Chapter 4
When Antonio regained consciousness, he was immediately aware of three things: he was lying on his side on something very hard and cold, his head was pillowed on something soft, and cool fingertips stroked his temple. He knew who owned the fingers. And the pillow beneath his head was her lap. Rolling onto his back, he bit down on a groan as pain shafted through his head. The rattle of a chain and the grip of metal around his ankle told him he was shackled. He would deal with that later. Gingerly, he opened his eyes. Total blackness confronted him.
“I think I’m blind,” he muttered dolefully.
He heard Solange chuckle. It sounded hollow as it reverberated in the space. “No, not blind. It is very dark.” She continued to stroke his brow.
The touch of her fingers soothed the pounding pain in his skull. Her statement reassured him.
“You saved my life,” he said. “Grazie.”
“You are most welcome, mon seigneur.” Her tone was tinged with amusement.
He decided the blow to his head must have addled his brain, because he could not dredge up a single good reason why she had become his savior. “Why didn’t you let Le Chacal kill me?”
“I thought you would prefer that did not happen.” Her words were spoken lightly. He knew she would not give a true answer if he probed further.
“Why are you here?” he asked instead.
She sighed. Her fingers did not stop their caress, but they trembled. “This is my punishment for allowing you to follow me.”
Guilt pinched him, but if he had not followed her, he would not have met Le Chacal and discovered several interesting items. For instance, the Marquis de Vernoux, Solange’s protector, was connected to the outlaw. Antonio suspected that the marquis, as a member of the Legion of Baal, was behind the theft of the moonstones and aware of their ability to relieve the Hunger. With the Legion in possession of the moonstones, the Auriano family would be weaker because they would have to deal with both the curse of becoming Shadow and the Hunger as they emerged from that state. The information confirmed what his sister had said in her letter. The Legion was becoming more aggressive in their attempts to gain the pieces of the Sphere of Astarte.
Was the woman who so gently caressed his brow an agent of the Legion, or was she an unwitting pawn? Was her presence in the dark a ruse to get him to disclose information, or truly a punishment for her carelessness? He needed those answers quickly. Very soon, he would turn to Shadow, revealing the curse to her. He was not about to give her that knowledge.
He would have to Thought Bind with her, to get inside her mind to discover her loyalties. The idea of invading her private thoughts made him cringe, but his situation was grave. He wrapped his hand around Solange’s wrist. Her soothing caresses stopped, and he pressed his fingers gently against her pulse. It raced beneath his touch.
“You are afraid,” he observed.
“No.” Her pulse jumped, revealing her lie.
He could relieve that fear to discover more about her. “What has frightened you?” His thumb moved in soft circles against the back of her hand.
“We are in the Chamber of Ghosts, mon seigneur. It is said that the spirits that live here can suck your soul. That is only a myth. The ghosts are here because of the rats. The rats will eat you alive. I am not frightened, but I do not wish to be here.” Despite the bravery of her words, her trembling contradicted them.
“You speak as if you have personal knowledge of this place,” he said.
“I have been here once before.” Her tone was wry.
“You have obviously escaped,” he observed.
She gave another soft chuckle. “In a way. Le Chacal cannot afford to allow me to be disfigured by an attack of rats. He would lose a hefty stipend, perhaps even his life.”
“By the Marquis de Vernoux,” he guessed.
“Oui. Their relationship is complicated. And I… well…” She took a breath as if gathering courage. “Le Chacal will release me when he hears my screams of terror.”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why don’t you scream, then, and get released?”
She paused, then gave a little sigh. “He knows if the screams are false. So I wait to be horrified, and he waits to hear me scream.”
Her punishment was real, and her courage touched him. Even if she were an agent of the Legion of Baal, she had put herself at risk to bargain for his life. Yet, her fear gave him an opening into discovering her motives. “Let me help you,” he said.
She chuckled wryly. “How can you help me, Monsieur le Duc? You are in the dark with me, and you are chained to the floor.”
He could hear the rats beginning to gather at the far side of the chamber, scrambling along the ridges of bones. The click of their claws, the rush of their bodies in the thick dark was disconcerting, even to him. He needed to hurry, but Thought Binding was not a process to rush. Taking a breath, he forced his heart rate to slow. He laid her hand against his chest and continued to caress her pulse.
“You have no idea what I can do, bella mia,” he murmured, repeating the words he had spoken earlier. “Don’t be afraid. Let me help.” Ruthlessly, he lured her in.
To Solange, his fingers against her pulse were reassuring. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, across her knuckles and then around in circles. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, and somehow, it matched perfectly with her own.
“Let me help, dolce mia,” he repeated in a whisper.
His words were more than mere sound. They seemed to be a comforting cushion inside her head. In the dank chamber, she felt warmth seep through her. She gasped at the sensation, then released a sigh as her fear receded.
How had he done that? She could not allow herself to be seduced by soft words and a tender touch. Too much was a stake. Her life and that of her brother’s.
“I am here with you, Solange.” His voice was gentle, subdued. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let them get you.”
For some reason, she believed him, she trusted him. Logically, he should have been the last person to trust. She had stolen from him, and he had reacted with chilling boldness, pursuing to exact revenge. Yet, even when he had the chance, he had not hurt her.
She sensed another presence in her head, one that surrounded her with security, safety. It seemed to rock her softly, holding her in a warm embrace. No one had held her like that in a very long time. The sensation was bitter-sweet, reminding her of what she had lost, making her want it again. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. The presence in her head demanded nothing, only soothed and cradled her. As it consoled her, she dropped her defenses. She sensed a gentle probing.
“Show me, Solange.”
No, she couldn’t. Horror crawled through her, shriveling her insides.
“I will keep you safe.”
His murmured words came at the same time she felt that presence grow softer, wider, more encompassing, encasing her in a cocoon of protection.
Safe.
She could not remember a time when she had felt safe, although she knew that once, long ago, she had not expected to feel any other way.
“Show me, Solange.”
His whisper was not a command, but rather an enticement, an offer to share her burden. So she opened her mind and brought out the memory that haunted her, that made her tremble and sweat, that brought her awake screaming in the middle of the night.
She was in the Chamber of Ghosts. Gide huddled close beside her. They were children. Jean-Jacques had put them here, had betrayed them, tricked them. He had wanted them to steal for him, and she refused. So she and her brother sat on the cold stone floor, in dark so black it was like a weight on her eyes.
Then she heard them. The rats. The patter of their feet on the stones. Their scurrying. The scrunching of their teeth on the bones. She remembered what came next. Their tentative approach. Gide’s cries of terror as he kicked out at them. Her own horror when she felt their snouts against her ankle.
The scream built in her throat.
“Shh… Solange. You are safe. I won’t let them hurt you.”
His voice curled around her, calming her. She had survived, but the memory continued.
The rats had come then, swarming around them. At the sharp bite just above her ankle, she had flung out her arm, and the power ripped from her fingers in a flash. Astounded at what she had done, she sat very still. Until they came again, and once more that energy jumped from her fingers. She killed dozens of the creatures, but the flare of light revealed hundreds more, their eyes red and hungry. And then as the creatures slowed their attacks, around the walls, she saw in the flashes what she had not seen before—skeletons, bodies, decimated, chewed, chained to the floor. Past feasts of the rats.
Horror clawed at her. Panic at what would happen to her, to Gide, snagged at her. The power in her froze.
After a time, the rats attacked again.
All she could do was scream.
Solange.
Her name whispered in her brain. Like that presence that cushioned her, his voice calmed her.
Brave Solange.
She shook her head in denial, even though she knew he could not see.
They cannot hurt you. You can destroy them.
She shook her head again.
You can. You have tremendous power.
She knew that. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she was powerful. But she had forgotten.
He had gifted her with the memory. The memory of her magic. Something she thought she had lost. Vernoux had taken her, used her, made her believe she had no power.
But this man had caught a glimpse. Instead of taking, he had given. Without thought, she leaned down and placed her lips against his. His mouth was warm. He accepted her kiss pliantly, willingly, yet she sensed restraint as well. That presence in her mind swirled with color, but then receded as if holding back, as if waiting to see what she would do. He did not deepen the kiss but allowed her to take it in any direction she chose. Vernoux had never done that. She and Vernoux had never kissed.
Drawing away, she felt tears of gratitude sting her eyes.
“Do not thank me yet.” His quietly spoken words were like a splash of water on her face.
What had she done? She wanted to erase that moment of weakness, take back that kiss. She wanted to pull back the memory she had shown him and smother it beneath layers of denial. With a jerk, she tried to break free from his grasp. He would not allow it.
The presence in her head grew softer.
Solange. Trust me.
She heard the voice in her head. “Why?” Her question whispered in the dark.
The presence in her head receded until it was only a thin filament.
“I want Le Chacal to release you so that I can escape,” he said aloud.
Reality hit her. Laughter bordering on hysteria bubbled up at the absurdity of his statement. “There is no escape from here, mon seigneur.”
“There is,” he assured her. “But I have to do it alone. You have to scream, Solange, so Le Chacal will release you.”
“He will know it is deception.”
“He won’t know. Trust me, please, Solange.”
She contemplated his request. She had no reason to trust him, except that he had reminded her of what she could do. And he had not inflicted any pain. But she had stolen from him. He had every right to be angry, to seek revenge.
On the other side of the chamber, she could hear the rats gnawing, scratching, scrabbling in the dark. Soon, they would gather, and one or two would venture out seeking food, and then the rest would come.
He spoke again. “The rats won’t hurt you. You have the power to destroy them. But you have to remember the horror. You have to make Le Chacal release you. You have to scream.”
“So that you may escape? That is impossible.” She shook her head even though he could not see.
I’m in your head, Solange. Do you truly doubt what I can do?
As he said the words, she felt a caress through her mind. It sent a wave of warmth through her body, tender, sweet. She gasped. He had to be very powerful to be able to do that. Perhaps he could escape.
He had not taken advantage of his ability to invade her thoughts, to strip her emotionally naked. Instead, he had comforted her. He did not force her, and she knew he could. That fact alone convinced her.
“Oui. I will scream,” she said.
“Bene,” he whispered, as his fingers pressed firmly against her pulse. “I’m sorry. This will be frightening.”
Before she had time to change her mind, his presence filled her head again, at first gently, softly, reassuringly. It grew and turned menacing and dark. She wanted to escape, but there was no place to go. It dragged at her memories and pulled out the one she had just showed him. The rats. She heard them, their feet, their claws, their teeth. She heard them gathering. She felt them brushing against her, their paws on her, their bodies wriggling over her. As she tried to push them away, they only came faster. This was worse than her memory. That presence had changed it, twisted it to something more terrifying, more horrific than it had ever been. She whined as panic claimed her. No, no, no. Get away.
She fought for breath. They covered her, suffocated her. Their teeth nipped at her ankles. Her legs. Her arms. They bit at her face.
Screeching, she lashed out.
Antonio winced at the pain that lanced through his head. Not his pain, but hers. The rats held her, but something else threatened as well. Dark, looming, menacing, it whirled through her mind as if it were alive. It fed on her fright.
Startled at the chaos and her flailing arms, Antonio became disoriented, almost losing both his physical and mental connection with her. He wished he could help. He knew he could not. She had to scream so that Le Chacal’s men would come for her.
He restrained her hand against his chest and latched onto the thin, bright line that was their mental connection. Shoving away that other malevolent thing, he concentrated on her memory of the rats, exaggerated it, made it more horrific. He culled his own dark recesses to amplify the threat. The rats multiplied, grew larger, more aggressive.
She shook. And cried. She brushed wildly at the invisible rats. Antonio squeezed his fingers around her wrist, anchoring her to him. Gulping air, she screamed, and her terror expelled itself. The walls echoed her fear, amplifying it until her screams became a mantle of noise. The palm of her free hand sparked. Flinging it wide, her energy flashed, exploding on the opposite wall, again and again.
Antonio caught her other wrist, found the source of her power in her mind and smothered it. He could not let Le Chacal know what Solange could do. With her power shut down, Solange’s screams turned to whimpers. Slowly, she started to shrink into herself, retreating to a place in her mind where he would never be able to retrieve her. Before she closed herself off from everything, at the last moment, he wrapped a thin cord of sanity around her, grounding her.
I am here, Solange, he told her.
Her whimpers turned silent, and he felt tears hit his cheek.
He saw the flicker of torches coming from the tunnel. Their jailers, coming to release her. Relieved that he could finally give her respite from her terror, he pulled back the darkness and surrounded her with comfort.
Shh… Solange, dolce mia. The rats are gone.
He sensed her surprise before the effects of shock took hold of her. The pulse beneath his fingers raced unevenly. Her skin turned cold, her breathing fast and shallow.
Solange, you are safe. Sleep now.
With a final swirl through her mind, he erased everything he had just done, making her forget. As if he were pulling draperies across windows, he shut down her awareness, and then gradually broke their connection. Scrambling up, he caught her just before she collapsed into a boneless mass and laid her gently on the floor.
When Le Chacal’s men entered to retrieve her, he was kicking at the few rats that had crept too close.
The two outlaws ignored him as they gathered up Solange as if she were a piece of baggage. He watched as they retreated back down the tunnel, Solange slung like a sack over one of their shoulders. The flare from the torch receded, finally leaving him in total darkness.
And just in time. He could already feel the curse taking hold.