But what was Father Ursu’s interest in the prisoner? It was more than simply helping a wealthy patron attain something he wanted, it had to be for the priest to be so insistent on questioning her.
Rebekka closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sun, hoping it would warm the ice at her core. Images played through her mind, starting with the messenger arriving at the brothel with the witch’s token.
It all seemed like a delicately woven trap, yet looking back on it, she couldn’t have made any other choice but to help Araña. If she hadn’t, then Anton would be in possession of the dragon lizards and Levi’s brother would be dead.
She opened her eyes at the sound of an approaching car. Her heart rate sped up at the sight of the sedan bearing the emblem of the guard.
The gate leading to the section of the estate reserved for the private soldiers swung open as the car reached it. A uniformed officer emerged from the building, as if he’d been expecting the car’s arrival.
He opened the back door and Enzo stepped out. “Are the men gathered for the briefing?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get started as soon as I speak with The Iberá. It might be advisable to take the healer, and arrange for Father Ursu’s involvement as well.”
Rebekka’s breath froze in her chest. The general handed the officer a folder.
“There are aerial photographs of the gifted area inside. Go ahead and show them to the men. I’ve marked the healer’s house. We’re in luck. She lives close to the red zone border and in an area that’s not been extensively reclaimed.”
Rebekka remained motionless, not even daring to breathe. Her heart thundered as she tried to convince herself there was nothing in her home that would lead to Levi or the brothel.
Enzo disappeared through the trees shielding the main house from view. The officer retreated into the soldiers’ building.
Only then did Rebekka dare leave her position on the wall, hoping to hide. Hoping that if a search was initiated for her, she’d somehow manage to get into the patriarch’s study and have enough time to use the token to summon help.
Twenty
ARAÑA lazily traced one of Tir’s tattoos. In his arms she felt safe, complete, at peace. Time stopped when they came together physically, forming a wall of contentment that separated her from fear and reality.
“You were gone a long time,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
“Are you hoping for additional punishment by reminding me of your own absence?”
Her cunt spasmed, and the telltale escape of arousal answered his question. Feminine pleasure surged through her when he rolled on top of her with a moan, as if he couldn’t resist the call of her body to his.
Tir pinned her hands to the mattress. The feel of her underneath him never failed to stir his possessiveness. The sweet smell of her desire was a distraction he seemed destined to battle endlessly.
He should have been completely sated, but the more he had her, the greater his craving became. “I came back for you after healing Rimmon’s daughter, Saril. You weren’t here, though since then you’ve cleaned the healer’s house.”
“Matthew’s habit. He cleaned when he worried. Where did you go?”
“Saril is a Finder.”
Araña’s heart leapt against his chest as she understood the significance of his statement. Her joy washed through him, only to be followed by a wave of confusion as her gaze went to the sigil-inscribed band continuing to enslave him. “The translations didn’t hold the answer?”
A muscle spasmed in his cheek as he thought of the unexpected arrival of the woman and child, and the image of Araña that had flashed into his mind in the shop. She weakened him. Because of her, he’d stayed his hand. He’d walked away instead of using a weapon presenting itself to him.
“I wasn’t able to see the book containing them. They’re in a safe and the shopkeeper claims only the buyer and his servant have the combination to it.”
Araña’s smile was sunshine arriving in a burst of joy. “What kind of safe?”
Her excited happiness was infectious. “You can open it?”
“Safes are what I do best. And alarm systems. They’re the only things I could do faster than Matthew and Erik.”
Tir realized that for the second time in as many minutes, she’d spoken of her family and the mention of their names didn’t rake her with guilt and pain. He’d felt only a fleeting sadness, barely a shadow of emotion. Her visit to Annalise Wainwright had done some good then. “The witch helped you with your gift?”
“Yes.”
“At what price?”
“None to me.”
He didn’t like the answer. “Whose then?”
Araña shivered. “A demon’s, I think.”
He liked that answer even less. “Promise you won’t visit the witch again unless I’m with you.”
“I don’t intend to go back.”
The truth but also a refusal. He rose onto his elbows, acutely aware of the feel of her flesh against his own, the ready willingness of his penis to lodge itself in her wet channel and extract a promise from her in a most pleasurable way.
“Araña,” he started, only to feel the sharp spike of adrenaline piercing his mental shields and coming from beyond the house.
Tir acted instinctively, rolling to his feet and pulling Araña to hers. “Get dressed. We need to leave.”
She obeyed without question, her movements smooth, efficient, well practiced.
They left by the back door, crossing the street in order to take cover among the houses too badly damaged to be reclaimed by other gifted. A moment later they heard the rumble of diesel engines approaching, converging on the house from all directions.
“We can’t risk getting caught out in the open,” Araña said, climbing through a thin curtain of vine covering what had once been an upper-story window.
Tir followed her into the cramped space. His fury stirred to life. If the Were had betrayed them—
Two sleek cars came into view, traveling toward the healer’s house from opposite directions. Tir’s attention was drawn to the flags fluttering from their antennas. Each bore a red lion rampant in an elaborate shield set against a gold backdrop.
The cars stopped at either end of the healer’s house. Uniformed men got out of them and stood at the ready, the red lion sewn onto the front of their black shirts visible from a distance.
A final man joined them, this one wearing a guardsman’s uniform, the decorations against his chest indicating he was a man of high rank. “Everyone is in position,” he said. “Those of you using live ammunition fire only as a last resort. We hit with tranquilizers first—especially on the primary target and any Were that might be in there with him. Tasers are for backup. Use with caution. They might make the situation worse. Understood?”
There was a murmur of assent. Tir glanced at Araña to see if the words had carried to her as well. She gave a slight nod.
Moments later another car turned onto the street, black with heavily tinted windows. It stopped directly in front of the house. A chauffeur got out and opened the passenger door. Tir stiffened at the sight of the cassocked figure who emerged.
“Your men are ready, Enzo?” the priest asked in the same power-filled voice he remembered from the trapper’s compound.
“They’re ready.”
The high-ranking guardsman drew his gun and signaled his men forward. They moved on the house with professional precision.
The locks on Rebekka’s doors were no match for the tool one of the uniformed men used on them. And despite the seriousness of the situation, Tir smiled when he felt Araña’s unwilling admiration of the man’s skill and her covetous desire to possess the tool allowing for such easy access.
It was over within minutes. The men seemed to exit the healer’s small house almost as soon as the last of them had passed through the doorway.