Heart of Darkness (5 page)

Her eyes flickered over the expensively
decorated room, the lusciously appointed antiques, the gilt
etchings and protruding plasterwork on the walls. She looked up at
him and said, "It seems that Wolfe has a generous friend indeed. I
can but hope that he is generous with me."

"That is something that we all wish for, is
it not? Generosity from those who are stronger, or more powerful
than us. I'm sure that Wolfe Sinclair will not...disappoint."

She frowned at his words, but watched as he
collected the tray, bowed low over it and at her, then walked
towards the door. It swung cleanly open and then shut.

Isabeau's eyes narrowed as she tried to
translate the conversation into something that was more
understandable. She had the feeling that he had almost been
speaking in a code of some sort, but she knew that was ridiculous.
It had not been a code, simply the fact that he was withholding
information from her and either purposely or inadvertently, kept
slipping tidbits to her.

Either way, she felt more confused than ever
and after spending the entirety of the ride towards this manor
house, in a state of befuddlement, Isabeau realized that she was
damned tired of feeling that way!

Be it confused about the strange and
bewitching sensations her captor inspired in her. Or about his role
in her parents' deaths or whether he was the elusive someone she
had been running from these last four years.

Isabeau wanted answers and knew she wasn't
about to receive any.

She settled back into her gilded cage with a
sigh. Her shoulders were swallowed by a feather pillow and slowly
she felt herself drift off to sleep.

Her mind felt heavy, filled with weight and
her limbs were somehow similarly indisposed. Every inch of her felt
drowsy and with a soft, sleepy smile, Isabeau realized that this
was how it felt to be drugged.

She was far too tired and far too fatigued to
care that the food had been poisoned with some kind of sleeping
draft. The only thing that disturbed the happy haze circling her
being were the shots of pain that her ring directed along the
length of her forearm. Like stinging barbs, akin to the pins and
needles that besieged a numb foot, they were most uncomfortable and
difficult to ignore.

Isabeau knew from long experience that it was
a warning signal. That impending danger was heading her way. But a
sluggish lethargy was gradually creeping through her veins and her
eyelids felt as though they were weighted down with anchors.

As they finally slipped down and covered the
balls of her eyes, she both heard the click of the door opening and
saw a dirty and bedraggled head walk into her chamber.

Rather than react with fear, she felt
fearless and protected by the acres of space between the door and
the bed upon which she was laying. Nothing could harm her, when she
felt like a cream-sated cat...Especially when it was only a
floating head...

Chapter Three

A slight tug of her finger was enough to jolt
Isabeau from her hazy, drug induced slumber. When seconds later,
that was combined with a bolt of power from the ring snapping
torturous shards of pain along the nerve endings of her arm, she
instinctively flung herself backwards and away from the threat,
whatever it was, before her eyes had even opened fully.

When her torso hit the bed head, Isabeau
grunted as the connection felt almost as though she had jarred
every organ in her damned body. She grimaced as her elbow started
to tingle and ache as she had inadvertently knocked the so-called
funny bone on one of the wooden carvings that decorated the piece
of furniture and now, thoroughly aggrieved she turned to stare at
whatever was threatening her.

Shocked to see it was a man, who was glaring
angrily back at her, Isabeau licked her lips in confusion, aware
that whilst she knew she was in danger because the ring had told
her so, she wasn't entirely sure why.

Blearily, she tried to remember which finger
had been tugged and quickly realized that it had been her ring
finger.

Did he want to steal it from her?

Was that the reason for his being here?

She studied his dirty and greasy appearance
with distaste and wondered if he was one of Wolfe's men. He had to
be, for how else would he have managed to gain entrance here?

Suddenly, her thoughts came to a halt as the
intruder jumped forward and landed on the bed before her. His hand
reached out for her right arm and he yanked her forward and away
from the wooden bed head.

She screamed and hoped to the Goddess that
someone would hear and come and help her, but was quickly hushed
with a fist to the face. When her jaw snapped together from the
force of his punch, her teeth felt almost as though they wobbled in
her mouth.

The force of the blow had her head feeling as
though it had parted from her neck, as it seemed to roll against
her shoulders to an absolutely impossible angle. The momentum of
the move had her pistoning partially backwards, but the man's grip
on her had her also moving forwards. The discordant and agitated
maneuvers made her feel like a rag doll that was being tugged apart
by bickering sisters who refused to share.

The trespasser pushed her down against the
mattress, ignoring her kicking legs, and pressed his forearm
against her throat. It was enough to stun her into silence.

His hand wrenched at her ring finger and she
let out a whining cry as the joint popped. Again, the man attempted
to tug at the ring and he started to swear as the precious metal
stayed glued to her skin.

Isabeau felt sure that he would realize the
ring was meant to stay upon her finger and leave before he could be
caught in the act of trying to steal from her. But there was an air
of desperation about him that made her feel ten times worse about
the situation. Desperate men were far more dangerous than their
calmer, saner counterparts.

And she was right to feel concerned, as
moments later, she felt the tip of a dagger scrape against her
skin. Isabeau whimpered but forced herself to quiet down. Although
she realized that he wanted her to not make one jot of sound, she
couldn't stop herself from asking him, “What do you want?”

With the pressure on her throat, the words
were distorted, but understandable.

He grunted and proceeded to scowl down at her
with rheumy and bloodshot eyes. Obviously he hadn't expected her to
talk to him and she watched and cringed as his fingers worked at
the ring that sat regally upon her hand. The tip of the knife was
now being used as a lever. Isabeau's cries rang out as he attempted
to lift the metal from her flesh with the dagger and then came the
restless tugs.

It had been there for such a long time and
had never been removed that she knew it would almost be indented on
to her skin.

When her mama had given this ring to her,
Isabeau had watched as she had slipped it off her finger after
dousing the small digit in oil and had wiggled it off eventually
before handing it to her. There had been a whiter tone of flesh,
which had been protected from the sunlight by the ring and the skin
had been almost shriveled in comparison to the other sun-kissed
areas.

Without oil or some kind of lubricant,
that ring was going nowhere. It made her feel both
triumphant
and
fearful.

The man was yielding a knife, for Goddess'
sake. He could easily cut her finger off! The more restless and
agitated he became and the longer the ring stayed glued to her, the
sooner he would react and do just that. She would lose both her
finger and the stone!

The thought made her feel slightly faint and
combined with another dig of the knife into her thin flesh, it was
enough to make her cry. “I can't take it off. It won't come
off!”

“There are ways and means, wench,” the man
replied gruffly and when he tried to pull her fingers apart so that
he could slide the dagger down the length of the digit, she yelled
out hoarsely again.

Realizing that this situation could only
worsen, Isabeau knew that she had to do something. It was no good
waiting to be rescued and in this position, he was the dominant
one.

When his forearm had been used to press
against her throat and subsequently weigh her down, her body had
instantly loosened and become lax. If she could urge her strength
back and manage to push away from him, then she could at least try
and defend herself.

Garnering her courage, she simultaneously
urged strength into her stomach and neck and powered upwards.
Almost managing to butt him in the head! Success! Then she pushed
all of her remaining reserves into her right arm, where she
eventually managed to tug her hand away and out of his captive
hold. Hissing as the blade cut at her flesh yet again, but even
deeper this time, Isabeau ignored the pain and instead struck the
man on the side of the head with her balled fist.

With her other hand, she slapped him and
pushing her legs out, ultimately managing to kick him in the gut.
He'd been so focused on her hand and obtaining the ring that he'd
left himself open to being attacked. He had probably believed that
she would not make a fuss.

That she was just a little woman.

The thought made her snigger inwardly.

She was ten times more than just a little
woman. Life had forged her into the creature she was and at times
like these, when she was in danger, she could and would turn into a
wild cat.

Isabeau had soon discovered that the lessons
her mother had taught her, lessons in which she had learned to be a
lady, were of no use to her as she fled those who had killed her
parents.

An inner wild cat was and had always been
vital to her protection during the years in which she had been
alone. With no man or family to guard her and keep her safe.

She curled her fingers inwards and clawed at
him with her nails and when his fist came up to punch her once
more, she ducked her head and quickly surged up again, catching the
flesh of his forearm with her teeth. She bit down and felt gleeful
as he screamed and yelled out like a girl.

When Isabeau heard the door open, she almost
fainted in relief. Adrenaline was surging through her but it
counterbalanced whatever they had given her to make her sleep and
had left her feeling most peculiar. She felt both dazed and filled
with energy. The combination was extremely bizarre and she wasn't
sure how long she would be able to defend herself in the state of
mind in which she currently inhabited.

A fist came out of nowhere and was aimed once
more at her jaw. She grunted and released the flesh of the
intruder's forearm and cried out as pain seemed to blossom
throughout her skull.

Her fatigued eyes saw Wolfe appear and she
shuddered and felt consoled as his fierce face came ever closer
into her line of sight and suddenly, the intruder was pulled from
her.

So rough was Wolfe's hand on the man's
shoulder, he not only fell to the floor but he almost completed a
full circle as he turned in mid-air and finally, landed with a
splat on the hard floor.

Instantly, he was hauled upwards and Wolfe's
fist slammed into the intruder's face. Somehow, even though he must
have been in pain, he managed to hit Wolfe in the stomach, but
Wolfe seemed almost impervious to this act. He did not even
grunt!

Grabbing the man's fist, she watched as her
savior simply clenched it between his own and within seconds, the
intruder was crying out in pain and begging for surrender.

She watched in surprise as Wolfe slowly
released the hand and the man tugged it against his chest and began
to nurse his bruised and battered fist. Isabeau winced when she saw
the somewhat mushy pulp. The skin was not broken, but the fingers
were...most un-finger-like. They were broken in places that she
hadn't known the digits could be broken, but she could easily
understand why the man had conceded defeat.

“Jaegar sent you, did he not?” Wolfe growled,
and it was a growl. One of which even his name-sake would have been
proud! It rumbled deep from within the cavern of his chest and had
she not known it and been able to see it on his face, that tone of
voice instantly informed her that he was extremely angry.

Furious.

The man whimpered but nodded.

“Speak! When I ask you a question! Speak!”
Wolfe ordered gruffly and shook the man, who immediately whimpered
as it jolted the battered fist that lay limply upon his chest.

“Please,” his voice was hoarse and filled
with pain. Had he not been about to slice off her finger and all
for the ring that sat upon it, she would have felt a great welter
of sympathy for the man. As it was, he was probably experiencing
the same amount of pain he would have willingly bestowed upon
her.

Although she had never believed in the
Biblical reference of an eye for an eye, at this moment, with her
face aching and the bones in her body literally vibrating with
pain, she did! Call her harsh, but she did not care.

“Yes, Jaegar sent me!” the intruder responded
finally.

“What for?” Before the other man could speak,
Wolfe turned to her and asked, “What did he do to you?”