Nightbred: Lords of the Darkyn (6 page)

Her sanctuary, where she could hide for an hour and vent some of her frustrations without worrying Sam or Burke. In the beginning of her training she had come here almost every day to scream into a pillow until her throat burned, or curl up on the bed and count the sparkling mica flakes embedded in the ceiling’s snowy stucco. Over time she’d finally taught herself how to squelch her aggravation and conduct herself with the composure expected of a
tresora
.

Chris still came to the suite occasionally, but only when she was lonely, when her heart ached, and when she didn’t think she could bear spending one more night by herself.

Not that she had to, she thought as she watched Jamys disappear into the adjoining bath. The guys in the garrison were big, strong, beautiful men; she’d watched them treat the mortal females they brought to the stronghold with gentleness and respect. Every woman who spent a night in the garrison’s quarters left the next morning with a big, dreamy smile on her face.

As protective as Lucan and Sam were of her—and Chris was pretty sure the suzerain had warned his men not to lay one immortal finger on her without her consent—nearly all of the stronghold’s warriors had made it clear they found her attractive. All she’d have to do was bat an eyelash in the right direction and she’d never sleep alone again.

Yet as gorgeous as the
jardin
’s warriors were, none of them had big dark eyes, or black hair as fine as a silk fringe, or hands that moved like water flowed. She admired them, she liked them—a couple had become like surrogate big brothers—but no man among the garrison had ever touched her heart.

Jamys emerged and made another circuit of the room, this time inspecting the windows and their black vertical blinds.

Chris had hidden from everyone her feelings for Jamys, but to cope with the loneliness she’d been forced to put her dreams and desires on ice. Now she wanted to throw herself at him, and cling to him, and tell him how hard it had been to train and wait and hope. She wanted him to know it was all for him. Everything.

And the moment she did that, he would gently set her aside, call for Burke, and have the blonde from downtown or the redhead from the restaurant take her place.

She had to get out of the suite and away from him, now, before she made a complete ninny out of herself. What hadn’t she told him about the rooms? “The blinds are on a timer, and close automatically thirty minutes before sunrise. They don’t open again until thirty minutes after sunset.” She squared her shoulders and walked over to show him the manual pulls hidden inside the end panels. “The windows on this floor are sealed, but the transoms open if you want some fresh air. The doors also lock automatically, so you’ll need to carry this access card with you.”

She reached into her jacket to retrieve the one she’d programmed for him. Pain made her hiss as the shard of broken glass in her pocket sliced across her fingertips.

“Excuse me.” She kept her hand in her pocket and hurried into the adjoining bathroom.

Chris held her bleeding hand over the frost-blue bowl of glass that served as the sink, and winced as cold water from the automatic tap washed over the open cuts. Because the Kyn healed spontaneously, she hadn’t thought to stock the suite with a first-aid kit; she’d have to wrap some tissue around her hand until she could get back downstairs.

“You’re wounded.”

The caress of his breath across the bare back of her neck made her close her eyes briefly. Jamys knew she was hurt because he smelled the fresh blood; the Kyn were almost like sharks that way.

“I cut myself on a piece of glass I had in my pocket.” She reached for the box of tissues, but Jamys had her bleeding hand in his and was examining the small wounds. “It’s nothing.”

His eyes shifted to hers, and she saw a thin ring of glowing amber encircling his pupils, which had begun to contract to thin vertical slivers. “Why hide it from me? Do you think I will feed on you?”

“No, I was embarrassed because I was clumsy.” From the look he gave her it was clear that he didn’t believe her. “I’ve been assigned to you, my lord, and I’m trained to take care of your needs. If you want the blood, I’ll go get a glass.”

Jamys kept his eyes on hers as he slowly lifted her injured hand to his mouth. His
dents acérées
flashed for a moment before he sank them into heel of his own hand.

Chris caught her breath as he raised his head. Two drops of blood beaded in the small puncture wounds that were already beginning to close. “What are you doing?”

“Healing you.” Jamys guided one of her hurt fingers to his palm, and gently pressed the cut into the blood. Chris caught her breath as she felt the cool mingling of his blood with hers, and then her cut went numb. He repeated the act again with her other finger, and then used a tissue to blot the blood away.

Chris saw both of her cuts had closed, just as fast as the punctures in his palm. “Why did you bother?”

“You are not my food, Christian, or my servant. You are my friend, and I do not want you hurt.” He put his hand to the back of her head, holding it as he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Do you understand?”

“Sure. Friendship works for me.” No, it didn’t, but he wasn’t asking for someone else. At least he still liked her. “Your eyes are doing the cat thing, though, and I know that means you haven’t fed for a while. Or you want to have wild monkey sex. Or both.” Had she actually said that out loud? God, she had. “I’ll, um, go make a glass of bloodwine for you.”

“I do not want sex with a wild monkey.” Jamys removed the long comb holding her hair back and placed it on the counter. As the twist slumped against her nape, he worked his hand through it, releasing the wavy mass. “Your hair was scarlet when I saw you last.”

“Mud brown is what I was born with.” She knew with it down she looked about sixteen, too. “I stopped dyeing it after you left.”

His fingers stilled as he found the one hairpin she wore to keep her silver streak out of sight.

“That’s not dyed, either,” she admitted. “I started going gray like an old lady back in high school.”

“Do not hide it.” He spread the strands out. “It does not make you seem older. It is beautiful.”

“I don’t think any woman under the age of ninety would agree with you.” As he brought the silvery lock to his lips, Chris forgot to breathe. “You’re kissing my hair.”

“It feels like gossamer.” He smoothed it back and looked all over her face. “Your piercings, what happened to them?”

“No one takes you seriously when you wear rings in your eyebrow, so I let them close up.” Absently she touched a tiny scar on the curve of her lip, and then she understood why he hadn’t recognized her at first. “You were expecting me to look the way I did three years ago?”

“That is how I remember you.” He touched each place where she had been pierced, and when he reached her lip he ran his thumb back and forth over the small dimple. “You seem so different now.”

“I’m not the same girl I was. I grew up.” She ignored the way the cross under her blouse seemed suddenly to weigh as much as an anchor. “Everyone does, even if they’re Kyn and they don’t age. You’ve changed, too.” She eyed the black hair spilling over his shoulders. She often envied the Kyn their hair, which like their fingernails sometimes grew several inches longer overnight, usually right after it was cut. The Kyn never had to suffer a bad hair day more than one day. “You’ve nailed the ponytail look, I think, but how did you get all this new muscle?”

Suddenly he looked tired and unhappy. “I have also been training.”

What was wrong with him? Was she being too much of a pest? Was he sick of her already? “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He turned his head as a three-tone chime sounded. “What is that?”

“Someone’s at the door. Probably Burke.” Chris sighed. “He worries.”

She didn’t find Burke waiting in the hall; one of the visiting Kyn stood outside the suite. As soon as Chris opened the door, the strong scent of almonds wafted over her, and she had to swallow a groan. It was the same spike-haired troublemaker who had started the brawl in the armory.

Why is he on this floor?
“May I help you, sir?”

“There ye are, Pearl Girl.” His lips peeled back from his white teeth and fully emerged fangs. “The bald one said ye were occupied, but I suspected if I tracked ye, I’d find ye alone.” He swiped at her wrist and then frowned when she moved out of reach. “Come, I would have ye before the night wanes away.”

Have me?
No Darkyn male had ever come after her demanding blood or sex, and for a second she wanted to slap him. But Burke had warned her that European Kyn did things differently; evidently they expected to help themselves to the household humans. Lucan would have no problem with her refusing him, but he would expect her to do so without turning it into an international immortal incident.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not available to serve you tonight.”
Or for the rest of eternity, you pretentious ape.
“I’ll be happy to call down to Mr. Burke—”

“I want no other.” He gave her the once-over and breathed in. “Not been taken tonight, then? Be they blind in this stronghold? Never worry, I’ll put ye to good use.” He crossed the threshold and, when she backed away, leered at her. “No need to play shy, Pearl Girl. I know how it is with ye household wenches.” He stopped advancing and frowned past her. “What is this?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Jamys just behind her, his eyes glowing, his expression as lethal as the long copper blades in his fists. “This would be the reason I’m not available, sir.” Since they hadn’t formally met, it was her duty to introduce them, and now she couldn’t remember a single word of the proper protocol. “This is Lord Jamys Durand, son of Suzerain Thierry Durand. And you are . . . ?”

“Vander.” He bobbed his head at Jamys and raised his empty hands. “No trespass intended, Durand. I thought the wench dallied alone here.” A sly look came into his eyes. “Since ye have no desire to bed the mortal, I’ll take her to my chambers.”

Jamys stepped around Chris, putting himself between her and Vander.

Chris heard Jamys make a low, fierce sound in his throat and put her hand on his sleeve. Under her fingers she felt his muscles tighten and hoped she could talk faster than he could strike.

“Mr. Vander, my master, Lord Lucan, has given me to Lord Durand for his exclusive use during his stay. Lord Durand is obviously not interested in sharing me, and he would like you to leave.” When Vander gave her an incredulous look, she added, “Now, please.”

“’Tis unnatural, to draw copper over use of a mere wench.” Vander retreated back into the hall, but he gave Chris an ugly look. “I’ll be seeing ye again, Pearl Girl.”

Not if I see you first,
Chris thought as she closed the door and secured it. Only then did she realize she was trembling so hard her knees were wobbling. “I might need to rethink my career strategy.”

“Christian.” His voice caressed her as if it were rough velvet, as he pulled her around to face him, but he looked ready to kill something. He took his hands off her to pace around the room and utter something lengthy and mangled in French.

“It’s all right. The guy made a mistake.” So had she, staying here as long as she had. “I’ll tell Burke about it before I go home, and he’ll have Lucan explain things to him. I’ll stop in tomorrow night and check on you.” Feeling awkward, she opened the door. “Good night.”

Chapter 6

J
amys moved so fast he had her in his arms before she could blink. “Do not go. We have hardly had an hour together. You can stay a little longer.”

“I can’t. I have to . . .” Something rushed in her ears, and she shook her head, trying to remember what she had to do. All she could think was how much she did want to stay. “You don’t need me around.”

“I would like some bloodwine.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “You can show me how to prepare it for myself.”

“Sure. I stocked some of my favorite Spanish red for you. You’re going to love it.” She started to open the wine drawer but stopped and glanced up at him. “You already know how to mix bloodwine, and five minutes ago you said you didn’t want any.”

His jaw set. “I changed my mind.”

“Okay, fine.” She reached into the drawer, took out a bottle, and used the wine opener to uncork it. She took a glass down from the cabinet, filled it, and set it on the counter. “Can I borrow one of your daggers?” she asked as she began rolling up her sleeve.

He drew back a step. “I do not want your blood.”

“Bloodwine with no blood. Right.” She picked up the glass, sipped from it, and nodded before she filled it to the rim. “Would you like me to run a bubble bath for you? Or I could polish your boots, press your clothes, give you a manicure—”

Jamys took the wineglass out of her hand and set it aside. “Stop talking to me like that. You are not my lackey.”

“I’m not supposed to argue with immortals, but I’m afraid that is
exactly
what I am.” She took another sip of the wine, which made her lip sting. “So you don’t have to waste your talent or fake the friendship thing to make me feel better about it. Serving you is my job.”

He put his hand against her cheek. “What have they done to you?”

He didn’t know anything about her, Chris realized. Maybe it was time he did. “When I met Sam, I was nothing but trash. A runaway fifteen-year-old kid with twenty-eight cents in my pocket. I’d just gotten fired for punching my boss, who thought the three dollars an hour he paid me under the table also entitled him to treat me like a hospitality wench. When it comes to sexist jerks, humans aren’t all that different from the Darkyn.”

Jamys moved his hand to her shoulder. “You deserve better.”

“I have better.” She looked around at the beautiful kitchen that would always, and never, be hers. “Sam and Lucan took me in. Besides trusting me with what has to be the biggest secret of all time, they also care about me. Genuinely care. They gave me this job and, for the first time in my life, a chance to live with some dignity. So that’s what they’ve done, my lord.” She smiled blindly for a moment until she tasted blood. “Damn it.”

Jamys cradled her face between his palms and tilted her head back. “Vander struck you?”

“It wasn’t him. I bit my lip too hard. Old nervous habit.” She ran her finger over the tender spot. “With the way this day has gone, tomorrow I’ll probably wake up looking like Angelina Jolie.”

Jamys’s fingers drifted down from her cheeks to trace along the sides of her throat. She half expected him to step away, but his hands kept moving, over the curves of her shoulders and along the outsides of her arms, encircling her wrists for a moment before moving to her waist. At the same time, his thoughts poured into her mind.
You should not be so cruel to something this soft and lovely.
He lowered his head and ran the tip of his tongue over her sore lip.

The tingling heat left by the intimate caress made Chris close her eyes. “Do that again and I’ll never leave.”

He waited until she was looking at him again before he slowly and deliberately put his mouth on hers. This time he tasted her with a gentle kiss that was as sweet as it was seductive.

Chris curled her hands into fists as she stood perfectly still. She had stopped wishing a long time ago, because she knew dreams didn’t come true. Yet here was Jamys, astounding her with a kiss that felt as if it might never end. What did it mean? He didn’t want to her to go? He never wanted her to leave him again? That was as crazy as the delight and desire he was pouring into her heart.

Stop behaving like some idiot love-struck mortal.
If she messed this up, he’d never want her for his
tresora
, so she’d go by the book.
A Kyn lord has complete dominion over the mind and body of his
tresora
,
Burke’s voice echoed in her mind.
Whatever their wishes may be, we submit to their will entirely, and make no demands of our own. . . .

The kiss that she wished would last forever ended after four heartbeats. It might have been because she was starting to slither through his arms, Chris thought, astonished now by her legs, which she could no longer feel. The room turned on end, and then righted itself halfway as Jamys lifted her off her feet.

“I haven’t fainted since the last time you were here,” she murmured to his shirt buttons. “You should carry smelling salts or something.”

Jamys put her down on a black cloud, and sat beside her. “Too much.” He touched his temple, and then hers.

“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten the price tag of being his thought receiver. “Sorry. I have to take a nap now.” When he started to stand, she clutched his hand. “Don’t tell anyone, please.” As he frowned, she closed her eyes. “They’ll give you the redhead. I just know it. . . .”

The black cloud shifted, and strong, cool arms came around her. As long silky hair fell across her cheek, Chris smiled.

* * *

As soon as the sun set, the Treasure Palace opened its gilded doors to the hordes of patrons clever enough to secure an invitation to the exclusive casino. No one quite knew where the Palace was located; the only way to reach it was by taking a ferry with black-painted windows, on which silent, stone-faced guards prevented any curious passenger from stepping out on deck. Once inside the club, the lure of the free booze and the riches waiting to be won at the high-stakes gaming tables and in the poker rooms made it worth the unsolved mystery.

As one of the Palace’s special perks, the casino’s staff was exclusively female. Many of the stunningly beautiful women who were not working the tables or bars mingled with the patrons, their hostess status designated by the demure gowns of satin and silk they wore. These lovely ladies brought drinks, converted cash into chips, fetched snacks, and, for the right price, would escort a patron back to one of the private encounter rooms, where it was rumored they would perform any sex act that the guest desired. The ladies’ myriad talents had earned the casino a long-standing nickname as the Pleasure Palace.

Werren made her way across the crowded casino floor, pausing now and then to accept compliments and gently refuse offers from various patrons. She wore a simple winter-blue satin sheath dress that matched her eyes and complemented the upswept coil of her fair hair. The only jewelry she wore was a necklace, which lay out of sight beneath her bodice.

Two of her ladies came to join her, and she took them for a turn around the blackjack tables so they might talk without being overheard by one of the guards standing by the exits. “Has the master returned?”

“Not as of yet, lady.” Claudea, a slender waif in a child-size gown of red, returned the appraisal of an older man with an innocent smile. “But two of his bodyguards left before midnight.”

“They may have gone for supplies.” Werren nodded to a passing socialite carrying a small, bored-looking dog in her enormous designer bag. “Has anyone found out anything from the crew?”

“There has been mention of a nightclub and a policewoman,” Claudea said.

“We’ve only four hours left.” Analise, one of her older ladies, touched a plump beringed hand to her silver-streaked black curls. “Or perhaps he won’t arrive until after dawn.”

Claudea sighed. “If he’s wanting sport, he’ll not wait. He’ll send the guards to drag us from our beds. But could be that he’s become infatuated with someone in town. He always takes his time when he is.”

“What if he doesn’t return?” Analise said, a wistful note in her voice. “What will happen to us? Who will look after us?”

Werren saw one of the guards heading toward them. “I will. See what more you can learn from the crew. Now go and find some business.”

She waited for the guard, a spiteful brute named Ralston, who took her arm and marched her to an unoccupied corner. “You have a nice chat with your friends, Duchess?”

“I was suggesting some suitable companions for them.” She nodded toward the blackjack table, where her ladies were already engaging the two men with the most chips.

“Looked more like you three were scheming up something.” His grip tightened. “Dutch will hear about it, too.”

“I’ve nothing to hide,” Werren said, and reached up to center the knot in his tie. “Does your shift end before dawn, Mr. Ralston?”

“You think I’m that stupid? That I don’t know what you are?” He shoved her away from him. “Get back to work.”

Werren left the hot, smoky confines of the casino and walked out onto the observation deck for some air. She’d hoped that Ralston would not have believed anything said about her and the other women—a few of the guards hadn’t, which had proved extremely useful—but lately Dutch wasn’t taking any chances. He had recently become wildly obsessed with his search for the treasure that long ago had been stolen from him, pouring much of their profits into hiring investigators and researchers. He’d also begun leaving behind his bodyguards and making trips by himself into the city. Whatever he was doing there made him frustrated and angry, for he always returned to the Palace in a seething, vicious mood. Once Ralston reported to him tonight, Dutch would probably let him watch as he punished her or the women. This time it would probably be her.

She didn’t mind the beatings so much anymore. It was the inventive humiliations Dutch inflicted that tore at her soul. One day he would shred what was left of it, and then her ladies would have to look after themselves.

Werren avoided looking at the sea and lifted her eyes to the midnight sky, where the moonlight had silvered the dark clouds. Sometimes, if she stared long enough at the moon, she could remember her mother’s face.

It, too, had been round and pale, often ashen with exhaustion from the long days and nights she spent tending the cook pots on the stoves and hanging over the hearths in the duke’s kitchens. But when Magda finally came home to their cottage, she had never been too tired to smile on Werren, or brush out her hair, or tell her how lovely she was.

“My little fortune in waiting,” Magda would croon. “One day, when you’re old enough to marry off, you’ll make us so rich, Werry. Then I’ll never have to lift another pot again.”

How proud would Magda be, to know how many fortunes had been poured into Werren’s hands? How aghast, if she knew how Werren had earned them?

The sound of men speaking in low voices drew Werren’s gaze across the deck. Dutch stood with two strangers in dark suits, and nodded as one of them gestured to the north. The lights from overhead illuminated a strange design tattooed in a circle around an unsightly scar on the stranger’s wrist.

She moved closer.

“You say the one who brought the summons looks like an adolescent,” the tattooed man said, speaking in heavily accented English. “He is not a courier or anyone known to us. He could be a spy.”

“I will dispose of him soon enough.” Dutch didn’t seem concerned. “What about the girl?”

“We intercepted a communication between her and the council,” the man told him. “They have ordered her to find the emeralds. Alenfar may be having his own men search for them. We will take her, and after we interrogate her–”

Her master grabbed the man by the lapels and jerked him close. “Did I ask you to touch her?”

The other man lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We wish only to assure that your property is returned to you, signore. Once you eliminate Alenfar, you will have the jewels as well as the command of an army of warriors to do your bidding.”

“That I will.” Dutch dropped the man, who staggered a little. “You will not harm the girl. Follow her, see how much she knows, and report back to me. Now get out of my sight.”

Werren slipped back, and waited there until she saw the two strangers disappear. She didn’t know whom they served or what they had promised Dutch, and she had never heard of Alenfar, but their conversation troubled her.

“You think I would not know you were watching?”

Werren braced herself before she turned around, and thus was able to accept without a sound the clout of her master’s hand. The ferocity of the blow nearly knocked her off her feet, but she caught the railing at the last moment and stayed upright. Her cheek swelled for several moments, and then smoothed out to its usual flawless perfection.

He’s still angry.

Werren immediately lifted her satin skirts and lowered herself to her knees. “Forgive me, Master.” She stared at the tips of Dutch’s boots. Boots she had spent an hour polishing, now caked with damp sand.

He used one to prod her. “Get up.”

Werren stood, making sure to hunch over slightly to eliminate a crucial difference in their height. Once, when she had forgotten, Dutch had noticed she stood two inches taller than him, and after beating her bloody had ordered her stripped and whipped in front of the other women.

Dutch lit one of his Cuban cigars and puffed on it. “How much has the house taken in?”

“The count at ten this evening was over two hundred thousand.” She tried not to look at the glowing tip of his cigar. “I’m sure we’ve brought in at least another hundred since.”

“What about the whores?” His eyes searched her face, waiting for any flicker of emotion in response. “What have they done for me?”

“The crew kept my ladies occupied for the first several hours.” Oh, if she could only cut out her tongue and throw it in his face. “They are now servicing the patrons at a steady pace.”

He grunted. “And who have
you
serviced tonight, you idle slut?”

“No one, Master.” He had given her strict instructions to touch no man but to wait for him. Had he forgotten? Sometimes he did, and then she would be punished for laziness. “I await your every desire.”