Donovan's Woman (7 page)

Artur drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he listened to Dunnin’s report. “No sign of her?” he said, his voice rising. “No sign of her! How is that possible?”

“I found the tavern where she was last seen, but she was gone and so was the owner. A man I spoke to said he’d seen the two of them leaving the area the day before I arrived.”

“I don’t suppose this man knew their destination?”

“Only that they were headed north.”

“North?” Artur frowned. Why would Marri go north? “And what of Dakkar and Trist?”

“Dead, majesty. I found their remains in a ravine a mile from the tavern.” Dunnin cleared his throat. “Scavengers had been at the bodies, but I believe they were killed by wolves.”

“I’m not interested in what killed them. Why didn’t you follow Marri’s trail?”

“I did. It led me to a space port on the outskirts of Bosquetown. The barkeep remembered your sister. Called her a fine-looking…” When Artur’s eyes narrowed, Dunnin cleared his throat again. “Said she was very beautiful, majesty.” Though no one spoke of it in the King’s presence, everyone within the castle walls knew of Artur’s unholy love for his sister.

“So, this space port is their last known location?”

“Yes, majesty.”

Rising, Artur paced the floor in front of the hearth. Days ago, he had been confident his father was at death’s door and then the castle physician had called for Old Wyxx. Artur didn’t know what magic the old woman had wrought, but two days later, his father was back on his throne, as hale and hearty as ever.

Filled with rage and frustration, Artur stalked to the table beside his chair, picked up his goblet and hurled it into the fireplace. It broke with a satisfying crash, sending sparkling bits of crystal raining down on the fire.

Whirling around, he jabbed his finger in Dunnin’s direction. “I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care who you have to bribe or kill along the way, but find Marri, or don’t come back!”

Bowing his head, Dunnin murmured, “Yes, majesty.”

Artur grabbed his plate and flung it at the wall. Where was she? His face a mask of rage, he rounded on Dunnin. “Don’t just stand there, you fool! Be gone!”

Dunnin was almost to the door when Artur’s voice stayed him. “Hold!”

Dunnin turned, his expression wary. “Majesty?”

“North. You said she was going north.”

Dunnin nodded.

“Ironntown. Fenton. Bosquetown.” His voice rose with excitement. “The Brynn Sea. Tarnn!” He pounded his fist into his palm. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? She’s gone to the convent in Tarnn. To Annis.”

Gryff paced the narrow confines of his prison. Eight paces from one end to the other. Back and forth. The familiar sound of the chain dragging on the floor behind him grated on his nerves, but he continued to pace, hour after hour. Back and forth.

From time to time, he glanced at the cell across the way where Marri slept. He envied her the ability to rest in such a place. The last time he had been Serepta’s prisoner, he had slept only when exhaustion claimed him. The witch had come for him at odd hours of the day and night, sometimes demanding his services or his attention, sometimes merely desiring his company so she could gloat.

In time, he had come to realize that in spite of all her powers, in spite of the servants who did her bidding, she was a lonely woman, afraid to trust anyone. Cruelty was her master, suspicion her bedfellow.

She had tortured him, whipped him, starved him, finding joy in each heartless act and yet, at the same time, somehow feeling sorry for the pain she gleefully caused him. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand the twisted workings of her mind.

“Gryff? Are you all right?”

He glanced across the way to see Marri sitting up, watching him through shadowed eyes. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Who could sleep in a place like this?”

He moved as close to the front of his cell as the chain allowed, then hunkered down on his heels, facing her. “You never told me why your brother wants to kill you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Still don’t trust me?”

“It isn’t you. It’s this place. It’s her.”

He nodded that he understood.

“Why does she hate you?”

Gryff blew out a deep breath. “She doesn’t hate me. She loves me.”

“She has an unusual way of showing it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” But it was true nonetheless. In her own evil, twisted way, Serepta loved him.

“You said she’s a vampyre. Why has she never turned you?”

“She doesn’t want me to have the kind of power she has.” Serepta relished her strength, her preternatural power, and while he would never be as strong or as powerful as was she, even should she make him vampyre, he would be virtually immortal, able to heal his own wounds, able to move with remarkable speed, to vanish from her sight, to raise an army of zombies to fight against her.

“Does she…does she feed off you?”

“No. She tried once, but my blood burned her tongue.”

“You don’t think she’ll feed on me, do you?”

“No. She prefers young men. It’s late. You should try to get some rest.”

Stretching out on the cold stone floor, he closed his eyes and took his own advice. He would need his strength for the morrow.

* * *

Serepta came for him three hours before dawn. Knowing what she wanted, he transformed into the wolf, trotted obediently by her side as they left the keep. Though she was a pitiless hunter in her own right, she enjoyed making him hunt her prey, took pleasure in knowing that killing for her left him wracked with guilt. Once, he would have refused, even though it meant instant punishment. But he couldn’t refuse now, not when Serepta had promised to punish Marri in his stead. He had seen what her guards did to the females she gave them.

“There,” Serepta said, lifting a graceful hand. “That plump young farmer.”

The wolf whined low in his throat. He didn’t want to bring the man down, but the farmer’s life had been over the moment Serepta decided to have him.

The man let out a startled cry when he saw the big black wolf loping toward him. Dropping the milk pails he had been carrying, the man turned and fled toward the nearest building, but there was no escape.

The wolf was on him before he reached the door.

The farmer stared up at the beast, his eyes wide with horror. Eyes that reflected a moment of hope when Serepta came into view.

The wolf knew what the man was thinking — that the wolf was a pet. That it belonged to the woman. That the woman had come to save his life.

The farmer let out a sigh of relief when Serepta knelt beside him. A smile curved her lips. A smile that revealed sharp white fangs as her eyes went red.

The man was dead before he could scream.

* * *

Marri was awake when Serepta returned Gryff to the dungeon. She stayed near the back of her cell, watching in morbid fascination as he resumed his human form, naked save for a scrap of cloth for modesty’s sake.

She flinched when the witch looked at her.

Chuckling softly, Serepta left the dungeon.

Marri’s gaze moved over Gryff. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his head bowed, his hands clenched, his whole body taut. The witch had taken him hunting. What did that mean, exactly? Something horrible, she thought, to make him look so wretched.

“Gryff?”

“She makes me hunt her prey,” he said flatly. “And watch while she kills them.”

Marri stared at him, horrified by the images those few words had conjured in her mind.

How many times had the witch made him hunt her prey? How did he live with the guilt? Having seen the cruelty the witch was capable of, Marri could hardly blame him for refusing to obey.

And now Serepta was using her as leverage. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But now she’s using me to make you do her bidding.”

“I was doing it long before you came along. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I just want to go home,” Marri whispered, blinking back her tears.

“Are you ever going to tell me who you are?”

“I will, if we ever get out of here.”

He grunted softly. “Fair enough. How’s your back?”

“It still hurts.”

“Yeah.” Closing his eyes, he concentrated on Serepta.

She appeared a moment later. “What do you want?”

“I want you to heal the girl.”

Serepta snorted. “Why would I do that?”

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just heal her.”

Serepta glanced at Marri, and smiled. “You have little choice but to do as I ask,” she reminded him.

He didn’t respond, merely sat there, waiting.

She looked thoughtful a moment. “Whatever I ask? Willingly?”

Jaw clenched, he nodded.

“Very well.”

Turning toward Marri, Serepta muttered an incantation, then opened the door to Gryff’s cell. “Come along, my pet. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“Not so fast. Cay, is the pain gone?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, he stood and followed the witch out of the dungeon.

Marri stared after him. What had she done? She never should have told Gryff she was hurting, but how could she have known he would call the witch?

What would Serepta do to him? She had seen the revulsion in his eyes when he agreed to do whatever the witch asked. Marri shuddered. How could she ever repay him for his kindness?

She curled up on the floor, shivering. The only thing that made what she had done bearable was the certainty that Serepta wouldn’t kill him.

Knowing sleep was her only escape from this awful reality, she closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself thinking about Gryff and Serepta. He had said the witch loved him…had Serepta taken Gryff to her bed?

The thought sent an unexpected shaft of jealousy spearing through her.

And kept her awake far into the night.

* * *

Chained to the wall in Serepta’s room, the wolf lay on the floor, his head resting on his paws. He had spent the previous four hours fulfilling her every desire. The woman was insatiable. He had often thought she would have made one hell of a lightskirt.

She had ordered him to shift when she finished with him. And now she reclined in an ornate bathtub filled with scented water, a satisfied smirk curling her lips.

He wondered what the odds were that she would let him use the tub when she was finished. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to scrub her scent from his body.

Or rip her heart from her chest.

Eyes narrowed, she turned to stare at him.

Damn. He knew she could read his thoughts when he was in human form. Could she read the wolf’s thoughts, too?

“Change,” she said.

Wiping all thought from his mind, he resumed his own form.

“Come wash my back.”

Jaw clenched, he did as bidden.

“You could use a bath.” Rising, she held out her hand, a silent demand for him to fetch her towel.

After drying off, she pulled on a silk robe. “You stink.”

“Whose fault is that?”

She slapped him for his insolence. “Get in the tub.”

Resisting the urge to slap her back, he sank into the water. The chain attached to his collar rattled against the side of the tub.

A moment later, one of her maids came in to change the sheets on the bed. Another servant brought him a pair of loose-fitting breeches. The witch must be feeling generous, he thought. She usually kept him naked save for a scrap of cloth to cover his loins.

When the maids left, Serepta knelt beside the tub and washed him, thoroughly, from head to heel. Had it been any other woman, he might have enjoyed it. As it was, it was all he could do to keep from flinching every time she touched him.

When she finished, he stepped out of the tub and into his trousers.

Going up on her tiptoes, she kissed him. “We must do this again. Soon.”

He nodded curtly.

“Who’s the girl?” she asked.

“I told you before, I don’t know anything about her except her name.”

“She amuses you?”

He shrugged. “She was a pleasant diversion.”

“I think she’s more than that.”

“Think whatever you like.”

“You won’t mind if I kill her, then?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s nice having company in the dungeon.”

To his surprise, the witch laughed.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his cell, his chain affixed to the bolt in the floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sat down, his back braced against the wall, his gaze on the woman locked in the cell across from his.

Had his words bought her some time?

Or condemned her to death?