“I need a safe place to stay tonight,” she told Enzo. “Will you take me to the Iberá estate?”
More than once he’d argued with the patriarch in favor of turning her over to the Church. His voice was brusque as he said, “We need to leave now.”
The drive to the Iberá estate was made in wary silence. Rebekka because there was nothing she would volunteer about her life to a general in the guard. Enzo because he remembered too well the rent in reality caused by her summoning and the shrouded figure who’d stepped through it, carrying a sigil-inscribed staff and bringing with him the promise of a retribution that meant the death of every man, woman, and child bearing the Iberá name.
Enzo’s driver entered the estate through heavy gates bearing the heraldic crest of the Iberás, delivering them to the front entrance where the butler stood waiting to escort Rebekka to the room that had served as a luxurious prison only days ago.
Janita, the young maid who’d been assigned to Rebekka before, stood just inside the entrance, nervously twisting her hands. She smiled tentatively, seemingly caught between trepidation and happiness at seeing Rebekka again. “I’ve drawn your bath,” she said. “The patriarch sent several dresses for you to choose from. You’re expected at dinner.”
Rebekka returned Janita’s smile as she went to where the dresses were laid out on the bed. They were exquisitely crafted, made of the finest material and accompanied by matching jewelry.
“This one,” she said, choosing a solid blue dress with a design allowing her to wear the amulet without revealing it.
“You will look beautiful in it,” Janita said. “I will iron it then return.”
There wasn’t a wrinkle to be seen but Rebekka didn’t protest. This was the pattern they’d worked out earlier.
Nakedness in others didn’t bother Rebekka. Witnessing sexual acts had no power to shock or embarrasses her. But even if she hadn’t required privacy because of the tattoo, the thought of someone assisting her with her bath, helping her bathe and washing her hair, was too intimate, too personal.
In the doorway Janita hesitated, half turning toward Rebekka long enough to say, “The patriarch has sworn me to secrecy about what I saw. I will never speak of it.”
She left, closing the door firmly behind her. Rebekka took advantage of the hot water and scented soap.
It was impossible to hold on to either tension or fear in the comfort of the tub. She was safe, at least for the moment.
In the past she’d wondered what it would be like to live among those who didn’t worry about food or shelter or even the law. To be surrounded by beauty and opportunity instead of horror and hopelessness. Now she knew.
You could choose to remain here, the voice of temptation whispered into her mind.
And those very words were echoed by the Iberá patriarch hours later after a formal dinner around a table laden with abundance.
She stood next to his motorized wheelchair on a walkway built on top of the estate’s interior walls. Beneath them a pride of captive lions grew restless in anticipation of being fed.
The male lifted his head and roared. His challenge was answered by a male in a different enclosure.
Worry for Levi crept into Rebekka. She wondered if he and Cyrin and Canino had reached Lion lands yet.
“I spoke with Father Ursu after Enzo called to say he was bringing you to the estate,” The Iberá said. “Derrick assures me the Church is respecting my wishes you be left alone. Without evidence to the contrary, I must accept what he says as true.”
A door at the base of the wall opened. A small herd of deer bounded through it, their coats the same shade of brown as Feliss’s furred back. When they saw the waiting predators they bolted.
The lions spread out, the females ranging ahead of the male, well versed in cornering and capturing prey in an environment they knew every inch of.
Rebekka turned away from the unfolding hunt. The patriarch said, “The deer are domestically raised, not wild caught.”
The hum of the wheelchair preceded his repositioning it so he could address her directly. “What would it take to convince you to remain here, where your safety can be assured? I am prepared to offer anything within reason.”
She saw him with the eyes of a healer. Beneath the expensive material of his trousers and shirt, the muscles in his legs and left arm were atrophied by what she thought was Lou Gehrig’s disease. His limbs twitched involuntarily but his pride kept him upright, daring even disease to try to defeat his indomitable will.
Behind him was the estate. It would have been considered a mansion in the days before The Last War as well as in the present. There was beauty in every direction she looked. Well-tended lawns, elaborate gardens. Benches placed beneath perfectly balanced trees. Statues that would have seemed equally at home in an art museum.
“I can see that you’re kept busy with work,” The Iberá said, “if it’s the thought of idleness that bothers you. My last offer stands. The quarters set aside for the veterinarian would be yours. Janita would also be assigned exclusively to you, or another, if you prefer a different servant. You would be free to build a clientele and travel to see them as you need to, escorted by my private guard, with all fees yours to keep. If there’s something more you require, name your price.”
It had been easy to turn away from the patriarch’s offer the last time she was here. She’d had Levi to consider, and to a lesser extent Araña and Tir.
Tir and Araña were gone. Either dead in freeing Abijah, or, more likely, they’d taken Araña’s boat and left Oakland.
With the maze destroyed and the Weres healed she’d kept her promise to Levi to help him liberate his brother. If she stayed here, she could use the money she earned to help him buy out Feliss’s contract. She could do the same for the other Weres she considered her friends.
Behind her the lions made a kill. Rebekka flinched in reaction, not at the natural relationship between prey and predator, but with the knowledge that if she remained in the red zone, eventually she would lose her life there.
Allende’s protection didn’t extend beyond the brothels, and she knew too well how dangerous it was to be a female in the red zone, especially one bearing the tattoo of a prostitute. At sixteen she’d been dragged into an alley and nearly raped.
Only a stranger’s intercession had saved her. He’d come out of nowhere, a sharp-faced Were outcast whose fingers ended in deadly talons and whose hair was plaited into a hundred braids adorned with black and red beads.
He’d eviscerated the two men holding her pinned and opened. Pulled the man lying on top of her away and castrated him, letting him scream for long moments before ending it in a spray of blood and ripped-out throat.
Shaking, nearly in shock despite having spent a lifetime witnessing the violence men were capable of doing to women—and to male prostitutes—Rebekka had allowed the stranger to help her to her feet and tug her clothing back into place.
Without thinking she’d healed a small cut on his arm, and the words he’d spoken afterward had changed her life. “Visit Dorrit. She’s madam of one of Allende’s brothels. Your gift is a strong one. She’ll take you on as a healer.”
Now even Allende’s protection wasn’t enough. Not unless the brothel became a self-imposed prison. Someone still hunted her.
As if sensing a weakening in Rebekka’s resolve, the patriarch repeated himself. “Name your price.”
Her price? The things she wanted most weren’t his to buy.
Offering a dowry wasn’t an uncommon practice. But a husband bought by money or a chance to gain an important position wouldn’t be the kind of man who would love her and remain faithful. And beyond that, the dream catcher-like amulet against her chest served as a reminder. A warning.