He didn’t wave. Emma guessed it wouldn’t be seemly for a bodyguard to wave.
All six came over to help with the luggage. Telly’s silence matched Anton’s.
You’re tense. Fern elbowed in beside her, taking a pack. She glared at him.
No shit.
He arched a thin dark brow. Your inner monologue’s pretty bitchy right now, y’know that?
Emma deepened her glare. Then don’t listen. Fern replied by sending her a warm wave of comfort. She hated it when he did that. Because it made her feel better.
She felt a hand on her arm and turned. Horne loomed over her. “Out of the way, chica,” he said mildly. “We’ll handle the luggage.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he ignored her, crowding her out of the way with his bulk. She closed her mouth.
“Fine,” she muttered. At least she had her own backpack, not that there was much in it. Seshua had said to dress for the heat, so aside from the jeans and boots she was wearing, one UCLA hoodie and a thermal, everything was shorts and tank tops, much to Felani’s dismay. The maiden had seemed so unimpressed with the selection, Emma was sure she’d phoned Seshua and told him to bring something more appropriate. Like dresses. Felani had looked very guilty when Emma caught her hanging up the phone last night.
You in a dress. This I gotta see. Fern caught up to her as she headed across the car-park toward the runway, an evil gleam in his eye. He wore his usual: an extremely over-sized, threadbare t-shirt that was probably forty years old, and a pair of jeans of roughly the same vintage, held up only by the protruding bones of his hips.
Emma mentally swatted at him. I hate dresses. They’re so floopy. And I look stupid in them.
Fern gave her an appraising look. Yeah right, he sent, waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous fashion.
Emma set her jaw, eyes on the jet looming ahead of them, trying hard not to smile. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d cheered her up. He shouldn’t be so good at it. Then again, she shouldn’t need cheering up so often.
She straightened her shoulders. Really, she shouldn’t be so tense, shouldn’t need cheering up. Sure, the past few weeks had been rough, and the next few days looked set to be even rougher, but the only way to get through it was to accept it and move on. She needed to be focused so she could keep everybody’s asses covered, including her own.
You have a right to be in a bad mood, Fern sent faintly, not wanting to intrude on her thoughts but unable to help himself.
But I don’t have the right to take it out on other people. She looked back over her shoulder at her entourage, following a few yards behind. She looked away, meeting Fern’s eyes. Even if some of them are monumental assholes, she added, squashing the nagging, cold knot of something she didn’t want to think about too much, something that chewed at her whenever she looked at Telly and remembered his anger. His reaction to her choice.
Fern started to smile at her, but the expression died. His brow furrowed, black eyes suddenly glassy.
“Fern?”
He shuffled to a stop, put his hand out to halt her. “Emma…” He faltered. She could read only confusion and apprehension in his mind, and a faint thread of fear, like a cool, damp wind. Alarm sang through her. She turned to him, about to ask him, about to probe at his mind with hers, when it hit her.
Cold, breath-stealing power, utterly wrong in the warmth of the bright Californian afternoon. A faint thread, like a curl of smoke, insubstantial yet totally unmistakable.
Emma forced herself to breathe, stifling panic, as she turned to the jet, mere yards away, not far enough away from the man — the creature — that stepped down onto the jet’s fold-out ladder and began to descend.
Alexi’s hair was a thick black braid, falling over his shoulder like a rope reaching past his hips, loose tendrils framing a lean face that was all cruel beauty and high, narrow cheekbones. Pale, faintly luminescent skin. A thin, grim mouth with lips so cool they were tinged lilac-blue above the arrogant point of his chin. And dark brows angling steeply down over eyes that burned a bright, feverish yellow; a creamy, solid color, shot through with marbled lines, a color that belonged to one animal and one alone.
Alexi. Serpent priest.
Weeks of nightmares came back to Emma in a fast, terror-fueled rush. Alexi, reluctant ally of the jaguar king, serpent priest and powerful telepath, the man who wanted to see her dead, sacrificing himself in the battle against the vampires, screaming for death as she saved his life. As she called the boa constrictor out of his skin in a welter of blood and sinew and magic, searing heat and suffocating cold, the feel of that impossible serpent body writhing invisibly against hers.
Rejecting the gift. Rejecting life, her power, her.
“Forgive me,” she’d said.
Emma stared, couldn’t make herself move, could only watch as he came down the ladder and set one long, bare foot on the tarmac, memory overlaying the vision.
“Never touch me again.”
His brilliant yellow eyes met hers, burning like two lanterns, shaming the high summer sun. Cold with hatred.
Emma, look at me! Fern’s hand clamped around her arm and made no allowances for her fragile human body. The pain shocked her into looking at him, and suddenly she was alive again, aware, here and now — and it was worse.
Fern, he’ll see into my mind, he’ll see everything, it’s what he does, I don’t want him to see it I don’t want him to -
Hush! There’s nothing there for him to see, nothing to be ashamed of, please Emma -
Her eyes stole back to Alexi. Oh, but there was. Oh boy was there ever. His gaze narrowed on her, as though picking her thoughts out of the yards of air that spanned the distance between them, and this time there was nowhere safe to go in her mind. Just help me Fern, for God’s sake!
He squeezed her arm, breathing for the both of them through her panic, not bothering to tell her that she was being irrational. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand. Open your mind to me. Don’t shield or this won’t work.
Emma nodded, meeting his wide black eyes, and then his mind pressed against hers, warmth bathing her from head to toe. There was pressure, in her head, in her chest, tight like a cable down the length of her spine.
Instinctively she recoiled.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, Fern sent, mental voice like a tangible thing inside her, like fluid spreading through her brain, through every cell of her body. He spoke softly, softer than he ever had. I’ve seen the nightmares. And the dreams. I don’t care. It’s our job now to keep you safe, and we have to work together, right?
He was right. Emma unclenched her jaw and relaxed, easing into the feeling of Fern’s mind merging with hers, like the warm burn of whiskey as it hits the stomach, only throughout her entire body.
I thought this was just a mind thing.
Fern’s laughter brushed at her like wings; his black eyes crinkled at the corners. It is a mind thing. Not so much a brain thing.
That doesn’t make any sense.
Yes, it does.
If Emma had a reply to that, she forgot it the instant that Alexi unfroze from his post at the base of the jet’s ladder and cocked his head, gaze going from Emma to some point behind her. A second later, Emma’s entourage was crowding around her, the maidens looking completely non-plussed as to Alexi’s arrival, the guards less so. Telly looked mildly furious. Emma couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard them approach; then again, when she thought about Fern lodged firmly in her own mind, supposedly protecting her from Alexi’s power, it didn’t seem so strange she’d been distracted.
“Where is Seshua?” Telly stopped a few paces in front of Emma, where she stood trying not to huddle against Fern. His blond hair rippled in the warm wind.
Alexi inclined his arrogant head, sending black whips of hair across his face. “He was held up.” Alexi’s voice was faintly accented — the sound of it made Emma think German, but she wasn’t sure. A voice so sharp Emma could believe it
might be used as a weapon, like the mind behind it.
He stalked forward, the neck of his loose, dark green shirt gaping open, exposing a long line of flawless white skin. He stopped a few feet from Telly, topping his height by at least a foot. Alexi was tall. Not as tall as the jaguar king, but tall enough to intimidate.
Not that Telly intimidated easy. Or at all. “He’s placing Emma’s life in danger by taking her to the jackals. You’re telling me something just came up? Something more important than this?” Telly’s face was thin with anger.
Alexi seemed unconcerned, though his nostrils flared wide, the only indication that he was anything other than bored. He’d gotten better at masking his emotions since Emma last saw him.
“He will follow us in a day,” Alexi said, yellow gaze sliding past Telly to Emma. She swallowed against a hard lump of fear stuck in her throat. Her mind was still merged with Fern’s, protected.
Right?
Alexi narrowed his reptilian eyes. “Seshua would have preferred to postpone your little trip and accompany you himself,” he said, still ignoring Telly, staring coldly at Emma, “but the jaguars already gave word to the jackal tribe. It would be rude to postpone, even if for a day. Seshua’s repeated refusal of their invitation has not endeared him to the jackal king.”
Emma sucked up her courage before Telly could speak again. “I want to know what’s so important that he can’t be here.” She let out a pent-up breath. “Unless he’s just coward enough to send us ahead into danger.”
Alexi’s sculpted brows went up in a parody of amusement. “I’m sure the jaguar king would appreciate that remark to no end.”
Emma didn’t bother defending herself; she knew damn well that Alexi’s feelings toward Seshua were just as uncharitable.
When she remained silent, he sighed and said with withering boredom: “Cara, the king’s psychic and the closest thing the Aranan have to royalty, has managed to command a complete stop-work action across the king’s primary Central American sanctuary. Aranan labor constitutes a significant percentage of the palace workforce. Cara refuses to put the palace back on its feet until she has secured several promises from Seshua regarding the status of the Aranan in his kingdom.”
Emma stared, a little dumbfounded, and not just because it was the most mundane thing she’d ever heard Alexi say — not to mention it was the most mundane explanation of shapechanger politics she could imagine. But most importantly, Cara was Fern’s sister.
“But how is this —“
“It’s not just the Aranan,” Alexi cut her off. Emma felt Fern bristle with tension, felt a thick dark weight sliding through her bones for just an instant before he reined his beast in. “A tribe of rival jaguars from South America has decided to move in on Seshua’s territory. The primary sanctuary is under attack from both within and without.” He looked almost smug. “And it is almost all your fault.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. She closed it with a snap. “My fault? How the hell do you figure that?” Never mind that she’d had no idea the jaguars fought amongst themselves to such an extent — one problem at a time.
Alexi sneered. “Cara has illusions of power because through Fern she is allied with you. If she didn’t think you wielded some influence over the king, she would not have dared go against him. And the rival jaguar tribe from South America is likely sniffing about for you. Enough time has passed for rumors to filter down, even into the heart of the Amazon.”
Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to rile you. Fern’s voice was a rich thunder against the inside of Emma’s head. If he was uncertain, he was trying very hard not to show it.
Telly growled, reminding her that he was standing mere inches away, She glanced at him but his hot stare was all for Alexi.
“And why the fuck are you here?”
Alexi turned to him, slowly. “I do not explain myself, not to you,” he said, tone dripping with distaste.
Telly cocked his head, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His almond-shaped eyes glittered, going from sky-blue to storm-cloud gray. His voice was soft and thick with mocking laughter. “You may be better than you were at hiding some things, serpent priest, but others are clear as day.”
Alexi’s cheeks darkened, brows slashing down, eyes flashing.
Emma’s heart sank. Here we go again, she thought.
“If you’re so anxious to have the jaguar king here, trickster -”
Emma’s choked growl of frustration cut him off. “For God’s sake, people, can we move this along? It’s kinda hot out here, I’m tired, not one of us wants to be here. I get that.” She set her shoulders, bracing against the scathing looks both men turned on her. “To be honest, I don’t care why you’re here.” She met Alexi’s eyes, feeling a little ill, but forging on. “What matters is that Seshua isn’t here, and we need him, much as that ticks me off. I want him on the phone.” She drew a fortifying breath. “Now.”
“Oh?” Alexi’s voice dropped to a thick hiss. “And what is this phone call going to achieve?”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Let’s just save some time and skip the lengthy explanations, shall we? You don’t really care what I aim to achieve, and that’s fine. Now please get Seshua on the phone. I just want to get this over with.” He didn’t need to know that she was going to try to prevent Seshua from killing any Aranan, and try to muscle in on his royal diplomatic prowess by negotiating with Cara to leave Seshua alone for the moment in exchange for a legitimate audience with Emma and His Most-Stubborn Majesty. Somehow Emma didn’t think Alexi would approve of either of those things wasting their time.
Alexi’s frown smoothed out; now he was looking at her with only mild distaste, instead of all-out hatred. His thin, cruel mouth tightened in something like a smile. There was no humor in it.
“If you are so eager to be away,” he said, voice bitter with irony, “Then we can do naught but oblige you, caller of the blood.” Emma winced at the words, brittle as broken glass from his mouth. His cruel smile deepened, and then died a painful-looking death as his lips came back from his teeth in a snarl. His creamy yellow eyes seared Emma for a moment more, and then he turned, braid whipping out behind like a tail, and stalked up the metal stairs to the jet. Presumably to fetch a phone — not that Emma thought Alexi had ever “fetched” anything in his long life.
Telly rolled his shoulders in a fluid, non-human movement and turned to her. She swallowed, mouth gone dry, waiting for what he would say. His eyes flickered over her face, gray and unreadable. And then he smiled, a wonderful, real smile that was all for her, a smile that told her he was on her side in spite of it all. In spite of thinking she was wrong, thinking this was wrong, all of it. Emma’s breath caught. Telly blinked, and then walked away.
If the jackals don’t kill you, then those two just might, said Fern in her mind, mental voice reverberating throughout her body, tension and worry singing through her blood.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. She met his eyes, their solid black a comfort, her reflection in them familiar, safe. I agree with you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.
He shook his head, spiky black hair falling into his face. What’s scary is, you’re telling the truth. He gazed down at her, so many thoughts roiling in his head like thick, ominous clouds. Too many for Emma to catch.
She felt warmth beside her, and turned to find Felani gazing suspiciously at them with very dark eyes. “Come, Emma,” she said, eying Fern. “Time to get this show on the road.”
The guards filed past them, arms and shoulders bunching with the effort of carrying their luggage. Emma didn’t ask where Felani had gotten the strangely modern turn of phrase; she must be getting used to the maiden’s weirdness.
The three maidens passed them, glancing at Felani, seeking some kind of confirmation. She nodded at them and they continued up the stepladder to the jet, looking deceptively like worried children. Emma knew better.
She sighed. “Why is he here, Felani? Really?”
Felani cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at the jet. “Because he is fit to be. He is the most powerful of all the king’s allies, and he is a serpent priest. I think that he would have been here, even had Seshua not been delayed.”
Emma sighed again. “You’re right. That’s exactly the sort of thing Seshua would do.”
“Not tell you that he was sending Alexi?” Felani shrugged, raising both eyebrows. “It would not occur to him to do so, Emma. You may be Caller of the Blood, but he is still king, and you have not fought hard for the right to be included in his plans.”
Emma gazed down at the maiden. “Is that what I have to do? Is everything a fight with you people?”
Felani gave her a shrewd look. “You know it is.”
13
It took only moments for Alexi to get hold of the jaguar king, but many moments more for Emma to convince him to let her speak to Cara. Her eventual introduction to the royal seer of the jaguar kingdom, and the only sister of the man she was irrevocably bound to for the rest of her existence, did not go well. It was a miracle Cara agreed to postpone negotiations at all — a miracle that involved only Emma’s promise of visiting the jaguar kingdom’s Central American sanctuary in person, and her first-born child.
Perhaps Emma had only imagined that last part, but if she had stayed on the phone any longer, it would have come to that.
Finally she stood just inside the hatch, and feeling sweaty and harried already with the whole journey yet ahead of her, she took in the sight of the luxury interior.
She didn’t know why she should be surprised; she’d seen Seshua’s sleeping chambers, after all.
The king liked his comforts. Velvety leather seats, flat-screen TV, two not-so-mini bar fridges. Enough space to play Frisbee, and it was just as well, because there were eleven of Emma’s group, and more with Seshua’s people.
The maidens were busy storing their luggage away, and Andres and Guillermo had already positioned themselves in bodyguard stance, Guillermo at the front of the jet, near the cockpit, Andres to Emma’s right, next to the hatch. They had not brought weapons, but were both dangerous enough at close quarters without them. Horne’s deep bass voice could be heard from the cockpit, obviously talking to the pilot. Telly paced by the window. Red Sun lounged in one of the huge bucket seats looking perfectly at home with a bottle of beer in hand, condensation running off the cold glass.
The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2) Page 10