Darkness Bound (A Night Prowler Novel)

by J. T. Geissinger

  His lips quirked, and Caesar grinned.

  “If they finish the tunnels and all the necessary rooms ahead of schedule, they shall each be allowed to choose a female from my own personal stock in the dungeon. How’s that?”

  Marcell bowed. “Excellent, Sire.” He straightened and grinned back at his master. “I guarantee the shovels will be flying.”

  At the mention of flying, Caesar’s look soured. He sat back in his chair, gazing at Marcell with narrowed eyes. “That reminds me of something. Shortly after Weymouth arrives with his group in tow, he needs to have some kind of accident. Make it believable, though. Nothing too exotic. And I can’t be anywhere nearby; we don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the new arrivals. But a traitor like him simply can’t be trusted. If he’ll turn on his own leader—even if she is a female—he’s fully capable of turning on me.”

  Marcell considered it a moment before answering. “Perhaps a fall down a flight of stairs. The stone in this kasbah is crumbling badly; the steps could give way underfoot at any time.”

  Pleased, Caesar nodded. “I’ll leave it to you. Just make sure I’m doing something very visible with the rest of the colony when it happens. Making some kind of kumbaya speech about unity, et cetera.”

  “Any idea what he has planned for that Queen of theirs?”

  Caesar’s lip curled. Queen. As if a woman could ever lead. Ha!

  He rose, crossed to the windows, and gazed out into the starry, arid night. “Poison, I believe. For her and her Alpha. The two little brats I think he means to smother in their crib. Not that I particularly care about the methods. The end result is my only concern.”

  “And the rainforest colony? The ones Weymouth can’t convince to join us?”

  Caesar smiled at the stars, a glow of satisfaction spreading through his chest. “I hated my father, you know,” he mused, watching the twinkling heavens. The sky was so clear here at the edge of the world, the stars winked like a million coins at the bottom of a wishing well. “Not only because he always favored my sister over me, but also because he always looked at me with such disappointment. I think if he were alive today, however, he’d be very proud of me indeed. After all, I’m carrying on his legacy. Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, that sort of thing. I’ve given the hunters enough to go on so they know where to strike. ‘Capture and exterminate,’ were the exact words used, and I confess I’ve never heard two more beautiful words in my life. Whoever isn’t a friend is an enemy; remember that Marcell. There are no in-betweens for us. In war, everyone must choose a side.”

  Marcell said with deference, “And how genius of you, Sire, to use one enemy to kill the other.”

  “Only the first step, that one. Once the Ikati are under my rule, I’ll strike the final blow. What I have planned for the Expurgari and our new friend Thirteen and his corporate backers will make the Holocaust look like Sunday in the park. After that, we’ll take over Marrakech, then infiltrate every major city in the world and begin to impregnate the females, just as I’ve done here. According to my father’s calculations, it will only take a few generations for the entire human species to be wiped from the face of the Earth.”

  Caesar’s smile grew wider, the flush of satisfaction more intense. “Three moves ahead, he always said. You have to stay at least three moves ahead of your opponent. My father loved his ridiculous chess metaphors, but he was right. The pawns will fall, the knights will fall, the Queen will be toppled . . . the whole board will be wiped clean.” His voice grew quiet. “And the King will rule, once and for all. Forever.”

  A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The albino spider, still crouched in all its diminutive creepiness on the sill, had reared up on its hind legs and was crazily waving its front legs in the air.

  “Great Horus, that’s disgusting,” Caesar muttered, and brought his fist down hard atop it.

  Nico entered the room. “I couldn’t locate the bird, Sire. You must have scared it away.”

  Caesar sighed. “Well, no matter. If it comes back, you know what to do.”

  Nico bowed out of the room. Marcell said, “What have you got there, Sire?”

  “A dead spider.”

  But when he opened his hand to scrape away the remains, there was nothing there but a fine grit of sand, blown in by the wind.

  Hawk was pressing something to her lips.

  Jack cracked her eyes open to find him kneeling beside her, holding a small cup to her mouth. It was morning; sun slanted in brilliant yellow beams across the floor and walls behind him.

  “Drink,” he said, his gravel voice gentle. “It will make you feel better. It has something special for the pain, and strong healing agents.”

  Too weak to argue, she opened her lips and swallowed the thick liquid, wrinkling her nose at the pungent stench of burnt sludge. She gagged at the taste. It was a horrid combination of scorched earth and moldy barnyard, tannic and bitter. She coughed, eyes watering.

  “That tastes like ass!” she protested, her voice as weak as the rest of her.

  “There she is.” He smiled a crooked smile. “Little Mary Sunshine with a mouth like the devil’s toilet.”

  “Please, that was tame.” Jack spat a wet piece of plant material—bark?—from between her lips. “I never even let you hear the best ones out of respect for your delicate nerves.”

  Hawk placed the cup on a small table beside the bed and folded his arms across his bent knees. Gazing down at her, his eyes were both relieved and terribly sad. He looked as if he’d just awoken on the wrong side of a three-week bender.

  “I’m all ears.” His crooked smile widened, flashing a dimple in his cheek.

  Jack wondered if there was a word stronger than excruciating that might describe the throbbing, clawing misery in her back, burning fire up and down her nerve endings. Agonizing? Searing? Torturesome?

  “Fucktard,” she said, through gritted teeth.

  Hawk raised a brow. “That wouldn’t be aimed at me, would it?”

  “Assmuncher.”

  He wrinkled his nose in exact mimicry of her reaction to the potion he’d just given her. “Hmm. Now there’s a lovely visual.”

  “Cockopolis.”

  “I think I went there on vacation one year,” he mused. “It reminded me a lot of Vegas.”

  “Dickweasel douchewaffle motherfucker cocksucker bonehead prick.”

  He pursed his lips, impressed. “Anything that starts with the letters x, y, or z?”

  Jack thought about it, then shook her head. “I’ll work on it, though.”

  His gaze went to her back, and he sobered. “I’d ask how you feel, but I already know.” Their eyes met again, and his grew tortured. He whispered, “Jacqueline, what on Earth were you thinking?”

  Ah, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Or was it the million-dollar question? She was having a wee bit of trouble focusing. The room had taken on a lovely glow, soft and soothing, and the heat in her back had cooled several degrees.

  Damn, that nasty sludge was potent.

  “Did you know swearing actually helps relieve pain?” When Hawk just stared at her silently, she nodded. “It’s true. I read it in Time magazine. Some psychologist did a study where people stuck their hands in a bucket of ice water. The ones who were told to curse could leave their hands in the water up to forty seconds longer than the ones who were told they couldn’t curse. Apparently swearing activates the brain’s endogenous opioids.”

  “Endogenous opioids,” Hawk repeated uncertainly.

  “Pain-relieving chemicals similar to drugs like morphine and oxycodone.” Jack giggled, liking the sound of the word. Ox-y-co-done. It began to repeat itself in her head, echoing softly in the background as she continued to speak. “The only problem is, the more you curse, the more tolerant you become of the opioids, so you have to curse
even more to get the same amount of relief. Isn’t that the most ironic thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “Actually,” he answered quietly, reaching out to stroke a finger lightly down her cheek, “volunteering for a nasty punishment in place of someone you don’t even like and who isn’t worthy to wipe your shoes on is the most ironic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Jack considered that, closing one eye to relieve the dizziness caused by the way the room was tilting to one side. “I think we’re using the word irony in the wrong way. Like that stupid Alanis Morissette song, “Isn’t It Ironic?” None of the things she sang about were actually ironic. They were just coincidences or bad timing or total misses. I’m sorry but a black fly in your chardonnay is in no way ironic. It’s gross. And a death row pardon two minutes too late is just freaking tragic, not ironic. Right?”

  She paused, liking immensely the lovely weightless sensation snaking its way through her body.

  I wonder if I could float? I bet I could float . . . I wonder if I could fly?

  Hawk was looking at her with a combination of amusement and concern.

  “And I do like you,” she sighed, smiling as the last of the pain leaked out of her body, replaced by wonderful, spreading pleasure, soft as a cashmere blanket. “You’re very . . . what’s the word I’m looking for?”

  His eyes darkened. The smile fled from his face and he sat staring at her in silence, his brows drawn together, jaw clenched.

  “Broody,” she pronounced. “You’re very broody. You’ve got that whole James Dean/Mr. Darcy/Marlon Brando thing nailed. And you smell good. And you taste like the lottery. I mean, what I think I’d feel like if I won the lottery. Does that make any sense? Euphoric, that’s the word. Or euphoria, maybe? I’m not sure, my brain seems to be taking a little trip to the twilight zone at the moment. Either way, I like you a lot, which is a problem, considering you lied to me, used me, and basically totally screwed me over.”

  She beamed at him, happy and pain free and just about as relaxed as she’d ever been.

  Was it another effect of the nasty barnyard brew that made her think his breathing had changed? His posture had stiffened?

  “Although since we’re being honest here, I have to admit I understand the motivation. You thought I was a major bitch. Which, let’s face it, I gave you good reason for. Plus you sort of apologized—actually you did, right? I think you did anyway, which counts. And you were all protect-y of me in the jungle—is that a word?—with Nando and those other guys, and you seemed really freaked out at the punishment tree, like you didn’t want to see me get hurt. And you offered to take twice as many lashes if Alejandro would let me go, which is totally chivalrous.

  “So I don’t know. I’m in a pickle. I’m supposed to hate you but instead I think you’re interesting and soulful and smart, and probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s not even getting into how incredible you are in bed—I mean, I thought we were going to light those sheets on fire—or the fact that I know you have just as many skeletons in your closet as I have in mine, and you hate to admit it just like I do, which makes us alike. Also . . . you’re the only man I’ve ever known who makes me forget about my fucked-up past. When you look at me, I feel . . . clean. Free of all the dirt, you know? As for being unworthy to wipe my shoes on, don’t sell yourself short. Any woman would be lucky to have you. Hell, any man would be lucky to have you! And even though in hindsight it was probably a stupid thing to do, I would do it again, you know. Offer belu. For you, I would.”

  Jack inhaled a breath that felt cool and invigorating, like night air from an alpine woods. She’d never felt as free and careless, even if the room had become fuzzy around the edges and the only thing still sharply in focus was Hawk’s face.

  For some reason his expression was that of a man fighting hard to remain in control.

  “This stuff is amazing! What is it? I’m seriously feeling no pain!”

  “I suspect it’s different than what I thought it was, but I’m glad your pain has gone.” His voice was oddly raspy and constricted as if he’d recently spent a good deal of time screaming.

  “So gone!” Jack whistled. She lifted her head from the pillow, and gingerly stretched the muscles in her back, lifting her arms slowly overhead. Feeling nothing, she tried a tentative roll onto her side, and when that produced no pain, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

  “Careful!” Hawk barked, shooting to his feet.

  Smiling broadly, Jack looked up at him, but he’d averted his gaze and his face had gone red.

  “Jacqueline. You need to . . . uh . . . I had to cut your bra away from your shoulders . . .”

  Jack looked down at herself, surprised to see her breasts exposed, but unconcerned about it. Somehow being seminude in front of Hawk felt exactly right.

  “Right. Thanks.” She stood, and the shredded cotton fell to the floor. She announced, “I have to pee. And brush my teeth. And I’m hungry. And what is that pretty thing hovering outside in the tree? It’s huge!”

  Hawk looked where she was pointing. He turned back to her, alarmed. “That’s a dragonfly. It’s only two inches long.”

  “Really?” Jack squinted at it. “Huh!”

  “Okay.” Hawk took a breath, shook his head, and crossed to a polished wood dresser on the opposite side of the room. He withdrew a gauzy, white chemise, and returned to her side, holding it up between them like a shield. “Turn around. I’ll help you put it on.”

  She complied.

  “Hold your arms up.”

  She did, asking, “Why do you have women’s clothing in your drawers?” The stab of jealousy was profoundly unwelcome in her lovely haze of happiness. “Is that Luiza’s?”

  “No.” He threaded her outstretched arms through the the dress. “It’s yours. I had it made for you when I found out you’d be staying with me. Everything you need is here.” He dropped the dress over her head and she pulled it down around her waist, turning to look at him as she did. She swayed as the whole room turned with her, and Hawk steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, simulta-neously frowning and wide-eyed, which made her giggle.

  She unzipped her jeans and shucked them off, leaving them on the floor. “Bathroom? Or do I just pee out the window?” The horror on his face made her giggles turn to laughs.

  He simply pointed. Jack turned slowly, arms out for balance, and crossed the room. It was open and bright, with spare, streamlined furnishings, the “walls” consisting of a waist-high wooden railing and nothing else. The jungle was dense all around and she had the sensation of flying through green clouds as she walked.

  Whatever this stuff is, I’m going to bottle it and bring it back to New York. I’ll make a killing. The excruciating pain in her back from when she’d awoken was utterly numbed.

  The bathroom was a surprise. She’d been half expecting a hole in the floor, but there was a proper toilet and a beautifully carved wood sink on a pedestal, though no shower. And no mirror. Which she was thankful for when she touched a hand to her hair, as snarled as jungle tree roots atop her head.

  She used the toilet, cleaned her teeth with the little foaming berries in a wood dish on the sink, combed her hair with her fingers, and returned to find Hawk leaning against the wood railing near the bed, head bowed, shoulders slumped, attitude utterly defeated.

  Jack was overcome with empathy. He looks so sad. I don’t want him to be sad. I want him to be happy.

  Like me!

  Smiling through her fuzzy sunshine haze, Jack stepped toward him.

  A pair of slender arms slid around his waist and tightened as a cheek rested against his back.

  Hawk’s head snapped up. He stopped breathing. He clenched his hands around the railing so hard he thought it might splinter.

  “Don’t be mad. You just looked like you needed a hug is all,” Jack said softly from behind him.<
br />
  Her arms were around his waist. Her face was against his back. Her chest and stomach and legs were pressed against his body—tight against his body—and she was making a little satisfied sound in her throat, a sigh of contentment that had his eyes bugging right out of his head.

  What in the hell did I give her?

  Slowly, he straightened. He turned, breaking her grasp on him, but as soon as he’d faced her, she wound her arms up around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. She stepped on top of his feet like a child, standing on his toes, and hugged him again.

  “You give good hugs,” she sighed into his neck. “You’re very cozy for such a big bad wolf.” She giggled, correcting herself. “Cat. Big bad cat.”

  Hawk had to fight to breathe. He murmured her name, arms out, hands spread wide as if in surrender. He couldn’t touch her. If he touched her . . .

  “You have to hug me back!” she protested, burrowing closer, and the feel of her body against his—her breasts against his chest, her pelvis pressed to his, her lips against his throat—brought the animal inside him wide awake, hissing in pleasure. Between his legs, an erection charged to life.

  Get a hold of yourself, Hawk! She’s completely out of it! Whatever that concoction was you got from kalum this morning was a lot stronger than a mere healing tea!

  Unfortunately his body wasn’t on board with that idea. His heart felt like a jackhammer inside his chest, and that erection was threatening to split his pants open. The urge to rip off his clothes and hers and sink himself deep inside her was almost overpowering.

  Because he already knew how amazing she felt. He already knew what she could do for him, the pleasure she’d give, and so did the animal writhing inside him.

  Slowly, being careful not to touch her back, he rested his hands on her hips. Maybe if I just wait here like this for a second she’ll—

  She made a low noise deep in her throat and flexed her hips against his, and Hawk thought he might lose it completely if she moved against him again. He’d never felt such fierce, intense need.