Wings In The Night - Twilight Memories Part 18

Rhiannon halted a few feet from the cabin's little door, closed her eyes and silently composed her thoughts. She could not afford to be distracted now by worry about the boy, or even by her extreme sadness over the parting that would follow this ordeal. She must concentrate only on Lucien.

Before she was prepared, the door opened, and the object of her thoughts filled the entrance. "Come in, Rhiannon. I trust you've kept your word and come alone?" As he spoke, his beady eyes swept the area around her, and she knew he searched with his mind, as well. He would find no hint of Roland there. He could guard his presence from this man without much effort. Despite his powerful mind, Lucien was only a human.

"Of course. Did you think I'd risk the boy, or that I'd be so afraid of you I would bring reinforcements?" His gaze came back to her, and altered slightly as he took in her attire. "Don't fool yourself, Lucien. I fear no mere mortal."

He stepped aside as she strode into the cabin. She made her steps broad, kept her head high. He would see no faltering in her entrance.

"No? Not even Curtis Rogers?"

Was that remark supposed to shake her? "Him least of all. He is a weakling, blinded by his hunger for vengeance. I could kill him with as little effort as you would swat a fly. But that is neither here nor there, is it?"

Lucien shrugged and closed the door. Rhiannon focused her mind on the house, finding it empty save for the two of them. She stepped nearer the hearth, allowing the fire's warmth to spread over her.

"You're dressed quite differently from the way you were last night. Is there any significance to it?"

She turned a surprised glance upon him. "I thought you knew all about me. Can it be your research is lacking after all? Do you not recognize the robes of an Egyptian priestess?"

He said nothing, only eyed her up and down. "May I take your cloak, at least?"

"You may not. I've grown rather fond of it."

"Suit yourself."

She studied his face. His eyes appeared slightly slack lidded. She detected darker circles beneath them. "You have followed my instructions?"

"I have. No sleep, no food, no drink. I'm thirsty as sand dune right now, to tell the truth."

"It will pa.s.s," she told him.

"How is the boy?"

"Fine. Safe, for the moment, at least. I've no doubt your friends are out looking for him."

She only lifted her brows. "Think what you will."

"It doesn't matter. They won't find him." He crossed the room toward a closed door, and opened it. He stood, aside, and waved a hand for her to enter.

Rhiannon moved forward, the cape swaying with ever step, the kimono brus.h.i.+ng the floor. Pausing in the door way, she saw a small room, a bedroom, perhaps, but devoid of any furnis.h.i.+ngs, save a table and a glowing kerosene lamp.

"Let's get on with it." Lucien stood close behind her, his voice cold on her nape.

She stepped inside, and he followed. From a pock inside the cloak, she pulled a small sack. Lucien's gaze took in every movement.

"What's that?"

She loosened the drawstring and removed several candles, a packet of incense and a silver dish, placing them on the floor in a small circle. "Nothing to be afraid of, Lucien. You see?"

He knelt and picked up a candle, studying it, sniffing it. Then he lifted the packet of herbs and examined that, pouring a bit into his palm.

"Incense," she said. "It goes in the dish, in the center of the circle of candles."

He shot her a wary look, then poured as she had instructed. "You want me to light them?"

He was nervous. She saw it in the way he kept licking his lips, in the constant darting movements of his eyes. "No. We'll take care of that in a moment. Douse the light, if you please."

He frowned, but stood. Cupping a hand over the far side of the gla.s.s chimney, he blew into the lamp. The room fell into inky darkness. She could see him clearly. He could see nothing, though he tried to keep her in focus. Right now, he was squinting like a mole.

"Now sit, cross-legged upon the floor."

He did as she told him. Rhiannon rounded the circle of unlit candles and lowered herself opposite him. Tentatively, she probed his mind with her own, as a test. She found it completely closed to her.

"You must concentrate, Lucien. There must be nothing on your mind except the candles. Focus upon their wicks. Think of nothing else. Envision flames, leaping to life at your command. Do it now."

She saw him staring hard at the candle just in front of him. She aimed the beam of her own thoughts there, and in a moment a small pop sounded, and the wick flared to life.

Lucien jerked as if slapped.

"Very good," Rhiannon purred. "Your mind is strong, for a human." Again, she sought his thoughts and found nothing. "But you are not concentrating hard enough. Focus your mind."

He did. His eyes picked out another candle, and she let him stare at it awhile before she caused it to light. One by one, Rhiannon lit the candles, as Lucien's guard was slowly lowered.

His eyes widened in amazement, his face now glowing in the soft light of the tiny fires. "Now the incense. It's a bit more difficult. Concentrate."

She watched him as he stared at the silver dish, but she did not ignite the herbs it held. Instead, she probed his mind, seeking knowledge of Jamey in its foggy depths.

For a moment, she saw the boy, lying upon a cot, with a wool blanket tossed over him. But the image vanished as Lucien looked up at her.

"It isn't working."

"You're not concentrating. Try again."

He did. It was laughable the way he contorted his face with the effort. The fool grated his teeth. Again, Rhiannon searched his mind, this time seeing a bit more. A room, in utter darkness. A shuttered window. Smoky cobwebs in the corners.

She glanced at the incense and it began to smolder. Fixing her mind more firmly inside his, she tried to see the locale of Jamey's prison. It was near. Very near, but not in this cabin. Ah, there. Another cabin, similar to this, but in sad the mountain? she wondered. No. Below it, but not in the village.

A wall seemed to lower itself around his mind all at once.

"You're trying to trick me, aren't you?"

He knew she'd been snooping. She met his accusing glare.

"Our thoughts must mingle as well as our blood, Lucien. This will not work unless you cooperate."

Give yourself over, she chanted in silence. My will becomes yours, Lucien.

She saw his eyes begin to cloud.

"You must relax. Breathe deeply. Like this." She demonstrated, and he mimicked her for several long moments. His lids drooped slightly. She almost smiled in triumph.

"Much better. Now focus on nothing. Try to free your mind from your body until you feel as if you are floating."

The lids drooped a little farther. His deep, regular breathing came on its own now, without her instruction.

"Imagine yourself as a spirit, if you will. Feel the chains of your physical self falling away."

Your will is mine, Lucien. You have no desire except to do my bidding. You have no thoughts, save those I will give you. Surrender to me, Lucien. Surrender.

Slowly, his eyes fell closed. His breathing deepened still further, and came in long, drawn-out turns. His head hung downward on a neck gone limp.

Where is the boy?

Roland's entire being was focused on Rhiannon inside the cabin. He waited as long as he could stand it, then started forward, toward the tiny structure. He would go around until he located a window through which he could see what was happening. She was so involved in her efforts with Lucien that he could feel no hint of her thoughts, had no clue what was happening.

His every thought on Rhiannon, Roland stepped out of his concealment beyond the rocks. The shot came out of the darkness. Something stabbed into his chest.

His hand came up to clutch the object that pierced his flesh with a burning pain. He tugged it free, but his mind was slipping away. A black haze slowly coated his consciousness as he stared down at the blood-slicked dart he'd torn from his chest.

He fell to his knees, lifting his gaze. Curtis Rogers stood only yards from him, an evil smile lurking about his lips. d.a.m.n! Roland had been so determinedly focused on Rhiannon, he'd failed to continue scanning the area for another presence. He'd failed... he'd failed Rhiannon.

His mind whispered a warning he prayed she would hear, just before he fell forward, into darkness.

Rhiannon's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bolt of knowledge. Something had happened to Roland.

In her moment of distraction, Lucien broke the hold she'd had on his mind, and gave his head a shake. Then he glared at her, leaping to his feet. "I know what you're trying to do. I should have known I couldn't trust one of your kind."

She stood, as well. "Do not tempt me, Lucien, or you'll die here and now. Tell me where you've hidden the boy."

"You never had any intention of keeping your side of the bargain. Why should I keep mine?"

"Because you will die if you don't." She stepped around the candles toward him, but froze when the door behind Lucien swung wide, and Curtis Rogers stood there pointing some sort of weapon at her.

"You!"

"Ah, we meet again, Princess."

She took a single step and no more. The dart plunged into her shoulder and she cried out in sudden pain. She closed her eyes, certain the dart contained the tranquilizer, certain her time had run out. With her final moments of consciousness, she sent her thoughts to the fledgling, Tamara, conveying all she had learned, begging her to find a way to save Roland and the boy. She fell forward, catching herself on a wall, then slipping slowly downward as her legs folded beneath her.

"Her friend was outside," she heard Rogers saying, though his voice echoed as if far away.

"Will you take him, too?" That was Lucien.

"No. I've learned from my mistakes. I don't want to deal with two of them at once. One at a time, from here on. He's not going anywhere. Let the sun take care of him."

She felt her neck muscles melt as her head fell forward. It was jerked up again by a cruel hand in her hair. Lucien's twisted face hovered before her. "Before you go beddy-bye, there's something I want you to know. The scientist you killed all those years ago, Daniel St. Claire's partner, was my father. And I won't rest until I see all of your kind pay for his death."

She tried to make her lips form words. "B-but... you... you wanted..."

"To become one of you? Yes. The strongest one of all, so I could eliminate the rest with ease. So I could live to see the last of you die in agony."

"You," she whispered with the last bit of strength she possessed, "are the one... who will die."

Nearly dawn.

Roland felt the approach of morning with every cell in his body, and still he could not move. He'd managed only to pry his eyes apart. Now he could watch the horizon slowly paling, from deepest black, to midnight blue, to varying and ever-lightening shades of gray.

The cabin was empty now. There was no sense of Rogers, or Lucien... or Rhiannon. He knew they must have taken her. Again, she would be subjected to their cruel torments. Because of him.

Roland grimaced in pain at the thought of Rhiannon in Rogers's hands. He had to live--if only to free her.

Summoning every muscle to do his bidding, grating his teeth with the effort, he slowly, painstakingly, clutched at the earth and dragged his body forward. He couldn't wait for Eric to come to his aid. There might not be time, or his friend, too, might be disabled or in trouble. Again, Roland dug his fingers into the dirt and stone. Again, he hauled his body a few inches forward. At this rate, he wouldn't make it to the cabin's door before noon. Still, he had to try.

Away from the shelter of the rocks, he dragged himself. Halfway into the clear, level area, with no kind of shelter from the rising sun. Halfway to the cabin. Again, he clawed and pulled his way, glancing toward the east, where he could see the pale orange glow just touching the edge of the sky. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran, burning, into his eyes. He clutched at the ground again, and grunted with effort as he struggled onward.

From the opposite direction came the sound of padded feet, running toward him. He turned his head, and then released his breath in a rush. To his left, the sun. Now, to his right, a wolf the size of a Saint Bernard, but with muscles rippling beneath its sleek coat instead of fat. If the one didn't kill him, the other surely would. He had no strength left to fight either enemy.

Recalling his last experience with a wolf, Roland wished the sun would hasten its arrival. Then the beast was upon him, and he knew it was too late.

But what was this? Not a snarl came from the wolf, not a bared fang did the animal display. Instead, it stopped at his side, lowering its huge head, nudging its way beneath Roland's all but useless arm.

In shocked wonder, Roland could only stare as the wolf pushed and shoved at his body. It only stopped when Roland's right arm and shoulder were supported by the animal's strong back. Having no clue what was happening or why, or whether this was some dream he was having in the throes of death, Roland fought to bring his other arm around the front of the animal's neck, until he could link his hands together. The moment this was accomplished, the wolf started forward, not even straining under the tremendous burden of Roland's limp weight. Roland's upper body was carried, the rest of him dragged, but in the wrong direction.

He could have screamed in frustration. If only he could command the wolf to drag him to the cabin, the way Rhiannon could command Pandora. He tried, but found the wolf a poor listener. He forced his head up, to look ahead, his cheek brus.h.i.+ng the soft, deep fur at the wolf's throat, his nostrils filling with the animal's scent. Then his jaw fell open. The wolf had brought him to a small cave, dug into the side of a sheer stone wall. It was barely visible with the overlapping rock above, and the outcrop jutting from the sides. He'd never have known of the cave's presence.

The beast dragged him inside, then along the cool, uneven floor, around a sharp bend and all the way to the back. The sun would never reach here, Roland suspected. He released the wolf's magnificent neck, and lowered himself to the floor.

The wolf stood over him, staring down into his eyes for just a moment. There was a wisdom in those eyes, the likes of which had no place there.

"I know not what you are, wolf--" a memory of Rhiannon's tales about ancient ones who could alter their form, about Damien, hovered in his fogged mind "--but I thank you," Roland managed to say. His eyes were heavy and he could barely form words. "Meager reward... for saving a life. I know."

He'd expected the beast to turn and lope away. Instead, it lowered itself to the stone floor a few feet from him, and its eyes fell closed. In a few seconds, Roland's did, as well. His last thoughts were of Rhiannon. Where was she as the cruel sun rose into the sky? Was she safe? Sheltered from the burning rays?

When next Roland awoke, he was alone. He glimpsed the stone walls around him, wondering whether he'd dreamed the entire incident with the wolf.

It was night again. He felt strong, and he hurried out of the cave with one thought on his mind. Rhiannon. He must find her, now, before even another minute pa.s.sed.

He strode toward the cabin. He'd begin there, to search for a clue.

"Roland!"