“Fern? Where are you? Fern!” Emma’s voice reverberated throughout the long, dark stone corridor, an airless echo in the blanketing silence. The torches set into the walls didn’t flicker or jump in the stillness, but the flames were dying. Darkness was coming.
She ran back the way she had come. Fern had to be here somewhere. He’d been right behind her a second ago. Where was he? They had to get out of the jaguar king’s sanctuary and into the Roadhouse above before Seshua killed Alan.
Emma turned a corner. This wasn’t right. She’d done this before: Alan was anmorkai, vampire; their whole relationship had been a lie, so why was she trying to save him?
Fern’s prone body came into view and she forgot the answer to that question. She ran to him, threw herself down beside him.
“Wake up.” She grabbed one bony shoulder and shook him. “Wake up, Fern, I need you. It’s getting dark.”
His eyelids fluttered, and when he spoke his voice slurred. “Cann…way-gup.” Can’t wake up. This had not happened before. He wasn’t touching her mind. Speaking to her with words, but not touching her mind.
Emma swallowed against the fear clawing its way up her throat. She cradled Fern’s face in her hands. “Why not?”
His eyelids stopped fluttering. His head was a dead weight in her hands. His chest rose in a deep, deep breath. “Boys…’n.” He exhaled.
Emma sobbed. If he would only touch her mind, she could understand. What the hell did he mean? Boys-‘n…
Poison.
Fear broke over her, paralyzed her. Fern’s body turned to smoke in her hands and disappeared. Cold wind rushed up the stone passageway, and the lights went out with it.
An endless moment later they came back, red and orange, sparks and flickering flame. Emma smelled smoke, electrical fires; dust and booze and blood. The Roadhouse.
Something screamed, the mindless bellow of an animal, agony in every shrill note and hoarse undertone. Emma crawled through broken glass and timber. She had to get to him, had to help. Her skin was numb with terror. Every inch closer, the air became harder to breathe; darkness was coming, and it tasted like rain, like ozone, like primordial ocean, thick with salt and the mineral blood of creation.
Blood — the stench hit her, slaughterhouse, vital organs breathing into the air. Her palms slid in it. She choked, gagging.
“Get away from me.” That cold, familiar voice came out of the darkness, a broken thing. Cold power pushed at Emma. The smoke cleared and Alexi’s mangled body was beneath her, dark with blood and blacker fluids, eyes two bright and burning lamps in the waxen pallor of his face.
Instinct screamed at Emma to run, but her hands reached out of their own volition. Alexi’s eyes screamed at her. The flesh of his ruined torso stretched and burst in sentient metamorphic strings, body trying and failing to heal itself. Emma put her hands into it and Alexi bucked, body arching off the ground, viscera boiling out of his gut like snakes.
“DO NOT TOUCH ME!” He roared, eyes wild, power unraveling and hitting Emma in the throat, cutting off her air. He sobbed, a horrible, wrenching sound. She tried to draw back but her hands wouldn’t come.
“Let go!” She yelled, hoarse. “What am I supposed to do if you won’t let me go?” Her arms sank further into the meat of his body, flesh and intestine writhing and crawling up her wrists, tying her to him.
He screamed again and his hands came up, locking onto Emma’s shoulders. She felt muscle give way to the pressure of his fingers, bruising, tearing. Her bones would be next, crushed to fine powder in his grip.
“This is all your fault,” he said, and yanked her down toward him.
Emma woke with a scream trapped behind her lips and a huge, hot hand clamped over her mouth. The mark on her hand burst to life, but she was paralyzed. Heat and weight pressed her down into the bed; hair tickled her face, the body above her shifted, one hulking shadow in the darkness. She dragged air in through her nostrils: scent hit her, rain, ozone, and it could not be real, could not be happening.
Do not force me to shut your conscious mind down, said Alexi in her mind, voice like a thick and living thing inside her, pushing against the walls of her brain.
Emma choked, tried again to scream, and managed to make a pathetic mewling sound that died a muffled death against Alexi’s palm. Panic overcame her. She roared with her mind, a blind call to Fern, to Telly, to anyone who would listen.
They cannot hear you. I’m blocking your projection. Emma, listen to me! His voice was a whip-crack, and the use of her name got her attention — he had never, ever used her name.
He pressed her down harder, chest a wall of warmth inches from her face. Emma heard his heartbeat: rapid, steady, strong. Something about it calmed her. The mark on her hand subsided. She breathed, waiting, and beyond the scent of Alexi’s body, there was something bitter and smoky in the air.
Poison, said Alexi, hand relaxing against Emma’s mouth. A sedative, probably burned as incense . The others are alive, but they will not wake. Emma barely formed the question in her mind before he answered it: You are awake because you were dreaming and your mind was unshielded, I could get to you. The jaguars have too much natural shielding for me to wake them with any ease. When the time comes, I can wake a few. He hesitated, turning his head, and Emma caught the flash of his eyes in the darkness above her. An enemy approaches.
Emma forced herself to focus. What are we going to do?
Alexi took a deep breath, stomach pushing against Emma’s chest as his lungs expanded. We are going to wait. Clearly our intruder intends for us all to be sedated and unable to wake; to what end, I shall find out. When I say it is time, wake Fern with your mind and push as much information into him as you can.
Emma remembered her dream and fear flared through her. Is he alive?
She felt Alexi’s mind moving in hers, felt him reach for something as he spoke. Yes, he’s alive. The words rang with truth and Emma held onto them instinctively, grasping for Alexi’s mind. When she did, she felt Fern, the haziness of his sleeping mind, as though Alexi held a piece of him for Emma to see and touch.
You’re touching his mind, like I can. And because Alexi was in her mind as well, she could feel him doing it. The thought was, for some reason, obscene.
No. Alexi cocked his head, listening. It is different. In order for my kind to communicate, share and access information, we must take control and direct the contact in a very specific way. You and he… Alexi shifted, bracing himself against the mattress with a hand on one side of Emma’s head. Giving her more room. You are fused together. It is not so much a matter of touching his mind, as remembering that it is a part of your own. His mental voice was clipped, colder than ever, but held a hint of wonder. Or horror, she couldn’t be sure.
That’s absurd. You can’t possibly know that.
He laughed silently. I am in your mind as we speak. I know well what I see and feel. You are both fools, he added softly. He for being so blind as to bind you both together, and you for refusing to see what your heart surely knows.
Emma responded with fiery scorn before she knew what she was doing. Who are you to speak to me of hearts?
Alexi’s head jerked down, hand tightening on her mouth, and she got the distinct impression he was giving her that arrogant, scathing look he was so good at. He exhaled noisily through his nose.
Emma scowled up at him, not caring he couldn’t see it. Take your hand off my mouth.
He acquiesced, shifting so that his upper half was propped up by both hands above her, but she could feel him in her mind, a steel weight, a vise. Pressure like thousands of feet of ocean, bearing down on the flimsy fabric of her brain — only a matter of time before she snapped. Such power.
You can read my mind whenever you want to. Emma didn’t make it a question. No amount of shielding or protection from Fern can stop you.
Something dangerous slid through Alexi’s mind, some thought like an oil-slick come to life, but an instant later it evaporated, and in the v
acuum Emma thought she sensed sadness. Or anger. Or both.
Emma brought a hand up to her chest, clutching the neck of her thermal sweater and trying to loosen it. Too hot. Too much. Her hand brushed Alexi’s arm by accident — bare skin. Suddenly the heat radiating off his body made sense — no shirt to trap it. Emma squeezed her eyes shut, as though it could stop her remembering what he looked like naked, but it was too late. Naked and bathed in the white light of a glorious half-change, body glistening with iridescent scales, the color of emeralds and cinnamon glitter —
Alexi’s thoughts slammed down on hers, and Emma swore she could feel through the touch of his mind his stare burning down at her, into her.
I would have to want to read you, he said, mental voice thick and brittle with restraint, And contrary to what you evidently believe, I do not want that. I do not like what I find in your thoughts.
Emma lifted her chin, meeting his stare, though she could see only the faintest suggestion of his eyes. I can’t help my thoughts, she said, heart in her throat. You cannot punish me for my thoughts.
Alexi cocked his head, his long mass of hair falling down around their faces like a curtain. And if your thoughts punish me for reading them?
Emma had nothing to say to that, but it didn’t matter, because she suddenly knew that the intruder was here.
Alexi stiffened, mind flaring hot and bright in hers, his sudden focus searing her brain. She has entered through the back; she will come through the bathing chamber, intending to search the sleeping pallets until she finds you.
She? Me?
The mind is female. Her only thought is of killing you.
Well, Emma swallowed, that’s just peachy.
Alexi moved, every muscle and limb like living steel, a sinuous symphony of coordination as he slid a leg over Emma’s body and covered her from head to toe, hiding her from view. His weight pressed her further into the plush bedcovers, suffocating her with heat and his rich, tangy scent and the growing, freezing thread of his power as it uncoiled, resting against her skin, waiting for the enemy to come.
Prepare to wake Fern.
Emma pushed away fear, ignored the panicked voice screaming at the back of her mind. What about Telly?
Alexi’s frown was in his voice. What about him?
I… She didn’t need to say the rest, tell him she was connected to the walking god mind-to-mind. Alexi read it, then shut part of himself off before she could feel his reaction.
Do it, he said, body tightening.
She did. Fern came awake before Telly; Emma had more practice with him. Both of their minds reeled for only a moment, shaking off the effects of the sedative even as Emma poured information into them, Alexi aiding her. She felt the guards wake and then all hell broke loose.
Snarls erupted as the guards leapt up, and Emma turned her face sideways, prevented by Alexi’s body from moving any more, and sensed more than saw Fern scrambling fluidly toward her. His mind burst in hers like overripe fruit, a cocktail of fear and panic and anger, the crystalline liquor of adrenalin flowing through them both, one thought drowning out the rest — to protect her body with his own.
White light flickered, shooting through the darkness, silhouetting the guards. Emma glimpsed Fern’s face, thin and sharp with the closeness of the spider, eyes gone huge and round and black. Somebody growled; a short, feminine scream answered it. The tent shook as bodies slammed into it, the noise like a pack of dogs fighting over a bone, and then it was over.
An animal yelped, and another barked harshly in response.
“What the fuck is this?” Andres sounded disgusted. Emma felt Alexi gather himself, and then he began the task of working through everyone else’s shields so he could wake them. As though he had forgotten she was still there, he gave a start and withdrew from Emma’s mind completely. For a second she felt so light she swore she was floating to the ceiling, but Alexi’s body was still heavy on hers.
“Nathifa,” Telly rumbled, his voice a deep and mangled thing.
“Emma!” Felani woke with the cry on her lips, rolling off the pile of maidens and slamming into Alexi. She grunted her surprise. “Tarissa,” she barked, “Lamps, now.” Emma felt the maiden’s small hands on her, could see her silhouette now her eyes had adjusted to the dark. “That’s quite enough, I think,” Felani hissed at Alexi.
He ignored her, absorbed in waking the jaguar guards with his mind. Emma heard grunts and murmurs from outside as well. Somewhere, Manny yelled, and Guillermo swore his answer.
Tarissa and Rish struck the lamps just in time for Emma to watch Red Sun reach down and seize Alexi’s hair in his meaty fist. Alexi’s anger hit Emma in a frigid wave. Shock and outrage widened his yellow eyes and then he sprang to his feet, yanking his hair with him and turning a look of pure, earth-shaking fury on Red.
Red looked about to dish out some of the same. Emma scrambled out of the bed-covers, tripping in the sheets and grabbing at Mata, who was standing next to her. The guards from outside burst into the tent, their faces thick with their beasts, their skin dark and mottled with the coming of the change.
Emma ignored them. “Both of you,” she snapped at Alexi and Red Sun. “We have bigger fish to fry right now. Thrash it out later. And you,” she pointed a shaking finger at Red. “Hair-pulling is for little children.”
Red gave her an indignant look and Alexi gaped at her; Emma couldn’t tell if he was shocked that she’d defended, or angry that she’d compromised his honor by implying that he couldn’t defend himself. Either way, it was more testosterone than she could handle. She ignored them, turned to the other half of the tent, and proceeded to have a small heart attack.
The black jaguar had to be Horne — Emma recognized the paleness of the black coat, the melanism so faint at his rump and legs that rosettes were clearly visible, gray and silver against the charcoal black.
It was a distinctive color, and Emma had seen Horne’s jaguar before — but she had never seen the giant red fox with the furred human arms and glittering blue eyes that was obviously Telly. She had seen him in two other, similar forms, but not this one. The air around him rippled with power, and it almost hurt to look at him.
The animal that Telly held in a choke-hold could only be their intruder, the jackal warrior — a slim, golden-eyed creature with a long fine face and a coat the color of ripe wheat, saddled with black, paling to cream at its exposed belly. Dainty paws scrabbled at the thick woven rug underfoot, small whining sounds escaping its champing teeth.
The jackal snarled and made an experimental attempt at breaking free. Telly’s head came up and his jaws snapped together a hair’s breadth from one ear. As Emma watched, Telly’s muzzle shortened, eyes growing wider. He flicked enormous ears back and his blue, half-human eyes fixed the jackal’s with a stare that was all animal.
“Change,” he demanded, voice so deep it was almost impossible to understand, lips and tongue moving, but not in any way that should have formed words and human sounds. “Change, and we won’t kill you.”
Andres coughed, a warning, a protest, but Telly silenced him with his eyes, the pupils vertical slits. The rest of Telly’s body was following the change; white light started to cloak him, a weird halo.
The jackal struggled, whining as though the white light hurt. Telly’s hold tightened, lips peeling back in a mean silent growl, as the light intensified. The jackal howled: a quavering, pathetic sound that raised the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck.
“Stop it,” she said, stepping off her sleeping pallet. Telly ignored her. The jackal’s howl turned into a whimper. Its jaws were open in a panting grimace, the whites of its golden eyes visible, its skin trembling.
Emma took a deep breath. “I said stop!” Her shout froze everyone. “I don’t know what you’re doing or why it’s hurting her, but just stop it already.” She ventured toward Telly and the jackal but stopped when jaguar-Horne coughed at her, a harsh, rumbling sound that was much more effective as a warning when it came from the cat and n
ot the man.
Telly finally looked at her, light dying around him. “She wants you dead,” he said simply in the deep voice of his beast, as though that were more than enough reason to torture her, kill her.
“And maybe she has good reason.” Emma met the jackal’s eye. The animal snarled, and Emma took that as a yes. She put her hands on her hips, not knowing how to appeal to her would-be assassin.
“If you won’t cooperate, we’ll have no choice but to turn you over to the king.”
Andres stepped forward, his snarl echoing Horne’s. “I’m sorry Emma, but how do we know the king didn’t send her? As much as I want to question her, we don’t —”
“We know,” said Alexi.
Everyone turned to look at him — everyone except Horne, whose round amber gaze stayed fixed on the jackal.
Alexi just looked back at them all as though they were idiots — all except Emma.
He met her eyes. “She’s terrified,” he whispered, though everyone could hear. “Her thoughts are an open book. The king did not send her. And,” he raised his voice, gaze sliding to the jackal, “She intends to flee or die if she does not succeed in killing you.”
Emma couldn’t help her disbelief. “You can tell all that from her thoughts? Even though she’s changed?”
Alexi shrugged. “They are simple thoughts. Hatred, desperation, the resolve to succeed or give up everything.” He looked at Emma, looked through her. “Animals can feel such things, contrary to what you may have been taught. Humans take a very limited view.”
Emma decided to let that one slide. Alexi didn’t know that she had spent most of her life preferring the company of animals to people — a preference that Emma now knew was more than just a personality quirk. She turned to Telly and Nathifa.
“We can talk about this. Your king doesn’t strike me as the merciful type, but we’re willing to listen. We will show mercy.” Emma held up a hand to silence the protests from the guards.
The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2) Page 21