He didn’t say anything as I left the room. He just sat in the cage, his eyes blazing with towering wrath.
Outside Julie emerged from her hiding spot between the buildings and ran up to me.
“The Beast Lord is locked in a loup cage upstairs. Here is the key.” I handed her the big steel key. “Put it into the keyhole, do a quarter turn, then release the top bar, so you can swing the top open. Curran knows how to open one; he’ll guide you through it. Wait one hour before you let him out. This is very important, Julie. Don’t go near him before then, because he’ll talk you into opening the cage. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Once you’re done, if he lets you get away, call this number.” I handed her a piece of paper. “That’s Aunt B’s phone. Explain that you are alone. Someone will come and pick you up.”
“I want to come with you.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but you can’t. It’s not a good place and I might not get out of there in one piece.” I hugged her. “One hour.”
“One hour,” she agreed.
I went to get a horse stabled in the lot. Too late I realized that Curran had found us before the three days were up. Oh well. I seriously doubted he would call in the bet. Not after our last encounter. And if he did and I somehow managed to survive this mess, serving a dinner to him naked would be the least of my problems.
CHAPTER 25
I HAD TO WAIT IN THE LOBBY WHILE RENE PRETENDED to find my name on the roster of fighters. “Fools,” she said, flipping through the pages. “Is that a description of your team’s intelligence or your need to amuse?”
“It’s our motto.”
“Hmmm. . . .” She pretended to leaf through paperwork.
“You like screwing with me, don’t you?”
She offered me a mordant smile. “Just doing my job properly. Like you told me.”
She’d keep me waiting for a while.
I should’ve kissed Curran before I left. What did I have to lose anyway?
It wasn’t even real. The thing between me and Curran. It wasn’t real. I deluded myself. I had this aching need to be loved and it was screwing with my head. Sometimes, when you crave certain feelings, you’ll trick yourself into thinking the other person is something other than what he appears. I’d played that game with Crest and gotten burned for my trouble. No, thank you. To Curran, I offered nothing more than a willing body and a sense of satisfaction in having won. That was reality, cold and ugly and inescapable.
Rene’s hand went to her sword. I turned.
The dark-haired swordsman I had met on the observation deck during my first visit to the Games with Saiman strode through the door. Same gray leather. Same dark cloak that put me in mind of a warrior-monk. Same supple grace. Two men accompanied him, wearing identical cloaks. The first was young and blond. A long scar sliced his neck. His dark eyes had the alertness of a trained killer. The second man was older and harder. I looked into his eyes. His stare made me want to take a step back.
Nick.
The knight-crusader. The Order prized accountability and public exposure, but some things were too ugly, too dark, even for the knights. When one of those shadowy problems reared its head, the Order threw a crusader at it. The crusader did the job and left town.
The Red Stalker who killed my guardian had been such a problem. It had required Nick’s involvement. Now he looked at me like he’d never seen me before. I did my best to do the same.
Whatever Nick was up to, he was obviously undercover.
The swordsman saw me. “Have we met before, my lady?”
His voice was low and gentle. He talked like a well-fed wolf in a good mood. I smiled at him. “If we’d met, you’d know I’m not a lady.”
His eyes narrowed. “And yet you seem familiar somehow. I can’t shed the feeling I have seen you before. Perhaps we could speak someplace privately—”
“You don’t have to speak to him,” Rene cut in. Her color had gone pale. She swallowed. Scared, I realized. She was scared and she wasn’t used to dealing with it.
“Remember our arrangement. You’re welcome to observe and that’s it. We aren’t a training ground for you. If you want to contact fighters outside the Arena, it’s your business. Don’t recruit them here. Especially in front of me.”
“Are you a fighter, my lady?”
And we’re back to the “lady” again. “Occasionally.”
“She’s on a team and you’re holding up her processing.” Rene stared at him.
The man glanced at her. The command in his glare was unmistakable. Rene went white as a sheet but stood her ground. He smiled amicably, bowed to us, and went on, the blond and Nick behind him.
Rene stared after him with undisguised hatred.
“What’s his name?” I asked Rene.
“Bastard,” Rene murmured, scanning the papers. “He also goes by Hugh d’Ambray.”
The world fell apart.
Hugh d’Ambray. Preceptor of the Order of Iron Dogs. My adoptive father, Voron’s, best pupil and successor. Hugh d’Ambray, Roland’s Warlord.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Everyone knew Roland would eventually seek to expand his territory. Right now he held an area that cut diagonally through Iowa to North Dakota . Voron had explained it to me: it was land that nobody wanted, where Roland could sit and build up his forces without presenting enough of a threat to warrant an invasion. Eventually, when his forces grew numerous, he would spread east or west.
I tried to think like Roland. I was raised by Voron, damn it. I should be able to slide into Roland’s head. What did he want in Atlanta?
The Pack. Of course. Over the past year, the Pack had grown in size. It was now the second largest in North America. If I were Roland, I would seek to eliminate it now, before it grew any stronger. He didn’t wish to involve the People, his cohorts, because their actions would be tracked back to him. No, he hired rakshasas instead. Rakshasas were dumb and vicious. He could use them like a club to clobber the Pack. They wouldn’t win, but the Pack would be weakened. And his Warlord was here to make sure things went smoothly.
Hugh d’Ambray would watch me in the Pit. He might recognize my technique. He would report to Roland, who would put two and two together and come looking for me.
The doors were right behind me. Fifteen steps and I would be out of the building. A minute and I would be on my horse, riding into the night. I could vanish and they would never find me.
And abandon the six people who counted on me to watch their back.
Walking away was so easy. I looked up.
“You look like your house burned down,” Rene observed.
“Just reflecting on the fact that when the Universe punches you in the teeth, it never just lets you fall down. It kicks you in the ribs a couple of times and dumps mud on your head.”
“If you’re lucky, it’s mud. Sign here.” Rene stuck a form in a clipboard in front of me. “Waives all responsibility for your death in the Pit.”
I signed. Within two minutes I was weaving my way through the bottom level, accompanied by a somber Red Guard. The worry sat like a ball of ice in the pit of my stomach. I had no trouble finding the right room—I heard Andrea’s voice. “Sling?”
“It’s just a figure of speech,” Raphael said.
I ducked into the room and saw her before a table. Firearms covered the table’s surface: her two prized SIG-SAUERS, a couple of Colts, Beretta, Smith & Wesson . . . She had enough weapons to hold off a small army. Raphael watched her from the bench, his face an odd meld of awe and worry.
Andrea saw me and grinned. “You know what they can do with their sling? They can stick it up their asses!”
I tried to sound smart. “Well, technically it’s more of a ranged weapon, Andrea . . .”
“Screw you! I’m not going out there with a little rag and a pebble.”
Raphael looked a little scared.
I crossed the room to stow my gear on the shelves. The double doors to the bedroom were wide open and I saw Derek in one of the bunks reading a book. Doolittle hovered next to him, with a concerned look that would’ve done a mother hen proud.