Allister, J. Rose - Discarded Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (9 page)

She darted for the cage, but Marko’s bear paw of a hand grabbed her arm. “Don’t go near them. It isn’t safe.”

“He’s sick, can’t you see?”

“Good. Then he won’t be as hard to tame for the show.”

“Is a frothing, seizing man the grand attraction you plan on letting the tourists watch? Do something!”

Marko stared dispassionately toward the cage. “It could be a trick.”

Talaitha grunted in disgust as she watched Russell’s limps jerk spasmodically. Drew appeared obviously distressed and just as helpless as Talaitha felt while he stared down at Russell. It couldn’t be a trick, or he wouldn’t look so genuinely upset.

“If you gave him too much monkshood, you have to counter it,” she said. “An overdose can cause him to choke to death or his heart to overload. We need riceweed, an amethyst stone and some hyssop. Now.”

“And would you mourn the beast if he passed?” A mocking tone had replaced Marko’s annoyed growl. “Maybe you should show this much concern for your own people rather than murderous animals.”

“If you’re not going to do something about it, I will.” She turned and tried to run for the tent flap, but again he grabbed her.

“Where are you going?”

“To gather ingredients for an antidote, if it’s not already too late.”

“I already have the necessary items.” He gestured to a flour sack lying in a heap by the rear of the tent.

She gaped at him. “You do?”

He shrugged. “Vanje insisted when he heard of my plan to use the monkshood.”

Thank heaven
he
had some sense, at least. “Why aren’t you using it, then, instead of torturing them with that ridiculous cattle prod?”

An unpleasant smile crossed his face. “Vanje said I had to assemble the ingredients. Not that I had to use them.”

She glowered at him. “Then I will.”

Talaitha went to the bag and pulled out a canning jar full of liquid with a steeping bag suspended inside. She presumed the small cloth held the necessary ingredients, leaching their magic into the water. She also spotted a wicked-looking, curved silver knife in the sack. With her back to Marko, she slipped the blade into the pocket of her skirt before closing the bag.

“Why are you acting like this?” Marko asked as she unscrewed the jar and fished out the small cheesecloth. “I’d think you’d be happy for such creatures to get what they deserve.”

“Torturing any animal is an abomination.” She dropped the dripping bag and wiped her fingers on her skirt.

“So is sleeping with murderous dogs, but I hear you don’t mind that.
Melalo.
”

Ignoring the insult, Talaitha hurried to the cage. “I need him to drink this,” she said to Drew, holding up the antidote. “His head needs to be propped up first.”

Drew apparently still couldn’t answer, but he slid over to Russell and tried to pick up the man’s head. His hands seemed awkward, however, and his fingers stiff and uncooperative. Still, he got Russell’s head somewhat tilted up.

She stuck the glass jar between the bars as far as she could.

“Fool woman,” Marko snapped. “Don’t put your arm in the cage. One of them might grab you.”

“They’re in no shape for that.” She put her shoulder against the bar to extend her reach, but it was no use. The men were too far, right in the middle of the cage. “Can you take this?” she asked Drew. “I can’t reach his head.”

Drew lifted a cramped-looking hand and shook his head. His normally sharp, penetrating gaze wandered, not making direct contact with her. Either Marko’s heavy-handed use of the prod had addled him, or else the monkshood was getting to him as well.

“Then push him closer so I can give him the antidote. Please, Drew.”

Marko muttered in disgust. “Talaitha, would you listen to reason for once?”

When Drew shook his head this time, it wasn’t to answer her. He was blinking rapidly, appearing as though he wanted to clear mental fuzz. His breathing became labored, a sign that he, too, had ingested too much of the herb.

Then he fell back, passed out cold on the cage floor.

“Drew? Drew!” She whipped her head around to Marko. “Open the cage door.”

He snorted. “Are you insane? It’s too dangerous.”

Her stomach churned. Stubborn man. “Who will return the vast sums of money to those people waiting outside and explain this to my father? You?”

His expression wavered, but he made no move to help. Her insides seethed with urgency. She had no time for his cowardice.

“Give me the keys,” she said, holding out a hand.

“No.”

“Then open the cage, Marko. Now.”

“Don’t presume to order me around,
Vala
.” She flinched at the nickname. “You’re not even supposed to be here. You are
drabarni
, a fortune teller. Not an animal handler. And you are
not
your father.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” She reached in her skirts and pulled out the blade, pointing it at Marko. “My own father held a knife to my throat to ensure these men were captured to earn money for our people. I don’t think he’d appreciate you wasting that sacrifice—and Vanje’s—by letting them die in your care before a dime is even earned.”

He glared at the blade. “So desperate to ally yourself with the dogs that killed your mother. You disgust me.”

“These two had nothing to do with what happened to her. Now open that door.”

With a growl, Marko fished keys from his vest pocket and wandered to the cage. Talaitha twisted around so that the weapon was still trained on Marko, glittering in the spotlight while he worked the padlock. He backed off when the lock clicked open but did not unlatch the door.

She stuck the jar inside the bars just far enough to set it down. “Hand me the keys,” she said, holding out her free hand.

“What for? The lock is open.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Something I’m sure you’ll try to remedy the minute I’m inside.”

He made to toss the keys, but she shook her head and thrust the blade out farther. “Hand them to me. Slowly.” When he’d complied, she added, “Now back off.

Marko did as she asked, and she went to the cage door. “I’m doing you a favor, you know. They’ll bring in a lot of money for our clan if they are alive and undamaged.” The money was the least of her worries at the moment, but it wasn’t as if Marko cared otherwise.

The cage door creaked as she pulled it open enough to enter. Gathering her skirts, she prepared to climb up into the cage.

“They’ll eat you alive,” Marko said. “And just like your mother, you’ll deserve it.”

Her angry rebuttal was cut off by movement in front of her. A disorienting shock followed when something grabbed her and slammed open the cage door. She was whipped around to find herself facing a pair of almost-rabid gold eyes, and she reacted without thinking. The knife blade sliced into Russell’s side.

He cried out and yanked away. “Shit!” The knife was tugged unceremoniously from her hand as blood flowed down his side.

Drew had all but exploded out of the cage and was on Marko before he could barely cry out. A solid fist connected with the man’s large jaw, and he went down like the limp sack lying on the ground beside him.

“What are you doing?” Talaitha shouted, rushing forward. “Stop this!”

Russell’s hands came from behind, yanking her back by the shoulder of her peasant blouse. The elastic holding the blouse snugly around her shoulders gave to the pressure, exposing her breasts. With a gasp, she pulled the fabric back up into place to cover herself, but before she could scream, the scarf on her head was shoved forward and tugged hard into her mouth. Tied tight behind her neck, the scarf now effectively gagged her. She was slung up over Russell’s shoulder before she knew what was happening.

“Come on,” Drew shouted, and the two men raced out the back tent flap.

Talaitha beat on Russell’s muscled back with her fists and uttered muffled protests through the gag as they ran. Although they kept behind the tents, it wasn’t long until someone noticed naked men had snatched a woman and were getting away. Shouts of alarm from tourists and clan members alike doubled her resolve to struggle, but Russell had her in a firm grip. Then they plunged into the woods, and the Faire disappeared behind a blanket of brown and green.

Although his uneven gait indicated Russell was limping, the men ran fast—startlingly so. Pine needles layering the ground flew by in a blur. The sounds of pursuit fell away, lost to the snap of branches and bushes they pushed through and the heavy, insistent drone of the men’s breathing. The speed in which they traveled was inhuman, fast enough to crush any hope that they would be caught. Fast enough to make her feel nauseated, too, and she shut her eyes and stopped wriggling in order to try and calm her flip-flopping stomach.

“Where are we going?” Russell asked.

“Just follow me,” Drew said. “And try to keep up.”

They ran forever, it seemed, deep enough into the mountains for her to hear the roar of water Shay Falls was named after. Far enough for her stomach to somewhat adjust to being bounced over Russell’s shoulder and to become acutely aware of his earthy, potent scent and hot, powerful muscles working beneath her. Long enough for night to fall in earnest, plunging the strange woods into a thick blackness the waning moon could only penetrate sporadically through the thick canopy of trees. Yet Drew and Russell seemed to have no trouble navigating in the dark, perhaps a byproduct of their glowing yellow eyes.

Her head pounded from the blood rushing to it, thanks to her awkward position. She pushed herself away from Russell’s back with her arms to try and right herself a bit. Part of her wished he would carry her normally in his arms, but the thought of being cradled against his chest, staring up into his supernaturally erotic gaze, seemed a bigger threat than passing out.

The waterfall noise grew distant again, fading into the backdrop of woods before they finally stopped.

“Here?” she heard Russell ask. “You’re not thinkin’ of breakin’ into one of these cottages?”

“I am.” And to punctuate his point, the shatter of glass followed. A moment later, a door creaked open, and she felt Russell climb a step that put wooden slats, rather than dirt and leaves, into her dim, barely adjusted night view of the ground.

Entering the dwelling plunged them into even blacker darkness until Drew snapped on a switch. Talaitha blinked at the sudden flood of light, though in reality it was not all that bright. She was deposited on a worn, brown leather chair, and she promptly began working at the knot behind her head to try and loosen the gag. Russell stepped back, staring down at her. He panted with exertion as he rotated the shoulder he’d carried her over. Generous amounts of blood and dirt marred his skin, and patches of gleaming sweat shone in the lamplight.

As she tugged without success at the knot he had tied with superhuman force, she took in the room. The cabin was tiny and sparsely furnished. A brown braided rug covered the bare wood floor. A fireplace that appeared not to have seen recent use centered one wall, and a plaid couch flanked another. The table lamp Drew flicked on when they entered sat with its dusty white shade askew. A square, wooden table and two chairs sat on one wall.

She wondered who—and where—the tenants were. Obviously they weren’t at home, or the sound of breaking glass and voices would have brought them running. How long before they returned? What would the wolves do to them when they did?

She gave up trying to work the knot, glaring at Russell while she tried forcing the gag out of her mouth from the front instead. It was no use. The darn thing was too tight.