Darkness Bound (30 page)

Jacqueline’s jaw worked. “So you’re asking me to . . . what? Pretend?”

“No. I’m asking you to be patient. And understanding, even though you don’t understand, and never will, because you’re a different species from him.” She smiled. “Just like every other woman who loves a man.”

Jacqueline stared at her for a long time. Eventually, she huffed a soft laugh, then stood. She dragged a hand through her hair, paced a circle around the table, and stared out into the jungle. After several minutes of chewing her thumbnail, she said, “Okay. Walk me through this. How long have I been here?”

“A few days. Before that, I believe it took another ten in travel from New York.”

Silence. Then: “And you say I was brought here to observe. To witness.”

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

Morgan said, “Do you remember writing an article for the
New York Times
about Shifters? ‘The Enemy Among Us,’ it was called.”

Jacqueline turned to look at Morgan. “No.”

“Very effective piece of propaganda, that. And extremely well written. You were nominated for the Pulitzer.”

“Did I win?”

“No. But it was the reason you were chosen. You’re a voice they listen to. You’re a voice we need to win them over to our side.”

Jacqueline studied her closely. “They?”

“Humans.”

The word hung there between them in the air, until finally she came and sat across from Morgan again, shifting her weight restlessly in the seat.

Her expression conflicted, she said, “I remember that word you said before,
Ikati
. I do remember what that is. What you are.”

“What about how you feel about us? Do you remember anything about that?”

Jack looked her over, lips pursed. She said drily, “Well . . . aside from being the lovechild of the Wolverine and Coco Chanel,
you
seem all right.”

Morgan laughed, long and loudly. “I’m gratified to hear it. I’m sure under different circumstances we could have been good friends.”

Jacqueline looked down at her hands, and Morgan noticed they were slightly shaking. She gathered herself, took a breath, and said, “There are holes. The past few days are a black wall, but before that it’s all pretty clear. My job, my life, my friends. But there are these big, gaping holes, too, like something’s been . . . censored. Blacked out. I can’t get too close to my childhood, for instance. I remember bits and pieces, but I don’t remember my parents. I don’t remember where I grew up.” Her voice grew quiet. “I don’t remember if I have any siblings. Or if I was happy.” She looked up, her eyes filled with trepidation. “What do you think that means?”

Morgan debated whether or not to head down this particular path. After a few cheek-chewing moments, she decided that if the roles were reversed, she’d definitely want to know.

“There’s a way I might be able to help you. I don’t know if it will work, but I’d like to try. If you’re willing.”

“Does it involve drilling holes in my skull?”

Morgan smiled, faint and wry. “No, no drilling. But it does involve something you might not be willing to give. And if not, I understand completely. I’m leaving this entirely up to you.”

Jacqueline’s expression grew pensive. “What would I have to give, exactly?”

“Your trust.”

They sat staring at one another while a brilliant green hummingbird zipped around the table, in search of food. Finally it darted off with a muted
buzz
of its blazing wings.

“I assume if I wait long enough an explanation will be forthcoming,” said Jacqueline.

Morgan held out her hands, palm up. “I have a Gift called Suggestion. It means that if I touch you with the intent to direct your behavior, I can. For instance, if I touched you now and said, ‘Quack like a duck,’ you would do so.”

Jacqueline stared at her. “That doesn’t engender much confidence, just so you know.”

“Not that I would say that, of course, that’s just an example. But if I said something like, ‘Remember your past,’ well, you get the idea.”

With narrowed eyes, Jacqueline said, “How do I know you wouldn’t say something like, ‘Jump out of this tree,’ instead?”

Still with her hands extended, Morgan said softly, “You don’t. That’s why it’s called trust. But if it makes any difference, I give you my word the that only thing I will Suggest will be for you to remember your past.”

Jacqueline crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. She looked away, letting her gaze travel slowly around the room, over the fabric flowing down from above, the dais with the Alpha’s sumptuous throne, the flowers massed in vases. Morgan wondered if it looked like a fairy tale or a nightmare to her, and decided probably a little bit of both.

“Okay,” Jacqueline said finally. She sat forward and held out her hands. “I don’t know why, but I do feel like I can trust you.”

Morgan beamed. “Smashing! Let’s begin by—”

“Just in case this goes totally sideways and you accidentally wipe my brain like a crashed hard drive, I want you to tell him something for me.”

Morgan was too intrigued to be insulted by the insinuation that she wasn’t in perfect control of her Gift. “Who? What?”

Jacqueline glanced up at her, looking a bit sheepish. “Hawk.”

Morgan drawled, “Oh?”

“Tell him I said . . . tell him I said . . .” She looked away, took a breath, and said, “That he seems like someone I would have wanted to know. That’s all.”

“Handsome as the devil, isn’t he?” Morgan whispered conspiratorially. Jacqueline glanced back at her, surprised. “Not as handsome as my husband, of course, but then I’m biased. Most of the women in this colony think Hawk is nothing short of Adonis.”

“He’s . . . very . . .” Jacqueline cleared her throat, then waved her hands in front of Morgan’s face. “Can we just get on with this, please?”

Morgan tried to press the satisfied smile from her lips. “All right. Give me your hands.”

Jacqueline carefully rested her palms atop Morgan’s. She grasped her hands lightly, noting the slight tremble. She looked up, into Jacqueline’s eyes, and said forcefully, “You’re not afraid of me.”

Instantly, the trembling stopped. Jacqueline’s face went slack. Her eyes hazed. All the tension went out of her body.

“Tell me your name.”

“Jacqueline Anne Dolan.” Her voice was faraway, to match the look in her eyes.

“And what is my name?”

“Morgan Montgomery Luna,” she repeated dutifully.

“Correct. Very good. Now, Jacqueline, I want you to remember your life. I want you to remove any blocks you may have constructed around your memory, and tell me where you were born.”

“Boston,” said Jacqueline instantly.

Relief, warm and thorough.
Success!
“And where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”

Silence. A blank, eerie stare. Then, “Nowhere.”

“Oh bollocks!” muttered Morgan. “Jacqueline, do not suppress your memory. Access it.
Think
. Now: Where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”

Jacqueline blinked. “Nowhere. But I . . .”

“Yes?”

“But . . . it was nice there. I felt safe.” Some emotion flickered across her face, there then gone. “I felt free. But that’s all. There isn’t anything else.”

Morgan closed her eyes and bowed her head. She whispered, “Remember your mother.”

Like a robot: “I don’t have a mother.”

Morgan’s throat was closing. It was becoming hard to breathe. “Remember your father.”

“I don’t have a father.”

It wasn’t working. Whatever had happened to her memory was beyond the reaches of Morgan’s Gift. She’d failed.

Or have I?

A chill ran up Morgan’s spine. She lifted her head and stared at Jacqueline.

She’d trained since childhood to control her Gift, to be careful around others, careful not to touch, not to think any thoughts that might hurt someone. Because she had so much power, she had to be more vigilant than anyone else. She had to use her Gift sparingly, and only for good.

For
good
.

Sitting here with this woman at this moment, Morgan had the opportunity to do more good in one fell swoop than she could in her entire life.

The words were right there. So beautiful, so terrible, they burned like acid on her tongue.

You love the
Ikati
. Humans and
Ikati
should coexist in peace. You rescind everything you said in that article. You will work for peace between our races for the rest of your days.

Her hands began to shake. All she had to do was say it, and it would be so. Everything they’d wanted by bringing her here could come true.

“But it would be a lie,” she whispered to herself. A voice inside her head whispered back,
And it would save lives
.

“You are happy and comfortable. Stay seated in this spot,” she directed Jacqueline. She released her hands and began to pace in a circle around the room, debating with herself, as Jacqueline sat blank and docile as a lamb, waiting.

Morgan saw the future stretched out bright as a new penny before her, all the possibilities for good shining like stars in the sky. She didn’t know why this hadn’t occurred to her before, possibly because she’d been so vigilant for so many years, so trained to limit her Gift, but this could be a miracle for them. She could visit every single major politician and religious figure in the world, and Suggest they love
Ikati
, too. She could simply walk through crowds, touching people as she passed, murmuring words of peace and brotherhood. She could transform the human race.

Morgan stood looking out over the rainforest through drapes that lifted and fell with the slight breeze, slipping against her legs. She thought,
I could change the world
.

Aloud she murmured, “Hitler thought the same thing.”

So did Caesar. So did a lot of other lunatics with visions of grandeur and perverted ideas about how people should live, and who gets to be in charge of that.

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” A certain Lord Acton said that, back in the nineteenth century, and Morgan had to admit she agreed with him.

She could change the world . . . but it would all be a lie. And only minutes ago, she’d made Jacqueline a promise.
I give you my word that the only thing I will Suggest will be for you to remember your past.

Her hand went to her hip, to the place she’d had tattooed with the words “Live Free Or Die.” It was her personal motto, because she held freedom as dear as hope. A life without those two things was simply not worth living.

And therein was her answer.

She couldn’t take away even a single person’s free will. To do so would make her no better than the other monsters throughout history, no matter how noble she thought the cause.

With a heavy sigh, she turned from the view and made her way back to Jacqueline. She sat across from her, and gathered Jacqueline’s hands into her own once again. The urge was still there, strong and terrible, so Morgan did the only thing she could think to do.

“Jacqueline Dolan,” she said, looking into her eyes, “no matter what I say to you from this moment forth, you are immune to my Gift of Suggestion, and will be forevermore. I release you.”

Her heart felt like a dead fish lodged beneath her breastbone. She stood and walked away.

For a long while, there was a silence, only disturbed by the sound of bird calls and monkey screeches, far off in the forest. Then from behind her Jacqueline said, “I know that was hard for you.”

Her voice was tight. Angry. The dead fish flopped over, and Morgan thought,
Caught.

Morgan sighed, passed a hand over her face, pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “It would have been so much more convenient if you weren’t quite so clever.”

“For us both,” Jacqueline rejoined.

Morgan heard her stand, and turned to face her. Jacqueline’s face looked carved from granite.

“I owe you an apology.”

“Keep it. I hate sorries. They’re meant to make things better but they inevitably make things worse.” They looked at one another across the room. Jacqueline said, “I want to leave. I want to go home, to New York. Now.”

Morgan had never felt claustrophobic. She’d never experienced a panic attack, or suffered a nervous breakdown, or even had a single nightmare, in spite of all the tragedy and loss and iron-fisted repression she’d suffered up to now. But staring at the livid woman who she’d once imagined was the possible solution to bridge the chasm between humanity and her own kind, she felt the horrifying, soul-freezing reality of all of them combined.

For the first time in her entire adult life, she was rendered speechless.

Then a voice, raspy and kind, spoke from the other side of the room.

“And go you shall.”

Morgan turned.
Kalum
smiled at the two of them like the Cheshire cat as he pushed the cowl of his white robe off his head. It fell around his shoulders, revealing his face, his glittering green eyes. He looked at Jacqueline. “As shall we all. Just not quite yet,
Gibil
. There’s yet work for you here, work that can only be completed by you. When that work is done you shall go back from where you came. And after that . . .” His smile deepened, grew vaguely melancholy. “You will have to decide where
home
truly is.”

From outside there came a tumult. Voices shouted, rising up through the canopy, the beat of drums began. Morgan didn’t have to look to know what was happening, and she shivered, cold in spite of the humidity.

The Alpha of Sommerley had finally arrived.

“Hawk! Xander!”

Morgan rushed across the room, throwing back the gauzy fabric that led to the suspension bridge outside. She seemed panicked, frantic, and it set Jack’s already frayed nerves on edge.

As if they’d been waiting close by, the two men appeared quickly, wearing matching expressions of worry, tension radiating from their bodies. The three of them started talking over each other, the words tumbling out of their mouths.

“Leander’s here—”

“Did you have any success?”

“But something’s wrong, I can feel it—”

“She doesn’t remember, it didn’t work—”

“Alejandro’s going out to meet him—”

“Nothing at all?”

“The Queen isn’t with them.”

Morgan stopped and stared at Xander. “What do you mean, the Queen isn’t with them?”

“Just what I said. It’s Leander, the children, the viscount and his family, a few others. But no Queen.”

In a horrified whisper, Morgan said, “Oh my God. Do you think something happened to her?”

Jacqueline said, “What’s going on here?”

Xander and Morgan looked at her, but Hawk had already been watching her, since the moment he stepped inside.

“It didn’t work,” he said dispassionately, glancing between her and Morgan. His voice was cool, his expression was neutral, but there was something strange in his eyes. Something that, if she hadn’t known better, almost looked like . . . relief.

“No. It didn’t. Now will you please tell me what’s happening?”

“I have to go to him. He’ll be expecting me,” said Morgan, smoothing her hands over her hair. She’d turned pale in the past few moments. Xander stared at her, concerned.

“We’ll both go. Don’t worry,
amada
, it’s going to be fine,” he murmured, and pulled his wife into his arms.

Jacqueline looked away. Even that small gesture of affection felt too intimate, as if there were no one else in the room but the two of them.

Xander said, “Hawk,” and jerked his chin at Jacqueline. Then he and Morgan left without another glance in her direction.

Hawk crossed the room quickly, holding out his hand to her. “We have to go.”

Automatically, Jack backed away. He stopped dead in his tracks and lowered his hand.

“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” he asked, voice gruff.

Jack’s heart was pounding. She was confused, her brain felt addled, and having him near was short-circuiting what little logical thinking ability she had left. With him in it, the room felt too close and warm, decidedly uncomfortable.

“I’d prefer not to travel on your shoulder, if you don’t mind,” she answered, avoiding his question. He looked her over, his jaw tight, then nodded curtly.

“There isn’t a bridge to my home from here, but there is one that leads to Morgan and Xander’s. It would be . . . best . . . if you stayed there for now.”

He didn’t look as if he thought it would be best, but she nodded anyway, relieved yet also oddly disappointed she wouldn’t be going back with him to his own spare, masculine space.

That’s it. You’ve officially lost your damn mind!

“Follow me,” he said, and turned to leave. Jack hesitated, but then did as he instructed, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. Once outside, he took one of the four suspension bridges through the trees in the opposite direction they’d originally come from. Below on the forest floor, a steady stream of people was also moving in this direction, and Jack stared down at them, fascinated.

She asked, “Who is Leander? And why is Morgan afraid of him? And what’s this about a Queen?”

She thought she heard an aggravated exhalation, but couldn’t be sure. The throbbing beat of drums drowned it out.

“Leander is the Alpha from another colony. Most of the members of his colony in England have already relocated here due to the threats against us, but he and the Queen and a few final families were left. The Queen is exactly what she sounds like: a Queen. The most powerful one of all the
Ikati
. Who apparently is missing.”

They were moving quickly through the trees, passing house after ingenious tree house, following the network of bridges deeper into the forest. Jack was too busy trying to keep up to spend too much time marveling at the beauty of it all. She jerked away from the left-hand guide rope with a strangled scream as a hairy brown spider as big as a crab crawled up from under it.

Hawk halted when he heard her. He blew out a breath when he caught sight of the spider. “It eats fruit,” he said, then turned and walked on. Over his shoulder, he added, “As for Leander, you could say his relationship with Morgan is . . . complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“He once ordered her killed for treason.”

Jack sucked in a shocked breath.

That’s how we met. He was an assassin, I was his mark. Funny, isn’t it, the strange ways love stories can begin?

Oh God. This place was like one of those Korean melodramas her neighbor Mrs. Lee watched on TV, all murder plots and espionage and crazy royals. How on Earth had she ended up here?

“He’s not going to hurt her now, though, right?” For some reason, the thought of that made Jack’s stomach turn over.

Hawk muttered, “You can never predict what an Alpha will do.” He stopped at the trunk of a tree where the bridges split in four directions. “That’s it.”

She stood there hesitantly, looking in the direction he was pointing. The house was a bi-level wood structure like his, covered in curling vines and lined with unlit iron lanterns along the walkway to the front door. It looked friendly and pretty, and not at all like somewhere she wanted to go.

“Can’t . . . can’t I just stay with you?” she asked, her voice small.

The question affected him, evidenced by the way his eyes flared, the way he sucked in a breath, leaning toward her. But he caught himself. He jerked away and looked off into the trees, swallowing.

“It’s safer for you here,” he said, his voice rough, not meeting her eyes. “At least for the time being. I don’t think it would be wise for anyone else to find out about your . . . condition. There’s someone who might have answers for me, and I’ll go to him as soon as I can, but for right now . . . I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to trust me.”

There was so much she didn’t know. So much he wasn’t telling her. Though he’d scared her when he appeared after she’d woken up, and angered her when he carried her over his shoulder to the Assembly room, he’d been nothing but gentle and patient with her. He’d been . . . caring.

Watching him, so obviously conflicted, so obviously trying not to show whatever emotions he was feeling, a snippet of her conversation with Morgan came back to her.

So you’re asking me to . . . what? Pretend?

No. I’m asking you to be patient. And understanding, even though you don’t understand, and never will, because you’re a different species from him. Just like every other woman who loves a man.

It had seemed like an odd aside at the time, just one more bit of insanity. But now it hit her as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Were they
in love
? Was that part of what she wasn’t remembering? Was that the cause of all this sexual tension between them, sizzling like butter in a hot pan?

Hawk must have sensed her shock, because he looked at her sharply, his eyes dark. “What is it?”

Eyes wide, Jack stared at him. “Tell me one thing, Hawk.”

He stared back at her, taut as a bowstring. Waiting.

Feeling terrified, electrified, fraught with the most exquisite thrill, she whispered, “What’s the most important thing I’ve forgotten?”

She watched him fight. She watched the vein throb in his temple, the way his lips pressed hard together, the way his hands flexed. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing faltered.

And she watched as he opened his eyes and said roughly, “This.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her.

It was hot and hard and delicious, edged with tangible desperation; his tongue invaded her mouth as his hands crushed her against him, tangled in her hair, wrapped around her bottom. She arched against him, feeling the heat and rightness of his body, a thrill running through her when she heard the sound of pleasure he made, low in his throat.

It lasted forever. Or at least it felt as if it did; time had lost all meaning. Finally he pulled away, holding her face in his hands, breathing hard.

She swayed, breathing just as hard as he was. He steadied her with his strong arm wrapped around her waist.

“That definitely seems important,” she said, feeling as boneless as a rag doll. He was so large and male and gorgeous, and he tasted amazing, and Jack was having a hard time coming up with any reason she shouldn’t kiss him again.

So she did.

He pushed her back against the tree, pressed the length of his body against hers, and Jack had the wild thought he would tear off all her clothes and take her right then and there, in the open.

But then he broke away, panting, his expression tortured. “Stay here,” he commanded, taking a step back, then another. “Stay inside.”

Jack couldn’t speak. She was too overwhelmed. Too ambivalent. She didn’t trust what would come out of her mouth.

“Promise me, Jacqueline. Please. I have to go. There’s something I have to do, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. I swear I’ll tell you everything, you can ask me any question you want. But if I can’t be sure you’re going to be safe in the meantime, I won’t be able to . . . I won’t be able . . .”

More of Morgan’s words came back to haunt her, and a chill ran over her skin.

Hawk is going to put his life on the line in a contest against the man who leads this little colony of ours . . . and only one of them is going to emerge from that contest alive.

“Yes,” she whispered, “okay. I will.”

His relief was palpable. He scrubbed his hands over his face. He took one long, last look at her, then turned to leave.

“Hawk.”

He turned back, staring at her with an expression that was truly awful to behold. Pain and frustration and longing . . . and hope. Most of all—worst of all—hope.

You’ve given him hope, and if you take it away . . . I think it will kill him.

Jack took a breath. In a voice clear and unwavering, she said, “I want you to win.”

It startled him. He stared at her, his eyes searching, until finally he nodded.

“I will.” It was a promise, spoken in a voice reverberating with emotion. “For you, Jacqueline, I will.”

Then he turned and walked away.

The meeting of two Alphas was never a simple affair, or one devoid of danger.

Their race was as old as the bones of the Earth, their ways just as fixed. Only one Alpha ruled a colony, and his word was Law. An Alpha was bred for one thing, and one thing only: domination.

So when two of them were forced into close proximity, animosity abounded. The potential for a violent eruption was never far off.

“Alejandro,” said Leander. Though his tone and aspect were perfectly polite, his eyes were narrowed to slits. Tall and lean, cool and composed, he stood in front of his party, a commanding presence that had all the other males in the vicinity standing up a little straighter. An aura of power, both electric and dark, encircled him like a bubble.

In contrast, Alejandro seemed flustered. His eyes were bright. His face was flushed. Though he was flanked by his cadre of guards, as he stood at the head of his entire colony, he was fidgeting like a child during church.

“Leander,” he snapped. His eyes moved beyond Leander, taking in the viscount, the others. “And where is our beautiful Queen?”

The crowd, jostling shoulder to shoulder to get a good look at the spectacle, hushed.

Where, indeed?

They stood in an open clearing at the forefront of the colony, where the jungle gave way to ordered beds of flowers and vegetable gardens, near the grotto and hidden pools used for bathing. It was hot. The air was still. Sweat trickled down the back of Morgan’s neck.

Deadly soft, Leander asked, “She’s not here?”

A ripple of tension ran through the crowd. Standing beside Xander, Morgan shivered with a premonition of doom.

“
Here
?” repeated Alejandro, blinking. “Why would she be here? I know nothing of this. I thought she traveled with you.”

Leander’s gaze moved over the gathering. Though his expression revealed exactly nothing, Morgan knew he was assessing. Calculating. His eyes found hers through the crowd, pierced her, and for a moment she was breathless with terror.

This was the first time she’d seen him in years. A lifetime ago, he’d ordered her dead. His Queen had intervened, and she’d been spared . . . but his Queen was not here at the moment.

The man Morgan had betrayed to the enemy—a man Morgan had hated her entire life because of his arrogance, because of his power over her fate—stood just behind Leander, glaring at her through his small, round spectacles, his mouth as pinched as a prune.

Viscount Weymouth was just as vile as she remembered.
I hope you rot in hell
, she thought, glaring back at him, then realized with a start Leander was still staring at her.