The newcomer shook his head. Trevor Sinclair, Kynyr's uncle. If it's urgent enough to drag my nephew out of bed, it's urgent enough to rouse the family."
"Oh, right. Yes, it is. It's very urgent. I've been walking for weeks to get here."
* * * *
The joys of anticipated matrimony filled the young couple with delight. Kady had teased and playfully resisted for close to an hour before Kynyr managed to get her clothes off. He lay half atop her, sucking her nipple, and playing with her clit. A knock at the door caused him to freeze, and disappointment sank his ship as Kady shoved him off her.
"I'm coming. Kady snatched on a robe, and padded to the door. What is it, Mary?"
Kynyr rolled up in the blankets with a sigh, trying to catch what they were saying.
Kady turned and closed the door, her expression tight. Get dressed. There's trouble."
Although she would not have noticeable swelling from her pregnancy for some months yet, Kady had begun wearing her blades on her arms and a modified harness for her sword to get used to the feel of them. She dressed and settled her weapons in place.
Kynyr followed her lead, dressed, and armed himself.
Then they went downstairs together.
They found all of the adults awake and gathered in the kitchen: Trevor, Mary, Iollen and Aghavie, Fychan and Henry. An aura of expectancy lay over the room.
An unopened letter lay in the center of the table near a Willodarian monk.
"I'm Kynyr Maguire, Brother?"
"Malcolm. I'm from the Monastery of St. Albans in MacLachlan."
"You're a long way from home, Brother Malcolm."
"Yes, I am. It took me weeks to get here. I've been searching for you all over. I had no idea you were in Wolffgard."
Kynyr caught Trevor's eye and received a shrug indicating his uncle knew nothing at all yet. How's that?"
"The letter is from Amos Raggat. He asked Jordi MacFie to get it to you."
Trevor opened his mouth to interpose a question and closed it again at Kynyr's gesture.
"Go on."
"Jordi's dead. That's why I didn't know where to take it."
Kynyr got that ice and steel look in his eyes that Kady was beginning to recognize. He dragged the letter over. Who killed Jordi?"
"The enemy pursued him to his brother's home and shot him."
"What enemy?"
"Sa'necari. There are sa'necari in Hell's Widow. Fergus MacFie was raising the clan to take an army up there when I left."
Trevor frowned his skepticism. You think they'll really go? MacLachlan hasn't ventured beyond their borders in force in over two hundred years."
"No idea. Kynyr opened the letter and read it.
Kynyr Maguire,
The sa'necari are expanding their control of Hell's Widow. One of them, Alexander Jondries, rited my little Sainy. They are operating out of the Green Sheaf warehouse. Their leader is Heironim Traxton. Please, come soon.
Amos Raggat
"Poor little Sainy. She was everyone's pet. I should have gone back sooner. Kynyr passed the letter to Trevor. Mary, wake Cooley and send him for Todd."
"You'll ask Claw to bring soldiers? Malcolm asked.
"Claw is ill. I'll bring them myself."
Malcolm's forehead furrowed, slanting his right brow across the lid of his eye. What's wrong with Claw?"
"He's dying, Mary said, rising from the table. Heart disease."
Brother Malcolm looked stunned. Terrible news. He has no heir."
"He has an heir. Kynyr's mouth tightened into a grim line, feeling more of his choices stolen from him.
"But I haven't heard of one, Brother Malcolm protested. Who is it?"
"Me. Kynyr rose from the table, gesturing for Kady to follow. Explain it to him, Trevor."
Kynyr took Kady's hand and led her through the back door and out onto the veranda, where he stared up at the waxing moon for a long time before speaking. This will make you unhappy. Probably make most of the family unhappy."
"What? Kady frowned at the seriousness in his voice.
A haunted calm shaded Kynyr's face with a twist of iron resolve. Tarrant died before he could marry Cahira. I don't want that to happen to us. I must go to Hell's Widow. I don't have a choice. It has to be me."
Kady closed her eyes. The passing days had muted the edges of the image from her nightmare ... yet the vision of Kynyr's dead body still stalked the courts of her mind. We'll go to the Clerk tonight. Roust him out like Iollen and Aghavie did."
Kynyr leaned in and kissed her. Thank you for understanding."
* * * *
Malthus looked down at Larena with a dispassionate eye. She lay sleeping in his bed. The bitch was not as pretty as Merissa, but she would serve a different purpose. Larena had responded to his subtle Sways with such ease that it pleased him. She genuinely believes that coming to my cottage was her own decision. How amusing.
He extended his powers and twisted the original Sway that he had set in the tavern when he gave her the coin. Malthus worked patiently and the Sway became a Coercion known as a come-hither link. Larena had been so angry at Kady and Kynyr that her mind had been wide open to him. She now belonged to him.
He woke her with a kiss. You need to go home before your father discovers you're missing."
Larena grabbed her clothes and dressed. When will I see you again?"
"As soon as I can get away. They watch me."
"I hope it's soon."
"It will be. I think you should apologize to your sister and tell her how happy you are for her."
Larena smiled. I'll do that."
CHAPTER NINE
STALKERS
Kynyr leaned against the bole of a twisted oak, watching the window open on the second floor of the manor. Searlait climbed out, her skirts and petticoats tucked into her belt, her bare white calves showing as she caught the edge of a tree and climbed down with a nimbleness that belied her age. A grin broadened on his face.
He faded into the trees and brush, circling about to a bend in the Bonnie Draw River that ran through the manor's extensive property. The rocky, Waejontori soil showed its teeth along the river in a sharp slope to the far side with piles of wind and rain smoothed boulders, worn flat and jutting out in layers. The near side, although less steep in its descent to the deep waters, had almost as many boulders and rocks as the far side. Rocks, many of them as jagged as a dragon's tooth, broke the surface of the creek, and water eddied around them in foamy whirls.
"Hello, Kynyr."
"Searlait. He gave her a polite nod and joined her, sitting in her favorite spot, a large smooth boulder that thrust out over the water from a root-tangled shelf of dirt and rock. You're fast. I thought I would get here first."
"I know all the short cuts. Searlait cast twigs and leaves into the water, watching them swirl around in frothy riffles, a distracted air clinging to her. A willow tree sheltered the rock, pressed along the right side, its roots humped across the edge and rear like a confusion of dried brown serpents. The long skirt of Searlait's blue dress spread out around her thin hips and legs, revealing her ankles and the lower part of her age-withered calves. An inch of cleavage showed above her tightly laced bodice, just enough to tease in the current de rigueur of fashion among the upper classes.
Kynyr noticed a sudden tear run down Searlait's cheek. Is something wrong?"
"Aisha has re-hung the portraits of Tarrant and Logan in the Blue Room. She's getting them all out of storage and putting them back on the walls."
"That makes you sad?"
"A bit. I never wanted cubs ... or a husband ... after I saw how long she grieved."
Kynyr averted his eyes, thinking hard. Searlait, I have a confession to make."
"If you're going to tell me that you're secretly in love with me, I'll have to remind you that you're engaged to be married. She forced a laugh and another tear squeezed from her eyes. Gods, you remind me of Tarrant. Seeing the portraits again after all these years. The resemblance
is uncanny."
Kynyr disregarded the second half of her words. Not engaged. Married. Kady and I went to the Clerk last night."
"Oh! Is that your confession?'
"No. Kynyr studied the fading traces of Searlait's vanished beauty. She resembled her niece Merissa, with a wealth of ginger hair that had begun to fade toward white with age and a single ivory streak at her left temple. He imagined that Merissa would look like Searlait when she grew old.
"So what is this confession, young wolf, Searlait prompted him.
"Promise not to tell?"
"Cross my heart."
"My grandfather ... was Tarrant."
Searlait paused with a twig in her hands, turning it about in an uncertain manner. Kynyr..."
"It's the truth. I have his diaries ... and the love letters he wrote Gram."
Searlait dropped her twig and hugged him. Does Claw and Aisha know?"
"Claw wanted to name me his heir. I refused."
"Why?"
"I don't want to be chieftain. That's not why I came here."
"Then, what did bring you here? We've all speculated."
"My family has always been close and loving."
"Your father's death hurt you deeply."
Kynyr gave a small nod. I try not to think about it. He shifted on the rock as if suddenly uncomfortable. I grew up listening to Todd and Gram's stories about Tarrant. They say he was easy to love."
"So are you."
He let that pass. I wanted to know the rest of my family. I wanted to see Tarrant's grave. I don't want anything from the Redhands. I never have."
"No wonder you've been so protective of us. Searlait sucked in a deep breath, her eyes going serious. They say there's a curse on our family..."
"If there is, I'll face it down. I'm not running from it anymore."
* * * *
Ros held the door barely open, using just her fingertips on the inner edge of the door so no one would notice them there. Her eyes narrowed like a predator's as she focused her attention on three-year-old Darmyk standing ignored at the door into his grandfather's suite.
The adults kept brushing past the little prince, coming and going from the chieftain's chambers. Darmyk saw his chance and peered around the edge, trying for a glimpse of his beloved grandfather.
"Worthless little lycan cub, muttered Ros, her voice oozing with contempt and crusted with hate. She kept her weight on her good leg, with the damaged one twisted slightly to the side so that none of her weight rested on it. A month ago, a powerful Lemyari had raped her and left her for dead after sticking a single venomous nail into her thigh close to her groin. If Uncle Malthus had not fed her his blood and nursed her, she would have been paralyzed. As she shifted her feet, pain shot up the damaged leg. Ros thought of that vampire, and she hated him with a cold, hard hate, just like she hated Darmyk. When she grew into her adult powers, Ros intended to destroy every Lemyari she could get her hands on. They would all pay.
Lyrri squatted against her sister's legs, leaning to peek between her calves. Are you going to suck him?"
Ros glanced down at Lyrri. A strand of long black hair fell across her face, and she flicked it away. Yeah, I'm going to suck him. Right down to nothing."
Lyrri gave Ros a look of wishful envy. I wish I had fangs. Then I could suck him too."
"You'll get yours eventually. It's not my fault I was born with them. Ros was a prodigy, as their Uncle Malthus explained it. Normally sa'necari got their fangs at puberty. Lyrri would not get her fangs until she got her menses. Ros had her fangs, her powers, and the intellectual maturity of an older human child. She also knew to conceal it, for if the lycans knew she had all that, they would spellcord her and cut her off from her powers as they had done with the five sa'necari women at Sanctuary. Back when they had been living at the Sanctuary, seeing the cords on those sa'necari wrists had always angered Ros.
"Do you hate him, Ros?"
"His daddy killed our daddy."
Lyrri's eyes widened and she snarled softly. Truth?"
"Yessss, Ros hissed, wondering why Lyrri even had to ask. And his grandpa ate our daddy's heart. All the lycans here ate a piece of him."
Lyrri went silent for several heartbeats, her expression considering. A shadow of horror passed across her face, followed by fury that settled into resolution. She knuckled her teeth, and spoke softly around her fingers. I want to suck him, Ros."
Ros let her fangs descend and her tongue darted across them. Sharani killed our mama, but lycans killed our daddy. I want to eat them all . Resentment flared, shading her hatred like a tombstone above a grave. Her uncle had told her about it in an effort to frighten her into obedience to his plans; instead, it only made her stubborn. It's not fair that he should have a mama, when we have neither."
Darmyk leaned his head farther around the door, only to be shoved back by an adult.
"You can't come in, Darmyk, said Belgair. He doesn't need you tiring him out."
Darmyk drifted away, scuffling his shoes, his eyes fastened on the floor. Ros waited until Darmyk reached the stairs and then slid out of the closet with a gesture for Lyrri to follow her.
"We going to suck him now? Lyrri whispered.
Ros put her arm around Lyrri's shoulder as they walked. He's going to the treehouse. We'll suck him there. I'll open him up and give you a taste."
Fianait, Claw's younger sister, an ugly old crone of a bitch walked toward them, her thin white hair caught at the back of her head in an impeccable bun. Ros feigned a delighted laugh and rocked Lyrri, her face lit with girlish innocence. Fianait smiled at them in passing and continued on. Ros heard her murmur, Such good little girls. That set off a peal of laughter from Ros.
* * * *
Darmyk sat on the lower ledge of his two-story treehouse, swinging his legs, and singing sadly to himself. The big square of the lower level had a wide porch like ledge running around the outside. Inside there was a bed with several old quilts thrown over it in one corner and a table with chairs standing diagonally across from it. One of the two big windows faced his bedroom window in the manor with a branch of the huge chestnut tree stretching beneath the door. A small back door led to the ladder to the second floor of his treehouse where there was a second bed and a toy box.
His maned hunting cat, Kenly, had been missing for a week. The adults kept brushing him off when he expressed his concern about Kenly. No one seemed to have any time for him now that his grandfather, Claw, had been sick. His mother had not had any time for him since marrying his stepfather, Malthus. Darmyk resented Malthus. The mon felt like an intruder in his life.
The boy found himself fantasizing more and more about his father, who he had never met. He knew his father's name, although he had been forbidden to speak it. Isranon. Darmyk wondered what his father was like. His mother and his grandparents used to tell him that Isranon was a good mon, but recently they had begun to say that Isranon was a bad mon. The boy could not understand how that could change so quickly. However, he had decided that his father must be a good mon and had begun to create his own private stories about him in which his father was a courageous swordsmon, fighting bravely against the darkness.
Sitting there, lonely, and feeling sorry for himself, Darmyk extended his wilderkin awareness into the outlying forest, searching for Kenly. He stretched his immature powers as far as he could and found no sign of either Kenly or any other large predator that he could summon. Both things troubled him. Normally Darmyk could sense bears, hunting cats, true wolves, and foxes. But he found nothing. What had happened to all of them?
"Kenly, he said as a sob broke from his throat.
A soft chuckle made Darmyk look down at the rope ladder to his treehouse. His insides went cold with fear. Ros stood in the middle of the ladder with Lyrri a few rungs beneath her. Taking a step with her good leg and swinging her bad one up from the hip to meet it, Ros climbed toward him. Lyrri let Ros get two rungs ahead and then followed, handling the rope ladder easily.
&n
bsp; Darmyk retreated inside, but he could already feel the prickle of Ros power in his mind. Ros and Lyrri had knocked him down one day, pinned him to his bed in the treehouse, and Ros had bitten him. Since then some part of her had stayed lodged in his head with the power to compel his obedience. Afterward Ros had sealed his lips so that he could not betray her.
The little prince cringed, backing up, trying to reach the window that would take him to the tree branch that ran to his bedroom window in the manor. Needles of anguish exploded in his head, staggering him.
"Lie down, Ros hissed.
Darmyk froze and then his body began to move of its own accord, leaving him a prisoner within his own flesh. He walked to the bed and lay down, opening his robe. A chill autumn breeze flowed through the windows, breathing across his narrow chest like a kiss from the grave. He shivered, goose pimples breaking out over his tender, exposed skin. Tears streamed over his face as he anticipated the pain Ros was bringing him.
The cub thought of all the times that people had pointed out to him that he was sa'necari born, just like Ros. And, yet, every time she fed from his veins, every time her fangs entered his soft flesh, Darmyk's heart cried out that they could not be the same, that they would never be the same, that even if he did grow fangs one day, he would never hurt anyone with them.
Ros reached the ledge and entered. She stalked toward Darmyk with her fangs down and grinning. Call all you want. Kenly will never answer. He's dead. Uncle Malthus poisoned him."
Darmyk began to sob loudly, but could not move or call for help. His heart broke. He had dreaded that possibility, but to have it confirmed was terrible.
Lyrri joined them, laughing at him. Ros lifted his wrist to her lips and bit into it. She tore him open enough for the blood to flow well, and extended his wrist to Lyrri. There, have your first taste of blood. You'll like it."
Darmyk whimpered as Lyrri covered the bleeding wound with her mouth. She shoved her tongue into the wound and wiggled it around inside as she sucked. Darmyk's stomach heaved, but nothing came up.
Ros straddled him on the bed, tangled her fingers in his hair to force his head to the angle she wished it at, and sank her fangs into his neck. Darmyk made a low animal noise of anguish in the back of his throat as she hurt him.
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