by Cathy Clamp
Blood poured and the women’s screams of anger and pain were nearly equal to the panicked shouts of the soldiers as their tickets to employment were fast rising above the tree line. The few that weren’t smart enough to watch their own backs were soon on their backs with a quick succession of dual shots.
But it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on shooting as the scent of blood, fear, and anger drifted up on the rising warm air currents. Will’s cocoon was still tight around me, but I could feel it lessening as he pulled back power to carry his load.
The farther away with the women Will got, the more the moon started pressing down on me—messing with my head and making every bone in my body scream in pain. But been there, done that, so I guess it was time to put on my big-boy undies and fight off the moon myself. Fortunately, there’s a good reason for Sazi to have mates. There’s extra life energy available to draw on when it’s crisis time. And y’know, when there’s suddenly a dozen guards looking pissed and staring right at your location while flipping ammo clips, it’s a good bet a crisis is heading your way.
A pair of shots rang out from behind me. It was only my paranoid nature and slightly hyperactive survival instinct that made me dive and roll the moment I heard the first shot, so the chunk of hot lead only grazed my neck and shoulder instead of splattering my brain across the landscape. I fired multiple shots toward the blur of light through the leaves and was satisfied to smell the scent of new pennies join the anger and pain on the wind. It didn’t make my arm feel any better, but at least I had company in my misery.
Of course, now everybody knew where I was, so I didn’t really have time to tend to my boo-boo. It was all I could do to grab my two weapons, race toward the fallen scout to grab his extra ammo . . . kicking him sharply in the head first, so he didn’t get any bright ideas about following me, and dive face-first into the wall of green in the approximate location of the cliffs. Ahmad was going to have to be on his own, but he’s been around for a very long time, so I was betting he was fully capable of handling his end.
Thankfully, most of the trees in the area were tall enough that even the lower branches were over my head, so I could see the cliffs looming ahead of me without having to constantly readjust my path. It made escaping a lot easier, since the guys after me probably knew the terrain better. It also helped that they considered their guns to be an asset. They’d actually be quicker in their snake form, and could probably overtake me and take me down by sheer force. But having no arms really limits ranged weapon opportunities in case there was more than just me out here, or I was a tougher opponent than they expected.
The trouble was that I was getting out of breath quicker than I should and the rifles felt like they were getting heavier and heavier. A glance down told me that the slick on the metal wasn’t sweat. It was blood, and there was a lot more of it than there should be. I slung the Mac-10 over my neck and reached up with my left hand to feel distinct spurts of wetness that matched the beating of my heart.
Crap. The bullet had nicked the carotid artery. I was bleeding out.
Chapter Three
NO WONDER THE snakes weren’t bothering to speed up. In a few minutes, they could stop running altogether and leave my corpse for the animals.
One of the worst things about being a three-day dog is that even though I heal better than when I was human, it would still be hours before I’d recover. Still too slow of a process to make up for the loss of blood.
I had limited options. If I kept running from the snakes and kept my heart pumping hard, I’d die just that much quicker. If I slowed down, instead of a relatively painless descent into oblivion from loss of blood, I’d die in agony from a snakebite or torture. These Sazi snakes are really into torture, and that’s not a road I cared to go down.
So, running it was.
I pressed the palm of my hand against my neck to slow down the escape of the blood and raced for the relative safety of the cliffs after throwing a few sprays of bullets behind me to keep heads down for a moment. I didn’t think that Will or Ahmad would be overly appreciative of me painting a scent trail right to the prisoner’s hidey-hole, since it sort of defeats the whole purpose of the rescue. But a cave is more easily defended than open air, and I was pretty sure that the blood from the shoulder wounds Will had inflicted were being tracked as well.
The sounds of rifle fire and the occasional shotgun blast as I neared the cliffs told me I was right. It was a pleasant surprise that the majority of weapon fire was coming out of the cave. Either Will had picked up some artillery during the flight, or Ahmad had already stocked the cave in preparation of a firefight. Magic against magic is fine when it’s one on one or even one on six, but the best alpha will wind up toast against a dozen or more other magic users. Ranged weapons are a good thing, which is why my skills have become valuable to the Sazi command.
I hoped that his eyesight was as good as he claimed, and he’d been to the range recently, because I was starting to get gray flowers erupting in my vision and my left leg was starting to drag every time I lifted it. “Kerchee! Incoming!”
The clearing right before the cave was going to be a problem, but at least if I was shot, it would be quick. I pulled on the cord of energy inside my mind until I could feel Sue’s heart speeding up to match the adrenaline-laced one in my chest.
The cave mouth was looming as I raced forward and I hoped that the tiny bursts of light from the darkness were aiming at targets other than me. With a primal yell, I threw my last bit of energy to lifting the AK-47, the only gun that still had ammo, and pointing it upside down over my head before pulling the trigger. I probably didn’t hit much more than dirt, but I thought I heard at least one scream before I flung myself face-first into the cave with an appalling lack of finesse and disturbing flash of pain.
Will spoke without even looking back toward me. “About time you got here, wolf. Grab something from the arsenal and give me a hand picking these guys off.”
I flipped over with effort and then scooted on my butt until I was sitting against the wall. The left arm was completely useless now and it was hard to keep my head upright. My voice came out way threadier than I liked and I also didn’t care for the pants for air it took to even get the few words out. “No . . . can do, flyboy. I got . . . tagged. Just felt like . . . dying from something . . . other than a snake . . . bite.”
He turned his head then and took me in with an up-down flick of his eyes. “Well, shit. Rayna, you got anything left to stop that bleeding? Lucas will be pissed to no end if I let him die.”
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and forced my head to flop so I could see. A pale blond woman who smelled of cat knelt down beside me. She moved my head to the other side so she could see my neck and let out a low, concerned rowr. “The bullet went right through it and part of the vein is missing. It’ll take more skill, or at least more power, than mine to fix it. But you’re a shaman, right, Will? Can’t you heal it up? I can man the entrance until Ahmad gets here.”
The bright light behind Will began to fade to gray as Rayna stood and hurried forward, and the retort from the muzzle seemed to grow fainter as my heart slowed down. Really, if I had to go, this wasn’t so bad. I just wished I could find Sue in my mind. I could feel her body, but it was like her voice was muffled behind a brick wall. I could only hear the tiniest sound, but her voice too was fading fast.
I’d like to say I dreamed, but that wouldn’t be quite right. It was more that things were happening around me, but I wasn’t a participant. There were female voices now, and the sounds of quiet chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. Fire appeared in the form of a torch and the cave was suddenly brightly lit. I was looking back toward the cave entrance and it was farther away, like I was deeper in the cave, and standing.
The standing part was nice. It gave me hope, however false.
Shadows appeared at the cave entrance, but instead of panicking like I should, it felt good . . . right that they’d finally arri
ved. Like they should be here. Both men and women walked carefully into the cave, their bodies painted and covered with feathers and fur. They smelled of more than just skins, though. They were shifters, like me. Some were wolves, some cats, and a few raptors and snakes. They walked with quiet deliberation deeper into the cave and I moved with them, like I was floating overhead. Or sometimes beside. There was a path worn smooth in the stone from a thousand other treks like this one. But this visit was more important. There was a sense of something nearly sacred about these people. Maybe they were priests or shamans or even seers.
They could fix the corruption that was to come, could mend the damage already caused. The chanting started again and one man stepped from the middle of the procession and raised a book high over his head, turning as he spoke. The book was fuzzy and had the sickly pattern and color of the science experiment you’d find in a cup of sugared coffee forgotten for a week. The faces of the others turned from placid to angry and the few people willing to glance at the book wore an expression of loathing.
Now a question. I only knew because of the lilt of the words at the end of the sentence. The others met his eyes as he turned and they all nodded assent. The man turned again and now I could see the blackened hole that had been dug into the cave wall. The book was lowered onto a flimsy patterned skin, like a python shed from a man-sized snake. Over and over it was rolled until it was encased, sealed from the humidity of the cave. There was a sense of relief that permeated the small room. As firelight flickered across the wall paintings of squat men with fierce faces offering food to their gods, the man with the book put the book in the hole. Not with a sense of ceremony, but with the same disgust reserved for roaches found under the fridge.
Darkness, and then the scene changed. Hands were reaching for the book in the hole and I couldn’t stop it. But I knew it was a bad, bad thing. The scent of the shifter who was in the cave was a creosote so strong that it burned my nose. Stronger than Bobby, stronger than Ahmad. This was a force to make the world bow. And somehow I knew the book couldn’t leave the cave in his possession. Bad things would happen and everyone would suffer. Yet I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I could only watch as the man smiled at a second, shorter man, his thin face familiar, but not enough to put a name to. They left in silence, not a word spoken. Yet the stench and fear they left in the cave would last for years.
More sounds now, mechanical and soft. Pain ripped at my neck and arm and I was amazed I hadn’t noticed it before. Then the pain faded and I was looking again at the helicopter, but from a different angle. Most of the men with the rifles lay dead and those who weren’t dead were dying. Only two figures remained in the scene . . . me and the woman Ahmad had called Tuli.
She smiled and her voice was the sultry sound of a Bond girl, all smooth and sexy with evil undertones. “I’m surprised to see you here, Rimush. I’d heard that you turned against your father’s goals.” I’d never heard the name before, and couldn’t really figure who I was supposed to be.
But then I figured it out, only because of the voice. A moment of panic flashed through me before I recovered enough to say with disdain laced through the words, “Not as surprised as I am to see you, Tuli. Especially since I was told there was no one left here with any sort of leadership ability to continue his plan.”
The frown was sudden and burned metal joined the taste of bitter shame on the air. “We have progressed . . . even though our lord has not seen fit to visit of late.”
Should I feel, or at least show, sorrow? No. Better to let her see the truth. I let the satisfied smile part my lips. “He has not visited because I killed him in combat. Did Nasil not consider you important enough to tell that my old debt is finally repaid with his blood?”
Tuli reached out to grasp the edge of the helicopter. She tried to make it look like a casual gesture, but her scent betrayed her as both surprised and frightened. She stared warily and flicked out the pink tip of her tongue before she spat the words, “You lie! You haven’t the strength to have killed Sargon.”
One brow raised like rehearsed so many times and I settled my stance into casual indifference. “Haven’t I? Are you so unable to taste truth after living among my father’s minions for this many years that you cannot trust your tongue?”
A pause then. It was necessary to let her think, consider the implications. Would she be more concerned about Sargon’s plan, or her own welfare? Or, it might be amusing if her first thought was something else entirely.
“If you speak true, then that would mean—”
Yes, let her see the small smirk . . . and try to interpret what it might mean. If she was close to the plan, she could be useful. More flicks of that so-pink tongue to try to read me. I’d forgotten that tongue, and that dark hair, longer now than I remembered. But I’ve spent far too many years becoming unreadable to give her anything to ease her discomfort.
Now her pupils narrowed and an intoxicating mix of worry, anger, and fear flowed through my flared nostrils to paint the back of my throat. But hidden among the other scents was something I hadn’t tasted in centuries—and had certainly never expected to taste again from her.
“So. You are here to claim right of succession.”
No movement. No expression. Her only answer was direct eye contact and a wave of power toward her . . . enough to throw her off balance but not sting. Both were critical while I struggled to find meaning in a term I hadn’t heard since childhood. I was the youngest, so it was never expected I would gain the throne of Akede unless by assassination or happenstance. In fact, since my father had gained the throne by conquest, it would be only Tuli’s clan—the Hurrians—who might have created meaning in the term.
“Well? Do I hold so little of your interest that I am not to even be told if you plan to own my key?”
Ah. I remembered now. Why was I not surprised my father held fast to the reins of such an outdated notion like slavery until his dying breath? How many wounds did Tuli bear since last I saw her? How many healed bites, how many burns and lash marks to keep her from rebelling? No, I had little use for slaves. They were unreliable at best, and a danger, at worst. Yet, if I hoped to unravel the plan he’d begun down here, this might be my easiest road. “How many keys was he in possession of?”
The question came out too matter of fact from the flinch and stiff, barely polite answer. “There are only a dozen left, plus those who are paid to serve. Is that sufficient for you to bother with us, or are we to be cast to the winds?”
The pain in her eyes took me far into the past—when we were barely more than children, and my mother threatened to have Tuli returned to the Hurrian king as an inadequate treaty gift for serving a meal that was nearly burnt. There was no worse insult to the gifting royals, who would immediately kill her and her family for the shame they had brought.
But so many years had passed now. There was no family to return to if I threw off her chains. No country, no king.
I stepped closer to her, until we were only inches apart. The taste of her power was still as intoxicating as it was a dozen centuries ago. “Would I have risked my mother’s anger by teaching you to cook properly if I planned to cast you off now?” There was no escaping the logic, and the blush that came to her face said she also remembered the other, more pleasurable, things I taught her in those sultry nights in the kitchen.
“We swore we would never speak of those few stolen moments.”
The smile came to my face unbidden as I glanced around at the still ground. “We swore we would never speak of it to another living soul . . . and I see none.”
She tried hard not to smirk. No doubt she knew, and possibly liked, some of the soldiers. I wondered if any were her lovers. “You inherited your father’s talent for death.”
My father. Would he dog my every step until my final day? The sudden clenching of my fists and hiss that was pulled out of my throat at the memory of Sargon’s last few moments was enough to make her step back a pace. “I ripped the talent from hi
s worthless hide. He made one too many mistakes, and he paid as dearly, and as painfully, as I could make him.”
The vengeance finally swam up into her eyes like a fish breaking the water’s surface. The nod of her head was tight and the smile as filled with darkness as the blackest depth of my anger. “Whatever you gave, he deserved more.”
He did, so there was no reason to reply. But it wouldn’t be long before the searching guards returned, so we needed to leave. I didn’t hold much hope that the bird and the wolf could remove an army. And, it might be that the raptors would have to find another leader to sit at the council table. But none of that mattered now. For now, all that was important was to find out what my father was planning. As much as I hated him, there was no denying his intelligence and strength of will. That even the greatest Sazi minds and seers couldn’t unearth his project spoke of something so diabolical that few in the entire world would survive it.
And since my father’s right hand, Nasil, still lived, the plan was likely proceeding. It was quite possible Nasil was Sargon’s primary planner—helping find the flaws before others discovered them. He must either die, or be made to believe that I’m in concert with him until I can sabotage the scheme.
“You seem lost in thought, my lord.”
Hearing that term brought me back to my senses. I didn’t like it then, and find I still don’t care to be anyone’s lord. Yet, without that distance, I might not be able to bring the charade to fruition. No, as much as I hated it, Prince Rimush must return for a time.
Without any warning, I grabbed that long hair and yanked her tight against me. She gasped in fear, but her scent was filled with more than that. It tasted both sweet and hot on my lips. I leaned down briefly and hissed in her ear. “Never interrupt me when I’m thinking, Tuli. You’ll find me much more civil if you hold your tongue until spoken to.”