Master of the Shadows (3 page)

Will considered following her, but the taste of her tears still lingered on his mouth. That and her strange reaction to his lovemaking had him in complete upheaval. She was his friend, his lover—how could his advances have shocked her? Why would she refuse him after they had found pleasure in each other so many times?

Reese’s
tresoran
training included a thorough understanding of the ways of his kind. She knew how determined Kyn males became when they were aroused by a human female. Centuries of discipline and self-denial had taught Will to control his instincts and appetites, so she had never been in any real danger. He would rather fall on a bed of copper swords before he hurt a woman, mortal or Kyn, and yet…He suddenly realized something else that had happened, something he barely recalled.

In those stark moments as he had pulled her to the floor and put himself between her soft thighs, his
dents acérées
had stretched into his mouth, fully extended, eager for the hot richness of her blood.

This, when he’d fed well from the stores Robin kept at the penthouse before escorting his master to the club. His need for human blood, the only form of nourishment he could take, should not have returned until he woke tomorrow night. Nor should he have had such a primal reaction to Reese. In all the months they’d been lovers, he’d never once been tempted to feed on her. Tonight he suspected he could have drained her dry.

Had she seen his fangs emerge, and thought he was becoming enthralled? Was that what had frightened her so much? Worse than that, could she have been right?

Unsettled by his thoughts, Will returned to the nightclub, in time to see his master walk to the dance floor and take the red-haired woman into his arms. Rather than moving close to Robin, the female stepped back, deliberately holding him off as if she meant to maintain a respectable distance between them.

Not for much longer, little mortal.
Will knew that a few humans had the natural ability to resist
l’attrait
, the scent shed by the Darkyn to lure and control those upon whom they fed. But no one could resist Robin of Locksley’s talent, which charmed any mortal he touched. In a few moments, the redhead would succumb to his master’s ability and begin clinging to him like a thirsty vine.

“Are you here with anyone?” a hopeful voice asked.

Will barely glanced at the woman. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She began to pass him, but then turned back. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but do you think your date would mind if I asked you to dance?”

Dancing would allow Will to get closer and watch the redhead’s defenses crumble. Given Reese’s rejection, the urge was a masochistic one, but he was also obliged by duty now to assure that the woman valiantly resisting his master hadn’t been trained to do so.

“No, not at all.” He grasped her hand and led her to the edge of the open space in front of the band. There he took the woman into his arms and finally looked at her. Her makeup, clothes, and hairstyle were those of an older woman trying rather desperately to appear younger. “What is your name?”

“Rosalyn.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top teeth before she smiled. “What’s yours?”

“William.” He shed a little scent, just enough to make her pupils expand. “Rest your head on my shoulder, dear lady, follow my lead, and listen to the music.”

Rosalyn happily obeyed him.

Will didn’t crowd Robin and his partner, but guided Rosalyn close enough so that he could overhear their conversation.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” the redhead was asking his master. “I think it was the only hit Spandau Ballet ever had.”

“Spandau Ballet,” Rob repeated. “I cannot say that I am familiar with them.”

“Before our time,” his partner said. “My mother loved this song.” Her expression and the tone of her voice changed. “How did you know what I was drinking? Did you ask the waitress or the bartender?”

“Neither.” Robin studied her face. “I could smell the ginger ale on your breath.”

Will was obliged to lead Rosalyn around another couple, which took him out of earshot. He glanced back and saw his master bend his head, close enough to kiss the woman in his arms, but the mortal reacted by stiffening and drawing back.

“What the devil is wrong with that woman?” he muttered under his breath.

“I don’t know.” Rosalyn lifted her face. “Do you want me to go and ask her?”

“No, my dear.” He knew better than to speak without thinking around a be spelled mortal. “You dance beautifully.”

“Do I?” Her eyes brightened. “I come here twice a week, but no one ever asks me to dance. I’m too old for them, you see.”

“Then they are fools,” he assured her, “for you are lovely and graceful.”

She breathed in deeply and turned her head slowly toward Robin. “Do you think
he
would dance with me?”

Will caught the deep, hot fragrance of bergamot, and turned her around so that he could see Robin’s face. His master no longer smiled, but seemed wholly intent on the red-haired woman. As a beam of light flashed across the dance floor, it illuminated Robin’s dark violet eyes, which now glowed like polished coins.

The only time Robin of Locksley’s eyes turned to copper was when he hunted.

“If this is a practical joke, it’s a good one,” the mortal was saying to Robin. “Did Hutchins put you up to it?”

Will’s master replied in a voice so low it sounded only like a low growl. He saw Robin glance toward the exit leading out to the elevators. He could guess what his master was thinking—he wanted to take the female to the top floor, where all the rooms were kept reserved for their use—but the redhead wasn’t acting as if she were be spelled. In fact, she seemed utterly oblivious to Robin’s state.

The scent of bergamot grew stronger, spreading out over the dancing couples and enticing their attention away from one another. Soon every mortal within twenty feet was staring openly at Robin and his partner.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Will whirled Rosalyn through the bemused gauntlet of dancers to take her to the edge of the dance floor. Scanning the room, he saw an older man with a kind face sitting alone. “Do you see that man there?” When Rosalyn nodded, he said, “Go and join him. Talk to him. If you like him, ask him to dance with you.”

“Join. Talk. Dance.” She nodded and drifted away.

Will turned to look for Robin. Instead he met the gaze of the redhead, and saw open curiosity in her brandy-colored eyes. She kept watching him as she spoke to Robin, who finally gave Will his attention.

Robin turned until his partner’s back faced Will, and made a pointed gesture of dismissal.

Will scowled in return. He didn’t want to leave his master surrounded by dozens of be spelled humans, but he knew Robin badly wanted the woman, and doubted he would remain in the club much longer. Patience had never been one of Robin’s strengths.

As he wove his way through the crowd gathering around the dance floor, walking toward the exit, Will saw Rosalyn and the older man sitting close together and talking, apparently engrossed in each other. Robin’s scent still lingered on the air, and in the past it had often had a curious effect on large groups of humans exposed to it. Tonight it seemed to be having a mild aphrodisiac effect on the patrons, judging by the sudden pairings and hasty departures.

Everyone will have their lover tonight,
Will thought,
except me.

Reese waited until Will Scarlet had left the nightclub before she left her observation post and walked out to the parking garage. Everything had gone exactly as it should have, and she had played her part flawlessly. The endless hours she had spent preparing herself had not been wasted.

And, if she kept repeating that, she might even convince herself of it.

Seeing Will tonight had not gone as she had expected it would. Reese tried to think of what had changed since the last time she had seen him. Part of the problem was that he never changed, would never change. Time left its mark on mortals, not the Darkyn. It had been seven hundred years since the poacher of Aubury had escaped a gruesome end and pledged his life and loyalty to Robin of Locksley, who had taken him along on his endless quest to give to the poor by stealing from the rich. By then he had become Darkyn, and that also saved him.

Yet Will Scarlet still had no idea what he had done the day he had escaped the gibbet.

Reese made herself recall Will’s image. He’d recently cut his hair himself, judging by the uneven thatch of white-gold strands above his brow. How she’d longed to weave her fingers through the back of it, to feel again that soft thickness where it met the heavy muscles of his neck. His long lashes, still as white as the twin arches of his brows, had veiled the jeweled brilliance of his eyes. She imagined sitting and simply looking into those beloved eyes and listening to his voice for hours. She’d dreamed of that.

Until he’d taken her beyond the dreams.

You can’t think about him that way, not now.

Reese knew how important the work she had to do was, and yet despite it all she wished she could run down the street to the Armstrong building, find him, and tell him the truth—warn him of what was coming, and why it had to be done. He would understand. As the temptation to do exactly that grew stronger, her phone, set on silent, buzzed in her pocket.

She didn’t want to answer it, even as she did. “You promised that you wouldn’t call.”

“It’s late. I was worried.”

“I’m finished here. I’ve arranged to go in tomorrow night.” How calm she sounded, even to her own ears.

“Does he suspect anything?”

“No, Father.” If seeing Will tonight hadn’t broken her heart, this would. “I deceived him completely. Just as you instructed.”

“You know I would not have asked this of you, my child, but there was no one else up to the task.” His voice gentled. “It will be over soon, and then we can return home to the family. They miss you terribly.”

She hadn’t given her family a single thought since leaving home, but she wouldn’t tell her father that. He could never know her true feelings, or the secret longing she had kept from him. If he had, he would never let her go within one hundred miles of Rosethorn. He would have left her behind.

“I’ll see you soon.” Before he could make any more assurances, Reese ended the call.

She walked to the green Jag she had parked in a shadowy corner. After unlocking the passenger door, she reached in and checked the pulse of the woman she had tied up and gagged.

Dark eyes, as deep and confused as her own, fluttered.

“It’s done,” she told her captive. “I’m taking you to a safe place now. You won’t be harmed.”

The woman moaned something behind the gag in her mouth.

By the time Reese reached the safe house, her passenger was asleep. She directed the security guards to take her inside before she went to the library to make her report. When she found the room empty, she went to stand by the mantel and look down into the flames. It was too warm in this place for a fire, but he still lit one each night. He claimed he enjoyed the scent of it, but she wondered if he didn’t do so for other, less pleasant reasons.

After some time her father came in carrying two glasses of wine.

“The young lady is safely installed in the guesthouse.” He placed one glass on a side table and took his own to his favorite chair by the fire. “Marie will take good care of her, child.”

“I know she will.” It was everything she didn’t know that made her wish she were back in England.

He watched her instead of the fire. “Something happened at the club that you did not mention. I could hear it in your voice.”

The ache between her thighs had disappeared, but she could still taste Will Scarlet on her lips. For a moment she considered telling him about the interlude—they had never kept secrets from each other, no matter how terrible they might be—and then decided against it. What had happened had meant nothing to Will, and could not change anything for her.

“Seeing him—being with him tonight—was more difficult than I had thought it would be,” she said slowly. “I prepared myself for this, I meditated all afternoon before I went there, and I knew how it would be, but…” Her girlish babbling shamed her. “Father, I was not ready for him.”

“You could not help falling in love, my child.” Ennis stared into the fire. “It is a powerful and enduring emotion. Even hatred bends before its will.”

“Will and I can’t be together, not like this,” she said, more to reassure herself than him. “I know that. I do know what I have to do, Father.”

He nodded. “Then why were you not prepared?”

“The mission work troubles me.” That much was true. “There are too many unknowns involved. How can we be certain the suzerain will steal this book? What if he decides against it, or fumbles the job?”

“Robin of Locksley does not hesitate or fumble,” he said mildly. “He has been pursuing the book since it was stolen from his family centuries ago. He covets it more than any other treasure in the world. Now it has been brought into his territory, and will be on open display at a public gallery. How can the most successful thief in history resist helping himself to such a prize?”

She shook her head. “In his eagerness, he could make a mistake.”

Ennis beckoned to her. “Come here to me.”

She went to him and sat on the carpet in front of his chair, curling up against his long calves. She was too old to do such a childish thing, she knew, but it gave her a measure of comfort. She closed her eyes as he stroked his hand over her hair.

“This has been so painful for you,” he said, his voice gentle. “Your loyalty and goodness rebel against what has to be done. But, my dear, our work sometimes demands such things of us.”

“We could go to him,” she whispered, and felt his hand still. “He is still a good man at heart, Father. He always has been. We could tell him of the danger. If he knew—”

“We could confide in him,” Ennis agreed. “You may have forgotten to whom he has made his oath, but I assure you, Will Scarlet has not. He will in turn go to Locksley. Now, what do you think a Darkyn lord would do with the knowledge that he had obtained such power? What did they do when they discovered it the first time?”

Her heart sank. “Locksley would give the book to Richard.” She lifted her face. “But, Father, the high lord has changed. All the reports indicate he is becoming more temperate, more reasonable. More human. He knows too well what could happen, just as we do. What if we used this as an opportunity to forge an alliance with him?”

He sighed. “The Darkyn are not human. They can never be. Even as we speak, Richard has recalled his seigneurs to London. They have suffered great losses over the last three years, and are at this moment deciding whether or not to go to war with the Brethren.”

“They can’t wage war openly,” she protested. “Not without exposing their existence. They have no weapons that can escape mortal detection.”

He looked down at her, his eyes sad. “After tonight they will.”

“Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands.

“If I could give this task to anyone else, I would,” he assured her. “To spare you the suffering, I would do it myself.”

“No, Father.” She dropped her hands. “They would kill you.”

“One cannot say I deserve any less.” He stood, drawing her to her feet. The misery on his face struck at her heart. “As long as the book remains in the hands of others, the world will be in peril. We must take it back and destroy it before it is too late.” He pressed his dry lips to her brow. “Be brave, child, for just a little longer.”

She nodded.

“Now, at great expense and trouble I have obtained the original building plans for Rosethorn.” He gestured toward several long rolls of paper on his desk. “You will need to go over them tonight. I also have the names and photographs of every human employed by the estate. Those you must memorize, for once you are inside the house, they will be your only allies.”

I have no allies.
Her shoulders drooped as she went to the desk.

Her father left her alone, and she spent the next several hours reviewing the blueprints of the estate and the dossiers of the mortals who served Robin of Locksley. It was dreary, mind-numbing work, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but protecting the innocent.

That was what she had been trained to do; that was what sustained her. For their sake, she would lie, steal, and kidnap. For their sake, if she had no other choice, she would kill anyone who tried to stop her.

Even Will Scarlet, the only man she would ever love.

A caress scented with violets roused Rebecca of Daven from her slumber. Waning sunlight inched down the bed and away from her skin, replaced by the soothing touch of large, powerful hands. She should have grown accustomed to this by now, so long had they been together, but no, it seemed she never would. Each time she found herself in his arms seemed as great a miracle as the very first.

When she thought on who they had been, and what had happened to them, perhaps it was.

“At last.” A deep voice stirred her hair. “The lady awakes.”

“You are mistaken.” Rebecca smiled against the fingertip tracing the bow of her lips, but kept her eyes closed. “The lady still dreams.”

“Then she must talk in her sleep.” A lean cheek grazed her chin, and cool breath whispered against her ear. “Does she do anything else, I wonder?”

“Soon she must rise and rouse the other women, break the fast, tend to the animals, begin the washing, clean the south chambers, and finish the carding.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unless my lord gives me yet another long list of impossible tasks he wishes me to see to while he plays at being castellan. He delights in such things, you know.”

“Hmm. This fellow sounds lazy and uncaring.” He nipped her earlobe and shifted his body to cover hers. “You would do better to stay here in bed with me, lovely one.”

The delicious weight of him made Rebecca sigh and slide her arms around his waist. “I want nothing more than that, but I think my husband would have some strong objections.” She opened her eyes and grinned up into the dark, scowling face of the brute on top of her. “Oh, Sylas. ’Tis you.”

“Devious wench.” He kissed her hard. “For that I should chain you to this bed for a week.”

“Do you promise?” She curled her good leg over his hip, arching against him. “An
entire
week?”

Her husband’s scowl faded as his eyes, black as midnight, took on a faint blue glow. “’Twould not be enough, would it?”

No, it wouldn’t. Rebecca sometimes wondered if eternity would be. “I love you, Sylas.”

“And I you, wife.”

Shadows stretched over the bed, covering the lovers as time and thought slipped silently from the chamber. Later, when the sun had vanished and the night bedecked itself with the glory of a thousand diamond-bright stars, Rebecca kissed her husband’s damp shoulder and reluctantly untangled herself from his hold.

He rolled onto his side so that he might watch her bathe and dress. “You should take some time for yourself tonight. Have Lettice organize the women. She is in charge of your ladies; she should do something other than gossip with them.”

“I would, but Tish is besotted with the new armorer come last week from the Realm,” Rebecca told him. “Until he returns her affections, or sorts out how to discourage them, she will be of little use to any of us.” She remembered something. “Oh, that friend of Will’s telephoned. I may have to attend to her tonight as well.”

His black brows rose. “What friend of Will’s?”

She picked up a small square of stiff paper from her vanity table and read it. “She calls herself Reese Carmichael. Apparently she is a senior account executive of Peachtree Marketing, Inc.”

“A mortal? Coming here?” When she nodded, he sat up. “Why?”

Her husband disliked strangers coming to Rosethorn for various reasons, not the least of which was preserving their safety. He, Rebecca, and the remainder of the household were Darkyn, immortal beings whose only nourishment was the blood of mortals. Over the centuries the Kyn had learned not to kill for their needs, and had hidden themselves among them, protecting themselves and the human beings upon whom they still depended. Only the Darkyn’s mortal enemies, the Brethren, still pursued them with their single-minded determination. A renegade sect of fanatics who posed as Catholic priests, the Brethren had held as their sole mission for centuries to exterminate the Kyn.

Fortunately they had not succeeded, although the secret war between the Darkyn and the Brethren had endured for six centuries. For those reasons, and some their lord paramount had not bothered to explain, Robin of Locksley had chosen to build his stronghold on two thousand acres of land in the sparsely populated Georgia countryside. In the process he had also convinced the few mortals living near Rosethorn’s borders to sell their property to him. Most of his
jardin
, made up of some five hundred Darkyn who had pledged their service to him, lived at Rosethorn, while the rest managed more than twenty tenant farms surrounding the stronghold on all sides.

“It seems Miss Carmichael will be fashioning the new advertisements for the weaponry our lord sells to mortals, and wishes to use our home as something called a ‘backdrop.’ You needn’t worry. She’s one of the
tresori
from the city, so she won’t get into any mischief.” Rebecca came over to the bed, lifted her hair, and turned her back toward him. “Are you going back to the city tonight?”

“Aye, the master has need of me again.” With the deftness of long practice, Sylas fastened the long row of buttons from her waist to her nape.