Tempting Danger (40 page)

And watched him Change.

It was as if reality itself flickered, time bending in and out of itself like a Möbius strip on speed. Impossible not to stare. Impossible to say what she saw in the darkness—a shoulder, furred, or was it bare? A muzzle that was also Rule’s face—a stretching, snapping disfocus, magic strobing its fancy over reality.

Then there was a wolf beside her. An extremely large wolf. The top of his head reached her breasts. An atavistic thrill shot through her, not quite fear—the visceral recognition of power. She rested her hand on his back.
So this is how Rule’s fur feels
. . . and there was as much wonder in this touch as in the earlier one, when she’d held Raven’s spell.

Together they moved forward.

This was the one way Rule wasn’t keeping to the program he would have followed had he meant to walk away from the trap. Normally he would have coursed ahead, using scent and hearing to mark the presence of any attackers. But he’d refused to leave Lily’s side. They would be taken together.

Lily couldn’t hear Rule at all; her own feet scuffed softly on the dry ground. They followed the road but kept to the cover at its side as they rounded the curve. Just ahead was a blacker shape that must be the shack. It, like the area around them, looked utterly deserted.

A large, furry head pressed against her legs, stopping her. She looked down. Rule tipped his muzzle to the left, pointing.

“They’re in the trees?”

He nodded.

Okay. They’d go forward as if they didn’t know that. She drew her weapon and nodded.

There was cover all the way up to the shack. The place might have been chosen for its accessibility to those who didn’t want to be seen. Lily slipped from shadow to shadow, crouching now behind a bush, now behind a rusted barrel. Though she moved as quietly as she could, she wasn’t as silent as Rule. He was a shadow himself, darkness wrapped in darkness.

They were as close as they could get without going in. Lily was on one knee behind a tangle of high weeds, her weapon ready but pointed at the ground. Rule was beside her. If it hadn’t been for the bond, she wouldn’t have known he was there.

He nudged her shoulder with his nose. Her heart was pounding hard—adrenaline as much as fear now. She hoped, burned for a fight. But that wasn’t why they were here. She nodded at him.

He slunk, near to the ground, up to the gaping darkness where the door should be, then stood upright, looking over his shoulder.

That was a come-ahead look. She licked her lips, stood, and followed him.

The door was missing, though she had to put out a hand to tell. The interior was utterly black. Rule moved forward, vanishing into that darkness.

For a second she hesitated.
It’s no worse than opening your mouth when the dentist is standing there with his drill,
she told herself.
Sure, it’s going to hurt. So?

She felt with her foot, found the place where dirt ended and floor began, and stepped inside.

No one hit her over the head. She couldn’t hear or see Rule, but she felt him nearby. Cautiously she eased forward, wondering if she should risk a light. But what was the risk? They were supposed to—

The hissing sound to her left made her spin that way—only her head kept spinning. Round and round, a sickening spin that flung her loose from consciousness as the blackness swallowed her.

TWENTY-EIGHT

LILY
woke slowly. Her mouth felt fuzzy, and her head pounded. She was lying on something hard. And she was cold. Her eyes blinked open. A gray ceiling . . . rock. Rock overhead, and rock beneath her. She was . . .

Rule! Where was he?

She turned her head too fast. Nausea rose, and her throat burned. She swallowed and closed her eyes again.

“It should pass off quickly,” a man’s tenor voice said cheerfully. “Humans don’t react as strongly to the stuff as lupi do. Rule’s still out.”

“They gassed us.” Already the nausea was passing, though her head hurt.

“A derivative of fentanyl—crude, but effective. My suggestion, I’m afraid. I thought it would do less damage than a whack on the head if you two were stupid enough to show up for our little rendezvous.”

She turned her head carefully. And stared. “Cullen Seabourne?”

“Live and in person.”

The beautiful face was wrecked. Scar tissue covered his empty eye sockets. His skin was patchy—dried blood from the terrible wounds had flecked or rubbed off in places but still stained him in others. His beard was growing out. He was shirtless, and his jeans were stiff with old blood. “You’re a mess.”

“A sight to scare the kiddies, I’m sure. Itches like crazy.”

He was lupus, she reminded herself. He could heal the wounds . . . if they all lived through this.

The fuzziness hadn’t been confined to her mouth. As her head cleared, she stretched out her left hand and found Rule’s arm. His skin was warm and comforting. He’d reverted to human form when the gas knocked him out.

Feeling steadier, she gave sitting up a try.

She didn’t pass out. She did have to swallow a few times.

Rule lay beside her, eyes closed. His nakedness wasn’t a surprise, as he’d warned her that clothes didn’t travel through the Change. The handcuffs were, but they’d allowed for that possibility. They should fall away when he Changed again.

His breathing was reassuringly even. She put her hand on his shoulder and noticed that her arm was bare. She looked down. She was wearing a thin, white cotton shift and nothing else. Dammit, had they . . . she put a hand to her head and found that her hair was loose. The knife was gone.

Not good news. Instead of panic, though, a hard, cold knot of anger began to throb inside her. “How long was I out?”

“One loses track of time here, but I’d guess you were delivered about thirty minutes ago.”

Thirty minutes. Not bad, depending on how long it had taken to bring them here. The others needed time to get in place.

“Tell me what the place looks like, won’t you?” Cullen said. “I’ve made some guesses—they let me out now and then to do tricks or take tea with our hostess—but eyes pick up more detail than ears.”

“We’re in a glass cage—looks like pretty thick glass—in a cave or cavern—”

“I’ve got all that.” He was impatient. “Get to the details.”

Her heart was pounding hard, but steady. She was locked up, yes, but she was cold, not sweltering. She could see out. “We’re at one end of a long, narrow cavern, maybe seventy feet from end to end. The ceiling’s about ten feet here, rough gray stone. It rises at the other end. I can’t see how high it is there—the light doesn’t reach that far up. Two visible exits, but there could be more. The walls are uneven, and the shadows make it hard to tell.”

“How’s it lit?”

“Cables strung along the walls.”

“Anyone watching us?”

God. He wouldn’t know, would he? They’d blinded him and locked him in a glass cage. . . . Would they have done that if they’d taken over his mind? “There’s a guard about five feet from the wall facing the main part of the cavern. Big fellow, over six feet, maybe two hundred pounds. He’s watching us, but not closely. Looks bored. He has a rifle, looks like an M-16, and . . . I can’t see what’s holstered at his hip.”

“Is he wearing black pajamas?”

“Something like that.” She squinted at the other end of the cavern, trying to make out details. The light wasn’t good. “Why?”

“Just wondered if they played dress-up all the time.”

“There are three people at the other end of the cavern wearing robes. White robes. Ah . . . they’re cleaning a big slab of rock. Maybe an altar.” She couldn’t make assumptions about Cullen. Maybe sorcerers were harder to control than others, and they’d used pain to weaken him.

“Getting ready for tonight’s performance, are they?” He sighed. “Not to knock the company, sweetheart, but I was profoundly discouraged when they dumped you two in here with me. Seems to accord us all the same status, doesn’t it? And I’ve worked so hard to persuade them of my willingness to sell out friends, family, whoever. I quite thought I’d succeeded.” He paused. “Almost makes one doubt their sincerity.”

She looked at him, frowning. “What in the world are you doing?”

He was sitting cross-legged, his back to the rest of the cavern, his hands busy—with nothing. He smiled. It was an odd sight in that ruined face. “Weaving. It helps to have a hobby. Would you like to meet my imaginary friend?”

“No, thanks.” Only one way to know for sure. She leaned toward him and put her hand on his arm.

“Why, sweetheart.” His smile turned suggestive—and that was just plain grotesque. “I’m not averse to an audience, but do you really think this is the time?”

Lily snatched her hand back. The buzz of magic had been strong and strange—lupus, but mixed with something else. It had not been slimy. He was clean. “You’re annoying, but you aren’t bespelled.”

“Ah.” He still had his eyebrows, though the hairs were rusty with flecks of dried blood. He lifted them. “So you know about Helen’s habits? Interesting. No, I’m shielded, much to her frustration.”

“Who’s Helen? The telepath?”

He continued with his air-weaving. “That’s all the name I have for her.
They
call her Madonna, and not after the rock star, which would certainly piss off a lot of . . . ah, he’s waking up. Good.”

How did Cullen know that, without eyes? But he was right. Lily turned and found Rule’s eyes open. “Give it a minute before you try to move,” she said softly. “Cullen says the stuff they gassed us with hits lupi harder than humans.” Automatically she rested a hand on his shoulder. And froze.

He grimaced. “My mouth feels like I forgot to take out the garbage . . . what is it?”

“The spell. It’s gone.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She should have noticed right away, the first time she touched him. She hadn’t been thinking—the need to touch had overridden everything else.
Damn, damn, damn . . .

“What spell?” Cullen asked sharply.

Rule’s eyes flicked to hers, a question in them.

“He’s clean,” she said, “but . . .”

“If he’s clean, we can trust him.” Grimacing, he rolled onto his side and sat up. His eyes widened when he saw Cullen. “Holy Mother. They did a job on you, didn’t they?”

Cullen spoke without looking up from his mysteriously busy hands. “Never mind that now. What are you
doing
here? I wasted a lot of time and energy getting you that message, dammit.”

“We’re supposed to be defeating the bad guys and rescuing you,” Rule said dryly. “But my protection seems to have failed.”

Cullen snorted. “No, it hasn’t.”

Lily shook her head impatiently. “It’s gone. I’m a sensitive. I can tell.”

“And I’m happy for you, I’m sure, but if Rule weren’t protected, he’d stink of that damned staff of hers. He doesn’t.”

“I know the spell is gone. I couldn’t be mistaken about that.”

“Had a protection spell, did he?” Cullen looked up briefly. “You’re right. I don’t see anything like that. But there’s some spooky things going on with the power flowing between you two.

“Uh—you see this?”

“I can’t see your face, sweetheart, but I can see your colors.”

“Apparently you’re seeing the mate bond,” Rule said. “But it doesn’t confer any kind of protection.”

“Well, it’s doing something.” He was back to playing with his fingers, frowning intently. “Which is not supposed to be possible, but a lot of odd things have been happening lately, haven’t they?”

That’s what Grandmother had said. “But what? What could the mate bond do?”

“I’d guess that Rule is somehow drawing on your immunity to magic. The downside is that the protection spell couldn’t stick. But his borrowed immunity seems to have kept the lovely Helen from working her wiles on him, so it evens out.”

“Not entirely even,” Rule said. “The spell was also supposed to lead the others to us.”

“Others?”

“Max, several federal agents, Benedict, and his squad.”

Cullen sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to see Benedict come howling to the rescue—if I could see at all, that is. But it sounds as if we’ll have to handle things ourselves.”

Lily thought dimly that she should have been terrified. But the knot of anger was growing, taking over her chest. It was cold, icy cold, and calm rather than roiling. She welcomed it.
I won’t let them do it. I won’t let them hurt him. I’m older now, stronger. I can fight back.

Rule scooted close to her so that their hips and arms pressed together. He bent his head. “You all right?”

“Yes.” Rage was better than fear. She leaned her head close to his and breathed in his scent. The richness of it flooded her, blending with the rage. “We’re down to your teeth and my reflexes.”

His smile was swift, the gleam in his eyes feral. “My teeth are sharp.”

“And I have my grandmother’s reflexes.”

“There!” Cullen exclaimed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s the last one. Let’s see how it works.”

She turned to look.

He was lowering his hand, palm down, toward the stone floor, his head tilted as if he were staring intently at it. When his hand reached the floor, he waited a second, then exhaled gustily. “It didn’t explode. Always a good sign, I think.”