Darkness Bound

25

The view from Caesar’s bed chamber revealed an abandoned cobweb village below, surrounded by multilevel towers and a series of crooked, interlinked alleyways. When he had looked down on the deserted dwellings for the first time, Caesar had felt a thrill of delight as he imagined all the generations of humans who had died within those walls.

Because the only good human was a dead one.

The kasbah’s dusty beauty was matched by its eerie stillness. An incessant hot breeze was the only thing that stirred in the smothering heat of the day. The only thing that broke the yawning silence was the occasional flapping of a vulture’s wings as it peered from the tower ramparts with avid black eyes for anything freshly dead.

More often than not, the vulture found what it was looking for. Caesar tired quickly of the playthings he kept chained to the dark dungeon wall.

“All right.” Caesar pulled himself to an upright position in the chair. “What’s the current count?”

Again it was Marcell who spoke. “Eight hundred sixty-two, Sire.”

Caesar was pleased. Their little colony was growing quickly.

After a brief pause, Marcell added, “Not including the females, of course.”

Caesar waved a hand dismissively. Naturally the females wouldn’t be counted—unless they were pregnant, that is. Then they actually had value. Speaking of which—

“How many females are near whelping?”

Marcell didn’t have to consult a written ledger or any notes to correctly answer Caesar’s inquiry. He knew all the important details of his master’s plan by heart. He was intelligent, ambitious, and knew that pleasing Caesar was the only way he’d ever get the things he wanted for himself, so he made it his business to anticipate his master’s needs.

“Ninety-two. Another two dozen have been recently confirmed pregnant.”

When Caesar blinked in surprise, Marcell allowed himself to smile. “You’ve been quite prolific, Sire.”

Caesar chuckled, a sound as dry and humorless as the striking of a match.

Ikati females only went into heat—called the Fever—once per year, and many times did not get pregnant, a fact which aggravated the Ikati’s already dwindling numbers. Human females, on the other hand, bred like rabbits. A single female could potentially birth upward of a dozen children during her fertile years. More if assisted with drugs.

As the son of a king who regularly mated with human women to increase his own half-Blood army, Caesar had no qualms about following in his father’s footsteps. Like his father, he’d rid himself of the human mothers when they were no longer useful.

The vultures around here are going to be getting very, very fat, he thought, smiling.

He rose from the chair and stretched. “Well, we’re going to have to finish the addition to the nursery much sooner than we thought, aren’t we?”

Marcell inclined his head. “It’s near completion, Sire. I’ve been overseeing the construction myself. If you like, I can take you on a tour today.”

In an uncharacteristic display of camaraderie, Caesar walked over to Marcell and clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. “You, my friend, are worth your weight in gold.” He studied Marcell’s face for a moment. “Why don’t you choose from the stock in the dungeon and take the rest of the day off. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it. You can show me the nursery tomorrow.”

Marcell bowed. It was deep and respectful, and not at all ironic.

The “stock” in the dungeon was of the highest quality, chosen carefully from cities near and far to satisfy Caesar’s highly refined aesthetics. The females were young, busty, and universally pretty, a veritable smorgasbord of pleasure from which to choose. Marcell had his eye on one particularly lovely specimen who’d been snatched from a public market not three days ago, whom not even Caesar had had the chance to sample. A dusky, delicious brunette by all appearances not yet out of her teens.

“Sire,” said Marcell, gratitude ringing in his tone.

Caesar’s gaze, cooler, swept over the other guards. “As for the rest of you, get back to digging the trenches for the aqueduct. I want running water within the week. Do I make myself clear?”

Judging by the chorus of “Yes, Sire!” that rang out, he had.

Caesar left the room, whistling, on his way to make an important call on his satellite phone.

Time for stage two in his plan for world domination to be set into play.

The moment the black hood was pulled over her head from behind and the line of bobbing boats moored at Pier 61 at the Chelsea docks vanished from sight, Jack experienced a terror so bone deep and incapacitating she wasn’t able to move her legs when a hand placed at the small of her back gave her a firm push forward.

She’d tried to mentally prepare herself for death, but that’s like trying to mentally prepare yourself for childbirth, or being cheated on by the love of your life. No matter how well you think you can handle it, reality is a b***h with a twisted sense of humor.

In such situations, dignity is the first thing that flies out the window.

Jack’s frozen legs refused to bend. She pitched forward with a strangled gasp, sucking cold night air into her mouth through the scratchy cloth of her new headwear.

The hand that had pushed her grabbed her arm before she could hit the ground face first. It was joined by another hand—big, with a vice-like grip—and Jack was pulled back to her feet and steadied.