Nightbred
Page 23Something about his voice. It had started to chew on her nerves, this feeling. About his words. About what he called me.
“My lord,” Burke said tentatively, “when you awoke in the Ferrari, were you injured?”
Lucan opened his jacket. “It appears someone slashed my chest.
“Jamys did that,” Sam murmured, distracted by the two words that were bouncing back and forth in her head. My lady. Why were they so important?
“Samantha?”
“Quiet. Let me think.” Lucan wasn’t the sort of guy who used a lot of pet names, but when they were alone he’d call her ‘love.’ And when he was angry, he always addressed her as ‘madam’ but occasionally he’d use—
Burke cleared his throat. “My lady, perhaps I should—”
“That’s it.” She felt a fierce satisfaction as she glared at Lucan. “You called me ‘my lady.’”
“Did I?” He didn’t seem impressed. “How mysterious. I imagine that would be because you are my lady.”
“You didn’t say ‘my lady.’ You said it all slurred together. You made it into one word. Say it now.” When he didn’t, she stepped forward and slapped him.
“Lady Samantha.” Burke tried to get between them.
“Stay out of this, Burke.” She saw Lucan’s eyes turn to chrome. “Say the goddamn word.”
Her lover folded his arms. “Milady,” he drawled with insulting slowness. “Does that satisfy you, madam? Or would you care to hear me recite more niceties?”
“You say it with a short i. ‘Mih-lady.’” A strange sensation churned in her stomach, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. “Son of a bitch.”
His jaw tightened. “Oh, that I am, but what does it matter how I say anything?”
“I cannot say that I have,” Burke admitted. “Perhaps if he were to imitate someone else, a peasant or a commoner, he could manage it.”
“When did I call you that, Samantha? In Palm Beach?” Lucan demanded. “Were you there when I wrecked the Ferrari?”
“Burke, whoever did this didn’t think about pronunciation. It came out of his mouth, but Lucan wasn’t the one speaking.” A laugh escaped her as her knees turned to jelly and she had to catch the edge of his desk to brace herself.
Lucan began to reach out to her and then seemed to think better of it. “Burke, clear out the club and tell the men to secure the stronghold.”
“We have visitors, my lord,” the tresora reminded him.
“Send them to one of my hotels,” Lucan said. “Under guard.”
When Burke left, Lucan came to stand beside her. “Samantha, obviously we have much to discuss, but I want you to know that I only made use of that girl to feed. When I returned tonight, I was so weak I could hardly walk.”
“That’s because tonight at the beach I shot you with the tranq gun. Twice.” She leaned against him. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t lose five hours, Lucan. They were stolen from you.”
His arm came up around her. “By whom?”
“The same bastard who I think took control of your mind and body.” Her mobile rang, and as she flipped it open, she looked up at him. “Someone who says mee-lady.” Into the phone she said, “Brown.”
“Sam, I need you to come in,” Captain Garcia said. “We’ve got the guy who murdered Coburn in custody.”
“What?” She straightened. “Who collared him?”
“No one. He turned himself in.”Chapter 11
“I will wake you at dawn,” he promised.
She’d watched him handle the boat long enough to gauge his experience, which exceeded her own. He’d even done something to the rigging to make the sails more effective, which worked so well he cut off the engines as soon as they were out on the open sea.
Chris scanned the horizon for storm clouds, wide breakers, or anything that might spell trouble. “All right, but yell down if you need me. I’m a light sleeper.”
“Are you?” He seemed amused by that.
In the cabin belowdecks Chris found some clean clothes and took them into the head. The boat offered a surprisingly large shower and heated water, which she quickly put to use. The clothes proved to be several sizes too large for her petite frame, but she made do by belting and cuffing the jeans and knotting the hem of the T-shirt.
The owner liked his comfort foods, she decided when she opened the small fridge and examined the contents. Two bottles of excellent wine stood next to a whole herb-roasted chicken, bags of fresh fruit, and a container of salad greens. More meat and frozen veggies packed the little freezer section, and in the cabinet next to it she found enough canned and dry goods to keep them fed for weeks.
Not us, me, she corrected herself, and felt a little depressed. Jamys might manage to drink a small glass of wine, but nothing else. Now that they had left the stronghold behind, there would be no more convenient supplies of blood. As a tresora it was her responsibility to keep her Kyn lord strong, so she’d have to feed him herself until she could buy some units. Or he could go out each night and hunt. . . .
The thought of Jamys holding another woman while he fed on her made Chris’s stomach turn. No, I’ll steal the blood if I have to.
Although she had no appetite now, Chris forced herself to eat a few slices of chicken and some fruit and drink two full glasses of water. Fluid replenishment was one of the tresoran secrets to countering blood loss; Burke had taught her to drink as much water and juice as she could every day in order to keep hydrated.
Burke, who by now was probably frantic.
Chris took out her mobile and dialed the tresora, gnawing at the inside of her lip as she did. She couldn’t tell him much, but she could let him know she was all right.
“Christian.” Burke answered before the first ring had finished. “Thank God. Where are you?”
“I’m fine and so is Jamys.” She could lie to him and say she was at the airport or her apartment, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Have you seen Sam? Is she okay?”
“Our lady is well. Christian, the master has been attacked, and we have secured the stronghold. You must return at once.”
“I cannot justify his actions,” Burke said slowly, “nor even explain them. But whatever the master said or did to you, he was not himself. I think it safe to say that he deeply regrets his behavior, and any harm it may have caused you.”
“It’s not because he was acting like such a jerk,” she assured him, and glanced at the upper deck. “I have other priorities now that are more important to me. I’m sorry.”
“Are you quite certain about this?” he asked gently. “I believe in a few days this ungodly situation will have sorted itself out, and all will return to normal. I would not trouble you about it, but you have worked so tirelessly for your position. It seems a pity that all that effort should go to waste.”
“I know what I’m doing, I promise.” She took in a deep, steadying breath. “I am grateful for everything you’ve taught me. I’ll always owe you.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” He sniffed. “Wherever you go, perhaps you would take a moment now and then to drop a note to an old man, and let him know you’re well?”
“Absolutely.” She was never going to get a good-bye past the lump in her throat. “Take care, Mr. Burke.”
“Godspeed, Miss Christian.”
She kept the tears away by tidying up the dishes and putting away the food. The subtle shift of the hull as it cruised through the calm water soothed her frazzled nerves. She’d just walked away from the only real friends and family she had, which might turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life. By revealing her orders to find the emeralds and keep them from Tremayne, she’d betrayed the council. As soon as they found out—and they always found out things like that—they’d erase her name from their list of potentials and forget she’d ever existed. With as much as she knew about the Kyn, they might even try to have her mind-wiped or killed.
Chris wandered over to the bunk in the back corner of the cabin, and lay down on the plaid coverlet. Although it was comfortable and roomy for a single, obviously the owner slept alone on the boat. She saw a row of buttons in the wall panel over her head and touched one.
From two small speakers on either side of the cabin the distinct sound of a cello colored the silence. Yo-Yo Ma, she recognized, performing Bach’s prelude from Cello Suite No. 1. It was one of her favorite classical pieces, and when she closed her eyes, she thought of the acclaimed musician in an overcoat and scarf, his talented hands clad in fingerless gloves as he played his beautiful instrument in the snow.
Whatever happened after she and Jamys found the emeralds, she would call Burke, Chris decided. She’d write to him, too, every month. It didn’t have to be a big thing, just a card or an e-mail to let him know she was okay and happy. She was going to be okay, and very happy.
She had every reason to be. Jamys cared about her, and trusted her. She’d make a new life for herself being his tresora. She didn’t need the council’s permission or a title or anything. Jamys was still Kyn, and if he wanted her, he’d have her. From the way he’d kissed her tonight, he definitely liked her.
Chris stared up at the ghostly reflection of her face in the mirror-polished wood ceiling. So why do I feel so miserable? ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">