Therian Prisoner: 3 (Therian Heat) (13 page)

“So refresh my memory. Who was Jatara?”

“The story actually starts with Khonish and Bellin.”

“Now those names I know. They’re the god and goddess responsible for Therian abilities. Aren’t they brother and sister?”

“Yes.” He set his empty beer bottle in the hamper and found a cluster of fat purple grapes. “When Khonish gave Therians the ability to manifest their animal natures, Bellin convinced him to leave females latent. She wanted females to be able to choose their own life path.”

“But instead males forced their daughters and
sisters
to submit to politically beneficial mates?”

He didn’t let her personalization distract him from the story. The more she connected with the events, the more real it would seem to her. “Among other atrocities. So Bellin decided to even the playing field. She’d find a female worthy of the gift and enable her to champion other females and balance the distribution of power among the Therian world.”

“And how did Bellin intend to do that?”

“She chose Jatara, one of her faithful priestesses. Bellin offered Jatara to Khonish, knowing he had a thing for virgins.”

Devon made a strangled sound and anger flashed through her gaze. “This legend was written by a man, I take it. Is being raped the inevitable end for every historical female?”

“Don’t rush to judgment. Jatara was nobody’s victim. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into and decided, without pressure from anyone, that sacrificing her virginity was worth the power she would gain.”

“Go on. I’ll try not to cringe too often.”

He scooted closer to her and held a grape against her lips. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for round two.” She smiled and he pushed the grape into her mouth. “Bellin wanted Khonish to allow Jatara to absorb any animal nature she wanted, but he said that would make her too powerful. So they compromised. Khonish allowed Jatara to gather animal natures for a month and then he locked in her definition, making all of the natures she’d gathered part of her permanent being. Bellin helped her determine which animals to incorporate, so Jatara ended up with some serious power.”

“And her abilities were passed down to her daughters?”

“Actually each Omni Prime had a month before her definition to gather her own animal natures. It was the ability to absorb more than one that was handed down, not the animal natures themselves.”

“Okay. What does all this have to do with Boudicca and the amulets?”

He fed her another grape as he began the story. “The Iceni were a warrior tribe and Boudicca’s mate was their king. He made a treaty with the Romans that most of his people resented. We can only guess at the details because the Celts of that era had no written language, but we do know that her mate died and the Romans took advantage of what they perceived as a weakness. When she confronted them with their misbehavior, she was beaten and her daughters were raped while she was forced to watch.”

Devon scoffed and snatched the next grape out of his hand. “Figures. Is rape the only way men know how to get what they want from women?”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “We’re not all that useless.”

“I know.” His touch seemed to calm her, so he lightly rubbed her back. “It’s just way too common a theme.”

“I didn’t mean for it to upset you. We can talk about something else.”

“No.” She straightened and tossed back her hair. “I want to hear the rest. How did Boudicca react to the abuse? In fact, why did she allow it? If she was an Omni Prime, why didn’t she shift into something fierce and kick some Roman ass?”

“As I said, the only accounts we have are from a Roman perspective, so we’re not sure about the details. All we know is what happened after the abuse.”

“Serious carnage?”

He nodded. “Several cities were sacked and there were thousands of casualties, both Iceni and Roman.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good outcome.”

“Khonish agreed with you. Needless to say, he was pissed about her actions. He hadn’t created the Omni Prime so she could slaughter humans. She was supposed to discreetly maintain balance among Therian powers.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was stripped of her power and left at the mercy of her enemies.”

“Roman mercy, now there’s an oxymoron.”

“The power then fell to Boudicca’s daughter, but she was only allowed to absorb six animal natures rather than all she could gather in a month. That’s also when the amulets were given to the Historian. It’s the Historian’s job to document the deeds of the Omni Prime. The Historian is supposed to observe without interfering unless the Omni Prime misuses her power.”

“Then the Historian can use the amulets to strip the power from the Omni Prime?” She sounded breathless, and even with his empathic abilities, he wasn’t sure what caused the change in her voice.

“Yes.” He moved his hand to the nape of her neck and tried to rub away the tension.

“And my mother has these amulets locked away in her vault? She could use them on Carissa if Carissa stepped out of line?”

“It would have to be more than a casual mistake, but yes. Your mother is entrusted with that power.”

She was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Does Dorothy know about all this?”

“No. I told her I’d destroyed the amulets and didn’t see any reason to explain the rest.”

“Wow.” She gazed off into the distance, clearly processing everything. “I knew Mom was the Historian, but I never really thought about what that meant. There hasn’t been an Omni Prime since I’ve been alive, so that made Mom a museum curator.”

He chuckled. “She’s a little more important than that.”

Her expressive gaze shifted back to him and it was all he could do not to lean down and kiss her. She looked like someone awakening from a dream, unsure if they wanted to face reality or go right on dreaming.

“How many Omni Primes have you known?” As if she could sense his thoughts, her gaze shifted to his mouth.

“Not as many as you think. The Prime Council seized power in 1092 and came damn close to ending the Omni Prime.”

“Sounds like another long story.”

The husky catch in her voice now was clearly desire and he had no intention of discouraging the development. “You have something else you’d rather be doing?”

She slipped open one button on her blouse and then another. “How about round two?”

* * * * *

“Where did you go last night?”

Zophiel looked up from the computer screen at her sister’s sharp question. “Why?”

Nehema’s eyes narrowed to angry slits, but she wisely stayed by the door. “You look ten years younger than you did yesterday. I know what that means. You promised you wouldn’t do this again.”

“I lied.” She turned back to the computer, considering the conversation ended.

Her sister wasn’t so easily put off. Nehema moved into the room, careful to remain out of reach. “You don’t have to be a slave to your genetics. We can—”

“We are all slaves to our genetics. Don’t be naïve.”

“Did you…” Nehema fiddled with the cuff on her blouse, looking anywhere but at Zophiel. “Did you kill or just feed?”

“You know the answer. Why are we having this conversation—
again
?” She pushed back from the desk and crossed her legs. Generally Nehema’s perpetually bleeding heart was little more than a nuisance. But sometimes, when “that” look came into Nehema’s eyes, she could be persistent and single-minded.

“If you just try a little harder, I know you could—”

“‘Try not to be what my father made me?” Zophiel laughed. If only it were that simple. “When the hunger first came upon me, I honestly tried to wait it out. I starved myself until I was so weak I could hardly move, but the compulsion grew stronger and the pain more intense. You know what they say, Nature will find a way.” She uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the chair. “Why don’t you ‘try’ accepting what Mother made you?”

Nehema’s nose twitched and her jaw clenched as the barb found its mark. “I have learned to control the beast inside me and you could too.”

“No you haven’t.” Zophiel pushed to her feet, enjoying the conflict so obvious in her sister’s expression. “You assuage your shame by ‘rescuing’ helpless females, most of whom are traumatized by your actions.”

“They can only be saved as long as they remain latent. As soon as their demonic natures are released, they are as damned as their men.”

“
Demonic
nature?” Zophiel arched her brow. “I know a thing or two about demons, and the nature released in Therians has an entirely different source.”

Nehema clenched her fists and took a deep breath, likely counting to herself in an effort to regain her composure. This was a tired argument, one they’d had countless times before. It always ended with Nehema in tears and Zophiel infuriated.

“We were talking about last night.” Nehema’s voice was tight and thin. “Where did you go and who did you feed from? Each time you indulge these urges, you risk exposing us both.”

“Aah, the true source of your concern is revealed at last.” She moved to the front of the desk and leaned her hips against it, resting back without sitting on the desktop. “As I remember it, you were the one who suggested I make contact with one of the backers, so I’m not sure why you’re throwing a fit now.”

“I suggested you speak with one of them, not engage in a feeding frenzy.”

The corners of her mouth twitched as she remembered the thrilling rush of energy generated by that frenzy. “I was careful, sister dear. No one saw me and my new blood slave will not tattle to his friends.”

“Did you choose Milliner or Roberto?” Nehema rolled her eyes and answered her own question. “You like them strong and handsome. Of course it was Roberto.” She took two anxious steps toward the door then whipped her head back around. “Did you learn anything helpful?”

“He likes it fast and hard.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Deciding she’d tormented Nehema long enough, Zophiel motioned her toward the desk. “Roberto and that whorish doctor altered protocols and deviated from the master plan. I wasn’t able to decipher exactly what they did or how much the other backers knew, but it made me curious enough to dig deeper.”

Nehema approached cautiously, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her cardigan. As usual she looked frumpy and old. If Nehema didn’t accept an energy transfer soon, Zophiel would have no choice but to force-feed her. Or watch Nehema die. And life without her sister was something Zophiel wasn’t willing to face. It didn’t matter that Nehema was a world-class pain in the ass. She was the only thing in this godsforsaken world that meant anything to Zophiel.

“The cats captured Carly when they liberated the mountain lab,” Nehema reminded her.

“I don’t think ‘captured’ is the right word. The cats stumbled across Carly during the raid and Carly—being the opportunistic slut she is—blithely switched sides.”

“So who else would have this information? If the cats are protecting Carly, we’re out of luck.”

Suddenly it was “we” again. Zophiel smiled. “Carly’s new protectors are a serious complication, but I’m always up for a challenge.” She turned the hand-drawn map on her desk around so they could see it. “I didn’t put too much stake in Osric’s map until today. First, I don’t trust him completely. Second, we haven’t had a risk worth taking.” She pointed to the complex near the center of the map. “This is the cat sanctuary. Osric is convinced there are tunnels branching out from under the main building.” She pointed out three of the five houses arranged around the sanctuary. “Erin, Kyle and a bear-shifter own these three houses. Osric wasn’t sure who owns the other two or which Therian owns which house.”

“If
any
of Osric’s information is accurate.”

“He hates the cats more than we do. There’s no reason for him to lie.”

Nehema shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. There’s no way he has actually been inside any of those buildings. As you said, the bad blood between him and the Lashtons flows way back. It’s possible for his sources to be flawed.”

“Yeah well, the placement of the buildings is accurate. I was looking at satellite images when you walked in. Public records list Rocky Mountain Wildlife Rescue as the owner of four of the houses and Holt something-or-other owns the fifth.”

“Which one is Holt’s house?”

Zophiel indicated the house northwest of the sanctuary. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s the only one not directly linked to the Lashtons. If something happened there, they would have plausible deniability.”

“As long as Holt is willing to take the fall for them.” Zophiel scratched the tip of her nose as she considered the possibilities. “It’s as good a guess as any, I suppose.”

“What makes you think they took her out to the sanctuary anyway? Wouldn’t it be smarter to stash her in some nameless motel?”

“Cats like environments they can control. The sanctuary is in the middle of nowhere. Anyone that approaches can be seen for miles before they actually arrive. It’s a basic defense strategy.”

“Which all means nothing when you can fly.”