Angels of Darkness Read online

  Lucas breathed in her scent. The memory of the chase through the motel danced through his mind. He wanted to chase her again. He felt drunk.

  He slipped the narrow strap of the tank top off Karina’s shoulder, baring her left breast. Bigger, fuller, softer than he had expected. He imagined sliding his palm over the mound, brushing the nipple with his thumb. He pictured how her body would tighten in response, how the nipple would feel erect against his fingers.

  He slid his fingers under the waistband of her jeans, pulled it up, and looked at the triangle of her white underwear. His cock ached. He wanted to mount her and thrust it inside her.

  So what was stopping him?

  Lucas slid his hand up, to her slightly rounded stomach, holding her gently, trying to puzzle it out. Had he tied her up before feeding from her, he would’ve fucked her by now, of that he was certain.

  Trust, he realized. She’d held up her part of the deal. It had cost her. She’d cried toward the end, once her grip on consciousness slipped—silent tears that left wet tracks on her cheeks. Her arm would be sore as hell tomorrow. Provided the fever didn’t rise, the poison didn’t kill her, and there was a tomorrow in her future. He wanted her to live, but he had done all he could to help her.

  The feeding had cost her, but she lay there and let him do his thing, as she had promised, and she expected him to hold up his end of the bargain. And the bargain didn’t include fucking rights. She’d made that crystal clear.

  He tugged her tank top back into place, covering her up, and pulled her to him, sliding his arm over her. She was his. She would take away his pain and he would guard her in return. That was the agreement.

  CHAPTER 3

  Karina awoke to an empty room. Bright morning light flooded through the open window, drawing a yellow rectangle on the wooden floor. A draft brought an acrid stink of burning bacon.

  Emily.

  She pushed free of the sheets and almost fell. Her head swam. Slowly, very slowly she slid off the bed and stood upright. Her throat was so dry, it hurt. A full glass of water sat on the bedside table beside a pair of binoculars and a yellow sticky that read “Drink it.” She could practically hear Lucas’s growl.

  The memory of his gnawing teeth squirmed through her, dragging nausea in its wake. Karina bent over, gripped the night table to steady herself, and saw a square bandage on her arm. She tugged at it, sending a jolt of pain through her limb. The bandage remained stuck. Karina pulled harder, trying to rip it away as if she could shed the memory of Lucas with it. She struggled with it for a few seconds, pain pounding up her biceps in hot prickly bursts, and finally tore it free.

  A big bruise stained the bend of her arm. Dark purple, it sat there like a brand. Lucas’s proof of ownership. Dried blood was caked in the center, where his teeth had mangled her veins.

  The price she paid for Emily’s life. And her own. The ache in her arm pushed her to scream at the sheer mind-boggling unfairness of it: at being attacked, kidnapped, hurt, held down by brute force, robbed of her daughter, stripped of her freedom . . . At being plucked from her life. Only a day ago, she felt reasonably safe, secure in the knowledge that she could dial 911 at any moment and bring a police cruiser to her door. She had rights. She had protections. She was a person.

  She felt the hot wet tears well in her eyes and clenched her teeth. She had to get a grip. Thinking like a victim would get her nowhere. Yes, it was terrifying. Yes, it hurt. But it didn’t kill her. She was still alive and as long as she breathed, she had to fight for herself and her child. She had to obey and be sweet. She had to ingratiate herself. That was her only chance at survival and escape. Karina dropped the bandage on the night table and drained the glass. It was time to find her daughter.

  A harsh screech made her turn to the window. She walked to it, picking up the binoculars off the night table on the way. A wide green expanse spread before her, a wooded slope gently rolling away and down, toward mountains, brown and rust, fading to blue and eventually gray in the distance. A scrub forest hugged the roots of the mountains, dotting the grassy prairie in clumps of green. The wind fanned her face, bringing moisture and the tart fragrance of some unknown flower.

  It was the middle of summer in southern Oklahoma and the prairie she’d seen through her windshield the day before had been a brown sea of dried grass. This, this looked like spring after weeks of rains somewhere in the foothills of rugged mountains.

  Where the hell was she? Looked like complete wilderness, probably miles from any road, any people. Any help. If she escaped, crossing across rugged country with a six-year-old would be very difficult. She would have to plan well and bring a lot of water.

  The brush quaked. A small brown animal burst from the growth. It resembled a dog, or maybe a coyote. It dashed across the grass, zigzagging in sheer panic. It didn’t run like a coyote.

  What in the world?

  Karina raised the binoculars to her eyes.

  The creature wasn’t a dog. If anything it looked like a tiny horse, no more than two feet tall.

  The brush shivered and spat three gray shapes onto the grass, one large and two others smaller. They ran upright on a pair of massively muscled legs, their bodies sheathed with gray feathers speckled with spots of black. Long, powerful necks supported heads armed with enormous beaks. The binoculars picked up every detail, from the crests of long feathers on their heads to the tiny vicious eyes.

  The horse galloped for its life, veering left. The bird closest to it slid and swung toward the house to right itself. A flash of pale red shot through the empty air, as if the bird had run into an invisible net stretched tight, and the pressure of its body caused the threads to glow. The bird screeched and fell, catapulted back. For a moment it lay on the grass stunned, and then it rolled back to its feet and rejoined the chase.

  The small horse was getting tired. It slowed. Foam dripped from its mouth.

  The largest bird sprinted. The monstrous beak rose, then came down like an ax, chopping at the horse and knocking it off its feet. The horse rolled in the grass and staggered upright. The three birds danced about it, jabbing and pecking. The horse cried out and fell. Bloody beaks rose again and again . . .

  Karina lowered the binoculars.

  She didn’t know much about zoology, but she knew enough. They weren’t emus; they weren’t ostriches; no, these were something vicious, something ancient, something that should not exist in Texas or the Ozarks. Or the twenty-first century.

  Suddenly she was cold, freezing from head to toe.

  A triumphant screech rolled up from the plain.

  Karina dropped the binoculars on the side table and slammed the window shut.

  A cloud of oily smoke greeted Karina in the kitchen. By the stove, Henry cursed, slid several charred pieces of bacon out of a pan with a spatula, and deposited them onto a plate. He saw her and waved the spatula around, flinging hot drops of grease onto the table. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she answered on autopilot. “I saw . . . birds.”

  “Terror birds.” Henry nodded. “Nasty creatures. Don’t worry, there is a large fence around the entire hill. We call it the net—it’s thin wire with a powerful current running through it. You’re completely safe within the vicinity of the house. They won’t come close. Besides, they are mostly cowards. An adult human has nothing to worry about.”

  One of those things would kill a child. A vision of a bloody beak coming down like a hatchet flashed before Karina’s eyes. She swallowed. “My daughter?”

  The spatula pointed to Henry’s right. “Through that doorway.”

  Karina forced herself not to run. She skirted the table and walked through the doorway into a living room. Her heart pounded.

  A small shape was curled on the couch, hidden by a green blanket. Karina pulled back the covers. Emily lay on the pillow. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes closed, her hair a tangled mess.

  Karina knelt and hugged her gently. Emily stirred and she put her face to her dau
ghter’s cheek and clenched herself, trying not to cry.

  “Daniel brought her early in the morning. Arthur told him he would let him speak in return,” Henry said softly from the doorway. “I’ve wiped her memory of the assault in the motel—it was too traumatic—so she won’t recall anything about the place, and that entire day will be dim for her. There are no long-term effects to memory wipes, but there are some short-term consequences: she will sleep a lot more, she will seem confused, and she might have some anxiety. It should last for about a week. Lucas already called the main house. They have a nice room set up for her.”

  Karina turned. “I want her to stay with me.”

  Henry looked uncomfortable. “There is a reason why the three of us are separated from the main house.”

  “Three? I thought Arthur lived here.”

  Henry shook his head. “Arthur stays at the main compound. Of our entire group, Lucas is the most feared, Daniel is the most despised, and I’m the least trusted.” He paused. “This house isn’t the best place for a child.”

  She paused. “Henry, why in the world would anyone not trust you?” Of the four men she’d met so far, Henry seemed the least insane.

  He smiled, apologetic, almost vulnerable, and leaned closer. “I can make you forget we ever had this conversation. I can make you forget about Lucas, about the motel, and, if I strain a little, you won’t remember you ever had a daughter.”

  She paused. It seemed insane, but no less insane than the idea of a man who turned into a nightmarish beast. “Can you read thoughts?”

  “Nobody can read thoughts.” Henry shook his head. “Not even combat-grade operatives like me.”

  Combat with whom? Why? He was wording his replies very carefully, thinking about them for a moment before answering. If she pushed him too hard, he would stop talking. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you wipe your enemies’ memories?”

  Henry took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with the corner of Emily’s blanket. Without his glasses, he seemed younger. “The mind doesn’t just store memories. It also governs many functions of the body. I can mentally scout the enemy and tell you their numbers. Obviously the more of them there are, the higher the margin of error is, but typically I’m not off by a significant number. I can find your mind in a crowd of people and attack it, so you’ll think you’re drowning. I can disconnect your brain from the rest of you and starve it of oxygen until you become a vegetable. My subspecies isn’t called Memory Wiper. It’s called Mind Bender.”

  For a moment she was more terrified of him than she was of Lucas, and thinking that he might somehow crack her skull open and peer into her brain scared her even more.

  Henry glanced at Emily on the couch. “Do you trust me now? Do you want your daughter near me?”

  No. She didn’t trust any of them. But the main house, whatever it was, would be full of strangers. The thought of someone full of violent rage, like Lucas, or cold like Arthur, being in charge of Emily without her to shield her daughter made her wince.

  Karina clenched her hands. Screaming and hysterics would do her no good. She had to reason with them. She had to be smart. Use logic. “Henry, I’d rather take you and Lucas over a house of people I don’t know. Emily woke up alone, without me. She must’ve been frightened. She’s my daughter, Henry. She’s safest with me, because I’m her mother and I would give my life to keep her from harm.”

  “Speak to Lucas,” Henry suggested. “I’m sure he will permit some sort of visitation.”

  Lucas. Lucas had said he owned both of them. She had to make him understand. Karina fixed Emily’s blanket and rose. “Can I make her breakfast? Or should I ask Lucas’s permission?”

  Henry stepped aside. “You’re welcome to any food we have.” He cleared his throat.

  The fridge contained eggs, several pounds of bacon, some slimy cold cuts, a hunk of mozzarella cheese—dried, yellow, and brittle—and a pack of green-looking hot dogs. Karina pulled out eggs and bacon. “Flour?”

  Henry dug in one of the cabinets, looking lost, frowned, and opened a door, revealing a huge supply room. “I think in here somewhere.”

  She stepped into the room. Rows and rows of wooden shelves, filled with cans and jars, a huge spice rack, fifty-pound bags of sugar, flour, rice . . . three large freezers filled with meat. Enough food to feed these men for years. “Are you expecting a long siege?”

  “You never know,” Henry said with a thin smile. “We’ve had a few.”

  “You, Daniel, Lucas, me, Emily. . . is anybody else coming?”

  “No. Does this mean we’re invited to the meal?”

  “I’m using your food.”

  Henry exhaled, picked up the plate of black bacon strips, and dumped them into the trash. “Thank God.”

  Karina opened the window first, so the kitchen would air out, and set about making breakfast. Henry parked himself by the refrigerator and watched her. There was something disquieting about Henry. When she looked at him, she got an impression of length: long limbs, long frame, long face. Even though she vaguely recalled that he was slightly shorter than Lucas, he appeared taller. He seemed lean, almost thin, but that notion was deceiving—his sweatshirt sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, revealing forearms sculpted with hard muscle. He smiled often, but the curving of his lips lacked emotion. His smile was paper-thin, an automatic, knee-jerk reaction like blinking.

  A Mind Bender. If what he said was true, he could kill Emily in front of her, wipe Karina’s mind clean, and she would never remember it.

  Karina found Granny Smith apples in the bottom of the fridge and checked the drawers. On the third try she hit what looked like a utility drawer: knives, screwdrivers, bottle openers, and wooden spoons. She fished a medium-sized knife from the drawer, peeled the apples, cored and chopped them, and set them to fry slowly, sprinkling them with brown sugar.

  “It smells divine,” Henry murmured.

  “Is there cinnamon?”

  “I am sure there is. It’s brown powder, right?” Henry stepped into the pantry.

  “Yes.” She grabbed the knife, pulled the fabric of her jeans away from her hip, and slid the knife into her pocket. The point of the blade cut the lining and she jammed the knife all the way down to the hilt. The blade scraped against her skin. She glanced down. No blood. Karina exhaled. Cutting herself was a calculated risk—she had no other place to hide the knife. Anywhere else it would make a bulge. She pulled her T-shirt down over it.

  Henry came out of the pantry. She held her breath. Maybe he could read thoughts. Maybe he would pluck the image of the knife out of her head. She had to stop thinking about it, but she couldn’t. The shape of the knife was probably glowing in her brain.

  Henry shook a plastic container of cinnamon. “Found it.”

  She had to say something or he would realize things were wrong. Karina willed her mouth to move. “Thank you.” She took the cinnamon and sprinkled it on the apples.

  The bacon rack was missing in action, or perhaps they didn’t have one. She layered a plate with paper towels, placed the strips on top, and popped it into the microwave.

  “You don’t cook often?” she asked.

  “On the contrary. I cook quite frequently, out of sheer necessity. Unfortunately, most of what I produce is inedible. Daniel’s cooking is even worse than mine, if such a thing is possible. Lucas can grill quite well when pushed to it, but in the kitchen his idea of a meal involves a raw piece of meat, burned on the outside. Adrino was our cook.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead. About nine months ago.”

  She paused to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

  Henry nodded. “Thank you.”

  Karina resumed stirring the pancake batter. “How did he die?”

  “Lucas bit him in half.”

  She stopped. “Was he a member of your family?”

  “He was. He was Lucas’s cousin on his mother’s side, and my stepbrother.”

  Karina found the griddle and set
it on the burners to heat up. She stirred the apples with a wooden spoon, then pulled the bacon out of the microwave and peeled it from the paper towels.

  “I can do that,” Henry offered.

  “Thank you.” She poured the pancake batter on the griddle in quick drips and watched the first pancake puff and bubble at the edges. “Why did Lucas kill him?”

  “Adrino tried to murder Arthur.”

  “Why?”

  Henry smiled, a quick baring of teeth, meaningless and flat like a mask. “Adrino had raped a woman on base. As a punishment, Arthur had him chained for two months.”

  “Chained?”

  “In the courtyard. Eventually Adrino was let off the chain and everything went quite well, until he attempted to solidify Arthur’s blood during the last Christmas dinner. In retrospect, we should have expected it. His subspecies is prone to rashness.” Henry smiled again. “You will find that we’re a violent, vicious lot, Lady Karina. All of us hate Arthur, hate each other, hate who we are, what we are, why we are. This hate is so deep within us, it’s in our bones. Lucas hates stronger than most of us for his own reasons. But Lucas is also far more controlled in his rages than he lets on. He recognizes the simple truth: Arthur is the glue that holds us together. Arthur makes mistakes, and he’s brutal, but he’s also fair. Every tribe must have a leader. Without the leader there is chaos. May I just mention that your pancakes smell delicious? I don’t suppose there is any way I could steal one right now, is there?”

  Thirty minutes later, the pancakes were done, the bacon was cooked, and Karina crossed the room to her daughter.

  “Emily? Wake up . . .”

  “Mommy!” Emily clutched Karina around the neck and hung on with surprisingly fierce strength.

  Karina scooped her off the couch and held her close, afraid to hug the tiny body too hard. “I’m here, baby. I love you.” Emily never said “mommy.” It was always “mom.”

  “You won’t leave?”