by J. R. Ward
And he really needed her to take a bath before they left here.
She already had a target on her back. If the Command scented him on her? Fuck.
Nyx stirred against him, her dark lashes lifting, her eyes unfocused and contented. Smiling down at her, he brushed her lips with his own. Then he couldn’t resist. He licked his way into her mouth. Their bodies had separated, but his was quick to want a return, and given the way her hand snuck onto the nape of his neck and pulled him on top of her, the feeling was mutual.
“Come,” he repeated. “Into the bath with us.”
He lifted her up and carried her over to the pool. As she rested in his arms, her weight was not a burden, it was a gift, and he was content to continue to hold her as she stripped her shirt and her bra—
The sight of her bare breasts shorted out his thinking, and he let her feet down so she could reveal herself in all her naked glory to his captivated eyes. Then there was nothing but glorious flesh, from the cleft of her sex to the flat plane of her abdomen to her beautiful breasts.
She smiled in an ancient way as she stepped into the pool. First one foot. Then the other.
And as she sank down into the burbling warm water, she removed the banding on her hair.
Jack was not so graceful. He ditched his pants like they had insulted his moral code, and as he straightened, his arousal was so erect, it stuck out from his hips at a right angle. Before he joined her, he tucked his hand behind one of the stones that rimmed the pool and took out the bar of herbal soap he left here.
As he jumped in and ducked under the water, he had to ignore a grim urgency. He didn’t know how much time they had left—no, he knew that answer and he hated it. Therefore, when he came up out of the pool with his hair smoothed to his skull, he refused to allow himself to waste even a moment on remembering how he’d used this particular bar of soap before.
The memories came anyway. Here was where he washed himself when the Command was done with him. Here was where he cleaned himself of the smells and residue after he was used.
He would have preferred to put something, anything, else on Nyx’s skin. But he had to clean her of him.
“Let me wash you,” he said as he palmed the bar and called up suds from the packed lye-and-herb combination.
He was gentle with her, worshipping her with his hands, cleaning her hair, her neck, her shoulders, the familiar tangy scent of the spices rising up between them. And then he continued below her waist, reaching between her thighs, his fingers through the waves within the water—
And that was when he got sidetracked.
As he caressed her sex, his fingers entered her, and the next thing he knew, he was lifting her out of the pool and propping her up on the smooth rocks of the rim. Spreading her thighs, he nestled himself in and brought his mouth to her collarbone, her sternum . . . the side of her breast. He sucked on her while he stroked her sex with both his thumbs, and as she ran wet at her core for a reason other than the water that dripped off of her, he licked at her nipple, nibbled at it.
He did the same to the other breast.
And then he kept going with his mouth. Lower . . . lower . . .
“Jack!” she cried out.
Her fingers speared into his hair, and she pulled him tight to where he wanted to go, his lips to her sex, his tongue replacing his fingers. Plying at her, sucking at her, putting one of her legs over his shoulder, he pleasured her with his mouth until she orgasmed on his face—and then he kept right on going.
Jack had not intended to take things where they were, but he was glad—
For a moment, he paused.
He hadn’t realized that he’d begun thinking of himself with the name she used for him. It was a shift, like so many, that she created within him.
Something else to keep after she was gone.
Well, that happened, Nyx thought some time later as she sat alone on the sofa rock and twiddled her thumbs.
On a reflex that served no purpose, she lifted her wrist and pulled back the sleeve of the fresh tunic she’d put on. But there was no watch there. In fact, she never wore watches.
It was just one more tic she’d picked up since Jack had left her by the pool: Likewise, her left eye was twitching as if someone was flashing a strobe in it, and her foot was a metronome keeping a beat only her ankle could hear.
She wasn’t sure how long Jack had been gone. It felt like ten years, but it was probably only about twenty, twenty-five minutes. In the candlelight, by herself, she was jumping at shadows, a gun in her palm and her backpack strapped on under the full set of prison clothes Jack had insisted she wear—
With a gasp, she wrenched around, heart pounding in her ears.
Except it was nothing.
Every sound was a cause for alarm. Each subtle drip of wax or groundwater, all the variations of the rushing of the waterfall, even her own breath whistling in and out of her nose, was a call to attention. And in between those spikes of high alert, she retreated into her memories of the feeding and then what happened later, in the pool.
When all of that just made her chest hurt until she could barely stand it, she switched places in her head.
To imagining Janelle dying down here, under the earth, alone.
Yeah, because that was such an improvement.
Rubbing her eyes, she recalled the last clear memory of her sister. It had been two nights before the Council had met concerning the death of that older male, but after the accusation had been formally served on Janelle by a representative of the ruling body.
Last Meal. In their little farmhouse kitchen, at the four-top where they had eaten together all their lives. Janelle had been across from her, that red hair loose and drying in curls from the shower she’d just taken. Cornflakes . . . yes, they were having cornflakes, a bowl full in front of each of them. The only sound in the room, in the house . . . in the whole world, had been spoons knocking against the cheap china.
Janelle had been very calm. Which was what you were when you were innocent of the charges against you, and had faith that justice would prevail and the truth would come out in the end. You were at ease because you believed everything would be okay—because it was crazy for anyone to think you would ever kill anybody, much less an old male you worked for and had been fond of.
Nyx could remember drawing strength from that calm.
Everything was going to be all right. No matter how scary the formal accusation was, it was all going to be okay.
That was what she’d thought at the time.
From that memory, she went further back in time, recalling Janelle laughing out by the barn, and running wild in the rain as thunder had clapped and lightning sparked the night sky.
All of that was gone now, never to happen again, even though it hadn’t been happening since Janelle had been taken away, anyway. But the reality of that name listed on the Wall here in the prison was a hard stop, and as the loss truly sank in for the first time, Nyx realized that even though Janelle had been gone from the family, the fact that she had been alive somewhere had meant that there was a future. Somehow, somewhere . . . there had been a future, no matter how impossible it seemed.
Nyx’s baseless hope and characteristic determination had made tangible that which she could not touch, had brought home, at least in her mind, the one who had been lost. The number of days she had lain in her bed believing she would find Janelle, knowing she would, had been legion. Ultimately, however, the prophecy she had spun had not been self-fulfilling. And she had the picture of Janelle’s name from the Wall to prove it.
A shroud of mourning settled on Nyx’s shoulders, heavy and dark, and tied up in its choking weave was the fact that she would be leaving the prison with two losses.
It was that reality that rode her hard as the males finally arrived. Jack was leading the way, with Kane behind him in a set of black robes, and Lucan, Mayhem, and Apex bringing up the rear. Getting to her feet, she did what she could to throw off her mood—and as she faced
off at the group, she had a thought she was glad she wasn’t meeting them in a dark alley.
Especially Apex with those obsidian eyes.
“Fancy meeting you all here,” she said hoarsely.
Fancy getting my heart broken while I endangered my life to find out my sister was dead. What a BOGO, she thought.
Kane spoke up. “The Jackal told us of your bravery in evading the guards.” The gentlemale bowed. “You are a female of worth.”
“She’s a fighter, all right,” Lucan agreed. “That’s for sure.”
Cue a round of blushing, which in Nyx’s opinion was a total waste of her time. Come on, like she was the little sister asked to play ball with the big team?
“So what’s our plan?” She looked at them, and then focused on Jack. “Where are we going?”
“Kane did some investigation.” Jack came over and stood by her. “The prison is still locked down, but they’re calling a double shift to catch up, just like I thought, and the workers are eating. Mess should be finishing up shortly. We’ll fall in line with them as they report for duty, and go into the production area.”
Kane inclined his head. “From there, our best chance is to get you on a transport truck.”
“Truck?”
Jack nodded. “We need to time it correctly. After the product is loaded and checked, it should be safe for you to dematerialize onto the roof of one of the cargo bays. All you need to do is keep quiet and keep down. Then as soon as they drive out from under, dematerialize free.”
“It’s really our only option at this point,” Kane said.
Abruptly, she remembered seeing a large truck coast over the highway as she’d gone in search of the church. Come to think of it . . . she had seen a lot of them over the last ten or fifteen years, coming and going. She’d always assumed they were passing through the valley, but maybe some of them had originated from the prison.
“Okay.” Nyx took a deep breath. “I can’t thank you all enough for helping me.”
“Don’t take it too personally,” Lucan said. “Anything we can do to fuck the Command, we will run with it.”
“Well, I still appreciate it. Do we wait here?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “But it won’t be long.”
Annnnnnnd then there was nothing but awkward silence, the bunch of them standing around like they were about to be called to the counter for their order at Starbucks. Apex took out a knife—but just to whittle a piece of wood. Lucan paced around like a caged animal. Kane murmured something to Jack that was answered in a similar low tone.
“Exactly how long are we stuck here?” Nyx asked.
Kane answered. “No more than half an hour. You’ll be able to tell because you’ll hear the march of the guards on the other side of the wall. They need to escort the workers into the product area and will leave the Command’s quarters in a group to do so.”
“I’m taking a load off, then.” Nyx sat down and shucked her backpack. “Might as well conserve some energy.”
In reality, her legs were sore in places that made her blush again, and her body was still logy from the feeding. She wasn’t going to admit any of that to the peanut gallery, however.
Jack sat down next to her, which she appreciated. Then Kane sat across the pool from them. Eventually, Lucan and Mayhem followed the example. That Apex stayed standing was not a surprise, and out of instinct, Nyx angled her head so she could keep an eye on his position in her peripheral vision.
When she realized they’d all camped out around the pool, in a circle, she had to laugh. “This is like a group meeting.”
“I’m sorry?” Jack said.
“Like for therapy. You know, a bunch of people meeting to discuss common problems or ailments.” Except he didn’t know, did he. “Anyway. Yeah. So . . .”
Cue the Jeopardy! theme.
“So how did you guys end up here?” she blurted.
On a oner, all of the males jerked to face her. Kane’s aristocratic features registered shock, like she had just insulted someone at a dinner party. Lucan’s yellow eyes narrowed. Even Mayhem seemed surprised.
Jack cleared his throat. “Nyx, I know that you didn’t mean any offense by that because you don’t know any better. But we really don’t make those kinds of inquiries around here—”
“I slaughtered an entire bloodline.”
As Apex spoke up from his lean against the wall, all stares went to him, and he didn’t miss a beat with his sharp blade against the pale flesh of the piece of wood he was working.
“I murdered them in their sleep.” He regarded the blade, turning it back and forth in the candlelight as if he were conjuring fond memories of its use. “Even the females. That’s why I’m in here.”
Those black eyes of his flashed to Nyx. “Any other questions? Do you want to know what I did with the bodies?”
“No,” Jack bit out. “She does not.”
Kane cleared his throat. “Well, if we’re telling our stories, I shall share mine own. I broke an arranged mating with a female I did not love. Her sire took offense.” The male’s eyes went to the pool’s churning water. “He arranged for the murder of the female I did love, and he blamed it upon me. I am here for life as a result of his retaliation.”
“I am so sorry,” Nyx whispered as unspeakable pain flared in his face.
“It matters not.” Kane seemed exhausted, and not because he required sleep. “Whether I am housed here or up above, I would be suffering. I will e’er mourn my leelan.”
There was another period of silence, and she glanced at Jack. He had a remote expression on his face as he studied Kane, and it seemed as though it was the first time he had heard the story—
“What of your sister?” Lucan demanded. “Why was she here?”
Nyx cleared her throat as she was addressed. “She was falsely accused of murder. She didn’t kill the male. My grandfather, for reasons I don’t understand, turned her in to the Council. I don’t know why he did it, and I will never forgive him.”
“Ne’er has more a corrupt body existed,” Kane muttered. “Did they even bother with a farce of a trial?”
“Was the victim one of them?” Lucan asked. “An aristocrat, I mean. No offense, Kane.”
“None taken, friend.”
Nyx nodded. “He was. We’re just civilians, obviously. He lived not far from our farmhouse, on a lot of property, in a big fancy house. Janelle—my sister—she would go over there and work, you know, just trying to make some money. For about a year, she mowed the meadows and tended the fences. She painted barns and the house. She took care of the gardens, too. . . . Anyway, one night, she came back to our house early and told us that the male had died of old age. Given that he had no heirs, he’d provided a little something for her as well as some of the other folks who worked there. She had some cash and a ring. It wasn’t a lot of money or a piece of jewelry of much value, and I thought it was a nice gesture by an employer. And that was that, or so I thought. Except then the next night . . . we got this formal notice of accusation from the Council.” She shrugged helplessly. “Why my grandfather did what he did, I’ll never know, and how the Council found her guilty, I’ll also never understand. She was totally innocent.”
“I know why the Council blamed her.” Kane shook his head. “In the Old Laws, if someone dies without issue, the estate goes to the next of kin, no matter how distant the relation. If the person is murdered under those circumstances, however, their property, real or otherwise, goes unto the Council. The intent of the law was to discourage heirs who were not first-degree offspring like sons or daughters from killing their benefactors, on the theory that direct issue have enough of an emotional connection to their blooded parents to avoid matricide or patricide no matter how large the inheritance. In fact, however, the law served as a fundraiser for the Council. If everything you say is true, they needed to find someone guilty of murder so they could split the estate.”
“Those bastards.”
And she included her
grandfather in that. Had he been paid somehow?
“For all their dainty airs and social propriety, the glymera can be very cutthroat.” Kane exhaled in a defeat. “Regardless of who they hurt. Or who they ruin.”
“So my grandfather sacrificed her to them. Why the hell . . .”
Nyx stopped and rubbed her aching head. There were going to be no answers to all that now, but as soon as she was home, she was going to make him tell the truth.
Assuming she made it out alive.
“Was your sister dead, then?” Lucan asked. “Did you find her name on the Wall?”
“Yes.” Nyx met the male in the eye. “Her name was inscribed in that lineup. She died here.”
After a moment, the male nodded once in respect. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” To change the subject, she said, “What about you? What’s your story?”
Lucan leaned back on his palms and crossed his legs. “I am wolven. I was put here because others of your species do not like us.”
“But that’s discrimination.” And it explained why she had always sensed something was different about him. “They can’t just throw you in here for being—”
“Can’t they?” Lucan touched his collar. “And I would be out of here except for this. I can’t change with this goddamn thing on my throat, though.”
“I would take it off you if I could,” Nyx said.
There was a moment of silence. Then he smiled a little. “In spite of the way we met, I actually believe that.”
Nyx returned his smile, and then glanced over at Mayhem—who, as it turned out, was sitting forward on his butt like he was holding his hand up and waiting to get called on in school.
“And you?” she asked.
“I was bored,” he announced with a kind of pride.
There was another pause. And then the whole group leaned in toward the male—like everyone was wondering if they’d heard right.
“I don’t understand,” Jack said.
Mayhem shrugged. “I didn’t have anything I particularly wanted to do, and nowhere in particular I wanted to go, so I figured, what the hell, I’ll hang in prison.”