Sought...Book 3 in the Brides of the Kindred series (4 page)

A massive male—she couldn’t really call him
a man because there was nothing human about him—was leading the
way. He had pinkish mottled skin and he was wearing a loincloth of
large, flat leaves. In his hand he carried a fiery silver whip that
snapped and crackled as though it was made of lightning.

What the hell?
The question was
driven out of her head when she saw someone familiar following the
huge male. Deep was shirtless, his muscular chest gleaming in the
light cast by the strange whip. Kat could see the silver light
reflected in the black pools of his eyes too, which were otherwise
completely impassive.

“So this is the Stone Throat, eh?” he said
to the giant who only grunted noncommittally. “I’ve heard of this
place. Never thought I’d see it in person. Not that there’s much to
see.”

The enormous male didn’t even grunt this
time. He just passed through the stone hallway, ducking his head to
avoid hitting the ceiling where Kat was still hovering in her
invisible form.

For some reason, she felt a stab of fear.
What’s going on? What are they going to do?
Without making a
conscious decision to do it, she found herself gliding noiselessly
after them down the stone corridor until they came to a thick green
wooden door. Deep’s guide grasped the tarnished silver ring in its
center and pulled it open easily though it looked immensely heavy
to Kat.

The door swung to one side revealing a vast,
round room made of the same brownish-pink stone as the corridor.
The ceiling curved up but instead of forming a perfect arch, it
elongated into a tall stone chimney far above. From that small
opening, a perfectly round spot of sunlight streamed down to rest
on the floor at the exact center of the room. It illuminated a
rough obelisk of white stone streaked with reddish-brown mineral
deposits.

The obelisk was at least ten feet tall and
it pointed up toward the chimney like a jagged, accusing finger.
Kat saw that someone had affixed two thick, rusty rings in its
center. A feeling of cold dread filled her when she saw the thick
chain running through the rings. What went on in this room? Why
would anyone need to be chained to the strange white obelisk? She
was horribly afraid but she didn’t want to let herself acknowledge
it.

“Will you be chained or will you stand?” The
huge male’s voice was high and almost effeminate but it echoed
eerily in the vast chamber.

“I’ll stand.” Deep went to the obelisk
without hesitation. Facing it, he gripped one of the rusty rings in
each hand. His broad, muscular back presented the perfect target.
“I’m ready.”

Ready for what? Oh dear God, please
no!
Kat didn’t particularly like Deep—in fact, she thought he
was kind of a jerk. He made her more uncomfortable than anyone else
she’d ever met in her life. But no one deserved to be whipped with
that hissing, crackling silver whip. There were freaking
spikes
on the end of it, for God’s sake. Was it some kind of
punishment Deep was about to be subjected to? But what had he done?
And who had decided he had to be punished?

“Ready yourself,” the other male advised,
raising the whip.

“I
said
I was ready.” Deep’s voice
held not a trace of fear—only irritation.

How can he not be afraid? What’s wrong with
him?

Kat watched in horror as the massive arm
rose and the whip cracked, lashing around Deep’s ribs with a hungry
hiss. Deep made a similar sound himself—a low hiss of pain—as the
barbed silver tongues bit into his flesh, but no other noise
escaped him.

The giant yanked the whip back, splattering
crimson droplets against the white obelisk. Suddenly Kat understood
that the brownish red streaks on its rough surface weren’t mineral
deposits.
Blood, my God, it’s blood! He’s bleeding! Stop
it—stop!

But the whip rose again, ready for another
blow. “Scream,” the huge torturer advised. “Release your pain into
the Throat.” He nodded at the stone chimney above. “It will make
the agony less.”

“Don’t want it to be less,” Deep growled.
“Just get on with it, damn you.”

“As you wish.” The whip cracked again,
biting and tearing the smooth, tan skin of Deep’s back, shredding
it to bloody ribbons. He barely flinched.

No! Nooo!
Kat tried to shriek but no
sound came out. Deep didn’t cry out either. He stood at the
obelisk, grasping the rusty rings in a white-knuckled grip, his jaw
clenched and his eyes shut tight. Clearly he was enduring
unspeakable agony and just as clearly he was determined not to make
a sound.

Kat felt like she was going crazy. Rushing
at the giant, she tried to grab his hand and keep the whip from
falling again. But she was helpless to stop him—helpless to even
touch
him. It was as though she was trapped in a bad dream,
one which she couldn’t wake up from.

Please,
she begged silently as
invisible tears fell down her cheeks.
Please, please don’t.
Please stop hurting him…

But nothing she said or did made any
difference. The whipping went on and on…and on.

“She’s crying.” Lock looked down at Kat’s
still-sleeping face in alarm. “Look, tears are running down her
cheeks.” He cupped her jaw and brushed them tenderly away with the
pad of his thumb.

“So she is.” Mother L’rin didn’t sound
unduly worried.

“But what does it mean?” Lock looked at her
anxiously. “What’s happening to her?”

“A bad dream, perhaps. I’m more concerned
with what’s happening with that brother of yours.” Her wrinkled
face creased in a frown. “I haven’t heard a single scream.”

“That’s because Deep won’t scream. He won’t
give in to the pain that way.” Lock wiped Kat’s other cheek gently.
“He’s too damn stubborn.” He closed his eyes. “I can feel his pain
but he won’t share it with me—he’s closed tight, turned
inward.”

Mother L’rin shrugged her bowed shoulders.
“His choice. If he’d release the pain into the Stone Throat it
would dissipate much more quickly.”

“I tell you, he won’t scream. He’d probably
rather die.”

“He won’t die.” The old woman spoke with
certainty. “That would put your life in danger as well and I
wouldn’t do that, Lock. But he may well wish he was dead by the
time the whipping is over.” She looked at him. “Are you wishing you
could take his place?”

“Yes.” Lock swiped away tears of his own,
blotting them angrily on his deep green uniform sleeve. “He doesn’t
deserve this. He thinks he does, but he doesn’t. I know he’s a
bastard a lot of them time but he’s my brother and I love him.”

“Of course you do.” Mother L’rin’s voice was
suddenly softer and she laid one wrinkled old hand on Lock’s arm.
“Never fear, you’ll both come out of this alive.” She looked grim.
“I just wish I could promise the same for your lady Kat here.”

“Please.” Lock felt as though his heart was
breaking. “Can’t we save her? Won’t it be easier for her now that
Deep has taken her pain?”

“She’ll still be weak and even if you
managed to complete the soul bond with her the pain may return in
time.” Mother L’rin frowned. “You’ll need to take her someplace
quiet and let her rest for a little while before you attempt
that.”

“Of course. Deep will be in no shape for any
kind of bonding activity for awhile anyway.” Closing his eyes
again, Lock could feel the echoes of his twin’s agony. But Deep was
still shut tight, conserving every ounce of his strength to bear
the pain.

“His wounds will heal fast,” Mother L’rin
predicted. “Lashes inflicted with psychic pain always do and Twin
Kindred are quick healers anyway. The strokes hurt three times as
much as physical wounds but they mend three times as fast as well.
When Deep’s back is mostly healed, then you may attempt to finish
your soul bond with the lady Kat.”

“And after we do? What then?”

“Bring Kat back and let me examine her.”
Mother L’rin put a withered hand on Kat’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you
what to do then if she survives.”

She has to survive. Please, Mother of All
Life, let her survive,
Lock prayed fervently.
Do not let my
brother’s sacrifice be in vain. Do not let the pain he feels count
for nothing.

Kat was crying again. Tenderly, he wiped the
tears from his cheeks, wishing he could ease her pain, wishing he
could share Deep’s agony. But he was shut out from both of
them—unable to help either of the people he loved.

Lock had never felt more alone.

The human female was troublesome.

It annoyed Xairn the way she cried when he
came near her. Later, when he offered her no harm, she began to
talk to him and that was even worse.

“Please,” she whispered the third time he
brought her food and water. “Please, I’m so cold. It’s freezing in
here and I don’t have any clothes.” She was huddled in a corner of
the bare nine by nine metal cell she was being kept in. Her knees
were drawn up to her chin and she had her arms wrapped around her
legs but even so her smooth, light brown skin was covered in chill
bumps.

“It is the AllFather’s wish to keep you as
you are,” Xairn said stonily. “I only obey his orders.”

“But you’re not like him.” She leaned
forward, her eyes wide.

At least they aren’t green.
Instead
they were a brown so light it was almost golden. Amber, maybe.
Xairn shook his head. “You’re wrong. I am exactly like him. I am
his son.”

“That doesn’t matter. You may have his…his
eyes…” She swallowed nervously. “But you don’t
feel
like
him.”

“I haven’t laid a hand on you. Nor will
I.”

“I didn’t mean
feel
in a physical
sense.” She picked up one of the nutra-wafers he’d pushed over to
her and began to nibble it. “I meant, whenever he’s near me I sense
this…this
evil.
Hatred, malevolence—call it whatever you
want, but he carries it with him like a cloud. With you…” She
shrugged and took another nibble. “I don’t feel that.”

Xairn thought of telling her she would soon
feel a great deal more. The AllFather was only abstaining from
taking her until he reached his peak, when his seed would be most
potent. It was only a matter of days—weeks at the most—before this
human female became the new mother of the Scourge race.

She would probably lose her mind in the
process.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

“I am his son,” Xairn repeated, not having
anything else to say. “I obey his commands and do his bidding.”

“Not always,” she said softly. “Yesterday I
told you I was hungry. Today you brought me three of these
cardboard pop tart things instead of just one.”

Xairn frowned. “I have to keep you in good
physical condition for the AllFather. I have been charged with your
wellbeing.”

“Still, I want to thank you.” She looked at
him earnestly. “Maybe someday I can return the favor.”

“You will never be in a position to do me
any favors.” Xairn turned to go.

“Please…” Her voice tugged at him for some
reason and he looked over his shoulder.

“What is it? I have other duties besides you
to attend to.”

“I’m cold,” she repeated. “If you could just
bring me some clothes. Or even a blanket.”

“Your constant complaints are annoying.”
Xairn reached under his chin and unfastened the black cloak he
always wore. It
was
cold on the Fathership—not that any of
the vat grown soldiers noticed. Finding a new cloak would be
difficult, if not impossible—he’d bought this one by chance from a
clothier on a fringe colony. Still, he told himself, being a little
chilly was better than listening to her whining. “Here,” he said
and tossed it to her.

“Thank you.” She reached up to catch it and
he caught a glimpse of her full breasts and berry brown nipples,
tight with cold. The sight bothered him for some reason but he
didn’t have to see it for long. She huddled quickly beneath his
cloak, pulling it tight around her. “I really mean it, thank you so
much,” she said.

“Keep your thanks,” Xairn said coldly. “I’ll
get the cloak back when the AllFather is through with you.”

She drew in a sharp breath and her large
amber eyes filled with fear. Xairn didn’t wait to hear if she had
anything else to say. He slammed the heavy plasti-steel door and
keyed in the lock code.

The girl was nothing to him. Nothing.

But as he walked down the bare metal
corridor, he couldn’t help thinking that amber was almost as
troubling a color as green.

Kat was floating.

Not in the disembodied sense. This time she
could feel her body, her limbs heavy with unspeakable exhaustion,
her skin tender to touch. She wasn’t fully aware of her
surroundings but one thing was clear—someone was taking care of
her.

Gentle hands lifted her into warm water and
strong arms held her securely while someone else washed her hair.
The sensations were so soothing she wanted to drift away to sleep.
But I
am
asleep, aren’t I? If not, why
can’t I wake up?

The same hands dried her off and put a straw
between her lips. Kat sucked reflexively and a delicious, fruity
flavor that seemed to be a cross between watermelon, strawberry,
and some other fruit she couldn’t name filled her mouth.

“That’s right, my lady,” a deep, somehow
familiar voice murmured. “Drink deeply. Nourish yourself. It’s
almost time to attempt the bond.”

What bond?
Kat wanted to ask, but she
was stuck, held in the same, strange limbo she sensed she’d been in
for days. Was it a coma? They said that people in comas retained
some consciousness and heard everything that was said to them. But
would she be able to drink from a straw if she was truly
unconscious? Kat didn’t think so. It was all very confusing.