Books by Maggie Shayne (105 page)

She didn't need to try again, or to concentrate very hard at all.
 
It was as if he'd been attuned to her already and was only awaiting her words to make the fact known.

Very good.
 
You were faster than I'd hoped.
 
There is a cabin, halfway up Mont Noir.
 
I will await you there.

She frowned, disliking the confidence emanating from his mind.
 
Is the boy well?
 
Is he safe?
 
I warn you, if you've harmed him, you will pay.

She waited.
 
But there was no response.
 
Focusing her being on his, she tried again.
 
Lucien, this conversation is not over.
 
I wish to know of the boy.

Again, there was no reply.
 
Rhiannon opened her eyes, and shook her head.
 
"A cabin, halfway up a mountain called Noir.
 
Odd name."

"I know where it is," Roland said.
 
"Come, we'll have to go by foot.
 
There are no roads up that sheer face."

Eric clasped Roland's arm before he could get out of the car.
 
"We do not wish to be trapped up there at dawn, Roland.
 
Is there time?"

Roland nodded.
 
"Three hours is sufficient.
 
I'd guess we have nearer to four."
 
Roland glanced into the rear seat, and Rhiannon bristled, sensing what he was about to suggest.
 
"Perhaps it would be better if some of us remain behind, in case the others are somehow bested."

"Good idea," Rhiannon said quickly.
 
"You and Eric should wait here, while Tamara and I go up and teach this foolish mortal a lesson."

Eric turned fast, then understood her motives and smiled.
 
"I would never allow Tamara to face danger without me at her side.
 
Unfortunately, she feels the same about me.
 
Aggravating as all hell, but there it is."
 
He glanced toward Roland.
 
"You can't hate the man for wishing to protect you, Rhiannon."

"I am capable of protecting myself," she replied, her voice thin.
 
"And him, too, if necessary.
 
If he knows me at all, he ought to know that."

"With your recklessness and your anger over the cat, Rhiannon, I am afraid you'll charge without hesitation into whatever kind of trap the infernal bastard has waiting."
 
Roland sent her a quelling glare that held more than just anger.
 
"I was only hoping to keep you from an earlier than necessary demise, if possible."

She tilted her head to one side.
 
"With you there, constantly reminding me how foolish I am, how can I help but exercise a modicum of caution?
 
You worry for nothing."

"I worry for you!"
 
The words burst forth on an explosion of anger as Roland jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
 
Rhiannon got out, slamming her door, as well, and stood facing him, formulating a scathing reply.

But his hand suddenly swept a path through her hair, settling in a gentle curl around her nape.
 
"Stay close to me, Rhiannon.
 
And be careful.
 
Please, for God's sake, be careful."

Again that stupid lump came into her throat, so large this time it nearly choked her.
 
And she heard herself answer like an obedient schoolgirl.
 
"I will, Roland."

She shook herself.

A second later, the four of them started down the narrow, twisting roads of the village, toward the mountain that loomed at its edge.
 
A dark, hulking shape, it rose from the smaller peaks around it like an angry god among sinners.
 
Its sheer face seemed to be barren of anything, save dark-colored granite, and its peak was swathed in dense mists.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

The climb would have been difficult for mortal men.
 
Roland winced as he thought about Jamey, being forced, perhaps brutally, to ascend the ragged-edged slope.
 
He would have been exhausted by the time they reached the top.
 
Cold, perhaps hungry.
 
Frightened.
 
Grieving for Pandora, if he knew of her fate.
 
The poor child had no way of knowing she would recover, or even that she'd been found.

He took a moment to curse himself for not seeking out the child's father long ago, then returned his attention to the matters at hand.
 
Rescuing Jamison.
 
And protecting Rhiannon.
 
He had no qualms about admitting the sudden fear for her that held him in its grip.
 
For it was Rhiannon who seemed to be the sole focus of Lucien's obsession.
 
She was the one he'd attacked with his nasty little blade.
 
She was the one whose blood he seemed determined to have running in his veins.
 
She was the one he could contact psychically, and whom he could hear in turn.
 
The man was no ordinary human.
 
And his interest in Rhiannon, Roland sensed, had far greater meaning than any of them yet knew.

The slope angled sharply away from the level, grassy ground.
 
An abrupt change from the lush and fragrant area around them.
 
The surrounding hillsides were grassy, at least at their bases, and dotted with trees and vegetation.
 
Not Mont Noir.
 
A fitting locale, Roland thought, for the grim battle that was to come.

In very little time, they had ascended beyond the spots where malnourished tufts of coarse grass sprouted from between the stone, and clambered their way over sheer, bare rock.

Roland's foot slid once on the surface.
 
He caught himself then reached behind him to grip Rhiannon's hand and help her along.
 
The look she shot him was not one of anger, but one of puzzlement.
 
Why should she seem so confused by his wanting to help her?
 
Eric helped Tamara along in much the same way.

They were four dark shapes, scaling the side of a black mountain in the dead of night.
 
To the world below, they would be invisible.
 
Wind howled over them, buffeting them as if to send them tumbling down.
 
Air grew thinner and crisper with every foot they gained.

Finally, they crested to a level area and in the distance, Roland saw smoke spiraling into the night.
 
He pointed to the pale gray column, and started toward a cluster of boulders and rock outcroppings.
 
The smoke seemed to emanate from somewhere beyond them.
 
Though the ground was level, and much safer here, he kept his hand curled around Rhiannon's.
 
He half expected her to pull hers flee.
 
When she didn't, he immediately wondered why.

Hurrying now, they raced over uneven, rocky terrain, rounded the cluster of stone that blocked their way and stood facing a reddish log cabin.
 
Small windows stood on either side of a wide, plank board door, like eyes above a toothy grin.
 
Frilly-edged curtains, from this distance, were the lacy lashes.
 
So cozy, this little haven on high.
 
So innocuous in appearance.
 
The perfect, comforting setting to disguise purest evil.

Her hand still resting in his, Rhiannon stood beside him, gazing as he did at the quaint little building.
 
He studied the soft yellow glow of the lamplight from beyond the windows, and he felt the shudder that rippled through her.

Instinctively, he squeezed her hand.
 
Just as instinctively, he thought, she squeezed his in return.
 
The exchange took place in less than a second and then they were looking at each other.
 
Eyes searching, a thousand questions in both sets.
 
Not a single answer in either.

Roland swallowed.
 
He released her hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders as they started for the cabin.
 
She didn't pull away.
 
Eric and Tamara walked abreast of them until they stood before the door.

"I'm certain he doesn't have the tranquilizer," Rhiannon said softly as she reached for the door's curving metal grip.
 
She closed her hand around it and pushed it inward.

It swung without a sound.
 
Glancing around apprehensively, Roland stepped in before her.
 
A hearth on the facing wall snapped and sparked invitingly.
 
In an overstuffed chair, the back of Lucien's head was all that was visible.

"Come in, come in," he said without turning or moving in any way.
 
"Rhiannon is quite right.
 
I don't have the tranquilizer.
 
And this is no sort of a trap.
 
It's a meeting.
 
One I hope will be mutually beneficial."

Roland stepped farther inside, still looking about him.
 
His senses were honed for others present, but he sensed no one.
 
Rhiannon came in beside him, but her eyes, he noted, were only for Lucien.
 
They were filled with hatred and anger, and he touched her arm in an effort to calm her.

She stepped forward, gripped the back of the chair and yanked it onto its back.
 
Lucien rolled to the floor, eyes wide.
 
But as she loomed over him, his lips curved upward slightly.

"I'm going to kill you now, you bastard," she said slowly.
 
"I'm going to take my time about it.
 
Are you ready?"

He shrugged.
 
"I have nowhere to go."

She reached down for him, but Roland grabbed her arms from behind.
 
"Wait, Rhiannon."
 
He looked down at the man who waited expectantly for him to finish.
 
"Lucien, where is the boy'?"

A solid line of eyebrows rose.
 
"When I tell you that, she'll be free to murder me.
 
I'd be kind of foolish to give away my edge, now, wouldn't I?"

Rhiannon tugged, but Roland held her firm.
 
He was surprised to see Tamara leap forward, grip Lucien by the front of his knit sweater and haul him to his feet, though she had to lift her arms above her head to do so.
 
Seeing such a small figure exert so much brute strength was impressive, and strange.
 
"If you don't tell us where he is, then I will kill you, anyway, so you don't have much choice."

Again, the dark brows rose.
 
"Such tempers on you immortal women."
 
He pulled his sweater from her grip and stepped backward, smoothing the fabric.
 
"I have a proposal to make.
 
The least you can do is hear it before you make a decision."

Eric had vanished.
 
Vaguely, Roland knew he was searching the cabin to ascertain for himself the presence of anyone else, including Jamey.
 
He emerged from a room then.
 
"Jamison isn't here."

"No.
 
He isn't here.
 
If you want to know where he is, you'll listen to what I have to say."

Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder at Roland, the look in her eyes assuring him it was safe to let her go.
 
He released her arms, giving her a slight nod, then focused on Lucien once more.
 
"Say your piece,
monsieur
.
 
But know that if we dislike what you have to tell us, you'll not live to finish the sentence."

Eric came to stand close to Tamara.
 
"And you'd best begin by telling us about Jamey.
 
Where is he?
 
Is he safe?"

Lucien drew himself up, though he already towered above all of them and fairly bulged with muscle.
 
"The boy is in perfect health and quite likely to remain that way.
 
So long as you cooperate.
 
His location, I'm afraid, is something I cannot reveal to you just yet."

Tamara drew a shaking breath.
 
"Tell us what you want, Lucien.
 
Let's stop playing games and get to it."

"A woman who thinks like me.
 
I like that."
 
Lucien walked brashly past them, bent and righted his easy chair.
 
He circled to the front of it and sat down, waving a hand to the other seats nearby.

Rhiannon took the rocker nearest the fire and pulled it forward, directly in front of Lucien.
 
She sat down, her gaze glued to his unshakably.
 
"We all know what you want, Lucien.
 
The dark gift.
 
Immortality.
 
But I don't believe you realize how foolish it is to ask it."

"Why foolish?"
 
He leaned forward.
 
"Isn't eternal life what every man longs for in the depths of his soul?
 
Hasn't it been that way from the beginning of time?"

"Do you know how the change is accomplished?"

He nodded.
 
"You will drink from me.
 
Then I from you.
 
When our blood mingles, I will be one of you."

"You will never be one of us," Tamara snapped.
 
Rhiannon's eyes seemed to pierce the very space between them.
 
"What is to stop me from draining you dry once my teeth are embedded in your muscled neck, you fool?"