Nightbred: Lords of the Darkyn (21 page)

“Wouldn’t he, Werren?” Sam suggested. “You’ve just said that you’ve never seen him demonstrate this power over more than one person. Neither has anyone else. If he really had it, why wouldn’t he show it off? It’s not like the guy is modest.”

Chris joined in. “For that matter, why does he need to keep guards watching over you and the other ladies? He should just be able to think you into doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”

Werren shook her head. “You are mortal. You do not understand his power over us.”

“Actually, I think I do.” Something occurred to her. “If every woman on this ship is Darkyn, then they also have abilities like yours. What are they?”

Sam watched Werren, who remained silent. “Either you tell us now, or I go out and start asking.”

“Analise can make herself appear as young as a girl, or as old as a crone,” Werren said. “Naomi can erase small wounds from the flesh with a caress. Bethana summons unbearable longing in men and women. Sayda stills their minds so they may remember nothing.”

As Werren continued describing her ladies’ abilities, Chris’s heart sank. From the way it sounded, none of the women on the ship had a violent or dangerous talent that might help them overpower the crew. Dutch had also spent the last four centuries terrorizing them, and had done such an excellent job that they were all as scared as a herd of bunnies caught in the middle of a biker run. It had never even occurred to them to remove the medallions that he used to keep them enslaved.

“You should go back to your ladies,” Sam said once Werren had finished. “We’ll join you in a minute.”

Chris watched the woman leave. “We’re really screwed.”

“Vander wants Alenfar,” Sam told her. “He thinks Lucan will trade his rule for me. If he doesn’t, he’s going to torch us and a couple hundred gamblers on the casino boat.”

The thought of being burned alive made Chris shudder. “I could jump over the side, steal one of the boats.”

Sam shook her head. “Too many guards with guns.”

“I’m a fast swimmer, and it’s my job. Besides, I owe you a life,” she argued. “Let me save yours.”

“You can do that by staying here and helping me spring all those people locked in the casino.” Sam glanced at the door. “We have to get the women to work with us, too.”

“How?” Chris asked. “They’re so scared of Vander and the guards they’re practically robots.”

Her friend nodded. “Then it’s high time we deprogram them.”

* * *

Jamys took his leave of Lucan as the suzerain finished issuing orders to the garrison. “I will meet you and the men at the rendezvous once I have retrieved the gems.”

“I hesitate to suggest you pursue a fool’s errand,” Lucan said, “but I doubt you will find anything of value in this secret cache. Samantha told me the extent to which Coburn was tortured before he was killed. Had the man truly been in possession of the emeralds, under such duress he surely would have revealed their location.”

“Unless that memory was taken from him, as Gifford’s were.” Jamys bowed. “Until sunset, my lord.”

Lucan clasped his hand to Jamys’s forearm. “Come prepared to fight, my friend.”

Ernesto Garcia stood outside the stronghold, and handed Jamys a pair of dark shades before he opened the door of the car waiting for them. “I have sent men ahead to secure the scene, but we will have to do this quickly to avoid drawing any attention from the surrounding merchants.”

Jamys nodded and, once inside the car, picked up the courtesy phone. As Garcia drove to the jeweler’s shop, he debated on how much to say before he dialed the number for his father’s private chamber.

“The sun is still up, assassin,” Thierry answered, his voice almost a snarl. “So unless you have found my son, or Florida has been invaded and has been put to the torch—”

“I am here, Father,” Jamys said. “I have been at Alenfar since I left your house.”

Silence answered him, and then Thierry said, “The very next time I see that damned Englishman, I will chop off his hands and stuff them down his gullet.”

“I never told Lucan I had left Baucent without your permission.” Jamys closed his eyes against the burning glare of the sun. “Father, when I was a small boy, and you were preparing to go into battle, do you remember what you would say to me?”

“Of course I do.” Thierry’s tone gentled. “I would say ‘Protect the women, defend the household, and know that here or in heaven, I will see you again.’ And never once did you shed a tear.”

“Now it is your turn to be brave,” he told his father. “For this night I go into battle.”

For a long time Thierry said nothing. Then he sighed, and said, “You have always been a warrior in your heart, my son, and if now you must take up the sword, I know you will be the same in the field.”

“Then if I may, I will ask you to protect my stepmother, and the men and women of the household,” Jamys said slowly. “Please tell Jema that I love her as the mother of my heart.”

“That will make her smile and weep,” Thierry predicted. “Will you forgive me my harsh words, and my foolish fears?”

“I have, and pray you will do the same for mine,” he assured him. “For everything in me that is good and strong and wise, I owe to you.”

Thierry made a rough sound. “And will I see you again, Jamys?”

“Here or in heaven, Father. Farewell.” He switched off the phone, and looked up to see Garcia driving into the alley behind a row of buildings.

“We have arrived, my lord.” The
tresora
parked the car in front of a steel door marked
COBURN FINE JEWELERS
and retrieved a case from the floor.

At the door Jamys watched him pick the lock in seconds and, once inside, disarm the security system with a quick bypass circuit. “For a policeman, you have the skills of an accomplished thief.”

“Often Lord Alenfar requires me to work on both sides of the law.” Garcia nodded toward the interior. “The shutters have been lowered so you will not be seen from the street. I will stand guard here.”

Jamys went to the front of the shop, where the Persian rug Stryker had described had been laid out in front of the display cases. He knelt down and rolled it aside to reveal the large decorative tiles beneath, and ran the tip of his dagger along each one before he found a seam, and used the tip of his blade to dislodge the tile over the floor safe. A keypad set into the safe’s door was the only access point, but he punched through it and gripped the side of the hole left behind to wrench open the steel lid.

A large black velvet case lay inside, and when Jamys removed it and opened the lid, he found it filled with trays of glittering emeralds in every shape imaginable. Yet when he came to the very bottom tray, which had three deep, fist-size impressions in the cloth, he found it empty.

Lucan had been correct; Coburn no longer possessed the Emeralds of Eternity. Jamys sat back on his heels and pushed the trays aside, eyeing the safe and the dull metal at the very bottom. He frowned and reached in, taking out the false bottom to expose a layer of bricks sealed in plastic, a thin electronic device, and coils of wire.

Like most Kyn, Jamys trained in the use of weapons of every era; he knew exactly what it was and how to employ it.

He reached for the trays of emeralds, and sorted through them until he found three round specimens that were only slightly smaller than the recesses in the empty tray. He glanced around the shop, rising to go to a display of golden jewelry cases, and chose one large enough to contain the black velvet tray. He then placed that and everything he needed in the bag, closed the safe, and recovered it before joining Garcia at the back door.

“Did you find what you needed, my lord?” the
tresora
asked.

Will you die for her?
the monk’s voice mocked inside his head.

“Yes,” he told them both.

Chapter 19

C
hris followed Sam back into the garden, where Werren stood alone by the fountain. “Where are the other women?”

“It matters not.” She bent to pluck a white rose and twirled it between her fingers. “If you wish to escape, I will not stop you. But you will not use any of us.”

“I forgot, she has Kyn hearing,” Samantha said as she walked up to the other women. “As long as you maintain whatever illusion is cloaking us right now, they won’t see or hear us.”

Werren smiled. “I will protect them from anything you do.”

Samantha walked past her, turned, and brought her fist down on the other woman’s nape. “Not if you’re taking a nap.” She caught Werren as she and the garden fell, and eased her down to the deck.

Chris glanced at the hostile faces of the other women surrounding them. “Your friend is okay; Sam just knocked her out. Werren wouldn’t let us talk to the rest of you.”

An old woman stepped forward. “Werren takes care of us. We cannot have the garden without her. We are not interested in what you have to say.”

“You want to rumble, Grandma?” Sam asked. “Bring it over here.”

“Look, we’re all in—on—the same boat,” Chris said. “As long as you stay here, things will only get worse.”

“The master is not always cruel,” the pretty brunette said. “If we are obedient, he mostly ignores us.”

“Every woman who has tried to escape Purgatory has been killed,” the old woman said. “A dismal life here is better than burning forever in damnation. At least we have a chance to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God.”

Sam approached her. “This isn’t Purgatory. You’re still alive in the real world; you’ve just been changed from mortal to immortal.”

“What manner of immortal?”

“We heal spontaneously, have unique powers, and we don’t age or die,” Sam told her. “We’re called the Darkyn.”

Some of the women laughed; others appeared shocked; all of them looked frightened. The old woman went over to the covered barrel standing where the fountain had been and pried off the lid to look inside.

Chris went over to her. “Your name is Analise, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” She stared down at the dark contents of the barrel. “Werren would never let us drink until after she summoned the garden. She did not wish us to know we were drinking
blood
.” She glanced up at Chris. “We are monsters. Vampires?”

“You’re Darkyn,” Chris corrected. “You’re part of a superhuman race that is powerful and hard to kill, but that has also learned how to coexist peacefully with humans. Sam is Kyn, too.”

Analise eyed her friend, who was talking to some of the other women. “There are others like us?”

“Thousands.” Chris nodded. “All over the world. They live together in strongholds called
jardins
, and work together to live productive lives, and protect each other. They have many human friends and allies, like me, who help keep their existence secret.”

“Why were we not permitted to live with them?” Analise asked. “Is it because we are women?”

“The other Darkyn out there don’t even know about you, or that Dutch forced the change on you,” Chris said. “I’m guessing he’s been keeping you here because he’s a sick bastard who hates women.”

Analise had more questions, and Chris tried to answer them as honestly as she could. She could hear Sam doing the same for the rest of the women, until a low groan from Werren silenced all of them.

Analise went over and helped the blond woman to her feet. “Why did you never tell us the truth?”

“Learning what I was almost drove me mad.” Werren rubbed the back of her neck. “I only wished to spare you.”

“Spare us?” Analise slapped her, making Werren stagger backward. “We have been prisoners for centuries, made to whore for Dutch and the crew and any man who crooked a finger, when we might have escaped and found the others like us. You did not spare us. You damned us to hell.”

“Do you remember Lonora? Estelle? Marielle?” Werren countered. “No, you would not. They were the first women he changed. The women I told the truth to. They all tried to escape, but Dutch stopped them with a thought. He beheaded each one of them in front of me. That is why I did not tell you, Analise. Because I did not wish to toss your severed head to the waves, and swab your blood from the deck.”

“You had no right,” the old woman insisted.

“I did what I thought was best for you. For all of you.” She turned to Sam. “Are you pleased with yourself, Detective? Now that they know, they will never again be content, and he will kill them, one by one, and start over.”

“He can’t turn any more women,” Sam said gently. “Over time the process of the change has become lethal to humans, something else he kept from you. You and the others are all the immortal women he’ll ever have.”

Werren looked uncertain. “But Dutch intends to change the crew. That is why he brought the man here, and tortured him until he died. He had stolen the gems that made Dutch immortal. Once he has rule over the warriors and the stronghold on the mainland, he will send out those men to search until they find the treasure. With it Dutch will be able to change as many mortals as he pleases. Then he can build a fleet of ships manned by men who will never die, and go a-pirating forever.”

“
That’s
why he wants the emeralds?” Chris shook her head. “The jackass is starting to believe his own legend.”

“Yeah, well, the Flying Dutchman is about to crash and burn.” Sam looked around at the faces of the other women. “And we’re going to be the ones who take him down.”

* * *

“For the first time in its seventy-six-year history, Fort Lauderdale’s annual Holiday on the Waves boat regatta has been rescheduled due to mechanical failures at four local bridges,” WSVN weatherman Brent Cameron reported. “All of the affected bridges have been closed, and the hundreds of vessels registered to participate have been temporarily relocated out to sea while city engineers address the problems. City officials are confident that repairs will be made in time for the boat parade to take place on New Year’s Eve.”

Lucan switched off the television set and regarded Aldan and Burke. “
Four
bridges?”

“We considered shutting down five, my lord, but that would have caused serious traffic delays around the stadium,” Burke said. “The Dolphins are hosting the Redskins tonight.”

“Our friends in the Coast Guard report that they have successfully diverted all private and commercial vessels away from the strike zone, my lord,” Aldan said. “The fleet is fully manned, heavily armed, and awaiting your orders.”

“Excellent.” Lucan went to his wall map of the Florida coast. “We will approach en masse and split into north and south divisions here.” He indicated a spot a half mile from the strike coordinates. “The front line will disable any defensive weaponry first and then assume holding positions until I give the order to attack and board. The second lines are to move in to form a blockade. Nothing leaves Vander’s vessel alive but Samantha, Christian, and the captive mortals.”

“Yes, my lord.” Aldan bowed and left the office.

Before he did the same, Burke took out a sheathed dagger, and offered it to Lucan. “If I may, my lord, I would ask that you take this into battle with you. I know you have no need of conventional weapons, but it belonged to my grandfather, and it always brought him luck.”

Lucan drew out the old steel dagger. “I recall meeting a Burke in Berlin. He led the
tresori
resistance, and helped us free the Kyn captured by the Brethren among the Gestapo.”

Burke nodded. “He considered you—and I will quote him—‘the deadliest son of a bitch ever to walk the night.’” He smiled a little. “You also saved his life by intercepting a hail of Nazi bullets meant for him.”

“I had forgotten that.” Lucan clipped the sheath to his belt. “Is this why you volunteered to become my
tresora
, Herbert?”

“Choosing a lord to serve is a complex matter, but I would say that part of my motivation was the fact that my grandfather did not sire my father until
after
the war. Good hunting, my lord.” The
tresora
bowed and departed.

Before he left the stronghold, Lucan went to the bar that had been smashed to hell during his brief battle with Jamys, and used Burke’s dagger to pick up the golden medallion from the floor.

Although he was sorely tempted to fling the phony tribute into the sea, he carried it to Christian’s office, where he draped it over one corner of the framed portrait of Darth Vader. He’d always known about her private nickname for him, of course, and had in fact secretly delighted in it.

“Tonight, my sweet girl,” he murmured, “I believe I shall earn it.”

* * *

After helping him with his final preparations, Garcia drove Jamys to the county’s oceanside dock, where he gave him the keys to the newest of the DEA’s speedboats, a sleek arrow of black and silver with four massive engines. “Are you certain you do not wish me to pilot for you, my lord?”

“Burke will have need of you at the stronghold.” Jamys surveyed the horizon. “If I must use the gems, please relay my apologies to Lord Alenfar and his lady.”

Garcia nodded. “And Miss Lang?”

He could think of a thousand things he wanted to tell Christian, but settled for the one he wanted her to remember most. “Tell my wife that I love her.”

Garcia helped him launch, and from the boatyard Jamys headed out to sea. A bitter wind rose, flinging needling spray into his face as he opened up the throttle and pushed the powerful engines to full capacity. The hull sliced across the waves as the boat raced south, a shadow flying through the night.

As the miles passed and Jamys drew closer to the rendezvous point, he allowed himself to relive every moment he had experienced with Christian since returning to Alenfar. He could not regret a moment of it; he had lived more and better in the handful of nights they had spent together than he had in all the centuries since he had risen to walk the night. She had given him the gift of herself and her heart; he knew what it was to love and be loved by the other half of his soul. If he died tonight, and he suspected there was an excellent chance that he would, he would go with but one regret: that he had to leave her behind.

A half mile from the rendezvous point, Jamys switched off the boat’s running lights, changed course, and headed east, guiding the speedboat between the fleet and the shoreline as he raced ahead of Lucan’s front line. As he had hoped, the roar of the hundreds of engines heading toward Vander’s ship masked the sound of his, and he was able to pull ahead of Lucan and the garrison without alerting them to his presence.

He spotted the bizarre silhouette of Vander’s floating stronghold, which appeared to be cobbled together from an old pirate ship, an ultramodern yacht, and clusters of smaller boats tethered to them. No lights shone from any of the decks, but he detected the shapes of a dozen men standing watch on the old ship.

Once he shut down the engines, Jamys looped the strap of the waterproof bag Garcia had given him around his neck, and dived off the side of the speedboat.

Jamys took care not to resurface until he had reached the stern of the old ship. There he caught hold of the massive, rusted anchor chain and looked up at the remains of the letters that had long ago been carved into the rotted wood above his head:
OLDE OR E
.

He drew a dagger, clamping it between his teeth, and began to climb hand over hand up the chain. When he came within a foot of the railing, he jumped, catching hold of the edge of the upper deck and using it to pull himself up to eye level.

Women in ragged tunics stood behind each of the men standing guard, and in their hands held broken pieces of glass. Samantha and an old woman were walking across a makeshift bridge to the yacht; Christian stood with her back against the mainmast beside a fair-haired woman whose eyes were closed.

Even more astonishing, Vander’s men walked past the pair without giving any sign that they noticed them.

The woman standing beside Chris opened her eyes and looked directly at Jamys, and then disappeared from sight, along with Chris, the other women, and Samantha.

Jamys knew of a few Kyn capable of creating illusions—his mother had been one—but none so powerful they could bespell an entire ship of mortals and Kyn alike.

He released his grip on the deck, and plummeted back into the water. He could hear the front line of the fleet approaching now, and knew in a few minutes Lucan would attack. He gauged the distance he would have to swim to reach the yacht, where there were no guards, and sank beneath the waves.

* * *

Sam broke the lock on the yacht’s main cabin door, and slipped inside as quietly as she could. The stink of gasoline made her hold her breath as she scanned the darkened casino, where hundreds of patrons huddled in miserable clusters between several corpses that had been executed with head shots, probably to intimidate the rest of the hostages.

Knowing the smell of the gas and the ballroom dimensions of the cabin would make using
l’attrait
virtually impossible, Sam fell back on her knowledge of movies and human nature.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she called out in a firm, clear voice. “I’m with the Miami Bomb Squad. Several explosive devices have been planted all over this casino to set off the gasoline. My team and I can’t defuse them until we move you to a safe distance. I need you to be quiet and follow my instructions exactly, because if you don’t, you will set off these bombs. Stay where you are until I come to your group.”

Sam went to the nearest bunch sitting around the roulette wheel. “You, you, and you,” she said, pointing to obvious couples. “Hold hands and walk out onto the deck. Wait at the railing and don’t make a sound.” As a fat man lunged up from another group and tried to run past her, she caught him and shoved him back down. “Do that again, pal, and you’ll be the last to go.”

As she worked her way around the room, a few more jackasses tried similar tactics, which she countered easily, and one elderly man offered her a million dollars in exchange for letting him be first one off the ship.