Stay the Night (31 page)

Evidently Robin didn't, as he looked at the unconscious man and began to swear, furiously and without stopping, in some archaic form of English.

“Will you shut up?” Chris shouted, and felt a surge of dizziness that had her grabbing the bars. By then Robin had stopped swearing. “Thank you. Now, about the unconscious vampire, and what I need to do when he wakes up.”

His burning eyes shifted to her arm. “You're bleeding.”

“You noticed.”

He uttered another archaic, filthy word. “Use one of your scarves to bind that wound. When he wakes, don't talk to him or touch him. Stay as far away as you can from him.”

The cage was six feet by ten feet; she could take a step back and kick Nottingham in the head. She removed one of the scarves from around her waist and began clumsily binding her gashed arm. “How long can you two go without blood?”

A muscle in Robin's jaw twitched. “You needn't worry about that now.”

“I have to,” she told him. “The contessa told the guards not to feed you. I'm guessing she wants you to starve while you watch Nottingham drain me dry.”

“We can go without feeding for weeks, months. Years, some say. But he will not wait that long. The smell of your blood will rouse him.” Robin curled his fingers around the copper bars, his flesh sizzling until he let them fall away and looked down. “What is in that basket? There, by your feet.”

Chris hadn't noticed it, and bent to remove the napkin covering the top. Her head spun, so she was careful to go slowly when she straightened. “Apples, cheese, and bread. Some bottled water. I guess she doesn't want me to starve to death right away.” She looked around the cell. “This is my worst nightmare, too. I hate being locked up.”

“I know about your childhood,” Robin said gently. “I shared your dream on the plane.”

“How could you . . .” She stopped, and sighed. “Never mind. Can you eat any of the food?”

He shook his head. “Only blood.” He saw her glance at the dead rat. “Animal blood makes us sick. We can endure small amounts, but when the hunger grows too great, we will attack any human near us.”

Which would be me
. Chris's heart sank. “How long do I have before he loses control?”

“I cannot say. If he has not fed recently . . . a week. Perhaps a little longer. It does not matter. He will attack you anyway.” He began pacing around the cell, looking at all of the bars and the stones. “There has to be a weakness in the construction. Old mortar. Something.”

Dizziness made Chris's knees finally give out, and she slid down until she sat on the dirty straw.

She looked through the bars at him. “I'm okay. Just a little light-headed. I should have let this thing with Norman go. None of this would have happened if I had.” Blood ran down the inside of her arm, and she put her hand over the bandaged gash to apply pressure. “She called you Locksley, and said you stole the maiden Marian from Nottingham.”

Robin started to say something, and then hung his head.

“It's okay. I actually have an easier time believing that you're Robin Hood than I do that immortal-who-lives-on-human-blood-and-can't-be-killed thing,” she continued, her tone almost conversational. “I am a little confused, though. I've seen just about every movie ever made about Robin Hood. I don't remember him raping and killing Maid Marian in any of them.”

“Chris.”

She met his gaze.

“What the contessa said was partly true, but not all. I never forced Marian, and I never meant to get her with child. I loved her. I have never spoken of this to anyone before you.” The sincerity of his words echoed in his eyes. “When we get out of here, when we are safe, I shall tell you about her, and what happened between us.”

“Robin, I know you wouldn't deliberately hurt a woman. You've had too many chances to do that to me.” Pain dulled her voice. “You know, I was so busy blaming you for Norman that I never told you the truth.” She forced herself to say out loud what she had been thinking ever since she'd heard the news: “You didn't kill him. I did.”

 

Her claim confused Robin. “You told me that he committed suicide.”

“Norman pulled the trigger, but I put the gun in his mouth.” She glanced at him. “What I mean is, he did it because I screwed up in Chicago.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“He never liked working with female agents. He was kind of dinosaur that way. Even on the job he referred to me as ‘the bimbo' or ‘my secretary.' I put in a dozen transfer requests, trying to get reassigned away from him.” Chris's expression darkened. “Sometimes I wonder if that's why I forgot to turn off the camera. I saw too many bruises, and he got too many suspects to confess when I was out of the room. Maybe on a subconscious level I wanted him to get caught and bounced out of the bureau, so I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.”

Robin saw how pale she was and fought back a surge of panic. He had to keep her conscious and talking. “Did you catch him abusing someone?”

“I didn't, but a video camera did. Norman liked to send me to get the coffee when interrogations weren't going anywhere. I was supposed to switch off the video camera when I left the room—it's department policy that two agents have to be present with the suspect during questioning—but that day . . . I don't know. I just forgot.” She rested her cheek against her hand. “He punched the suspect in the face and broke his jaw, and it was all recorded on the videotape he thought I'd shut off. When the tape was processed, the tech saw the beating and turned him in to our chief. They had an internal investigation, but it was just a formality. Norman barely avoided criminal charges.”

“Chris, you cannot blame yourself for his choices.”

“I don't. Not anymore. It's just . . .” She closed her eyes. “Nasty and bad-tempered as he was, and as much as I disliked him, he was still my partner.”

Robin saw her head droop. “Talk to me, love.”

“I'm so tired.”

“I know.” Robin saw Nottingham beginning to stir. “Chris, he's waking. Do as I told you.”

Chris slid back, curling herself into the corner of the cell, and went still. She was partially concealed by shadows there, Robin saw, although he knew that wouldn't deceive Nottingham for more than a few seconds.

The dark man opened his eyes and pushed himself up from the floor. He looked all around the room until he saw Robin.

“You.”

“Are you not delighted to occupy a dungeon again, cousin?” Robin kept his tone mocking, and prayed he could hold Nottingham's attention for as long as it took to find a way out of the cell. “I cannot fathom why you went to such lengths to be played for a fool. Or perhaps it was not such a stretch.”

“Where is she?”

“The contessa is on her way to England. She plans to assassinate Richard and the others.”

“Not her.” Nottingham breathed in, and turned his head toward Chris. “Her.”

 

Chris Renshaw's blood scent filled Nottingham's head; her presence in the cell rolled over his skin. He ignored Locksley's taunting voice and went over to where she huddled. She remained very still and kept her head down. Blood still seeped into the silk she had wound over the slash on her arm.

He crouched down before her and tilted her head back to look at her eyes. There he saw pain, fear, and exhaustion.

Gently he turned her head, but saw only two fresh puncture wounds on her shoulder. “Did she feed from you again?”

Chris didn't answer him. Locksley must have ordered her to remain silent to further bedevil him.

Nottingham lifted her from the stone floor and began searching her skin for other signs of abuse.

“She won't give you any pleasure,” Robin sneered. “She belongs to me. She does my bidding.”

Nottingham eyed his cousin. “Then you are as responsible as Salva for her death.” Chris stiffened under his hands, and he turned her to face Robin. “Look at her, cousin. This time you will have to stay and watch her die.”

Robin snarled, seizing the bars and jerking at them.

“Or is it that you fear she will live?” Nottingham deliberately ran his hand down over the front of Chris's body. “I have only to command her, and she will not resist me.”

“I'm sorry, Robin.” Chris crumpled.

Nottingham caught her and gently lowered her to the floor. “This bandage is too loose. She is losing too much blood.” He saw the basket and took the napkin from it, tearing it into strips and binding the wound.

“You cannot feed on her,” Robin said.

“I have no wish to.” Nottingham finished dressing the wound and put his hand to her forehead.

Chris opened her eyes and groaned. “Are you two through sniping at each other yet, or do I have to slap you around?”

Nottingham scowled. “I beg your pardon. I do not snipe.”

“You do a great imitation. I know you don't want me. You only want to get even with him. So you can stop feeling me up in front of him.” She turned her head. “And you are not helping by yelling and insulting him. I'm the one locked in here, not you. Do you really think pissing him off is going to help me?”

Robin muttered something under his breath, while Nottingham sat back on his heels and regarded her for a moment.

“Now that we've established some ground rules,” she continued, getting to her feet, “we have to quit feuding and escape from this place. Let's concentrate on that, because as much as you two want to kill each other, I don't want to die here.”

“They didn't take your earrings,” Robin said, looking at her. “Can you throw one to me?”

Chris removed one of the golden earrings she had borrowed from the signorina, and tossed it to him. Robin straightened the loop of wire and inserted it into the door lock.

Chris watched, anxiety tightening her lips. Robin worked the wire for ten minutes in silence, which sent Nottingham to pace around the cell. The sound of the wire snapping brought his temper to the edge of doing the same.

“You cannot even pick a lock?” he demanded. “What manner of thief are you?”

As he spoke, his talent sent frost inching up the bars of the cage. More ice crystals spread like thin fur over the stones inside the cell.

“The wire was too thin and delicate.” Robin tossed the broken earring aside, and only then saw the frost that had raced across the stone to crawl up the bars of his cell. “You bloody idiot, you can't use talent in here. Chris is mortal. She will freeze.”

“You did that?” Chris asked, gesturing to the carpet of ice. “Just by thinking it?”

“Usually I must touch it and will it to freeze.” Nottingham suppressed another wave of anger. “Sometimes when I am angry, as I am now, it happens on its own.”

Chris wrapped her arms around her abdomen, shivering as she examined all of the bars of the cage.

“I know copper hurts you,” she said, “but what about ice?”

Nottingham shook his head.

“The bars are solid, but some of these welds look pretty weak. If you can freeze the bars and cover them with enough ice, you should be able to hold them long enough.”

He saw what she meant, and pulled off his gloves. “Step back, as far away from me as you can.” He pulled off his shirt and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

The copper scalded his palms as he took hold of the bars and poured his talent over them. Cold did not affect him, but he saw his breath rise in white puffs as the room temperature plummeted.

Slowly the ice formed and thickened, filling the gaps between the bars and creating a layer of protection between Nottingham's flesh and the poisonous copper. Only when he heard metal groan did he step back and kick at the base of two bars.

Ice shattered, falling to the stone as the bars broke loose. Nottingham grabbed them and pushed, bending the copper to the sides and outward, creating a gap just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

“Chris,” Robin said sharply.

Nottingham glanced back at the girl, who sat huddled against the other side of the cell. Frost whitened her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Her lips had blued, and as she tried to speak, they cracked. Her eyes closed and she slumped over, unconscious.

 

No hatred-riddled Brethren could have tortured Robin as cruelly as Salva had. Watching his cousin handle Chris as if she were nothing more than one of his whores had nearly driven Robin out of his head. Fortunately Chris had brought them both to their senses before things had gone too far.

Nottingham kicked out another bar to create enough space to carry Chris out of the cell. He brought her over to him, placing her on the floor in front of his cell before taking down the keys from the hook beside it.

Robin ignored him and the burning brush of the copper bars as he reached out to rest his hand on her brow. She felt as cold as a Kyn; her body temperature had dropped to a dangerous low.

“She will die if we don't get her warm.” He looked up at his cousin, who had not unlocked his cell. “Open the door, Guy.”

“I should take her and leave you to rot.” He glanced down at Chris. “Perhaps I shall. I can kill the guards and take her safety without your aid.”

Robin stood. “Can you hunt down the contessa by yourself? She has a vial of her sister's tears. They were hidden in the spine of that bloody book.”

“Beatrice's tears?” Nottingham paled.

“Aye. She means to use them to kill the high lord and his seigneur. You know what will happen when she opens that vial.” Robin regarded the man he hated more than any being alive or dead. “We must strike a truce between us, for nothing matters now except stopping Salva. We cannot permit her to unleash her sister's curse upon the world again.”