The Warlord swallowed, she watched his throat contract, and he ignored her. ‘Why were the mafia trying to steal your eggs?’ he asked again. ‘Why were the government going to do the same?’ he asked softly. ‘I need to know what exactly I’m up against.’
‘Like you don’t know!’ Sabra scoffed. ‘You’re all liars. At least Mags and Faustus were honest with me, didn’t leave me with any doubt of their plans. You! You’re trying to fill my head with all this love babble — it makes you worse than them!’
The Warlord’s handsome face constricted with hurt. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘No.’
‘Then tell me exactly why you never said anything about this prophecy until now — when the mafia and government are fighting each other to get my eggs. Answer this question well, and I’ll tell you what I know.’
Cain looked momentarily shifty. ‘I regret not telling you about the prophecy, but I had my reasons.’
‘What damn reasons? I probably won’t believe them, but I’d like to hear them.’
His face darkened, with what she could only suppose was embarrassment.
‘I told you, I grew up in the shadow of this prophecy. Every woman I ever met, people would ask, is she the one? I grew up under a microscope. The Laotian people and their government all believe in the prophecy, and the government will not allow it to come into fruition. They hunt women in connection with me. If the prophecy occurs, the government knows they are in for trouble.’
‘Okay, I get that — you’re trying to keep your women away from the government because of the prophecy — but why keep it a secret from me, especially if you thought I was the one?’
Cain’s hesitation said more than his actual words. ‘My ex-girlfriends all said they loved me. At first I’d believe them, but then…’ He sighed. ‘I grew to understand that their love was all about being part of the prophecy. It was all about gaining fame. They didn’t love me. They loved what I was about, they loved the Warlord of Laos.’ He paused and rubbed his chin. ‘I wanted you to fall in love with me naturally.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Without knowing about the damn prophecy. I wanted…’ he took a deep breath. ‘I wanted you to love me, just me.’ He laughed again and even to Sabra’s shocked ears, it sounded unhappy. ‘I did what I could to try and make you fall for me, the way I had fallen for you — but I couldn’t. Everything went wrong. Then you ran, Sabra, and you wrote that book, a book that told the world about my affection for you. Although it didn’t mention the prophecy it alerted Laotian suspicions. After your escape I heard word that Laotian Government assassins were already tailing you. That was bad, but imagine how bad it would have been if you had mentioned the prophecy. You were just lucky the Australian Government kept such a damn close eye on you, or you’d be dead already.’
The cold feeling in her belly grew icy.
He gave the bitter laugh again. ‘I didn’t give up on you, Sabra, even after you ran. When I read your book, I knew you cared about me. I started looking into ways of getting to you. I was angry at you for a while. I don’t deny it — but I didn’t even get a chance to speak to you. The phone lines were tapped, and you were watched 24 hours a day — but I couldn’t begrudge it, because although it kept me away from you, it also kept you safe.’
Confusion whirled around her mind.
Cain continued savagely, ‘But for all this, Sabra, I still have no fucking idea why the government and mafia would want your eggs.’
It was too much. Her head hurt.
‘Answer me, Sabra.’ His tone was gentle and coercing.
‘I can’t believe you actually don’t know.’ She whispered, ‘I’m…I’m…the product of a failed Australian Government breeding program.’
Chapter 14
‘What the fuck?’ was all he could say.
Sabra repeated herself slowly.
‘Just when you thought the government couldn’t possibly go lower…’ he groaned, but allowed Sabra to continue.
As she spoke, her voice took on an almost lyrical note. An autumnal breeze fluttered through the window and circled around them. She spoke of her childhood in foster care, all she knew about the failed breeding program, and the discussions she’d had with Mags and Faustus.
He watched her lips move but soon he couldn’t hear the words. He’d been foolish and remiss in his treatment of her.
I never asked her about her childhood. I never asked about her parents.
When he’d read her book, he’d been startled by Sabra’s accusation that in his compound, he rarely spoke to her. In fact, he’d raged about it to Jürgen, and complained of his own ill-treatment. After all, he’d given her everything she could have desired; he’d cared for her, given her more pleasure than any woman could want, and yet…
I have been unfair, he realised.
***
Sabra fell silent and shuffled on the bed, her throat was croaky from speaking too much and she felt worn out. Cain threw her a gentle smile and reached over and took her hand.
Heat leapt from the point of contact.
‘Can you honestly tell me you didn’t know anything about me and where I’m from?’ Sabra asked. ‘That you didn’t kidnap me just to get my eggs because of my Sentience Activated Body Reaction Armour?’
‘No, I had no idea.’ His tone was firm. ‘I saw a nervous tourist with Maggie South in that bar — I believed you were in peril — then you blushed like a rainbow. Call it misplaced hero syndrome, or whatever you want, but I never, ever considered stealing your genetics.’
Sabra inhaled heavily. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, about the eggs, the other women, or his reasons for not telling her about the prophecy — but she was tired of talking.
‘Are you hungry?’ Cain asked, as if reading her thoughts. ‘We could go out to a restaurant, or something.’
Restaurant?
‘I’m starving,’ Sabra began, then stopped and stared at the TV screen. ‘But hasn’t your face been plastered over Crime Stoppers? Do you think it’s a good idea?’ Sabra asked.
Cain smiled ruefully. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time for an elaborate disguise when I found you in the hospital,’ he said. ‘Plus, I did not think about CCTV when I came so gallantly to your rescue.’
‘Gallantly to my rescue — hero syndrome again?’ Sabra repeated with a slight smile.
‘Must be.’ He shrugged sexily.
‘I guess we shouldn’t go to a restaurant — it’s not safe is it?’
Cain smiled and as she watched the scent of his magic surrounded her. She watched and his nose grew in length. It was like time-lapse photography, only even more bizarre. His eyes shifted from dark brown to hazel green, his hair, so lustrous and black, shimmered under his spell and shifted to a deep chocolate. She breathed in, and watched sexy stubble sprout on his jaw and face.
‘We can still go,’ he assured her, ‘it will just have to be incognito.’
‘Wow,’ Sabra breathed. ‘You look…’
‘Look what?’ he asked, raising an artful eyebrow over his new sparkling hazel eyes.
‘Well, not like you,’ she mumbled, feeling colour stain the chromatophores on her cheeks.
He shrugged with a smile. ‘Would you like a quick extreme makeover, too?’
Sabra laughed. ‘I can do that on my own.’ Without another thought she concentrated on the chromatophore cells and shifted her olive skin to a deeper brown, and her hair to black. She left her eyes grey.
‘How do I look?’ she asked shyly.
‘Not like you, but lovely all the same.’ She felt his breath brush against her cheek as he spoke and quickly leant over to kiss her.
He pressed his lips to hers with a quick possessive gesture that made her limbs tremble.
The confusion she felt was almost overwhelming.
As he pulled away, his eyes held hers in his new strange hazel gaze. There was a gentle buzzing in her ear and her attention was drawn to two large blowflies that hovered around them.
She shooed them
away with a wave of her hand, despite Cain’s alarmed look. ‘Go away!’ she blew at them. ‘I’ve just had a shower, I can’t smell that bad!’
‘Sabra!’ Cain began to laugh despite his alarm. ‘Stop, they’re not flies.’
Sabra heard an outraged whistle from one of the large blowflies.
Blowflies don’t whistle. She hesitated in her swatting and squinted to get a better look.
Hovering before her, with its hands on its waspish waist was a creature she’d never even imagined existed. The head was human-like, but it had six legs, and a strange non-insect-like torso.
‘What is it?’
There was another outraged whistle.
‘Umm, I mean, what are you?’ she asked it, leaning closer and speaking softly so as not to upset it any further than she already had.
‘That’s Peony, she’s a thriae, she doesn’t speak our language. This here,’ he gestured to Hexa who hovered nearby with an angry buzz, ‘is Hexa.’
‘Thriae?’ Sabra asked. ‘And they are?’
‘They are of Greek origin, and have great prophetic powers. Hexa and Peony have come to help me find you.’
‘Oh.’ She squinted and looked closer. ‘Well, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ came a tiny whistling voice from Hexa. The thriae flew up and hovered beside Peony. ‘We have overheard your discussion with the Warlord. He is a good man, Sabra Westwood. Do not judge him by what you believe his intentions to be. Judge him by his actions.’
Sabra nodded slowly. ‘Was it the thriae who created the prophecy?’ she asked.
Hexa’s small head nodded. ‘Yes, our prophesies are never wrong.’
Sabra felt uneasy. ‘Can you see the Shadow Men coming to get me?’
She’d not said anything to Cain about them, but they’d been playing on her mind ever since she’d woken up.
‘Oh yes.’
Cain looked sharply from Hexa to Sabra. ‘Shadow Men? I saw the Bright Light Team in the operating theatre. What happened?’
‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ Sabra began but was interrupted by a loud rumble from her stomach. ‘Long and short of it is that I accidently touched one, and now he’s coming to get me.’
Cain looked momentarily stricken. ‘You touched one?’
‘By accident.’
Cain shook his head. ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
They looked up and Hexa seemed to convulse midair.
‘What do you see?’ Cain asked.
‘Death,’ the thriae whistled.
***
Jürgen groaned and rolled his shoulders. He was exhausted. The ‘cell’ was literally just that, enough space to stand, but not squat. He’d been on his feet for nearly 24 hours before Christy came and opened the door.
Blessed fresh air blew into the tiny cell and his eyes screamed with pain and began to water immediately. He caught her scent before he saw her.
A low growl grew in his throat.
‘You stink, Jürgen.’ Her American voice rang through the humid air loud and grating.
‘Danke schön, schlampe.’ He grunted and staggered out into the dim dungeon-like area that contained the ‘cells’.
‘Were you cussing at me?’ Christy placed her mannish hands on her waist and glared, displaying her pointed teeth. ‘My crew doesn’t like it when boys cuss at me.’
Jürgen lifted his head wearily and stared at her. ‘Really? You mistake me for caring. Now get the fuck out of my way.’
Christy bristled at his words. She crossed her arms over her non-existent bosom and didn’t budge. ‘Nuh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ve got a job to do. We’re under attack.’
Her words made Jürgen stiffen once again, so he swung his arms around to loosen the muscles and waggled his thighs.
‘What? Who?’ His mind was filled with Shadow Men. ‘Where? Here? At the compound?’ He lifted his hand and ran it through the grimy slick oiliness of his hair and grimaced.
Christy nodded. ‘Laotian, Thai and Burmese troops.’ ‘And boss wants you to plan our defence.’
Jürgen felt his jaw tighten involuntarily. ‘Where is he?’
‘Gone to get his chameleon, or whatever.’ She narrowed her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Says he’ll get Maggie too — coz you’re so incapable.’
Jürgen’s jaw tightened even further and the raging dehydration headache roared even louder in his head. ‘Where?’ he asked. ‘Back in Perth?’
‘Not your business, Jürg.’ Christy grinned wolfishly. ‘How’s the jaw?’
He cursed again in German, but his hand automatically rubbed the bruised side of his face.
‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘I’m going to have wash then I’ll meet you in the den. Get surveillance footage ready for me. Have you sent out any preliminary snipers to pick off the government numbers?’ he asked and turned to the door.
Christy followed him. ‘Yep, I sent some of the converted Rakshasa out to party.’
Jürgen grimaced in spite of himself. He was not a fan of Rakshasa, even converted ones. They were a type of one-eyed Indian demon. They were generally known for their malevolent deeds, cannibalism and blood drinking to name but a few. Several years ago a band of converted Rakshasa had appealed to Cain for protection. Naturally, the Rakshasa suffered great prejudices in the human world. These converted Rakshasa claimed to have given up the vices that their kind were so well-known for and had sworn an oath to protect the compound and indeed the Warlord himself. They had been very successful. No raid on the Warlord’s jungle compound had ever met with success. Still, Jürgen did not trust the demonic.
‘How many have the government sent?’
‘About 200.’
Jürgen let out a low whistle. ‘Why so many?’
‘What do I look like? A thriae? I don’t know,’ Christy snapped, and rubbed her muscular biceps. ‘I’ll get that footage and info for you. You go wash, you smell like an Aufhocker.’ Her crew laughed behind her as they turned to leave.
Quick as a flash, Jürgen grabbed Christy’s forearm. She spun around growling, her teeth bared.
‘I am an Aufhocker. Don’t you forget it, bitch.’
Through narrowed eyes, he watched Christy battle with his dominant gesture. Her teeth were bared, and she snarled like the werewolf she was. She tried to wrench her arm away from him, but his fingernails had turned to claws and she didn’t want to risk tearing her skin.
Her crew was comprised of demons and werewolves who were all brawn and no brain. They bristled impotently around Christy, growling low in their throats, but not daring to move an inch. Jürgen couldn’t fathom why Cain accepted their allegiance. In the war against the government, the Warlord needed intelligence and cunning. Christy’s crew had neither. The Rakshasa were ruthless and clever, albeit distasteful, and the thriae prophetic and clever. There were also human minions and spies to blend into the city and report on the goings-on, as well as magicians to usurp the government’s power, and fae to fight guerrilla wars in the streets and villages around Laos.
Christy’s crew? They were nothing.
His hand tightened further around Christy’s arm, and something flashed deep in her eyes. And her crew tightened around him in a circle. They were shoulder against muscular shoulder, glowering fiercely. Their outrage, however, brought a cruel smile to Jürgen’s lips. He knew they found his touch on their alpha female as offensive as if he’d bitten her neck and mounted her from behind.
With a smile, he released her, allowing a lazy gaze to sweep over her heaving muscled chest.
‘Remember, bitch, that yes, I fucked up. Yes, I was punished — but as our Warlord is not here, I’m boss.’
‘Fuck you,’ Christy hissed and whirled away from him.
‘With pleasure,’ he retorted. Christy looked incensed, her eyes shifted to a strange yellow and her jaw lengthened. ‘You’d better control that temper…’ he taunted.
With a throaty growl, Christy t
wirled and stalked from the room and her crew followed a step behind. Jürgen watched the tightly bunched muscles of her backside tense as she did.
For a moment, Jürgen was alone down in the dungeon. It was humid, if marginally cooler here. He slowly took one step and then another, and his muscles screamed in protest.
As he walked to his apartments he considered the logistics of their defence. They were in a good position, overlooking the valley, and the Rakshasa would make short work of at least five percent of the government’s number. He shuddered and flung the door open to his apartment.
The wide expanse of stone floor was spotless and his bed, a king-sized monster canopied with mosquito net, lay rumpled. He frowned. He religiously made his bed every morning, and had done so the last time he’d slept here. He sniffed the air, allowing his nose to become slightly more muzzle-like to widen his nasal cavities and get a better scent.
Musk, cigarette’s, exhaustion, sweat, and female pheromones wafted in the air. He looked around wildly. The scent was unmistakeable.
‘Where are you?’ he growled, his throat tightening. He closed the door behind him and locked it. There was no reply. He sniffed again, but the scent was gone.
Maybe he was just exhausted and imagining things? Without waiting he undid his boots and stripped his clothes from his body, peeling his soiled and ruined shirt from his chest like a banana skin. He did the same with his pants, and they were particularly foul. Twenty-four hours without a toilet tended to do that. Unwilling to pick up the fouled clothes, he nudged them into his laundry area and shot them down the laundry chute. He pitied the poor laundry worker who had to deal with them, but was relieved they were gone.
He walked over to the vanity and ran some water, greedily drinking it directly from the tap. Then he pulled open the shower curtains, tuned on the taps and stepped into the tepid water. It was heaven; he soaped and washed himself until his skin literally squeaked.
When he came out of the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped towards the small fridge in the tiny kitchenette. He opened it and found it well-stocked with ham and other preserved meats. He dug in furiously.
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