Darkness Bound

60

The ones Weymouth can’t convince to join us?”

Caesar smiled at the stars, a glow of satisfaction spreading through his chest. “I hated my father, you know,” he mused, watching the twinkling heavens. The sky was so clear here at the edge of the world, the stars winked like a million coins at the bottom of a wishing well. “Not only because he always favored my sister over me, but also because he always looked at me with such disappointment. I think if he were alive today, however, he’d be very proud of me indeed. After all, I’m carrying on his legacy. Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, that sort of thing. I’ve given the hunters enough to go on so they know where to strike. ‘Capture and exterminate,’ were the exact words used, and I confess I’ve never heard two more beautiful words in my life. Whoever isn’t a friend is an enemy; remember that Marcell. There are no in-betweens for us. In war, everyone must choose a side.”

Marcell said with deference, “And how genius of you, Sire, to use one enemy to kill the other.”

“Only the first step, that one. Once the Ikati are under my rule, I’ll strike the final blow. What I have planned for the Expurgari and our new friend Thirteen and his corporate backers will make the h*******t look like Sunday in the park. After that, we’ll take over Marrakech, then infiltrate every major city in the world and begin to impregnate the females, just as I’ve done here. According to my father’s calculations, it will only take a few generations for the entire human species to be wiped from the face of the Earth.”

Caesar’s smile grew wider, the flush of satisfaction more intense. “Three moves ahead, he always said. You have to stay at least three moves ahead of your opponent. My father loved his ridiculous chess metaphors, but he was right. The pawns will fall, the knights will fall, the Queen will be toppled . . . the whole board will be wiped clean.” His voice grew quiet. “And the King will rule, once and for all. Forever.”

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The albino spider, still crouched in all its diminutive creepiness on the sill, had reared up on its hind legs and was crazily waving its front legs in the air.

“Great Horus, that’s disgusting,” Caesar muttered, and brought his fist down hard atop it.

Nico entered the room. “I couldn’t locate the bird, Sire. You must have scared it away.”

Caesar sighed. “Well, no matter. If it comes back, you know what to do.” Nico bowed out of the room. Marcell said, “What have you got there, Sire?”

“A dead spider.”

But when he opened his hand to scrape away the remains, there was nothing there but a fine grit of sand, blown in by the wind.

Hawk was pressing something to her lips.

Jack cracked her eyes open to find him kneeling beside her, holding a small cup to her mouth. It was morning; sun slanted in brilliant yellow beams across the floor and walls behind him.

“Drink,” he said, his gravel voice gentle. “It will make you feel better. It has something special for the pain, and strong healing agents.”

Too weak to argue, she opened her lips and swallowed the thick liquid, wrinkling her nose at the pungent stench of burnt sludge. She gagged at the taste. It was a horrid combination of scorched earth and moldy barnyard, tannic and bitter. She coughed, eyes watering.

“That tastes like ass!” she protested, her voice as weak as the rest of her.

“There she is.” He smiled a crooked smile. “Little Mary Sunshine with a mouth like the devil’s toilet.”

“Please, that was tame.” Jack spat a wet piece of plant material—bark?—from between her lips. “I never even let you hear the best ones out of respect for your delicate nerves.”

Hawk placed the cup on a small table beside the bed and folded his arms across his bent knees. Gazing down at her, his eyes were both relieved and terribly sad. He looked as if he’d just awoken on the wrong side of a three-week bender.

“I’m all ears.” His crooked smile widened, flashing a dimple in his cheek.

Jack wondered if there was a word stronger than excruciating that might describe the throbbing, clawing misery in her back, burning fire up and down her nerve endings. Agonizing? Searing? Torturesome?

“Fucktard,” she said, through gritted teeth.

Hawk raised a brow. “That wouldn’t be aimed at me, would it?”

“Assmuncher.”

He wrinkled his nose in exact mimicry of her reaction to the potion he’d just given her. “Hmm. Now there’s a lovely visual.”

“Cockopolis.”

“I think I went there on vacation one year,” he mused. “It reminded me a lot of Vegas.”

“Dickweasel douchewaffle motherfucker cocksucker bonehead prick.”

He pursed his lips, impressed. “Anything that starts with the letters x, y, or z?”

Jack thought about it, then shook her head. “I’ll work on it, though.”

His gaze went to her back, and he sobered. “I’d ask how you feel, but I already know.” Their eyes met again, and his grew tortured. He whispered, “Jacqueline, what on Earth were you thinking?”

Ah, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Or was it the million-dollar question? She was having a wee bit of trouble focusing. The room had taken on a lovely glow, soft and soothing, and the heat in her back had cooled several degrees.

Damn, that nasty sludge was potent