Assassin's Kiss Page 5

  The life I envisioned is never going to happen, she thought bitterly. She glanced at the luminescent dial of the watch he’d left behind. Her time was up. She made her way to the purification room, lowered herself into the pool and bit off a curse as the frigid water flowed over her head.

  There was just enough room in the underwater tunnel to squeeze forward, using her hands and an abbreviated kick. The fact that she was holding her breath and “Braille-stroking” along the wall only added to her aggravation. Of course, if she didn’t see some light pretty soon her lungs were going to burst and the question of her warning anyone would be pretty much moot.

  The water lightened. She could move her arms without bumping her elbows and then she was breaking the surface of a small pool inside an underground cave. She scrabbled at the slippery edge, found a toehold in the rocks and crawled onto the damp floor. Catching her breath, she fumbled in the pocket of her pants and pulled out the waterproof flashlight. She flicked it on and passed a beam around the cave’s interior.

  Bastian had explained that the cave honeycombed through the hills and this water system emptied into a river in the jungle about two miles north of Sangre de Luna. From there she needed to make her way overland to Belize and Juan, who would alert the Jaguar Council and supposedly keep her existence a secret.

  He’d drawn a map in the dirt, made her memorize it and a sequence of numbers and letters that were some kind of coded message, which led to Belize and his accounts, and was meant to ensure her safety as well. She intended to use the security code and the memorized map. She didn’t care what he claimed. The numbered accounts were traceable. No sense in leaving a money trail anyone could follow. Not that he’d be following.

  One against thirty. If she hadn’t happened along maybe he would have completed his mission and none of this would be happening. Fontaine would already be dead, unable to rendezvous with his military ally or to have sacrificed a member of the Brotherhood. Bastian would be on his way back to wherever he had come from. Safe. And she’d never have experienced being wanted, desired.

  Don’t think about that now. Focus. Find a way out of the caves and into the sunshine. She could do that. Years of never letting anyone know what she was thinking, of sizing up any given situation and reacting only when necessary had allowed her to remain focused in the face of paralyzing fear. It had become a game and the prize had been winning the struggle against her mother and anyone else who had tried to convince her she deserved any punishment they wished to inflict. Because they believed I was less than human.

  She’d found out the hard way that she was so much more. She hoped the son of a bitch whose hand she’d taken remembered her every miserable day of his mad-eyed existence. And thought twice about carving up anyone else in the name of God.

  She hurried along a narrowing corridor, scented warm, earth-baked vegetation and stepped into the sun. Zipping the flashlight back into her cargo pocket, she started running.

  The first explosion rippled through the jungle like a tidal wave and she stumbled. Her heart hammered in her chest. This was it. She ran blindly, her tears and sweat mingling, blurring her vision.

  “I don’t care. I don’t care,” she chanted, as if saying it would make it so.

  The second explosion was accompanied by a plume of black smoke she could see in the distance. He’d found the munitions dump and probably whatever fuel reserve they had and blown their plane and transport trucks. At that moment she would have prayed to any god who would accept her to keep him safe.

  Who am I kidding? She’d been taught that she was the “evil” that humans feared and if she didn’t get her ass to Belize, she would also be the one they hunted. But not the only one. How many children would be tormented, experimented on, caged as if they were animals? None, if she had her way.

  So she ran, reciting names and numbers in her head, pushing away the memory of Bastian’s scent, his arms around her. His kiss. Was he already dead? The question ripped through her like a piece of jagged glass, leaving a wound she knew would never heal.

  The sharp scent of burning fuel lingered in the fetid air but it didn’t disguise another, more familiar scent. Cinnamon and chocolate, accompanied by an excited yelp. Diego was tracking her. Oh hell. He wouldn’t be alone this time. She was out of time and out of options. She hoped she was strong enough because she’d never changed before without the pull of the moon drawing her jaguar forth.

  Thought was deed and she was the power in her world. She chanted the words Bastian had taught her, called strength from her center and felt her bones start to shift. She’d barely managed to strip off her shirt and pants before her chest swelled, the skin giving, reforming. For the first time, she felt the power surge through her instead of anger and helplessness. She bit down on lips that were starting to draw back from her teeth. Her perspective shifted and a red haze enveloped everything like a sheer veil of blood. And then she was running on all fours, faster than she had only moments before.

  A man couldn’t follow her into the thick undergrowth but another jaguar was hot on her heels and closing fast. There would be no stopping until she reached the clearing at least a mile away. Even then she would have to call on every reserve she had just to outlast him.

  She splashed through a small stream, sprinted into a stand of trees and caught the scent of human sweat. She swerved sideways, once, twice, but it was too late. Someone was yelling and then there was a click and a whir. A net dropped and the edge of it flipped her legs from under her and tumbled her end over end into a larger, wriggling, fur-covered boulder. Diego’s anguished, sawing cry was louder than her own.

  Wedged against Diego, she bit and clawed, tore at the ropes. She expected a blow but not the electrical shock of a cattle prod. A spasm of pain jerked through her and she was paralyzed for a second. She rolled back against the now inert Diego and felt the net lift then settle into a cramped box. Her nose rested against a hole just large enough to allow air. Her back wedged against the other jaguar. She tried to twist her head around but each time she moved his weight shifted and she was afraid she’d lose the air hole and suffocate.

  They were squeezed so tightly that neither of them could change. Men in heavy boots shouted, grunted and groaned, lifting the box. She panicked, clawing into the sides of the wooden crate. One more searing jolt and she passed out.

  * * * * *

  Sebastian’s choices had been limited to what he could find in Fontaine’s camp. Dynamite had taken care of the barracks and the few Warriors inside. Crude but effective gasoline-soaked rope fuses had given him enough time to ignite the crates of small arms ammo he’d placed beneath the plane and change into his more useful Warrior form.

  He took advantage of the melee, slipping into a group of three other Warriors who were trying to salvage the burning plane. They were smart enough not to put themselves in the line of fire from the flurry of ignited ammunition.

  He tripped the first one as he ran, grabbing him on the way down and yanking out his spine. The second turned, saw what was happening and charged. He was too close to gain enough momentum to knock him down. But he was close enough to crack him in the throat, stunning him enough to sink his claws into the Warrior’s chest and pull out his heart. The third he left behind a fuel drum, after making sure his spinal cord was severed.

  He took advantage of the mass confusion and filtered into a larger group. Fontaine was there somewhere. The charges he’d set were still going off. If he could kill enough of them and kill Fontaine, he still might be able to obliterate any evidence of the Jaguar People’s involvement in the Brotherhood death.

  He made his way to the perimeter of the temple façade where Fontaine, rigged out in full ceremonial gear, was shouting orders. Sebastian kept his head down, just another Jaguar Warrior in the jostling group, waiting for instructions. He needed to get close enough to kill him before anyone could stop him.

  The back of his neck crawled and he knew he’d been sighted. He raised his head slowly and mad
e eye contact. There would be no surprises this day. Fontaine raised his staff—his symbol of power—and simply pointed it at him. Instantly, voices quieted. Jaguar Warriors bowed their heads and backed away into an ever-widening circle. Fontaine nodded to the largest, who charged Sebastian without hesitation.

  Sebastian met him head on, ripping out his throat and rolling him into the two following him before sinking his jaws into another dazed opponent and crushing his skull. The circle was getting smaller but it did not break. It was to be an organized slaughter. He might last through three or four more if he could kill them fast enough. Or one that he could take his time with.

  He lifted his head and roared, challenging Fontaine outright. A refusal would mark Fontaine as unworthy. His acceptance might buy Kira some time. He didn’t kid himself. If he killed Fontaine the others wouldn’t follow him. They’d tear him to shreds before fighting for Fontaine’s position. Kira would be forgotten.

  They waited now, fanned out on either side of the clearing in front of the altar. He drew back his lips and snarled, waiting for the end he’d prepared for since taking his Warrior’s oath. Fontaine looked down from the raised temple stage.

  “You should have joined us when Diego invited you,” Fontaine intoned, his smirk revealing his elongated canines.

  “You should have kept to your temple and the oath you took.”

  Fontaine’s lips drew back even farther. “An oath sworn to protect lies is unworthy of my obedience. Now. Where is the female?” he roared.

  The Jaguar Warriors surrounding Sebastian rocked back and forth on their heels, fangs and claws at the ready. Shit.

  “You weren’t so anxious to welcome her before. Did you think I’d let you rip her heart out. You know me better. She’s dead,” he enunciated around his canines, thumping his chest for good measure. Anything to prolong this disaster and give Kira more time.

  “You would never kill her. You would never break your oath to harm an innocent.” Fontaine laughed. “You’re the perfect, programmed Warrior.”

  From the folds of his voluminous green robes, Fontaine withdrew a small black device with an antenna. Bastian heard the crackling static of a radio. Fontaine smiled when he raised it to his lips.

  “Tell Alvarez the plan has changed. I have another little present for him. You can pick him up on your way.” He pushed a button and the static stopped.

  Sebastian heard the helicopter chopping through the air, whittling away at his plan.

  Fontaine’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Take him alive.”

  The waiting Warriors rushed him, flanking him no matter which way he turned, feigning and dancing away when they got within his reach. He watched for signals, their body language and eyes. There were just too many of them.

  What the hell. If Fontaine wanted to sacrifice more of his men, he didn’t have a problem with it. He roared and only one of them stumbled when he charged.

  Chapter Five

  The pounding in her head felt like a thousand tiny bees scraping their wings over her pulsing brain while they all stung whatever they could reach. There must have been a part they couldn’t reach because that part registered silky cloth beneath her face.

  Her nose pressed into a fluffy soft pillow and she could smell flowers, damp earth and rain. She twisted, burrowing deeper and heard the swish and slide of cloth against cloth. Stretching tentatively, her fingertips and toes rasped along the sheet that was softer than anything she could ever remember feeling. She slid a hand along her silk-covered hip. Silk? At least it felt as she’d always imagined silk would feel. Kira sat straight up and a cool, pink sheet pooled around her waist. She was wearing a shimmering white nightgown about two sizes too large. She pushed the strap back up over her shoulder and noticed the gauze bandage wrapped around her right hand.

  Sunlight streamed through the open double doors that led to a balcony, left of the bed. She scanned the room through a froth of mosquito netting surrounding the large four-poster. Various gilt-framed paintings of seascapes were arranged on the high, glossy ivory walls. Bookshelves bordered the white marble fireplace on either side. A small, pale green couch with two matching chairs surrounded an ornate round table, and should have looked cozy. It made her skin crawl.

  She parted the netting, sliding from beneath the covers and her gown puddled around her feet as she sank her toes into shell pink carpeting. I’m in someone else’s gown, in someone else’s room, having someone else’s dream.

  The door snicked open and a short, skinny, dark-eyed man, his loose white tunic and pants hanging on his sharp bones as though they were still on the hanger, minced his way inside. He moved like a rat in a maze, bony hands clasped in front of him.

  “How are we feeling this morning?” His nasally voice scraped against every one of her exposed nerves. Was he kidding?

  “Who are you…and why am I here?” And where is Bastian?

  He smiled. If you could call pulling his lips back and exposing small, sharp teeth, a smile. “Patience, patience, all will be revealed. Now, are you hungry?”

  As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. The last time she remembered eating was at Sangre de Luna. She blinked but the little rat bastard had caught her reaction and knew there were tears welling behind her eyes. The pressure in her throat burned. She smiled tightly and was rewarded with his dry chuckle.

  He minced over to the wall beside the bed, slid an ornate, grill panel aside and pressed one of three buttons. “Bring her breakfast up.”

  “But she was supposed to—”

  “That can wait. Bring everything I’ve written down unless you’d like to explain to Alvarez why you’ve taken it upon yourself to compromise her health.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Her empty stomach flipped over when he turned from the console and smiled again. Ugh. The thought of those thin, clawed fingers examining her made her want to throw up.

  “Yes, but you may call me Reynaldo,” he said with a flourish that didn’t match his ratlike demeanor. “What may I call you?”

  “Kira. Who’s Alvarez? Is he your boss?”

  “Alvarez is everyone’s boss,” he said testily.

  “Did you clean me up? Dress me in this?” She pulled the too-large gown away from her hips while she tried to calculate just how much trouble she was in if the drug lord was the boss.

  “Would it bother you if I had?”

  One look into his creepy, dark little eyes and she knew the idea excited him. She shrugged her bare shoulders, willing away any reaction. “Not much. Don’t hold your breath expecting any thanks.”

  There was a knock at the door before it swung open. A large, fair-haired man, wearing what passed for a uniform in this place—same loose white tunic and pants—but with really huge athletic shoes in place of the doctor’s sandals. He was carrying a tray with covered dishes. She could smell the meat—sweet and bloody—and started salivating. She swallowed hard and her stomach rumbled.

  “You can thank Dax,” he said, glancing at the blond giant, “for cleaning you up and dressing you. He’s your attendant while you’re here.”

  She had her own attendant? Dax nodded in her direction, acknowledging the explanation. The rat bastard motioned for him to place the tray on the fancy little table between the couch and chairs. Dax flicked a neutral glance at her as he set the tray down then left as quietly as he’d come. He was going to take a little more figuring out than had the doctor.

  At the moment, all she was concerned with was eating. Because only the strong survived and right now no one was more concerned with her survival than she. Bastian might have been but he was probably dead. She caught herself before a tear could form. She couldn’t think about that now or she’d start screaming and never stop. She needed to focus.

  Reynaldo sat in the chair opposite her as she lifted the covers from the dishes. A small rare steak, blood running from it into a mound of fluffy scrambled eggs was under one. There was also a dish of diced mango, a bowl of white pudding that turned out to be yogurt
and a cup of steaming, pale gold liquid that smelled like flowery grass after a rain. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Since you’re so concerned with keeping me happy, how about trading this tea for some coffee?”

  “My only concern is keeping you healthy. Whether or not you’re happy is up to you.” The sliver of threat sliced through his solicitous statement and the cruel light was back in his beady little eyes.

  After that, the food didn’t taste half as good as it smelled. The acidic yogurt burned her tongue but she ate everything and forced the tea down. It smelled better than it tasted. It smelled like her hands, her skin. She put her cup down and glanced across the table, guessing the reason for his smile.

  “What’s in the tea?”

  Reynaldo sat perched on the edge of his chair, as if anxious to impart yet another fact, another piece of control. “Something to keep you from changing into a beast and tearing out the help’s throat. Unless you wish another IV, which will seriously curtail your freedom of movement,” he said, glancing at her bandaged hand, “I suggest that you drink your prescribed three cups a day.”

  He picked up a silver bell on the tray and rang it three times. Dax carried a small plastic caddy full of empty vials and a syringe. Her skin crawled and her breakfast sat like a lump in her stomach. Blood tests.

  “We need to track your health. See that you’re recovering from your ordeal with Bastian. He shrugged. “You moan in your sleep.”

  From the doctor’s leer, she’d bet she’d revealed more than Bastian’s name. The blond giant’s touch was steady and deceptively gentle, surprising her. One prick and he deftly filled three vials, pressed a cotton pad over the tiny puncture and then left as silently as he’d come. She rubbed the inside of her arm. Someone wanted her healthy and calm. Which meant she had value.

  Who would value a halfling shifter? Only someone who didn’t know she was a halfling. Oh crap. How much time did she have before they figured out she was worthless? “Besides not ripping out the help’s throat, what are the rules?” she managed, without rubbing her pounding temple.