Nightshine: A Novel of the Kyndred (35 page)

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Authors: Lynn Viehl

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Nightshine: A Novel of the Kyndred
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She set down the glass. “You must leave Mexico now.”
“Tossing me in a prison didn’t work,” he told her. “Neither will threats from your employer.”
She studied him for a long moment. “My master could have killed you from the moment you arrived in Manzanillo. You do not interest him anymore. Go back to America, señor.”
When she rose, he stood and seized her wrist. “I’m not finished with you. Where is he? What has he done with the Kyndred?”
Instead of looking frightened, she chuckled. “If only my master had given me permission to compel you to go.” She lifted her hand.
Genaro grabbed her wrist, but instead of gouging her nails into his neck, she rested her hand against it. A terrible longing devoured his anger as he gazed into her beautiful eyes and remembered her lovely name.
“Forgive me for shouting, Quinequia,” he said, bringing her wrist to his lips. “It’s because I want you.”
“I will tell you a secret,
amigo.
When I touch them, all men want me.” She leaned closer, resting her luscious curves against him. “You are cold and vicious, and care for nothing but power, but I could make you my lapdog. At least for a little while.”
“Yes.” He nodded, eager to please her. “Take me with you. Let me care for you. I can’t lose you.”
Her breath, sweet with wine, touched his lips just before she kissed him. Genaro enfolded her in his arms, avidly working his mouth over hers, delirious with desire.
“Very nice for such a nasty man.” Quinequia pulled back and looked down. “Now you will release me.”
His arms fell to his sides, and panic made him blurt out, “Don’t send me away again.”
“No, unfortunately, I cannot do that.” She gripped his throat with both hands. “Listen to me, Jonah Genaro, and obey me. You will not search the islands. The man you seek is not there.”
“Not there,” he agreed, his voice dull.
“Bueno.”
Quinequia’s eyes burned into his. “You will forget our meeting, and when I leave here, you will never think of me again.”
“Forget.” The word tore at him, but the pain ebbed almost immediately as her face blurred. “Never again.”
She led him back to the table, helping him to sit in the chair. “Good-bye, señor.” She took her hands away, turned her back, and walked across the street to his car.
Genaro sat and looked at the empty wineglass across the table until a man touched his shoulder. He glared up at his driver. “What is it?”
“You’ve been sitting here for a while, sir,” the man said, his expression uneasy. “I just thought I’d see if you were all right.” He tugged at his collar, as if it felt too tight.
“I’m fine.” He stood, inhaling deeply to clear his head. “Wait for me in the car.”
He watched the driver retreat, and then turned to pick up the wineglass. A faint red imprint on the rim indicated a woman had been drinking from it, but the courtyard was empty. The last thing he remembered was being in the back of the car as it pulled up to the police station, and checking his watch.
He turned his wrist to look at his Rolex. Twenty-three minutes had passed, and he couldn’t remember a single moment of them.
Genaro took out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his hand before he picked up the wineglass and carried it across the street with him.
Inside the station he went to the command center and called one of the research techs over. “I want this analyzed,” Genaro said, handing him the glass. “Use the saliva for DNA typing and run the prints. Cross-reference both against our acquisition database in Atlanta.”
“Do you have any details to narrow the search field, sir?” the tech asked.
“Just one.” Genaro’s collar had grown damp with sweat, and he reached up to loosen his tie. “She’s female.”
 
By morning most of the islanders had recovered enough to return to their homes, where Charlotte suggested through Tlemi that they stay.
“Pici’s contractions have stopped, and Ihiyo is stable,” she assured them. “If anything changes, I’ll send word.”
Xochi glanced at the other women and then replied in her language.
“She say, you no need,” Tlemi translated, and tapped the side of her head. “We know.”
Colotl issued some instructions as well, but stayed behind with Tlemi as the other islanders left.
The women looked after their patients while Colotl took Samuel down to the beach to show him his hook-and-line method of fishing. Although they couldn’t communicate without Charlotte or Tlemi, simple sign language sufficed, and they caught breakfast in a few minutes. Then Colotl gave him another, less enjoyable tutorial on how to gut and clean their catch.
“How delightful,” he muttered, pausing for a moment to shake off the scales clinging to his hands and forearms. “With all the fish I eat, I must remember to give Morehouse a raise.” As he applied the knife again, it slipped and sliced across the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “Damn it.” He pulled off the strip of rag he’d used to hold back his hair and wound it around the gash.
Colotl frowned and reached into the pouch he carried, taking out the long pointed leaf of a succulent plant, and gesturing for Samuel to apply it to the wound.
“Don’t tell Charlotte, or she’ll break out the suture kit,” he joked as he unwrapped his hand. The rag had no blood on it, he saw, because the cut had closed before it could begin bleeding. For a long moment he stared at it, and then, as a chill ran down the length of his spine, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, touching the edge of his teeth. None of them had turned into fangs.
“Samuel.” Colotl gestured toward his mouth, tipping his head back and pushing a finger behind his front teeth, moving it from side to side.
He imitated the motion, but felt only the roof of his mouth. He removed his fingers and shook his head.
Colotl released a breath, looking as relieved as Samuel felt.
“You guys went fishing and didn’t tell me?”
Samuel glanced over at Drew, who was crossing the sand. “I thought I’d let you and Agraciana sleep in.”
“I appreciate that.” Drew gave Colotl a wary look before crouching down to examine their catch. “Nice. I haven’t had fresh fish in years. Samuel, we’ve got a problem.”
“Is this new or preexisting?”
“New. Earlier I took a walk around the house and the grounds. There isn’t any copper within five miles of this spot. Which is basically the entire island.”
Without copper, Drew couldn’t use his ability, which allowed him to manipulate the metal into any form he wished.
“They’re running the houses off methane-fueled generators.”
“Yeah, I already checked them out. They’re solid steel, and all the wiring is fiber-optic.” Drew kicked over a shell in the sand. “According to Gracie, copper is poisonous to the vampire. Figures he’d make sure the natives couldn’t get their hands on any.” He frowned down at the sand.
“Samuel.” Colotl picked up the cleaned fish that he had strung together, and pointed to the villa. “
Niccuiz
. I take.” He gestured toward the sun as if moving it to the center of the sky. “
Tiyazque oztotl.
Cave.” He pointed to them and himself.
“We meet at the cave at noon.”
Samuel exchanged a nod with him, and after the islander strode up the beach he turned to Drew, who was kneeling and sifting sand through his fingers over a small mound of the same. “Now is not the time to build sand castles, Andrew.”
“I’d make millions if I did.” Drew stood and surveyed the rest of the shore. “Is it all like this? The whole island?”
“I haven’t walked the entire perimeter, but I assume so.” Samuel eyed the sparkling sand. “Is it artificial?”
“Yeah.” Drew uttered a pained laugh. “It’s also riddled with gold.”
“Surely you mean pyrite, or mica.”
“Samuel, besides computers, the only thing I’m an expert on is metal.” He bent and scooped up a handful of the sand, stirring it with his fingertip. “Everything that glitters here is the real deal. At least one-sixth of the beach is twenty-four karat.” He poured it out of his hand. “Cagey bastard. He hid it in the one place Cortés’s descendants and the historians would never think to look.” He glanced up. “The vampire is—was—Mote-cuhzoma. Last king of the Aztecs.”
Samuel listened as Drew related what the master and Stanton had told him. When his friend finished the bizarre tale, he grew thoughtful. “That explains the artifacts in the villa. I thought they were reproductions, but they’re simply newly made.”
“You really think he’s the big M?”
“It’s possible,” Samuel said. “Early explorers always brought disease to the Americas. It’s not a broad leap to imagine one of them was dark kyn. He must have turned the Aztec, who viewed his transformation as the process of becoming a god.”
“Maybe that’s what let him survive what he’s been through.”
Drew shook his head. “He’s gone loony tunes, but he’s still smart. He’s been taking over the drug cartels, and he can control anyone else he needs. If he does build this army and uses it to take over Mexico, Motecuhzoma’s revenge is going to have a whole new meaning.”
Of all the objects in the villa, the only ones Samuel had not been able to touch-read had been the strange clubs hung high on the first-floor entry wall. “Come back up to the house. There’s something I need to do.”
Samuel intended to drape the security camera with a cloth to obscure the lens; instead he found the equipment smashed and dangling from a frayed wire. Drew reached up, pulling down the ruined unit and running his fingers along the wires.
“More fiber optics.” He inspected the camera. “Looks like it exploded.”
Colotl joined them and grimaced at the twisted mass of metal. “Charlotte.” He mimed striking something with a club, and then swept his hand toward the rest of the villa.
Drew whistled. “Your lady has a bad temper.”
“She doesn’t want them to know Pici is close to delivering.” Samuel led the men into the living room, where he began taking apart the modules making up the conversation pit. “Grab one of these and bring them out into the hall.”
By stacking the modules, Samuel was able to fashion a small tower beneath the display of the clubs. “You’d better climb it,” he told Drew. “It won’t hold my weight.”
“Just catch me if I fall,” Drew joked as he started up.
With Colotl’s help, Samuel was able to hold the modules steady, and Drew worked one of the clubs free of the hooks holding it to the wall. Colotl reached up to take it from him before he climbed back down.
“Xitlachia,”
Colotl said, his expression sobering as he passed it to Samuel.
“Micoani yaotlatquitl.”
“Sounds like he’s trying to say ‘handle with care,’ ” Drew said, only half joking.
Samuel hefted the surprisingly heavy weapon. Carved from a single piece of teak, the four-foot-long business end had been fashioned like a squared blade, with deep notches on both sides. Single rows of black, prismatic stone blades had been fitted inside the notches, their rectangular shape as puzzling as the razor sharpness of their exposed edges.
“It’s not a club,” Samuel murmured, turning it over. “It’s a
macuahuitl.
” At Drew’s blank look, he added, “An Aztec sword.”
Drew’s expression turned skeptical. “Sorry, but in every movie I’ve seen, swords are made of forged steel or iron. That’s just a big wooden stick with some black rocks stuck in it.”
“According to the historical accounts I’ve read, these were very effective in battle. One Aztec warrior used his to decapitate a horse.” Samuel closed his eyes briefly, drawing on his ability, which now provided only a glimpse of a powerful hand streaked with gold fashioning the weapon. “The vampire made these himself. I wonder why.”
Drew made a rude sound. “Maybe he’s into arts and crafts.”
“This isn’t a decoration.” Samuel took a test swing, pitting the stone-blade edge against one of the suspended animal masks. The blade cut through the jaguar’s clay-and-hide visage as if it were made of paper, sending half of it to smash on the glass floor.

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