“But you said the two joinings you did with her were successful?”
“They exceeded anything we’d ever done with F’lir,” Lock admitted. “Deep is right about one thing—the lady Kat is a natural focus. Her ability is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not just her ability—she has an affinity for the two of you, whether she admits it to herself or not.” Mother L’rin looked thoughtful. “An affinity I’m sure you felt the first moment you laid eyes on her.”
Lock nodded. “That’s exactly how I felt.”
Deep said nothing.
“So if there is some affinity—some spark between the three of you—there is still hope. You have to bring that spark to the surface. Tempt her spirit back with it and then bind her to you with pleasure.”
“If you’re talking about sexual pleasure then we’re back to where we started,” Deep said icily. “Lock and I won’t take advantage of an unconscious female.”
“Of course she’s unconscious,” Mother L’rin snapped. “She’s in so much pain she can’t bear it. One of you must take the pain for her. Only when her agony is gone will she be able to receive your touch. Only then can you heal her spirit.”
“I’ll do it.” Deep stepped forward at once.
“Deep, no,” Lock protested. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to. And besides, Kat needs your touch to remain stable.” Deep frowned. “You stay with her, hold her hand. I’ll take care of this.”
“Before you accept your lady’s pain so easily, you ought to know what it entails,” Mother L’rin said quietly. When psychic pain is transmuted to the physical plane, it trebles in strength. And you should know that I sense a great deal of agony coming from this little one.” She stroked Kat’s hair gently.
“I don’t give a damn about that,” Deep growled. “Do whatever you have to. Just hurry up and get started.”
The wise woman nodded. “Very well.” Turning, she motioned to a small clump of golden-pink flana bushes on the far side of the stream. “Doby! Bring the whip.”
There was a rustling sound in the bushes and then the biggest male Lock had ever seen appeared. He was at least nine feet tall and so heavily muscled it was hard to see how he moved. His mottled pinkish skin proved he was of native Twin Moons stock, the same as Mother L’rin, and he wore only a loincloth made of green and gold leaves to cover himself.
Lock had never seen a native so large—he must be a genetic anomaly. As far as Lock knew, most of the native inhabitants of his home world were tiny. Small but fierce, they mainly lived in the wild lands of the uncharted continent. Mother L’rin was one of the few who had come to live in the more civilized and cultured world the Kindred had created when they first traded with the natives.
As the giant’s huge, flat feet splashed in the holy stream the leaves covering his groin fluttered. The flash of leaves caught Lock’s eye and he saw that there was nothing but a ragged stump where the huge male’s shaft should have been.
Gods! He recoiled at the sight and Mother L’rin saw him and laughed.
“My faithful Doby here is an eunuch. It is the sacrifice he made to come across the golden sea and live here in the Healing Gardens to attend me daily. Such devotion in a male is rare.”
“Rare indeed.” Lock cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What does he have in the box?” For the huge Doby had produced a lacquered green box from somewhere. He presented it respectfully to the wise woman, holding it in both huge hands.
“A transference device.” Mother L’rin opened the box and removed a plain black wooden handle. It was about two feet long and tapered on one end but there was nothing attached to it as far as Lock could see.
Deep must have been thinking the same thing. “I thought you called it a whip?”
“It is. Patience, warrior. All will be made clear.” Holding the black handle carefully, Mother L’rin pressed the smooth, round butt of it against Kat’s right temple. “Release it, child,” she murmured, stroking the shining auburn hair. “Let the pain go. Let it flow. Another has agreed to bear this burden, let me take it from you.”
Kat moaned softly and her hand jerked in Lock’s. He squeezed her fingers carefully, watching her face for any sign.
Then, slowly, the handle began to change. Wires spouted from it—three long silver wires that seemed to be made of brilliant light. They lengthened and thickened like snakes growing out of the tip of the black handle until they reached to the ground.
Lock watched in amazement as the three tongues of light blazed and sparked like live things at the end of the whip. Like hungry animals waiting to be fed, he couldn’t help thinking.
“A little more, child. Just a little more,” coaxed Mother L’rin. Suddenly the whip’s three tongues shivered and bright silver spikes grew from their ends.
Deep’s face remained impassive as he stared at the lethal device in the old woman’s hand. “And that’s a physical manifestation of her pain?”
Mother L’rin nodded. “This is the agony she’s been enduring ever since you and your twin used her as a focus. Tell me, Deep, does the sight fill you with dread?”
“Dread? No.” His mouth twisted.
Lock spoke for both of them. “What my brother feels—what we both feel—is shame. To think what she went through because of what we did. So much pain…”
“Which is about to be transferred to me,” Deep reminded him dryly. “Come on.” He jerked his head at Doby and began taking off his green uniform shirt. “I assume you’re the lucky one who gets to beat me. I doubt Mother L’rin has much time to practice her whipping technique.”
“You’re correct in that, warrior. Hands that offer healing must never deal in pain.” The old woman nodded at Doby. “Take him to the Stone Throat. Beat him until the whip is nothing more than a handle once more.”
“Wait!” Lock put out a hand, fear for his twin squeezing his throat. “How many strokes will that take?”
“As many as it takes,” Mother L’rin said calmly.
“That’s no answer!” Lock was beginning to be angry. “I know that Deep hasn’t been very respectful, Mother L’rin, but to beat him with that…that thing is—”
“Fine,” Deep finished for him. “Leave off, Brother. It’s all right. Think what Kat went through.” He nodded at the whip and its spitting, hissing tongues of fiery silver light. “Look at her pain.”
“It wasn’t your decision alone to let her act as a focus,” Lock protested. “I agreed to it as well as you. I should take half the whipping at least.”
“Pain cannot be divided between souls, it can only be transferred,” Mother L’rin said. “And if the whip isn’t used soon, the agony it holds will revert to its original owner.”
“In other words, let’s get on with it,” Deep growled. “Don’t worry about me, Brother,” he said when Lock opened his mouth to protest. “And don’t feel bad—you can tend me afterwards. It’s better this way—you’re a much better nurse than I am.”
“That’s true,” Lock acknowledged ruefully. “But though you take all the pain, the blame is half mine.”
“You can pay me back later.” Deep nodded at Kat. “Take care of her,” he said roughly.
“I will,” Lock promised.
“Go.” Mother L’rin handed the hissing, spitting whip to her huge servant. “The Stone Throat. And mind you do the job right. I’ll know if you don’t—I’ll hear it in his screams.”
“Yes, Mother.” Despite his immense size, the eunuch’s voice was as soft and high as a girl’s. “All shall be done according to your will.”
“See that it is.” She waved one wrinkled hand dismissively. “And now, let me see what I can do to keep this sweet child in the land of the living.” She stroked Kat’s silky red hair and didn’t spare another glance at her servant or Deep.
But Lock found he couldn’t look away as the massive eunuch led his brother through the tall green and pink grass. Deep’s head was held high and he walked casually wi
th no outward sign of fear. And indeed, Lock felt no fear coming from him.
Deep was willing, almost eager to take the pain that was about to be inflicted. Because he felt that he deserved it. Every lick of the whip, every drop of blood, every ounce of pain. All earned. All deserved.
He blames himself, Lock thought as his twin’s broad, bare back disappeared in the taller grass at the edge of the Healing Garden. And not just for Kat. Oh Brother, it wasn’t your fault—when will you ever believe that?
But he knew the answer to that.
Never.
Three
Lauren Jakes walked quickly along the broad sidewalk that led around the edge of Saint Armand’s Square. Later on, around lunchtime, the entire expanse of white concrete would be filled with the idle rich—tourists mostly, who had come to see Sarasota, one of the richest small cities in the US. The beaches with their sugar fine sand and tropical blue waters were lovely any time of the year and if the rich got bored with baking their oiled bodies, they could always come here.
The Square was actually many interconnecting squares, all lined with specialty shops and expensive, chic little eateries. Marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses stood like sentries on the well trimmed verge, as pale as ghosts in the dim early morning light. Lauren’s shop, The Sweet Spot, was located between the Florida Olive Oil Company which specialized in flavored oils and aged balsamic vinegars and A Little is a Lot, a clothing store that sold only overpriced and undersized bathing suits.
Both shops were dark and quiet as Lauren fumbled for her keys. Neither one would really pick up until the lunch crowd arrived, hours from now. But while her neighbors could afford to sleep in, Lauren couldn’t. The Sweet Spot was a specialty cupcake store and she had to get the day’s inventory started or she would have nothing to sell. “Everything from scratch, everything fresh, every day,” was her motto.
“Should’ve decided to sell overpriced thongs and banana hammocks to rich old men and their trophy wives instead of baked goods,” she muttered to herself as she finally found the right key. “Then I could still be home in bed.”
But getting up early was a small price to pay to do what she loved, she reminded herself. She’d always enjoyed baking—her vanilla bean and passion fruit surprise cupcakes had won a national bake-off by the time she was twelve. Her mom had encouraged her to go to college and Lauren had, as a business major. Somehow, though, she wound up baking muffins and brownies for study sessions with her friends more than she actually ended up studying. Her grades weren’t great but her cupcakes were.
At last her mother had bowed to the inevitable. She’d helped Lauren finance the shop and given her a place to live in one of the condos she owned, just blocks from the Square. Lauren had only been open a few months but so far The Sweet Spot seemed to be a moderate success. Of course, she’d have to be much more than moderately successful in order to pay back the loan. But her mom didn’t seem worried. “Take your time, my darling,” she always said. “Enjoy your life. I just want you to be happy.”
Thinking of her mom always gave Lauren a warm feeling inside. Family was very important to Abigail Jakes—maybe because she’d become estranged from her own family back when she’d become pregnant with Lauren. She didn’t talk about it much but Lauren had gotten the idea that her loved ones had hurt her deeply—which made her mom that much more sensitive toward her own daughter. They’d always had a wonderful relationship—even back when Lauren was a teenager. And now as an adult, they were more friends than mother and daughter.
“Although I still want my mom when things don’t go right,” Lauren muttered, making sure the door was locked behind her. She wished she had her mom with her right now—she would put her to work. Her assistant, Jennie, had quit the day before which meant she had to man the whole shop herself until Lorenzo came in.
Thinking of Lorenzo with his sleek blond hair and tan good looks made her sigh. He was much better at looking good behind the counter than he was at baking. In a moment of weakness, Lauren had let him kiss her and now he thought he owned the place. She’d been putting off his advances ever since and had been planning to replace him before Jennie quit. Now it looked like she was stuck with him for awhile. Still, he was good at selling cupcakes. Especially to rich, older women who liked a little eye candy to go with their culinary confections.
Lauren went through the shop, flipping on lights on her way to the bathroom. To hell with the electricity bill—it was creepy being in a dark building all alone. And besides, for the past few days she’d had the feeling that someone was watching her. She knew it was crazy and completely impossible but she kept finding herself looking over her shoulder. Feeling like a pair of invisible eyes was watching her every move.
“Stop being stupid,” she muttered to herself as she tucked her long, silky black hair into a hairnet and checked her reflection. The girl in the mirror had smooth mocha skin and large eyes the color of fine whiskey. A tip-tilted nose made her cute rather than exotic, despite the eyes, but her full lips pushed cute to beautiful when she smiled—or so Lorenzo said when he was feeling poetic.
God, what was wrong with her? Why did she always fall for jerks and players? Just once Lauren wished she could meet someone genuine. Someone who was exactly what they seemed to be. But with her work schedule now and trying to keep the shop open seven days a week, she wasn’t going to have time to meet anyone but customers.
“Not that I have time for a love life even if I did meet someone,” Lauren muttered to herself. “As if—”
The words died on her lips. For a moment she could have sworn she saw a pair of eyes behind her in the mirror. Red eyes.
She whirled around, her heart pounding, to see…nothing.
“Of course it’s nothing. There’s no one here but me.” The sound of her own voice made her jump and Lauren put a hand to her chest to still her beating heart. It was time to stop being silly and get down to business. Today she had a brand new recipe she wanted to try out—a strawberry hazelnut with cream cheese frosting. She’d tried a small batch in the kitchen in her condo and they had come out nicely but—
Suddenly there was a popping, humming sound like electricity and the air around her seemed to be full of lightning. Every hair on her head stood on end and her nerves twanged like plucked strings. Danger—you’re in danger! an inner voice shouted. The voice of instinct—the same primitive voice that must have warned the cavemen when a fire or flood was on the way.
Lauren wanted to run—tried to run—but everything happened too quickly. The crackling electrical charge seemed to close around her, like a vast hand, and suddenly she felt herself dissolving. Looking in the mirror she could almost see it happening in slow motion—her body had been broken into a million tiny particles that were all vibrating against each other in deadly harmony. Her clothes, however, remained unaffected. In fact, they fell away from her, landing in a heap on the floor.
No! No, what’s happening?
There was no answer but suddenly she saw the eyes in the mirror again. Red eyes—blood red and laughing at her pain, her fear. She could almost feel the evil in that crimson gaze—the intent to cause harm—the desire to wound and mutilate and kill.
Before she could think anything else, the tiny white tiled bathroom of The Sweet Spot disappeared and she felt herself flying through the air in pieces. It was the most bizarre sensation she had ever felt in her life—as though someone had put her entire body through a cheese grater and shot the results into the air at supersonic speed.
I’m dying. This is dying, right?
Again, no answer. But suddenly she felt herself reforming—all the tiny particles finding their places and sticking together again. Oh, thank God! She felt her arms and legs frantically, making sure she was all in once piece. She was naked but she was whole and at least nothing seemed to be missing.
“Here ssshe isss at last. Sssee, my ssson, ssshe bears the mark. The mark the prophesy ssspoke of.”
A long, skeletal finger sudde
nly appeared in front of her and pointed between her breasts. Lauren looked down to her small, pale birthmark reflexively—it was shaped like a star and stood out against her creamy brown skin. She’d always had it and never even thought about it anymore, though it looked strange when she wore a bikini.
A feeling of dread filled her as she looked up, up, up the long arm clothed in billowing cobwebs and into the burning red eyes she’d seen in the mirror.
“Yesss,” hissed a voice Lauren knew she’d been hearing in her dreams for the past few weeks. “Yesss, ssshe isss the one. At last I have her. Ssshe isss mine.”
Four
Kat was flying again but this time she wasn’t looking down at herself. Instead she was hovering inside a narrow stone tunnel. There was a faint light at one end that illuminated the pinkish brown stones and she could hear footsteps coming, echoing down the long enclosed corridor. Who’s coming? Will they see me?
Looking down, she realized she couldn’t see herself. She was silent and invisible again, just as she had been before. Maybe I really am dead and this is my funeral. But why would they bury me in a cave? For some reason the thought held no fear, only fascination. Then the echoing footsteps grew louder. Kat pushed her morbid musings aside when she saw who was coming down the tunnel.
A massive male—she couldn’t really call him a man because there was nothing human about him—was leading the way. He had pinkish mottled skin and he was wearing a loincloth of large, flat leaves. In his hand he carried a fiery silver whip that snapped and crackled as though it was made of lightning.
What the hell? The question was driven out of her head when she saw someone familiar following the huge male. Deep was shirtless, his muscular chest gleaming in the light cast by the strange whip. Kat could see the silver light reflected in the black pools of his eyes too, which were otherwise completely impassive.
Brides of the Kindred Volume One: Books 1-4 Page 90