to tame her spirit was a joke. It was untamable as she was. It was what made her Rhiannon.

After trekking through endless corridors and pa.s.sages, they came to the top of a set of stone stairs, crumbling as they spiraled downward into what seemed the hub of the earth. The smells of dankness and decay a.s.saulted him as they descended. The sounds of water trickling, of rodents scratching, and of their own steps, echoed in his ears. She was here, in this h.e.l.l, more than likely believing him dead.

Each step was placed with utmost care, as silently as possible. Roland scarcely dared draw a breath for fear he would alert Lucien and incite the man to harm Rhiannon. G.o.d, the very thought of her here was enough to drive him mad. Was she imprisoned in some freezing, tiny cell? Was she, even now, shivering with the cold and with her grief over his own supposed demise? Was she drugged, weakened to the point of helplessness in the face of Lucien's brutality?

Had the b.a.s.t.a.r.d harmed her? Had he touched her?

He'd die if he had, Roland vowed. He would die either way, he amended. The beast was loose, and Roland, for once, welcomed its presence. He'd tear Lucien limb from limb and take great pleasure in the tearing.

Eric touched his arm, and inclined his head. Only then did Roland hear the sounds of voices, echoing softly through the cavernous underworld. Like ghosts wandering aimlessly, the voices filtered toward them.

"Are you ready, then?"

"I'm ready, Lucien." Rhiannon's voice was weak, conveying the state of her body, and of her mind. The sound of it was a torment such as Roland had never known. He crept nearer.

"Remember, no tricks. If any harm comes to me, the boy will die where he is. You understand that?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"So I will bide my time, Lucien. And you will pay."

There was the sound of grim laughter. "I knew you'd be furious about the cat. The animal gave me no choice, Rhiannon. When it bounded in front of my car, the temptation was just too great for me." There was a pause. "From the boy's reaction, you'd have thought I'd killed his dearest friend."

Roland stepped closer, still unable to see them, but he could hear more clearly. He heard Rhiannon's labored breathing, and then her voice, with the barest hint of her former spirit making her words quiver with rage. "You didn't kill the cat. And when the boy is safe again, you might well become a snack for her."

"The cat survived? Then why are you still so angry?"

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Rhiannon drew a deep, ragged breath. The argument seemed to be taxing whatever strength she still possessed.

"You know... the cause of my anger. What you did to Pandora pales... beside your other crimes." She paused, breathing deeply, brokenly. "You... you've taken from me... the only man I have ever loved." The final words were barely whispered, and the evidence of tears was clear in her voice.

Roland stood stock-still when those words floated toward him through the darkness. He closed his eyes as a horrible pain washed over him, and only stirred again when Eric's voice urged him on.

"Steady, my friend. You'll get used to the idea."

He swallowed hard, and began moving silently forward. The shock of Rhiannon's admission faded as his rage, again, began to build.

"I will avenge Roland, Lucien," she whispered. "Make no mistake."

"You leave me no choice but to be sure you never get the chance, Rhiannon. One would almost think you had a death wish."

"Take care." Her words were weak and faint. "For I have nothing left to lose."

There was the sound of chains rattling. Then a strangled gasp. "Feel the tip of this needle in your side, Rhiannon? If I get the slightest notion you are trying to bleed me dry, I'll depress the plunger. There's a large enough dose to kill you in seconds."

They rounded a corner, and Roland saw the nightmarish scene laid out before him, illuminated only by the harsh, flickering light of a single torch. Rhiannon, all but limp, supported more by the chains at her wrists, than by her own power. Her eyes were hooded and moist with pain, without light of any kind. Desolate. Her hair hung over one side of her face. The hem of the deep blue kimono was dampened and dirty.

Facing her, his back to them, Lucien stood with legs planted apart, his fist gripping the hypodermic that was jabbed into her side, right through the flowing kimono she wore. He gave it an evil twist and she whimpered, too weak to cry aloud.

Roland lunged, but Eric gripped his arm. "If you attack now, he'll kill her." The words were whispered harshly into Roland's ear. "We have to get him to remove that d.a.m.ned needle before we touch him."

The sight of Rhiannon suffering riled him, but he knew his friend's words to be true. He glanced around, seeing in all directions in the inky blackness. Far above, more chains dangled from a towering ceiling. Roland could guess at their torturous purposes there. He nudged Eric, and pointed.

Eric nodded. "Can you get up there without a sound?"

I'll know in a moment. Can you get Lucien's attention without costing Rhiannon's life?"

"I'd better, hadn't I?"

Roland drew a steadying breath and leapt upward, gripping a protruding stone high above, and anchoring the toe of one shoe in a chip in the wall. He glanced below, saw Eric watching, and gave him a single nod.

Eric stepped forward, out of the shadows, into the red-orange torchlight. "Pardon me, Lucien, but you forgot to tell her a few things, didn't you?"

Lucien whirled, tearing the syringe from Rhiannon's waist as he did. Her face contorted in pain. Her cry brought a convulsion to Roland's stomach.