Time To Die (Vampire Assassin League Book 32)

by Jackie Ivie

  TIME TO DIE

  Jackie Ivie

  CHAPTER ONE

  This is it.

  Steady, Kat.

  Steady...

  The mountain starling in her lens suddenly spread its wings, ruffling the sooty brown-colored feathers that lined its under-belly. The distinctive black mark on its forehead was glossy and dark. Kat held her breath, while pressing down on the camera’s button. The bird settled. She exhaled slowly. The bird wasn’t alerted to her. It was simply enjoying the tropical rain.

  At least something was enjoying it.

  This island chain was known for rainfall. Seeing that in a guidebook, and making massive preparations were not remotely close to the reality of her situation. Kat made a face beneath the mosquito netting that masqueraded as protection against the elements. It was a failure at the latter. She wore mesh headgear that also covered her camera, and a large cape fastened about her neck, mainly for the insect protection and camouflage effects. She’d given up on fighting the rain. She’d been here five days already. She didn’t have anything left that wasn’t soaked through. Not even her underwear. And those she’d washed and hung in her tent to hopefully dry. She’d packed rain gear. A tarp covering for her campsite. Water-resistant clothing. Supposedly water-tight boots.

  Everything was saturated.

  She wasn’t a beginner. She’d been to some of the world’s most isolated places. That’s what you did if you wanted to find and photograph the world’s rarest birds. It was her passion. And all she’d ever known. She’d been born into the life. Because it had been her parents’ career, and now it was hers. She knew what she was getting into every step of the way. She’d packed so much the float-plane pilot had charged extra. She’d brought enough supplies for seven days, but he should have known most of her cargo weight was drinking water. This was an uncharted island. Nobody ever came here. Nothing could be counted on. Natives didn’t even fish the waters. Something about an ancient curse.

  The customs fellow had regaled her about it, and then the official who’d come out to the building that doubled as an airport to have a picture taken with her. Everyone she met seemed dedicated to making certain she knew the dangers of this expedition. As if that would stop world renowned nature photographer, Katherine Clark.

  Heck, it had taken two days just to reach Micronesia, another day to get her VISA approved, and then she’d spent a day-and-a-half finding a pilot willing to fly her out here and return in a week. And that was only because she had cash. In US denomination.

  A lot of it.

  The pilot had been named Frank. He’d been un-groomed, uncouth, and uncivilized. Frank’s plane was on a par with its owner. But, it got her here. That’s what mattered.

  The starling continued grooming in the rain, unaware there was an observer about twenty-five yards away, with a scope that brought every detail into perfect focus. A shiver ran Kat’s frame more than once as she took photo after photo. These starlings were difficult to see amidst the lush jungle. Their coloring so dark it was almost charcoal. This one had been seen only due to its flight amidst the trees. It had moved like a black arrow shot from a bow, and was nearly as difficult to follow.

  Wow.

  She was photographing a real Aprionis pelzeini! An island mountain starling!

  Double wow.

  These birds had been listed as extinct until a guide brought a kill into a field office in 1995. Ever since then, they’d been on the critically endangered list. Three previous expeditions had failed to find one. Getting this series of photos was not only going to quiet her sponsors, but it would really bolster her career, especially if she could get them developed and printed in time for her showing.

  The bird moved suddenly. Kat followed its flight with her scope up a mass of green. As if a hill all of a sudden sprouted from the jungle floor. Her finger stayed on the filming button, catching the shadow of...was that an arch? Stonework? Maybe even...a man-made structure?

  Kat twirled the lens to bring what looked like bricks into focus. Or, they were stones cut to resemble bricks. The top had been assembled into a series of arches. It was jaw-dropping. Unbelievable. This was an uninhabited island. Nothing of import was supposed to be here...certainly not ancient ruins. That didn’t change the fact that she was viewing a human-created wall. It stood at least thirty feet high. The top was overgrown and nearly impossible to delineate in spots. The entire structure was covered with moss and decaying foliage, and...

  Oh.

  Heavens.

  There was a nest up there!

  She was going to cry. The lens fogged with a hint of tears. Kat pulled it away and swiped the moisture with a thumb. Put it back to her eye. Scanned the wall’s height until she found the nest again. The starling she’d found had a mate. Both birds circled and swooped about a mass of foliage that clung to the edge of the wall. They might have eggs. They might even have chicks. What she wouldn’t give for a satellite link-up right now! To beam this to the board of directors!

  And then, as she watched in a slow-motion sort of horror, a long-shafted spear smacked into the wall she gazed at, just beneath the base of the nest.

  A spear!

  Shock stilled her for half a second. The other half was filled with anger. The starlings reacted with all kinds of cries and swooping, and flustered flying about their home. Kat’s anger rose to rage. If these low-life poachers hurt one feather on either bird, or harmed one egg...

  Another spear thudded into the wall as she watched. Kat lowered the camera to the sodden mass of foliage she knelt on. Slid her left hand to her can of pepper spray. These jerks were about to meet a blast that could stop a charging elephant – or so the shop keeper had informed her. She flipped the cap open on the pepper can. At the same time, her right hand was on her blades. She always traveled with knives. It usually made getting through customs a bitch, even with the proper permits, but she wasn’t leaving them behind. These blades had saved her more than once. She had a dozen knives, double-sided. Razor sharp. Identical. A finger grip was at one end, exactly six inches of pain beneath that. They were pocketed in two leather straps that crisscrossed her torso. She was an expert with knives. Any knife. Her father had made certain of it. But it might not get to that. She had the element of surprise. With any luck she resembled a swamp creature.

  She stood. Turned. And instantly realized her error.

  They weren’t poachers.

  Somebody had the statistics on this island entirely wrong. The place had ancient ruins. It was home to at least one critically endangered bird species. And it wasn’t uninhabited, either. Two men faced her, wearing a lot of bright feathers on their heads, a colorful coating of paint, and very little else. And as she watched, two men became four, and then eight, while the damn netting might as well be glued in place, clinging with moisture. She couldn’t even get an arm out.

  One of them said something. Sounded like an order. He gestured toward her with his spear as if that clarified things. The starlings were still putting up a ruckus above her. The rain was muting the entire episode. All Kat could think was they resembled characters from a cartoon show she used to watch. It was difficult to take these guys seriously. Besides, this was the twenty-first century. She wasn’t that far off-grid.

  The spear leader guy spoke again. Louder this time, as if that made his gibberish intelligible. Kat cleared her throat. Lowered her voice to a tenor-range. And yelled back at him.

  “You want to try English, buddy?”

  Apparently not.

  He jabbed his spear into the ground before him, and now he really sounded pissed-off. The feathers atop his head bobbed with his arm gestures. That made i
t a lot easier to realize he was serious.

  But she wasn’t a beginner, and she would never make a good victim. Kat pulled a knife from its holder and tucked it into her palm with her little finger. The blade protruded from beneath her hand. She slid out another knife. Tucked it atop the first one, using her ring finger. Blade outward. Got a third one. Held it in place with her middle finger. The effect would look like a spike-tipped fist when she brought it out. She had a fourth blade gripped between her forefinger and thumb when they cheated. At least four of them lifted straw-things and spit darts at her.

  Oh, shit!

  Oh, shit!

  Instinct saved her. And the mosquito netting.

  Kat dropped the can of pepper spray to grab a chunk of covering with her left hand. She started waving. The material spewed droplets and mist into an already wet scene, but it also deflected darts. And she hadn’t even known it would work. Holy crap. This was escalating rapidly. She faced severely lopsided odds. She didn’t know if head-hunters even existed anymore, but she refused to be anyone’s dinner. She had three blades ready. That would do for a start.

  If she could just get her right hand out from beneath the netting...

  A howl erupted from somewhere in the jungle about them, penetrating the scene with menacing tones. It was loud. Deep. And unbelievably eerie. The sound rumbled through the space, reverberating through the wall behind her. She hadn’t explored, but she guessed there was enough structure behind the wall it created an echo chamber. Hairs lifted on the back of Kat’s neck. The area resounded with another unearthly shriek. Closer this time. Engendering the same resultant reverberation. She’d never heard anything like it.

  She didn’t know about the natives’ knowledge, but the howl had stopped their attack. They assembled into a tight group, butts touching, their knees slightly bent. Their spears were thrust outward, but mainly pointing up. Toward the treetops.

  Despite every instinct against it, Kat took her eyes off the natives and craned her neck to look, too. The view was a blur. A lot of green set against a grayish sky. There were really tall trees about her, with some dense tops. Not enough to block rainfall, unfortunately. The scene was viewed through a deluge that created a tunnel effect. But there wasn’t anything abnormal up there.

  Darn.

  It sure would be nice if Tarzan was swinging through the trees. Having a ripped guy in a loincloth dive out of the trees to save her right now would be nice. But it wasn’t happening, so Kat dropped her eyes back to the indigenous guys. They weren’t paying attention to her. She finished pulling another blade with her right hand. With her left, she lifted the netting high enough she could toss. She steeled herself for the worst. She might have to take a life here. And why? Because men were a notoriously chauvinistic sex...especially if they were in a group. Very few would accept having to negotiate with a female.

  Unless they were forced to it.

  She shoved her fist up and rotated it, making sure they could see the blades. “Well, guys. What do you think? Shall we call it a draw?”

  They looked back down to her. Kat nailed the ground with her blades, skimming toes. It took a second and a half. Maybe two. She chucked like a machine, one-after-the-other. The reaction was immediate. Involuntary. And highly enjoyable. The group jerked backward. It wasn’t a massive move, but it happened. Kat had two more blades ready, and was sliding the third before anyone had time to blink. And while it was foolhardy, she continued announcing terms in English.

  “So. Here’s the deal. You quit shooting at the birds up there, and I’ll go back to my camp. Nobody wins. Nobody loses. But I am obviously not going to sleep much from here on out. Well? What do you say? We have a deal?”

  Her answer was immediate. And negative. Blow-guns got lifted before she’d even finished. Kat tossed her two knives, aiming for throats, before spinning sideways, pulling the net over her at the same time. Any moment, she expected darts to hit. Pierce her flesh. Send poison through her veins. She dropped to her knees. Huddled in a small ball. Scrunched her eyes shut. But she knew it wouldn’t work. Her flesh itched in preparation. She was going to die a miserable death.

  All alone.

  Like always.

  She heard thudding sounds. Sensed darts hitting flesh. But couldn’t feel anything. A cry sounded next. It was cut off. Muffled gasps followed. Some gargling sounds ensued. Then all she could hear was the continual sound of rain. Drops were still peppering the area. Running water could be heard in the distance. Trickles of rainwater sluiced off things. Trees. The ancient wall. Her. All of it added wetness to an already saturated environment. It created a layer of moisture near the ground. Kat turned her head and peeked, but couldn’t see much through the mist, and the two saplings that blocked her view.

  Wait a minute...

  There hadn’t been any trees there. Kat focused on what looked like a man’s lower legs. He was standing about a foot in front of her. He had some really nice legs. Toned. Bare.

  Kat scanned upward.

  Yep.

  They were definitely legs. And male. And really muscled. His thighs were just more proof. One of them sported a large tribal tattoo in a blood-red color. Kat blinked slowly.

  Blinked again.

  And a third time.

  Nothing altered. That meant, despite the absurdity of it, there really was a near-naked man standing in front of her. He was crouched slightly, facing her adversaries as if to take any projectiles sent at her. He was large, even from this perspective. And really well-defined. He had some shapely glutes above his thighs, too. Kat couldn’t help noticing. He was wearing a really small loin cloth.

  Oh. Brother.

  It was insane. But that didn’t make him disappear.

  Kat looked back down, checked out the scene from between his legs. There were bodies on the ground. She couldn’t tell how many for certain, but nobody was still upright, ready to attack. Her blade was sticking out of one corpse’s neck. She couldn’t tell if she’d hit the other man. She couldn’t see the other knife hilt.

  Mister Loincloth’s legs moved, swiveling at the waist to look down at her. Kat glanced up. And lost her breath.

  Oh.

  No way.

  Mister Loincloth didn’t just have a body so perfect it wasn’t real, his face was beyond belief, too. Guys did not come this gorgeous. Not without a lot of photo-shopping. He had perfect features. A strong chin. A lot of dark hair stuck to his head with rain. A nice tan. That coloring really made his neon blue eyes stand out.

  “Were you hit?”

  What the heck? He spoke English?

  That’s when Kat knew this wasn’t real. She’d obviously been hit by a dart. Lost consciousness – maybe even her life – and this was the result. She was dead. But death really should be worse than this. Shouldn’t it?

  “Well?”

  His query carried something that could be worry. He had a supremely deep voice. Massive. Resonant. With an edgy quality she couldn’t peg at the moment. It commanded attention. She immediately knew it been his hollering she’d heard moments earlier.

  “What?” she finally asked.

  “They used poisoned darts.”

  Says the man with fifty or so stuck in him.

  She didn’t say it but her brows rose. The darts couldn’t possibly be poisonous. From this angle, she couldn’t help noticing a plethora of dart ends protruding from him. He looked like a pincushion.

  “One scratch and you will die,” he informed her. And then he started brushing projectiles from him as if they were insects. They didn’t make much sound as they landed at his feet.

  Kat nearly giggled. “Oh. Really?”

  Everything about Mister Loincloth altered at her tone. Wait, Kat. She should probably drop the ‘Mister’ title when referring to him. It didn’t fit. Right now, he looked pretty damned primitive. His entire frame tensed, bunching muscles that didn’t need the definition. His nostrils flared with the strength of each breath. And then his eyes narrowed. That last part too
k him beyond overkill. With his eye color, it was like getting zapped with flashes of intense blue light as he glared at her.

  Great.

  Just great.

  In what appeared to be her afterlife, she had to deal with a primordial male? One with a shitload of testosterone and zero ability to control body language? The guy exuded arrogance. Power. Domination. It was obvious what he considered to be gender roles. She didn’t even need to ask.

  “Come with me.”

  He stuck out a hand, palm upward. Kat glanced from it back to his face. It hadn’t sounded like a request. It didn’t look like one, either. She slowly rose to her feet. She’d been right on his size. He stood a good six inches taller than she did. He was broader, too. And she was even covered in mosquito netting that hung off the headdress like a cloak.

  “I think we need some ground rules set first,” Kat informed him.

  His jaw worked as if he bit his tongue. And then he just plucked her up, chucked her across his shoulder, held her legs in place, took a step, and leapt upward, clearing the ancient wall with room to spare.

  Oh. No way, Kat.

  That wall was thirty feet tall. At least.

  It was impossible. That didn’t change it. The rain wasn’t much of an issue for him, either. They were moving so rapidly, raindrops looked like a tunnel from this perspective, too. Kat watched the wall grow small and then disappear amidst tree branches and leaves as he soared upward. Her heart jumped into her throat and lodged there, choking off breath. Any screams. Not that she’d have sounded them. Kat was not the panicky type. She dealt with facts. Every situation could be handled if you kept your objective in mind. Emotions at bay.

  She usually listed possible methods of response.

  If she had enough time, she’d write them down.

  Then she’d systematically go through them until something worked.

  The view changed as he took her even higher. Somehow moving right above the tree line! There wasn’t anything beneath them except a long freefall. Even the treetops began to look minuscule.