Books by Maggie Shayne (109 page)

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Nearly dawn.

Roland felt the approach of morning with every cell in his body, and still he could not move.
 
He'd managed only to pry his eyes apart.
 
Now he could watch the horizon slowly paling, from deepest black, to midnight blue, to varying and ever-lightening shades of gray.

The cabin was empty now.
 
There was no sense of Rogers, or Lucien... or Rhiannon.
 
He knew they must have taken her.
 
Again, she would be subjected to their cruel torments.
 
Because of him.

Roland grimaced in pain at the thought of Rhiannon in Rogers's hands.
 
He had to live--if only to free her.

Summoning every muscle to do his bidding, grating his teeth with the effort, he slowly, painstakingly, clutched at the earth and dragged his body forward.
 
He couldn't wait for Eric to come to his aid.
 
There might not be time, or his friend, too, might be disabled or in trouble.
 
Again, Roland dug his fingers into the dirt and stone.
 
Again, he hauled his body a few inches forward.
 
At this rate, he wouldn't make it to the cabin's door before noon.
 
Still, he had to try.

Away from the shelter of the rocks, he dragged himself.
 
Halfway into the clear, level area, with no kind of shelter from the rising sun.
 
Halfway to the cabin.
 
Again, he clawed and pulled his way, glancing toward the east, where he could see the pale orange glow just touching the edge of the sky.
 
Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran, burning, into his eyes.
 
He clutched at the ground again, and grunted with effort as he struggled onward.

From the opposite direction came the sound of padded feet, running toward him.
 
He turned his head, and then released his breath in a rush.
 
To his left, the sun.
 
Now, to his right, a wolf the size of a Saint Bernard, but with muscles rippling beneath its sleek coat instead of fat.
 
If the one didn't kill him, the other surely would.
 
He had no strength left to fight either enemy.

Recalling his last experience with a wolf, Roland wished the sun would hasten its arrival.
 
Then the beast was upon him, and he knew it was too late.

But what was this?
 
Not a snarl came from the wolf, not a bared fang did the animal display.
 
Instead, it stopped at his side, lowering its huge head, nudging its way beneath Roland's all but useless arm.

In shocked wonder, Roland could only stare as the wolf pushed and shoved at his body.
 
It only stopped when Roland's right arm and shoulder were supported by the animal's strong back.
 
Having no clue what was happening or why, or whether this was some dream he was having in the throes of death, Roland fought to bring his other arm around the front of the animal's neck, until he could link his hands together.
 
The moment this was accomplished, the wolf started forward, not even straining under the tremendous burden of Roland's limp weight.
 
Roland's upper body was carried, the rest of him dragged, but in the wrong direction.

He could have screamed in frustration.
 
If only he could command the wolf to drag him to the cabin, the way Rhiannon could command Pandora.
 
He tried, but found the wolf a poor listener.
 
He forced his head up, to look ahead, his cheek brushing the soft, deep fur at the wolf's throat, his nostrils filling with the animal's scent.
 
Then his jaw fell open.
 
The wolf had brought him to a small cave, dug into the side of a sheer stone wall.
 
It was barely visible with the overlapping rock above, and the outcrop jutting from the sides.
 
He'd never have known of the cave's presence.

The beast dragged him inside, then along the cool, uneven floor, around a sharp bend and all the way to the back.
 
The sun would never reach here, Roland suspected.
 
He released the wolf's magnificent neck, and lowered himself to the floor.

The wolf stood over him, staring down into his eyes for just a moment.
 
There was a wisdom in those eyes, the likes of which had no place there.

"I know not what you are, wolf--" a memory of Rhiannon's tales about ancient ones who could alter their form, about Damien, hovered in his fogged mind "--but I thank you," Roland managed to say.
 
His eyes were heavy and he could barely form words.
 
"Meager reward... for saving a life.
 
I know."

He'd expected the beast to turn and lope away.
 
Instead, it lowered itself to the stone floor a few feet from him, and its eyes fell closed.
 
In a few seconds, Roland's did, as well.
 
His last thoughts were of Rhiannon.
 
Where was she as the cruel sun rose into the sky?
 
Was she safe?
 
Sheltered from the burning rays?

When next Roland awoke, he was alone.
 
He glimpsed the stone walls around him, wondering whether he'd dreamed the entire incident with the wolf.

It was night again.
 
He felt strong, and he hurried out of the cave with one thought on his mind.
 
Rhiannon.
 
He must find her, now, before even another minute passed.

He strode toward the cabin.
 
He'd begin there, to search for a clue.

"Roland!"

The shout brought him up short, but he knew an instant later it came from Eric.
 
He faced his friend, accepted the harsh embrace.
 
"Roland, what's happened?
 
We've been out of our minds with worry."

Roland's soul felt as empty, as hollow as he knew his words sounded.
 
"Rogers.
 
He got me with one of those darts of his, then left me for the dawn to find."

"And Rhiannon?"

Roland felt his throat seal itself off.
 
He closed his eyes.
 
"I... I don't know."

Eric grasped Roland's arm and both men approached the cabin.
 
Eric flung the door wide, so hard it smashed into the wall, and the two went in different directions, searching the place with methods none too gentle.

In the small, empty room, Roland stopped, his heart twisting as he eyed the circle of candles and the dish of incense.
 
It's exotic scent still tinged the air.
 
Then he saw the bloody little dart, lying on the floor in a corner.
 
In a voice gone hoarse with pain, he called to Eric, and pointed.
 
"They've taken her," he whispered.

"We'll get her back."

Roland nodded, then scanned his friend's face.
 
"Where is Tamara?"

"She's taken the boy back to the castle, Roland.
 
They're in no danger, now.
 
Jamey was suddenly released last night.
 
It was never him they wanted, only Rhiannon.
 
Once they had her, they let him go.
 
If they need bait to lure the rest of us, they'll use her."

Roland nodded, for the explanation made perfect sense.

"I'd have been here to help you, Roland, but Jamison was turned loose in a forest, and left to find his own way.
 
We spent most of the night searching for him, and I had no idea what had occurred up here--although I think Tamara did."

Roland cocked a brow.
 
"How?"

Eric shrugged.
 
"She heard something from Rhiannon... it was what led us to that particular patch of woods in the first place.
 
Then she heard no more.
 
She kept saying she was certain something was wrong, but she didn't know what."
 
He shook his head.
 
"I was damned afraid for you, Roland.
 
How did you manage to escape the sun, with that tranquilizer in your blood?"

Roland thought again of the wolf, of the knowledge in its eyes.
 
"I'm not certain."
 
He shook himself.
 
"It doesn't matter now.
 
We have to find Rhiannon."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

As the drug's effects waned, the day sleep took over.
 
Rhiannon roused only very briefly between the two.
 
In a fogged, floating kind of state, she glanced around her, knowing she was in a chilly place with no windows or doors, no light of any kind.
 
She sat hunched on a cold floor, with another cold surface at her back.
 
And when she moved her arms or legs, there was the sound of metal clanking against metal.

Then she slept again, so she thought it must be day.
 
When the sleep evaporated, she knew it was night.
 
Or was it?
 
For with the setting of the sun would come the rush of tingling energy, and the zinging awareness in hell every nerve ending.
 
With night would come strength, and power.

Why did she still feel as if her limbs were made of lead, and her head stuffed with wet cotton?

Lucien's face loomed above her, grinning lasciviously "Don't fret, Rhiannon.
 
It's only Curt Rogers's handy little drug making you feel so weak.
 
I gave you a half dose just before sunset.
 
Looks as if it was enough."

Vaguely, her brain began to function.
 
She felt the damp; chill of the stale air around her, smelled the stench of stagnant water, and rodent leavings.
 
"Rogers... told you he'd never... give you the drug."

"Rogers didn't have a choice in the matter.
 
Did you really think I'd let him drag you off to some sterile laboratory and hold you under military guard before I had what I wanted from you?"
 
He laughed low in his throat and shook his head.
 
"He had no more intentions of keeping his promise to me than you did."

Her body weak, Rhiannon struggled to her feet, only to realize that iron manacles encircled her ankles, with chains that were bolted to the stone wall.
 
Her wrists were likewise imprisoned, with longer lengths of chain.
 
She turned her head to one side, then the other, testing the strength of the chains with an experimental tug.
 
The cold iron bit into her flesh.

I'll keep you weak enough so you won't be able to tear them free, Rhiannon.
 
Don't doubt that."

She faced him, feeling her anger well up inside her.
 
"What has become of Roland?"

"Your friend who was lingering outside the cabin?
 
Curtis shot him with a dart, like you, and left him there for the sun.
 
He's probably dead by now.
 
No hope of rescue there."

His words were like the lashes of a whip across her heart.
 
She closed her eyes against the flood of tears.

"Oh, how touching," Lucien said, gripping her chin and lifting it.
 
"Now, unless you want to follow him,
after
you watch me kill the boy, you will transform me."

Her eyes flew open.
 
"You still have Jamey?"

"Of course."

She studied his face, wondering if he was telling the truth.
 
She'd awakened with the sense that Jamey was well and safe.
 
Had it been a dream?
 
Wishful thinking?
 
Or had someone been attempting to reassure her?

"I can keep you here indefinitely, Rhiannon.
 
I have plenty of the drug, and all the time in the world.
 
If the boy's life isn't incentive enough to convince you, we can try using pain as an impetus.
 
I know how much you dislike that."

Her neck was so weak she had trouble holding her head up when he took his hand away from her chin.
 
Her memories of the time this man's father, and his partner, Daniel St. Claire, had held her captive, loomed in her mind in an attempt to drive her from her senses.
 
She pushed it away with effort.
 
"And if I capitulate?
 
If I initiate you into the, world of unending night, what then?
 
Am I to suppose you will release me, when I heard you admit you live only to see me die?"

"Suppose what you will.
 
I'll free the boy if you do a say.
 
If not, you both die.
 
The choice, fair Rhiannon, is yours."

She lowered her head until her chin rested upon her chest.
 
It was hopeless, then.
 
She had no need to fight the fear, for her grief overwhelmed it.

"I have things to do.
 
I'll return for your decision in a: hour."
 
With that, he left her, his steps echoing in the darkened, stone dungeon.

Yes, dungeon.
 
Where on earth had he brought her?
 
A dungeon suggested a castle, and a castle likely meant they were still in France.
 
Perhaps even in the Loire valley where thousands of medieval castles dotted the lands cap Roland's among them.

Roland.