Born Into Love

by LaClaire, Catherine

  Remy hovered. “Give me the camera.” Mercedes obliged. He looked at the screen. “I see you couldn’t resist checking the original pitcher. It’ll fit right in with our other items. All of it’s going to add to my bank account: your family name, Castilla’s reputation as a do-gooder and your deaths will give the pieces extra cachet. I can see the headlines—‘Art Lover’s Niece Dies on Ill-Fated Castilla Expedition. Artifacts Lost’. Except they won’t be.”

  “Puerco.”

  Diego stepped between them and helped her toward the mat he had prepared. He cooled her forehead with his hand then he edged toward the jungle. At the border between camp and the foliage, he faced Remy. Procteur nodded, thinking that he had been asking permission. Still, he had to wonder why Remy would let him feed. Diego grabbed the closest tree when out of his sight and he shook it in anger and frustration.

  Teodoro’s blood scent existed only on a trail used by the archers. That would not lead him to the antidote. He needed the path the man took when he was alive. That path was swallowed by the jungle, its plants, the animals, the mists, in short, nature. And his damnable potion.

  And then, picturing his body, Diego realized what had been missing. Teodoro’s headband. The flexible feathers. The place where he’d tucked the seed and according to Mercedes, the leaves.

  He knew where he had to go.

  He fed and then gathered his bat cousins. He loved them for their natural simplicity and for whatever bizarre union they had with each other. Herded by the flapping of his larger wings, they burst over the campsite like a sudden storm. The mercenaries startled, some covered their heads. They were prepared for a human invasion not for flying mammals. He veered away from the swarm into the tomb.

  Inside, his thoughts were too clear, too human! Was that good or bad? Bad. His control continued weakening. The scent of Teodoro’s headband and the leaves came to him at first like an undertone. He inhaled deeply of their scent and heard a growl.

  From himself!

  Now lupine, he drowned in the sorcerer’s leaves. His paws dug into the headpiece. He had not willed the change.

  * * *

  Mercedes dove between two bound cartons. The bats scoured the camp, squeaking. Then, without a shot being fired, they were gone. The colonel stood over her and in back of him, José, whose protective nature gave her a moment of comfort. He took a deep breath and stepped around the colonel.

  “Drink.”

  So she must look even worse than she felt. The water cooled her mouth and throat, but her stomach twisted with its arrival. “Thanks.”

  The colonel studied her. “You die. Bad thing. Breasts good.” He cupped his hands.

  She opened her mouth but José quickly put the canteen to her lips. Fear coated his face and he checked the trees making sure the bats were gone. She took another mouthful. The colonel stomped off.

  “José, everybody’s a creep except you.” He smiled. “Where’s Remy?”

  “With sorcerer’s book. It too hard for him.”

  “And Diego?”

  “In forest.” José stood. “Tomorrow we leave. If you not dead, they kill you.”

  “I know. These are bad guys. Get away from them.”

  He slung the canteen over his shoulder. “Big money.” He walked to the fire and sat with his back to her.

  * * *

  Now Diego’s undisciplined cells chose his form. He was human. Each breath squeezed his lungs in the tight space, so he stopped breathing. He needed food or this would also be his crypt. And he could not let that happen. Not now, when he had the scent.

  A squeak. Would the creature draw near? Nothing in the jungle equated with the blood of cattle and no bovine blood equaled that of a human in richness and potency. But as weary as he was, anything would be better than nothing.

  The animal drew closer. And then its snout touched his lips. He bit into the head and sucked the animal dry. The quick burst of life sufficed. Willing himself to be smaller and winged, he flew.

  Out! Up! He held the thought until in the moist jungle he fed again. He circled the camp. Finally, armed with the scent he realized the odor he needed hung like an invisible mist on all sides of the camp. Except he never knew.

  The canopy lightened enough for him to study the foliage. He smelled what he needed before he saw it. Running, forgetting any caution, he leaped over a tangle of blood-red roots, took in the blossoms, the ripe and unripe fruit, and the leaves with undersides also blood red. Hungry birds, unsullied by a sorcerer’s magic, scrambled among the branches, eating through the fruit and cracking the seeds. Was that the joke behind Teodoro’s laughter? That the black and white birds whose feathers adorned his headband, had been the answer all along?

  He grabbed an armful of fruit-laden branches and raced to camp.

  * * *

  Mercedes, feverish under the netting, did not recognize him. José placed a damp cloth on her forehead. Remy, a bottle of liquor in his hand, sat near the fire with the jewel box under his arm staring into space.

  Diego spoke to José. “Have you given her anything?”

  “Water.”

  Diego lifted a wet strand from her forehead. “Mercedes, fight the poison.”

  She tried to open her eyes.

  “You must live!” he shouted.

  José jumped and hurried away. Diego squeezed the pale fruit. Drawing her into a sitting position, he dropped the liquid on her lips.

  “Sweet.”

  He crushed seeds into paste with his fingers. “Mercedes, hold this in your mouth.” She tilted her head toward him and parted her lips. He placed the mash on her tongue.

  “Chew it.” He took in the twitching of her muscles; the poison attacking her nervous system. “Chew it. Then swallow.”

  The muscles in her jaw relaxed. He started to lower her.

  “No. Let me sit.” She touched his face. “How did you do it?”

  “When I dragged Teodoro from the tomb, his headband stayed behind. I went after it to capture the scent.”

  “I’m dreaming. This is too good.”

  He nestled her in his arms and wanted to weep, but that was not possible. When he released her, he placed his lips on her neck. Her heart beat strong and steady.

  “Am I cured?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Can we find more?”

  “Yes. You will eat the seeds every day until we can get your blood tested.”

  The colonel coughed drawing their attention. “So. She lives. That is good.”

  Mercedes stroked Diego’s chest. “Good for him; bad for us.”

  * * *

  In the morning the mercenaries tied boxes of artifacts to their backs. The colonel and Remy seemed to have bonded for they joked probably counting their money before it reached their hands.

  After a breakfast of porridge and fruit paste, Mercedes shifted her backpack and wiggled her shoulders getting ready for the impending trek. She stared at the men as they lined up. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  “Remy must have arranged a meeting place. The men cannot carry the artifacts too far.”

  She smoothed his collar. “He’s a grub. Maybe he’s going to ransom us.” She indicated the men extinguishing the fires. “Could we bribe them?”

  “What can we offer? The credit cards hidden in our shoes?”

  “The seeds are making me stronger. Let’s fight. When I look around, all I see are wimps.”

  “The fresh seeds must have greater potency.” He took her backpack. “You handle the pack riding your waist. I’ll manage the other gear.”

  “It’s practically empty but it reminds me of civilization with zippers, plastic trim.” She cocked her head. “As for the meds, I’m afraid to take less. You’ll have to bear with the new attitude. Look. The mercs made crates.”

  “Mercs?”

  “Mercenaries. Don’t you watch TV?”

  “Not often.”

  She ruffled his hair and he rejoiced to see her so animated. Remy appeared unim
pressed with the saplings cut and shaped into protective mummy cages. José had a different reaction. He inserted a blossom into each woman’s bier. And the colonel? He observed all without expression.

  Mercedes touched his arm. “You never told me.”

  “What?”

  “Do you recognize the mummies?”

  “The one I remember is not there.”

  “Was she wrapped in gold?”

  “Not at the time.”

  “Maybe there’s another tomb.”

  “Erase that thought.”

  “Let’s go,” Remy shouted. He took second place in the line after the colonel who used a machete with a forbidding sweep of his arm.

  * * *

  Mercedes glimpsed bowmen in the shrubs. “Teodoro’s pals. It’s nasty to have so many enemies. How long have they been with us?”

  Diego kissed her nape. “Since we started.”

  She cast a quick glance down the line. The mercenaries appeared unfazed. She’d hoped her favorite merc would help them, but now knew better.

  The soil turned red and stuck to her boots. Several large trees had been felled and removed. Loggers? She let the thought go. The pace never slackened. Heat and flies, little no-see-ums, tormented her most.

  “Remy has a deadline,” Diego whispered.

  “How do you know?”

  “He has been on the clock since the colonel arrived.”

  Suddenly a wave of excitement coursed through the men. Mercedes stopped. “Look. It’s a road.”

  Procteur halted the group. The colonel peered over his shoulder at the troops. Satisfaction showed in the twitch of his lips and the lift of an eyebrow.

  “We’re meeting friends,” Remy barked. “First one to hear the truck gets a bonus.”

  Diego stood close to her. “How do you feel?”

  She enjoyed a tingle of sexual awareness, completely out of place given the circumstances. “Like I could wrestle a carload of smugglers.”

  In the distance an engine growled. Before anyone launched a victory cry, three archers stepped into sight followed by many others. Among them, stood someone she recognized, painted now and still unsmiling.

  Chapter 18

  Manuel.

  He wore a headband of black fabric with the feathers favored by his relatives dead and alive. They pointed skyward from his temples. Black wings decorated his chest and upper arms. His merciless gaze flicked from them to Remy.

  Tucked under his arm hung a bow and quiver. Manuel’s rope-like muscles appeared thick as anchor chain and his parted lips revealed gums stained red. At his side Mercedes shivered. Surely his mouth looked the same when he fed.

  Remy accepted Manuel’s offering. What gift would Remy provide? A flush covered Procteur’s skin indicating circulating blood and pleasure or embarrassment. He still carried on his back the chest of jewels. He pointed to Diego and Mercedes. “Take them and good riddance.”

  Manuel raised a hand. The left flank of his guard surrounded them. The colonel fired and Manuel lost a feather. Instantly each side raised weapons.

  The colonel’s deep voice sank in the humid air. “I get woman.” He aimed his rifle at Manuel’s chest.

  His deal gone bad Remy stood in the middle, eyes wide. Mercedes and Diego sank to the ground. He bent over her offering what protection he could.

  Remy held up his hands, the bow and quiver mere appendages he could not use. “No one fire.” He decided to negotiate. He had to. Only he carried something the colonel would accept other than Mercedes.

  Sweating under the tension, Remy untied the rope holding the chest to his back. Foolishly he had let the mercenaries see the contents. Trapped, he distributed a jewel apiece to the soldiers and a handful to the colonel then closed the box. He and the colonel shared yet another whispered conversation then Remy and he shook hands. A dubious deal made by cutthroats.

  Manuel jabbed the soil with his spear near Diego’s boot. He and his beloved scrambled into a standing position. She breathed the words as she gripped his arm.

  Her jaw set. “I won’t die without a fight.”

  He loved her courage, but fear cut into his admiration. Would they kill her or make her a slave? Use torture? He dared to face another horror. Their ancestors knew magic arts. Had they again found the secret to turn her into a creature like him?

  Manuel jabbed at their backs forcing them to march. The bowmen didn’t need a silver bullet since wooden stakes proliferated. Soon Mercedes’ shirt stained with perspiration. Shortly after, she collapsed and he carried her.

  The first indication of a village came from the scent of smoke. Then huts appeared in a clearing that jumped out of the jungle like an ambush.

  This village was not what he remembered and it was far from anything he recognized.

  With dusk settling, the edges of the thatched roofs blurred. In the center of the community a large fire burned. That he remembered. But this village resembled a Hollywood set, a simulacrum, solidly built, but centuries out of context.

  The villagers darted piranha-like from their huts when the warriors chanted and pounded their bows into the soil. Old men, women and children hissed and beat them with switches. Mercedes tucked her head closer to his chest to protect her eyes. Guinea pigs scurried under pounding feet. The cries of the people startled them into a frenzy.

  Three women, painted like Manuel’s body with gray streaks of age in their hair, pulled Mercedes’ hands from her face and took her from him. They started to bind her with leather strips, attempting to tie her arms behind her leaving her defenseless. Diego struck leaving two of her attackers hanging from branches. He shook off other tribesmen who tried to subdue him. But an archer fired. Arrows pierced his limbs, sending him onto his knees. Mercedes disappeared into a crowd of shrieking women. Someone snapped off the shaft of the arrow that had pierced his arm. Unless the arrowheads were removed, he could not heal. And if a shaft pierced his heart?

  Feet kicked him. Had he been human, the blows would have broken bones. Men dragged him to an altar exposed now that the thatch had been torn away. More torches surfaced. Voices rose in a chant. He struggled but his injuries limited his strength.

  They tied him in place and ripped open his jungle-battered shirt.

  Manuel and other warriors encircled the altar. A temblor rolled down from the cordillera, too weak to do harm. A sorcerer, dressed in a bat skin cape and wearing Teodoro’s shredded clothes about his waist waved a stake.

  In the distance Mercedes screamed his name, but her cry died, cut off.

  He drew upon all that was human in him and all that was not.

  Mercedes! He had to save her then he could meet his fate!

  In full vampire flush, he broke the bonds and cracked the sorcerer’s arm; all the anger from having been turned at their ancestors’ hands returned shooting into every cell.

  The tribesmen howled in fear as much as the sorcerer over his injury. Seeing a vampire differed greatly from worshiping a mythic being that never materialized. They shrank back. Those who were not fast, he smashed into each other.

  The villagers bolted slamming into anything blocking their escape.

  Mercedes lay face down in the red soil; her slacks and underwear at her ankles. He rolled her over. Dark red bruises dotted her ribs; her breasts showed deep scratches. As soon as he unbound her mouth she spit out words. “Untie me! I’m going after them!”

  The pounding of wings muffled the villagers’ cries. Bats, dark and large like him when he took on their form, covered the thatch like a nighttime curtain. But these were not the fruit bats he had called his cousins. These were his brothers in size.

  Freed, she pulled up her underpants and slacks. Then she ripped her shirt from the hand of an unconscious man—one of his earlier targets-and pivoted ready to defend herself. She froze. “Bats! What’s happening now?”

  “I think they’re backup.”

  “As long as they’re not hungry.” Her words rushed upon themselves. “No assault. They couldn�
�t get my pants over the boots.”

  She donned the shirt then ripped open the pack taken from the hand of another unconscious villager. She squashed fruit into her mouth and opened a can for him. He drank in front of her out of pure need. Had he not restrained her she would have pursued the women into the forest. “They are gone.” He yanked the arrow and its head from his thigh. “Mercedes, you must remove the other metal from my arm.”

  She looked at the wound. “It’s too deep. I’ll hurt you.”

  “Do it now.” She obeyed and he fell onto the ground next to her. Both of them weakened but from different causes.

  The musty scent of his winged brothers filled the air like a nourishing aroma. Bats coated the trees and swarmed over the altar. Nothing moved except the flames of torches and the smoke that issued from them until the sorcerer gathered himself from the ground. He lifted his torn cape and swirled it around his chest. He bowed to Diego and to his restless brothers. He raised his good arm and pointed to the trail. Then he dove to the ground as Diego’s “kin” buzzed over him keeping him supine.

  Mercedes tugged Diego’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  His body would not obey. The struggle had weakened him too much. Not even the bovine blood had been enough.

  She lowered her neck to his mouth. “Take it.”

  “I cannot.”

  “It’s mine to give. Take it.”

  “No.” She reached for the arrowhead that she’d taken from his body.

  “Don’t!” He grabbed her wrist. She dropped it and left him staring at the sky. When she returned, he watched helplessly as she used another blade and dropped her warm blood on his lips.

  “Drink.”

  He turned away. “Please. Run before they regroup.”

  “Drink from me.”

  The warm drops fell on his tongue. He swallowed. A piece of his spirit-the bit he had nurtured back to humanity—crumbled. He fed. Afterward, she held his hand. “Come on,” she urged, “while we can still see the trail.”