The Unforgiven (26 page)

“Neither left a note?” Dusek asked.

“Not that we’ve found. There have not been any calls, either.”

Dusek tapped his lips with his joined fingertips. “Have you notified the police?”

“No, sir. I thought . . . I thought I should speak with you first.”

“A wise notion, Ms. Stern.”

There was a brief pause. Then: “A temporary laborer went missing the same night. A British national.”

Dusek frowned. “Does this man have a name?”

“Yes, sir. Cade. Cade Leucetius.”

Dusek lurched forward in his seat. What was this? He spoke slowly and said, “I did not see that name on the latest roster.”

“No, sir. He’d only just arrived. A few days before—”

“I should have been notified before Dr. Ben-Meir took him on.”

“Yes, sir. I know that is what the contract states. But the man was not an archeologist. Just a laborer. He was to be here less than a week, clearing the east site. Dr. Ben-Meir did not think it necessary to bother you.”

“Whose money is financing this dig, Ms. Stern?”

A sharp inhalation. “The largest share of it is yours, of course, Professor. Without your support we would have closed down months ago.”

“You may close down yet, if Dr. Ben-Meir does not return to his post.”

“I am sure he will return. That is . . . if he is able. This dig is his life. He wouldn’t leave it. Not voluntarily.”

“Is anything missing? Any artifact from the dig?”

“No, sir. Not as far as I can tell. Every item in the log is accounted for.” The woman paused, and he heard her swallow. “There’s just one odd thing . . .”

“What is it?”

“The ancient well we uncovered last month. Someone’s been digging in it. But nothing was noted in any of the logs.”

“I see.”

Long moments passed before: “Professor Dusek? Are you still on the line?”

“I am.” He stood. “Do not notify the police, Ms. Stern. Not yet. Carry on with your duties and await my arrival.”

Prague, Czech Republic

Prague was a city of layers. At ground level lay the bustle of its streetscape. Next, the gray bulk of its residences and businesses. Higher still, medieval church spires reached skyward, and the great castle brooded atop its hill. A thick blanket of smog hovered above it all.

Artur was concerned with none of it. The strata he sought lay underfoot, in a twisting catacomb accessed from the cellars of Vaclav Dusek’s gilded Baroque mansion. A lair on a level with the city’s sewers, and just as filthy. All the gold in the universe couldn’t disguise the evil that lurked within that sordid maze.

The doors of Dusek’s palace—twin slabs of shining black teak—faced the Vltava River. Mist rose from the water, blurring the lines of a wide, cobble-paved bridge. The stone saints lining the span seemed to float atop the fog. Turning his back on the scene, Artur studied the portal of Dusek’s mansion. He’d never before attempted access to Clan Azazel’s stronghold. He didn’t even know if it was possible, but at the moment he was in the mood for an impossible task. The more dangerous, the better. Anything to keep his mind from Cybele and the choice he’d flung at her feet.

The late afternoon sky was gray. Monochromatic. After brief reflection, Artur climbed the stairs to the palace doors. A gold knocker in the shape of a skull greeted him. He lifted
it and let it fall. After several moments, muffled footsteps approached. The lock scraped.

The door opened a scant two inches. Artur met the stare of a young man—one of Vaclav Dusek’s sons, certainly; his hooked nose and bright, malicious eyes proclaimed the relationship. As did the black collar around his neck and the gleaming white stone set in the smooth metal. At a guess, the lad had no more than seventeen years. A dormant.

“I’ve come to see Dusek,” Artur said.

“The professor is from home,” the youth replied in heavily accented English.

Artur considered the possible truth of this statement. He decided not to challenge it. “Who is in charge in his absence?”

“That would be Miklos.” The dormant’s eyes were disturbingly blank.

“I will speak with Miklos, then.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Artur Camulus, chieftain of Clan Samyaza.”

The youth’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t, as Artur half expected, slam the door. Instead, he opened it wider and stepped to one side. “As you wish. Come.”

Artur followed his guide down a hallway bedecked with gilded plasterwork and hung with crystal chandeliers. It took very little effort to see the stains of Dusek’s blood magic dripping down the walls or to taste the residue of black malice seeping up through the floorboards. The specter of the crimes committed in this place turned even Artur’s stomach.

He was ushered into a small receiving room filled with delicate furnishings. Artur took up a spot in front of the porcelain mantelpiece and clasped his hand behind his back. Dusek’s son withdrew, shutting the door behind him, and Artur wondered if the dormant had any sense of shame for who had spawned him. Or for what his sire had done to him.
To be enslaved by one’s own kin would be hell. To be enslaved by one’s own father? Oblivion was preferable.

The door swung open. A second son entered. This one was a full adept, his dark eyes older and far shrewder. He wore a dark business suit, a red tie knotted in a precise Windsor. That neckwear didn’t entirely hide the black collar and white stone.

“Miklos, I presume?” Artur said.

The Watcher inclined his head. “Artur Camulus. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I am here to speak with Vaclav Dusek.”

“Indeed.” Miklos clasped his hands behind his back. “I imagine you are anxious to discuss the missive recently delivered to your door. Unfortunately, I cannot help you. The professor is from home.”

Artur strode across the Persian carpet, halting an arm’s length from a dark Caravaggio. Sweeping aside the fall of his duster, he drew his Glock from its holster and trained the barrel on Miklos’s chest. “I wonder,” he said, “what the professor would say if I killed you.”

Miklos shrugged. “It is no longer possible for you to do so. The point is moot.”

Artur pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. His adversary smiled.

“Samyaza magic has its uses. A fine addition to our arsenal, I am sure you would agree.”

Artur replaced the gun in its holster and braced himself for the counterattack that was surely coming. It did not. He frowned.

Miklos’s smile grew. “I thank you for your visit. I am only sorry your trip has been made in vain. When the professor returns, I will be sure to tell him you called.”

As if on cue, the dormant reentered the room.

“Ah, Petr. You will see our guest out, if you please.”

There was not much Artur could do but retrace his steps
into the street. Oh, he might have fought, might have done some damage, perhaps even wounded one of Dusek’s sons, but to what purpose? Clan Azazel’s master was a ruthless bastard. The alchemist would hardly miss even the most favored of his slave sons.

He crossed the street to the stone rail fronting the river. Leaning against it, he stared broodingly back at Dusek’s palace. After a time, his gaze dropped to the sewer grate in the street before the front doors. Coming to a realization, he straightened. Here was a possibility.

Trapped. Bound. Cade’s arms were stretched and immobile, his ankles bound with rope. His body was naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. No protection.

Chaos. His sanity slipping away. Rage, fear, hatred, in his heart, in his mind. Madness like acid, dripping, pooling, eating away at his sanity. He dared not open his eyes; the thought of what he might see was far too terrifying. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

A touch. Cool on his hot skin. She’d told him her name. Cybele. She’d come to save him. She was his anchor, his salvation—His love.

Cade’s memory snapped like a rubber band stretched past its limit. Terror. Chaos. But not his terror. Not his chaos. Maddie’s. Her mind boiled like a sea of horror. And this time Cade was the anchor, the dormant’s only hope of surviving transition. If he didn’t slam the lid on his own memories and fears, he’d lose her.

Her body was rigid beneath his, her face set with lines of terror. Her eyes were open and staring, but she wasn’t looking at him. What she experienced was solely in her mind; he’d caught
a glimpse of it. The sight had unnerved him so profoundly that it had thrown him into the memory of his own transition.

He couldn’t afford this weakness. He wrestled his fear, transformed it into steely determination. His need to protect Maddie came first. His need to . . . to
cherish
her, as odd as that sentiment was, given the harshness of her situation. He was bound to her now, by Artur’s order and by his own choice. He would not fail her. Neither insanity nor Oblivion would claim her. Not while he lived.

Neither of them had moved for long moments. His body was still buried deep inside hers. Levering himself up on shaky arms, his gaze intent on her face, he withdrew, but not so far as to leave her completely. Her muscles clenched, urging his return. He plunged back into her carnal invitation.

“Oh!” Her eyes snapped to his, wide and startled and suddenly, blessedly, in focus.

“Maddie.” Cade watched her intently. “Do you know me?”

A tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyes. “You’re . . . Cade.”

“That’s right. I’m here to take care of you. To help you fight.”

A shudder passed through her. Her arms and legs jerked, pulling at her bonds.

“Then . . . why am I tied?” Her struggle quickened, and desperation spiked her voice. “I don’t like it. I don’t want it! Let me go, Cade—”

He cupped her face with one hand. “I’m sorry. It’s for your own protection.” And for his. “Frenzy comes with the crisis. These ropes will keep you safe.”

“Safe?
Safe?
I saw what’s coming after me. You can’t keep me safe. You can’t. No one could.”

Her agitation returned full force, racking her body, driving strength into her limbs. If the ropes encircling her wrists and
ankles hadn’t been formed by magic, Cade was sure they would have snapped.

He cradled her head in his hands and locked their eyes. When he moved inside her, she shuddered and softened. But her expression was bleak.

“How can I fight it, Cade? How?”

He didn’t answer, just concentrated on working his cock inside her body. In. Out. In. Out. Artur had sent him to Maddie for exactly this reason, but that didn’t lessen the tenderness blossoming in Cade’s heart. She was so strong, so brave. A natural warrior. Stronger by far than he had been, when he was in her place.

He feathered kisses over her forehead. A tear tracked down her cheek. “Hush now,
caraid
. Hush,” Cade murmured against her lips. “You’ll come through this. I promise.”

Her hips lifted to match his growing rhythm. “You feel good. So good. But you can’t possibly—”

“Shh. I can. If you let me in.”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

Deliberately he let his presence expand in her mind. Her eyes widened, and the fear in them increased.

“The presence in my head. It
is
you. You’ve been there since . . . since we first . . .”

“Yes.”

“I’ve felt you, but I wasn’t sure . . .”

“Now you are. And now I need to go deeper. You need to let me in completely, Maddie, if I’m to help you. I need access to your deepest ancestral memories.”

He might have used magic to compel her; he had certainly gained enough control over her will to do so. He resisted that path, however. The thought of thrusting into her innermost being by force sickened him. He desperately wanted her to want him there.

“Let me in,” he said again.

She flushed. “I . . . I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to. I’m inside your body and inside your mind. I need to be part of your life essence.”

Her head scrubbed the mattress. “No. I can’t—”

“Please. Please trust me. The peak of your crisis isn’t far off. I can’t protect you unless you trust me. Unless you let me in.”

Her eyes closed briefly, but her body remained stiff under his. He held himself deep and still inside her. Her inner muscles squeezed him like a tight, hot glove. He felt himself falling into a different kind of frenzy. One he knew he should fight but couldn’t.

“I love you, Maddie.” It was lunacy to say it.

Her eyes widened. “You don’t. You couldn’t.”

“I do.”

“Then . . . untie me. Please, Cade.”

It had been hard enough to subdue her during the onset. He stared down at her and said, “That’s not a good idea. When the peak hits—”

“Please.” She jerked at her bonds. “Please. I hate this. I want to move. Oh, God, it’s starting again. I can’t stand it.”

Cade stroked a damp curl from her forehead. “Then let me in. It can’t hurt you if I’m with you.”

“Untie me!” She jerked her arms. “I need to move! I need to fight! If you really love me, untie me.”

He knew he should simply claim her ancestral memories, her magic and be done with it. She couldn’t stop him. He was a fool ten times over to even consider granting her plea. If he freed her, how would he be able to subdue her during the first rush of her full power?

And yet, he hesitated. Blast it. If anything was madness, this was it.

He wasn’t aware of consciously making the decision, only of speaking the words that had the knots sliding from her wrists
and ankles. Those cords slithered back up his arm and blended into his skin.

The tension drained from Maddie’s body. Her hands found their way to his wrists and stroked up his arms. That simple caress, freely given, was unbelievably erotic, and he gasped with the pure unspoiled shock of it.

Her hands slid over his shoulders as if measuring their width. Her eyes shone with tears. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

He captured her gaze with his own. “Now keep your promise. Let me in.”

She tugged his head down, matched his lips to hers. As the kiss deepened, he felt her surrender.

“I love you, Cade.”

It was time. Ignoring the pangs of his conscience, he slipped more deeply into her mind, into her ancestral memory. Into the heart of Clan Azazel’s power.