Darkness Bound (18 page)

“No need to count to one thousand. I get the picture,” Hawk interrupted, sounding bored. The look on his face was anything but bored, however. He glared at the Alpha with unconcealed hatred.

The Alpha glared back with murder in his eyes, and Jack went cold.

Lashes . . . stocks . . . the gibbet. My God, these creatures are barbarians!
And judging by the look on the Alpha’s face, Hawk was about to be on the receiving end of some very nasty barbarism, indeed.

“It wasn’t his fault!” she blurted, and she reached out and seized Alejandro’s arm.

The crowd gasped as one, their shock universal.

For a moment there was nothing, just frozen silence and a look of stunned disbelief on Alejandro’s face as he looked down at her hand wrapped around his arm. His gaze snapped back to her face and his look told her one thing for certain.

She’d just made a terrible, irreparable mistake.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. She released his arm, and took a small step back.

“Well,” said the Alpha calmly after a long, horrible moment. He lifted his gaze to the crowd. His voice, clear and strong, carried to the far reaches of the clearing. “It appears we’re going to have not one but
two
canings to complete the evening’s festivities!”

He clapped his hands. The drums resumed their throbbing beat. The crowd looked on in ominous silence.

And Jack shrank back in terror as two hulking males approached her from either side, while the Alpha watched her, a sinister little smile playing over his face.

The hulking males brushed right past her, however, and grabbed Hawk.

He didn’t struggle, comment, or even looked surprised. He simply let the males lead him away through the crowd as Jack watched on in stunned disbelief, too shocked to move.

The Alpha watched Hawk’s receding back. “Nando . . . you know the drill.”

Beside her, Luis Fernando stiffened in outrage. “Sire! He attacked
me
!”

Alejandro snarled, “And you were either too slow or too distracted to evade him! Either way, he bested the head of my security detail . . . which doesn’t make me feel particularly
secure
. Failure isn’t an option. You know that. Take your lumps like a man or your second-in-command is getting a promotion.”

He didn’t mention what would then happen to Nando, but judging by the look on both their faces, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Nando hesitated for only a moment, then followed the path the other guards and Hawk had taken through the crowd.

Jacqueline was left standing beside the dais alone, reeling, her heartbeat arrhythmic, her skin clammy with sweat.

From behind her, Alejandro directed, “Morgan. Accompany our guest to the punishment tree.”

He stepped past, sent a sidelong, penetrating look in her direction, then made his way through the parted crowd with the rest of his security detail in tow while the drums throbbed and pounded.

As Jack watched him go, a gentle hand touched her arm. “Whatever happens next, don’t let them see you cry,” said a woman softly.

Jack turned.

The lady in question was brunette and statuesque, with an angelic face and the body of a Vargas pinup model. In a figure-molding red dress that perfectly showcased all her physical assets, she possessed an air of sophisticated, ladylike chic that was enhanced by her British accent, all of which served to make her even more conspicuous in the atmosphere of pagan decadence.

The expression she wore seemed out of place, too. This bombshell looked at Jack with something like empathy.

And . . . worry?

“If he makes you cry, he wins. Understand? This isn’t just punishment for Hawk and Nando . . . he’s betting you won’t be able to take it and you’ll break down in tears,” Morgan murmured, curling her fingers around Jack’s bicep. “And if you do, you put yourself in grave danger. Here, weakness isn’t just a character flaw.” Her gaze turned flinty. “It’s a death sentence.”

Beyond her horror and hammering heart, Jack found her voice. “W-why are you telling me this?”

Morgan’s fingers tightened around her arm. Somehow the touch seemed comforting, not at all threatening, and Jack felt the insane urge to trust her, which was only reinforced by her next words.

“Because I need you to stay alive, Jacqueline Dolan. I need you to thrive. And you’re only going to do that if you don your big girl knickers and watch what’s about to happen without batting an eye. If you get through tonight without showing weakness, all your tomorrows will be much easier.” She smiled, a wry twist of her lips. “Trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about.”

Using gentle force on Jack’s arm, Morgan propelled her forward. Jack allowed herself to be led away, glad for the elegant presence beside her and the hand that felt more and more as if it were the only thing holding her up as they moved through the crowd, faces turning as they passed, the silence almost suffocating.

As it turned out, the punishment tree was aptly named.

It was old and crooked, its branches black and devoid of leaves like a haunted tree in a ghost story, the kind of thing you see silhouetted against a fat orange moon on greeting cards at Halloween. Wound around its thick, gnarled trunk were heavy iron shackles on chains. Dangling gruesomely from the upper limbs like hellish ornaments were dozens of skulls, pale and grinning in the moonlight.

That wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was the dark stain in the dirt at its base, a sinister, spreading splotch that belied the countless punishments that had taken place beneath its naked boughs.

Hawk stood before it with his head bowed, eyes turned to the ground, hands hanging loose at his sides. Around the tree in a circle hundreds deep, the tribe gathered, still with an eerie silence, to watch. The Alpha stood at the edge of the circle with spread legs and folded arms, smirking.

Jack and Morgan were allowed to pass to the front of the crowd, and Jack’s cheeks burned molten hot as they went.

“How bad will it be?” she whispered through stiff lips.

Morgan hesitated a moment before answering. “Depends on how squeamish you are.”

Jack swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Shaking hands, pounding heart, a cold sweat . . . she recognized the signs of panic, and tried to take deep, slow breaths to counteract the impending hyperventilation.

She’d seen many horrible injuries in her career. The human body was fragile, and could be torn apart in a million gruesome ways. She’d become somewhat immune to it, to the sight of blood and the wretched screams of pain from wounded soldiers and civilians in war zones, but the thought of hearing
Hawk
scream . . . the thought of watching
him
bleed . . .

“No. Weakness.”

Morgan’s voice was barely discernible above the roar of the blood rushing through Jack’s veins, but she heard the steel in it nonetheless.

They halted at the front of the ring of silent witnesses. With a final look of warning, Morgan released Jack’s arm. She walked with regal grace to the other side of the circle, and grasped the outstretched hand of a man waiting there for her, an enormous, amber-eyed male with dark hair shorn close to his head and a glower that could freeze lava. One of the few others fully clothed, he pulled Morgan against his body in a tight, possessive embrace, and leaned down to murmur something into her ear.

Morgan glanced at Jack, looked over at Hawk, then nodded. She looked back at Jack with that warning still evident in her eyes.

No weakness! Don’t cry! Don’t let the Alpha win!

Realizing this might be one of the more difficult things she’d had to do in her life, Jack nodded back, determined.

“We’ll do this in English for your benefit, my dear,” said the Alpha to Jack without taking his gaze from Hawk, who lifted his head and stared straight at her.

That focused look reminded her of his warnings, uttered such a short time ago.

One: the Alpha is always right.

Jack stayed silent, staring back at Hawk while the panic in her body rose to a burning, bright shriek of noise and pressure, painful as if her nerves were being scraped with the blade of a knife.

Was he afraid? Would he be badly hurt? What was that look in his eye?

Was it fear? Resignation?

Was it . . . blame?

Two: opinions won’t be welcome.

“Lucas Eduardo Tavares Castelo Luna,” the Alpha intoned, “
Salsu Maru
of the House of Air. For your disobedience you will be punished in accordance with the ancient rites, and will receive two hundred”—he glanced at Jack, hesitating only a moment before amending it to—“
one
hundred lashes. What do you have to say before punishment commences?”

Hawk’s gaze was so focused on Jack’s face, his stare so burning and intent, she felt as if he was trying to slip inside her body using only his eyes.

Three: Don’t go anywhere without me. Especially at night.

“The same thing I always have to say. Nothing.”

Hawk’s voice was empty, so empty and hollow and cold, but those eyes . . .

He’d tried to warn her. He’d tried to tell her to be quiet, to be safe, to let him lead the way, yet she’d ignored all the advice he’d given her simply because she was hurt and confused over his kiss, over the way he’d reacted to it as if putting his mouth against hers had been the biggest mistake of his life.

It’s your fault for writing that article and pushing us into a corner and forcing our hand!

God . . . he was right. This was her fault.

This entire situation was
her fault
!

“Then we’ll proceed,” said the Alpha, sounding smug, flush with anticipation.

As if cued, a man stepped forward from the crowd.

Sinewy, squat, and shirtless, he sported a black hood that covered his head. Only his eyes were visible through the dark cloth. They peered out with a feral, quicksilver flash like a wild thing from a nighttime wood. Two more males approached, stripped Hawk’s shirt off his back, turned him around, and shoved him toward the tree.

Oh God—oh God—No!

They chained him to the trunk. He remained mute and as placid as a lamb, allowing them to encircle his wrists in metal and raise them over his head so he stood flush against the dead tree with his legs spread, his broad, naked back exposed, his cheek turned to the black, broken bark.

He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.

From a small wooden stand beside the tree, the hooded man selected a cane from among perhaps a dozen of different widths and sizes. Long and tan and curved to a handle at one end, it sported small notches along its slender length, breaks that seemed sinister, able to inflict more pain than a solid one. The man in the black hood took the cane, positioned himself behind Hawk, and raised his thickly muscled arm.

The lower half of the cane was stained red.

The storm inside Jack rose to a howling, bright peak.

No! No! No!

“Wait!” Jack screamed.

Hawk stiffened. The Alpha’s head snapped around. Across from her, Morgan’s mouth opened into a silent O of horror, the same shape as her huge, disbelieving eyes.

The same shape as every eye in the crowd around her, as far as her own could see.

“This was my fault . . . this wasn’t Hawk’s fault . . . even the reason he hit Nando was my fault!” The words poured out, one over another, as Jack stepped forward into the open heart of the circle, pleading with the Alpha with her eyes, with her voice, with her outstretched hands.

“Please, he shouldn’t be punished . . . I should be the one to take the lashings! It should be me! Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll . . . I’ll stand in his place!”

Gasps and cries of disbelief from the crowd.

“No!” roared Hawk. He strained so hard against the chains every muscle in his body flexed taut with the effort. “Jacqueline—
shut up
! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

“You offer
belu
?” the Alpha breathed, his face gone white.

All around her were astonished, gaping faces. Even the hooded man’s eyes were wide and shocked.

She didn’t understand the word, but she understood the meaning.

A ritual punishment. A ritual pardon . . . with a price.

“Yes.” Jack said it again, louder, to the crowd, lifting her head so her voice could travel over their heads. “Yes. I offer
belu
.”

Hawk screamed in outrage. He began thrashing against his binds like a madman, kicking against the trunk of the tree and twisting his body so he could see her over his shoulder.

“She doesn’t understand!” he shouted to the Alpha, the cords in his neck standing out. “She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to! Don’t listen to her! Don’t listen!”

A tumult began in the crowd. Whispers became chatter, then shouts. Bodies turned to one another in astonishment, gesturing at her, at Hawk, at the Alpha, the energy mad and electric, until everyone seemed to be talking at once, moving closer, the circle tightening like the invisible noose that squeezed around her neck, cutting off her air.

Voices crested over her in a wave. A flash of heat engulfed her. Jack stood with her heart in her throat, staring at the Alpha in breathless anticipation, awaiting his response.

“A female cannot offer
belu
.” He looked around the crowd for confirmation. “This isn’t done! This is unprecedented—”

“It
can
be done,” countered a firm, raspy voice.

The old man who had spoken stood near the Alpha, slightly behind him, hidden in long shadows cast from the tree.

Alejandro turned. He recognized the old man, and gave a small, respectful bow. All around him, others did the same, until the entire gathering had paid their respects to this diminutive figure. The shouts died back to whispers.

Short and bent, leaning heavily on a cane, he was clothed in a simple cloak of white, his feet bare, his head wreathed in a fluffy halo of snowy hair like a floating ring of clouds. He stepped forward slowly, gazing at Jack with eyes as keen as a freshly sharpened blade. The tiniest of smiles lifted his wrinkled lips.

“It is in accordance with
Ama-gi
. The girl can offer substitution—”

“She’s not one of us!” Alejandro protested, shooting Jack a horrified glance. “She’s—she’s—
human
!”

Quietly, the old man said, “
Ama-gi
does not discriminate based on race,
Sarrum
. The principle of
belu
holds true regardless of the birth—or sex—of those who invoke it.” His gaze, brilliant, blazing green, undimmed in spite of his obvious age, rested on Jack. His small smile grew wider, almost challenging. “If she wills it, the human woman may stand in Hawk’s stead. She may offer her own pain as a tithe for his.”