Spider-Touched (37 page)

They took up positions near the cars they’d arrived in. The high-ranking guardsman was last to emerge, carrying the drawings Araña had done.

He stopped next to the priest. His face was grim.

“Cabot Lavene was killed the other day near the Mission,” the guardsman said, showing the priest the first of the images before sliding it to the bottom. “This is Jurgen Reichs. He’s one of those I’ve been watching. It won’t be hard to prove his involvement with the maze.”

That picture went to the bottom. The priest visibly stiffened at the final image, the one Tir knew belonged to Tomás. “Have your grandfather turn the girl over to the Church for questioning. Impress on him how dangerous it is to delay.”

“I’ll speak with him. In the meantime, I’ve left four of my men inside and ordered others into positions where they can watch the approaches to the house.”

“Good. You’ll be in touch with me later?”

“Yes, by phone if not in person. I’ll press my grandfather to make the transfer before nightfall, but I suspect he’ll put off a decision until the morning, arguing Tomás is safe enough as long as he remains at the estate.”

The priest nodded then climbed into his chauffeured car. The others got into the cars that brought them, and a moment later the street was empty, the house left as a false beacon of security.

“They’ll probably have men stationed near the red zone,” Araña whispered. “And they’ll position themselves along the most direct route, expecting us to come that way. If we keep to the ruins, we can cross the border—”

“There’ll be no need to worry about them at all once the bookseller’s safe is open and the translations are in my possession.”

“And what about Levi? What if he comes here and walks into a trap meant for you?”

Tir’s nostril’s flared as he felt the weight of her judgment against him. He leaned forward abruptly and tangled his fingers in her hair. “What of the Were? In the forest he left me shackled for the guardsmen to find. He argued against freeing me.”

“And you would have risked your life if your positions had been reversed? Your freedom when it seemed like a foolish waste? He could have turned us away last night or betrayed us. Instead he told you about Rimmon and what you might face when you went to recover the
Constellation
.”

“Unless he provokes the men waiting in the house, he’ll be tran quilized and captured. What then, Araña? Do you think he won’t betray me in exchange for his own freedom and the healer’s?”

The sting of her disappointment in him lashed across his soul. She said, “These are your enemies. Not theirs. When I drew the picture of Tomás, you guessed who might have Rebekka. You—”

Guilt slapped him, making him snarl. “Even now I don’t know
who
or
where
, though with time she
can
be found.”

Araña’s eyes darkened into endless black. Resolve and determination slid up her spine, throbbing so deeply he felt it pulsing through him. “She might not have time. The Church is no friend of the gifted. I’m going—”

“No.” Fury at the idea of her risking herself made his voice harsh. “I’ll find the healer. I’ll rescue her from
my
enemies as soon as I’m free of the collar. The Were, too, if he’s unfortunate enough to stumble into this trap.”

Araña’s relief melted over Tir, along with her pleasure in his promise. It should have angered him that her emotions so often became his. It should terrify him that her will could become his own. But instead he found himself fighting the urge to push her onto her back, the need to eradicate all remnants of their argument making him want to cover her with his body and feel her underneath him.

His mouth settled on Araña’s and she willingly parted her lips for him. Her tongue greeted his, sliding against it in a sensuous celebration of intimacy restored.

He could spend an eternity with her and never have his lust sated to the point where he would desire another female. Even in their cramped, debris-strewn hiding place, he wanted to free his cock and join with her.

Tir forced himself away from her. “There’s not much of the day left. We need to go to the bookseller’s.”

It pleased him that physically parting seemed as difficult for her as for him. Her dark eyes hid nothing from him. They smoldered with desire. Caressed him.

“You’re right, we need to go,” she said, sending a lick of flame along his cock when she glanced downward and wet her lips with her tongue.

“Araña,” he growled.

Her smile held feminine satisfaction. Her eyes, when they lifted and met his, held an awareness of the power she had over him, how thoroughly she’d enslaved him and made him a prisoner to his need for her.

“That look invites further punishment,” he said, urging her from the hiding place before lust delayed them further.

They clung to ruins where they could. Several times they were forced to duck into shadows by the sound of a diesel engine, followed by the passing of a sleek car carrying the gold flag with the red lion rampant.

Eventually they passed out of the area set aside for the gifted and into neighborhoods where groups of houses had been reclaimed. Dogs barked, announcing their passing. Children looked up from evening chores of gathering food from gardens and chasing chickens into well-protected coops.

Older children drove cattle and sheep down the street, returning from a day in the forest, or maybe from a day spent guarding the animals as they grazed among rubble.

The residential section gave way to what had once been a business district. A goat rounded the corner in front of them, its eyes wild with fear, the bell tied to its neck clanging as it sped past.

Tir drew the machete as quickly as the knives appeared in Ara ña’s hands. They approached, bracing themselves for whatever predator might charge after the goat.

Instead there was the panicked bleating of more goats, the shout of a boy, and then the horrible, abrupt sound of silence.

They surged forward, around the corner.

Tir had no name for the things he found there. But Araña did.

“Chupacabra. Goat suckers.”

The creatures were reptile and mammal combined, leathery skinned with sharp spines running down their backs, their fangs driven deep into the throats of two goats and a boy barely in his teens, their cheeks puffing in and out as they drank blood.

“He’s still alive,” Araña said, rushing forward and willing to take on all three of the creatures.

Tir passed her, though he doubted it would make a difference. The boy no longer struggled.

The closest chupacabra lifted its mouth away from a goat’s throat and screeched in warning, flashing its bloody fangs. It screeched again when Tir kept rushing toward it, then sprang away like a kangaroo, emitting a sulfur stink an instant before the machete sliced through the air where the creature had been.

He kept going, trusting Araña to watch his back. The second chupacabra jerked, nearly severing the goat’s head from its body in its hurry to get away from Tir.

The third, smaller and probably less dominant than the other two, followed the example of its companions, abandoning the boy it had been forced to take as a meal.

Arterial blood sprayed out in an arc of red. Tir reached the body and could almost feel the soul hovering free, thinning, slipping away.

Too late,
he started to say. But before he could utter the words, Araña’s sorrow at being unable to save the boy washed through him, the intensity of her emotions striking so deeply he acted without thought.

Tir sank to his knees and opened his mind, accepting the pain. He touched his hand to the boy’s torn throat and
willed
it healed,
willed
the soul to return to the still warm flesh.

The machete fell from numb fingers. He was only vaguely aware of it, only vaguely aware he hadn’t used his blood to heal.

Pain nearly crushed him to the ground. He fought against crying out and revealing his weakness. Then Araña was there beside him, her touch feather-soft on his back, but it was like life-giving fire, adding strength, adding her will to his, and the combination was undefeatable.

The boy cried out. He opened terror-filled eyes and rolled away from Tir’s hand, then scrambled to his feet, taking in the dead goats before fleeing.

Tir turned his head and found his lips only inches away from Araña’s. Hunger rose like a victory cry, flaring between them, tightening their bodies.

He wanted to take her.
He would take her.

But they were too close to the bookseller’s shop now to delay. And he needed time to think about what had happened with the boy, what it meant that her desires had so completely become his own. Never before had he healed by will alone.

“Another block and we’ll be there,” he said, standing, dragging her to her feet, unable to resist crushing her mouth with his, tangling his fingers in her dark hair and holding her to him as his tongue thrust against hers, dominated hers until she melted against him.

He freed her then and started walking, the confusion of his thoughts yielding to anticipation with each step closer to the bookseller and the text that would finally free him from the cursed collar.

Araña walked next to Tir, filled with awe and wonder, happiness over what he’d done. He’d saved a child, spontaneously, when there was nothing to be gained from it other than the satisfaction of having done something good.

He’d saved a human at a cost to himself. Despite his efforts to hide the pain it caused him, she’d seen it, sensed it.

Araña glanced at his face, her eyes caressing the elegant lines, hungrily storing each nuance in her memory. Her fingers itched to take up colored pencils and capture his likeness, though she doubted she would ever be able to re-create his beauty on paper.

In moments he would be free of the collar. She might doubt her ability to draw him fully, but she didn’t doubt her ability to open the safe containing the translations. From the first time Matthew showed her a safe and challenged her to crack it, she’d never failed at opening anything that used sets of numbers to control the locking device, or in the case of alarm systems, to engage or disengage them.

Her gaze dropped to her hand and the spider. She’d always thought her ability with combinations was simply a knack made better with practice and usage, much as Erik and Matthew could pick any lock almost as soon as they’d inserted a tool into it. Now she wondered if her ability was a result of the demon mark. Unlike the mechanics of picking a lock, combinations were
known
, they were part of the already woven threads of the past.

Araña’s palm glanced over the hilt of Erik’s blade. A knot formed in her throat, not for his loss—she’d come to terms with losing him and Matthew—but what it would mean when Tir regained his memories and his powers.

Would he still want her? Desire her? Would he discover he had a mate elsewhere? Children? A family that would shun him if he chose to keep a human at his side?

Araña closed her mind to her worries in favor of studying her surroundings as they passed through ruined buildings that had once housed shops. L’Antiquaire came into view near the edge of the forest.

The remoteness of the bookseller’s location sent the first trickle of uneasiness through her. And when they reached it, Araña’s gaze went automatically to the sigils carved in the doorway.

It was like being doused with icy water. Her breath caught. Her skin chilled into gooseflesh. “You don’t recognize the symbols?” she asked above the erratic pounding of her heart.

“Some of them.” He touched the common ones, the ones meant to ward against evil and certain types of supernatural beings.

Araña’s hand shook slightly as she lifted it to the wood, forcing herself to trace the glyphs Tir hadn’t and speak the names they represented. “Tucci. Tassone. Torres. They’re vampire family names.”

She traced others on the opposite side of the door. “Laurent. Rios. Michel. They’ve offered their protection, too.”

Tir’s husky laugh was almost enough to melt the ice encasing her at seeing the glyphs. His fingers curled around her arm, turning her to face him.

The knuckles of his other hand grazed over her cheek in a caress. “And you’ve got my protection, Araña. I had no trouble with the vampires I encountered at the dock. They allowed me to pass and recover your boat, though if the Were is to be believed, they were paid to guard the area.”

Her heart gave a jolt and her hands went to his chest. “You didn’t tell me you encountered vampires.”

Tir shrugged. “It wasn’t worth mentioning.”

“Perhaps not. Vampires take business matters seriously, just as they do their promises. If they let you pass at the pier, it was because they
could
under the terms of the agreement they’d negotiated with the dock and ship owners. It doesn’t change the danger represented by the symbols around
this
door.”

Her eyes strayed to the protection sigils. “See the marks after each name? They’re a pledge that justice will be administered even if it takes centuries to accomplish. They’re a warning that the punishment they administer might encompass the enslaving and killing of not only the person guilty of a crime against them, but every living descendent and every blood relative.”

“If it will calm your worries, I’ll promise not to harm the bookseller.” He kissed her in a rough display of masculine dominance and arrogance. “You will open the safe, Araña. And you will trust me to protect you from the consequences of it.”

In the end she knew she would do as he requested. She’d promised to do this for him, just as he’d promised to recover the
Constellation
for her. But fear drenched her all the same.

He reacted to it by stiffening beneath her palms at the implied lack of confidence in his ability to keep her safe. His face became a harsh mask.

She touched her lips to his in supplication. “Trust me to try negotiation first,” she whispered, rubbing her fingertips over hardened masculine nipples.

Tir’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but in the end he gave a slight nod before leaning forward to issue a sensual warning against her ear. “When this is done, I’ll take you so thoroughly there’ll be no room left for doubt or fear.”