“That’s what every sick, twisted jackass thinks.” The detective got to her feet and scanned their surroundings. “Where are these other women?”
“I’m taking you to them now. They will try to help you understand.” She took the key from the peg on the wall. As she unlocked the cage, she added, “I was not jesting about the men. They are armed and they will shoot you. They use only copper bullets.”
Once Werren opened the door, Sam shoved her aside and ran for the stairs. It would be simpler, and more merciful, to let the detective get herself killed. Yet Werren followed, climbing up on deck to see Samantha standing by the mainmast and staring at the sea that surrounded them.
“Where am I?”
“The ship is called the Golden Horde.” Werren joined her and pushed back the tangled hair the wind blew into her eyes. “Welcome to hell, my lady.”
* * *
“I know you’re probably tired of hearing me,” Chris said into the mobile, “but I’ve left three voice mails, Sam, and now I’m getting worried. Call me, say you’re okay, and I’ll quit bugging you.”
Chris left the phone on the bunk as she went to the closet and took out a T-shirt and jeans. Stripping out of the dress was a relief; as beautiful as it was, she didn’t think she could ever wear it again, at least, not in front of anyone except Jamys.
He loves me. She couldn’t stop that thought, or the idiotic smile it summoned from her lips. He’s loved me ever since we met. A fairy godmother couldn’t have done better by her with a thousand waves of a magic wand.
The rabid little organizer that inhabited her soul wanted to make plans, but Chris felt curiously detached about the future. If she and Jamys were able to make it work, they’d definitely have problems—some rather large, especially when she began aging and everyone who saw them together assumed she was his mother, or his grandmother—but there were plenty of ways to turn back time. Alex Keller had been a plastic surgeon before she’d been changed to Kyn; when the wrinkles came, Chris could probably talk her into doing some strategic nips and tucks.
The Darkyn were incapable of reproducing, so they’d never have kids. Chris thought babies were cute, but she’d never once felt the urge to start popping them out. Adele and Frankie had done too good a job as nightmare parents while destroying her childhood; her biological clock had been smashed along with it.
As for plans, Chris suspected she’d be better off living in the moment, and making the most of every night she spent with Jamys. She couldn’t do anything about death, so she’d devote herself to making their life together amazing.
The motion of the boat under her feet changed, first slowing and then shifting to a subtle bob. Above her head, Jamys’s footsteps moved from the helm to the port side, and she heard the drag of rope across the deck.
Chris climbed up to see the silhouette of palm and mangrove trees against the moon, and the silvery path of the narrow pier leading from the boat across a small cove to an island.
“This is Paradise?” she asked Jamys as she went to help him with the last of the mooring lines.
“Paradise Island,” he corrected, and without warning scooped her up into his arms. “The owner of the boat suggested we might enjoy visiting his house here.”
“I bet he did.” She wriggled a little as he stepped from the deck to the pier. “You don’t have to do the bride-over-the-threshold thing. We’re not married, and I can walk.”
“You agreed to become my kyara, my human wife.” He brushed his lips over hers. “So, yes, in the eyes of heaven, you are my bride, and we are newly wed.”
Jamys carried her the entire length of the pier, across a curving walkway of cut bleached coral studded with mollusk shells, and up to the front door of a very modern-looking beach house. Slightly overgrown bushes with dark green leaves flanked the entry, the frame of which had been inlaid with different types of antique brass compasses. The door opened easily and he stepped inside with her.
“I guess on an island you don’t have to lock up when you leave,” she said as he set her back on her feet, then lifted her face as rosy light illuminated them. The source, flame-shaped bulbs enclosed in seven garnet-colored glass floats hanging from an artfully draped old fishing net, brightened the hall enough to show a keypad next to a large framed mirror.
“I have the disarm key.” Jamys went to put it in.
Chris walked up to the mirror, which had been framed with weathered, carved deck planks. Primitive gold-painted cutouts of the sun, moon, and stars adorned the frame’s top and sides, but someone had carved words into the bottom plank: Do You See What I See?
The automatic lights and the mirror’s question made her feel slightly uneasy, but as she moved into the next room, she spotted a tiny light near the baseboard that flickered from red to green, and bent down to examine a small metal box similar to those she’d had installed in the Winterheart Suite. “I think he has the lights controlled by motion sensors.”
Hurricane lamps and hanging lanterns provided illumination for the front room, which had been furnished with a sturdy bamboo living room set upholstered in palm-frond green. Bookcases built into the walls held a bewildering assortment of new and old paperback books. Chris went over to read some spines, and saw they were arranged in a specific order.
Jamys moved around the room. “What does he read?”
“Dark fantasy novels.” She glanced back at him. “He’s got them arranged by subject matter.” And something was wrong with that, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. “He’s got novels about angels, demons, ghosts, psychics, warlocks, werewolves, witches. . . . Hey.” She plucked a new novel from the shelf. “This one doesn’t come out until March. How did he get it before the rest of us?”
Jamys inspected the shelves. “There is one subject missing.”
“I read a lot of dark fantasy.” She looked for her favorite authors, and saw several who were not represented at all. A shiver ran through her as she realized why. “I don’t see any vampire books.”
“Nor do I.” He replaced the novel on the shelf. “Perhaps we should check the remainder of the premises.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like vampire fiction,” she reasoned as they walked through the rest of the rooms on the first floor. “Not everyone does. Sam can’t stand it.”
The open layout of the house flowed with soft tropical colors, airy spaces, and translucent fixtures fashioned from ordinary glass objects. As Chris admired the dining room table, made from a sheet of frosted, bubbled glass over a layer of vertically standing driftwood boughs fitted together like puzzle pieces, Jamys investigated the adjoining rooms. She looked over at the massive tapestry of intricately woven cloth hanging across from the table, which at first glance looked no more interesting than a bedsheet in need of ironing. When she moved closer, she discovered that what she had assumed was painted linen was actually made of metal.
Not metal. She trailed her fingers over the tiny strands of the weave. Gold. She tried to lift the edge to see the back of it, but it weighed so much she could barely shift it. If it had been made from real gold, and she’d bet her next twelve paychecks that it had, the tapestry could be worth millions.
Jamys reappeared. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m not crazy about coconuts,” she admitted, “but I can get something from the boat later.”
He held out his hand. “Come and see the kitchen first.”
The brand-new kitchen, as it turned out, had been outfitted with every appliance and convenience Chris could want. The fridge had been stuffed with fresh vegetables, fruits, and meat, and more nonperishables crowded every shelf of the peroba cabinets.
There was enough food, Chris thought, to feed a houseful of guests until New Year’s. “Maybe this guy invited some people to stop by or something.”
Jamys shook his head. “He told me that he always came here alone.”
“Then how did this stuff get here? Why so much for just one man?” She hugged her waist as she looked around. “No one could have set this up as a trap. No one knew we were coming here but us.”
“There are no other humans on the island, and before we docked, I sailed around it to assure there were no other vessels.” He came up behind her and encircled her with his arms. “I should feel threatened, but I do not. I feel safe here. I believe someone is helping us, Christian. Someone who wants us to find the emeralds.”
“Well, they’re going to have to wait one more day.” She dropped her arms as she turned around to face him. “If I’m going to be your wife, then I want my wedding night. And it starts right here, right now.” She stood on her toes to press her mouth to his.
Kissing Jamys was like being drugged and electrified in his hands. He lifted her up in his strong arms, and carried her through the house, the lights dimming around them as he slipped into one of the back rooms.
A single bedside lamp came on, illuminating a white master suite. A massive oversize king dominated the room, and offered a simple retreat of sand-colored linens heaped with large pillows shaped like shells. When Jamys lowered her to the mattress, she looked up at a ceiling that shimmered and moved as brightly colored koi swam lazily across it.
“There are fish on the ceiling,” she murmured as Jamys stretched out beside her. “No, there’s an aquarium on the ceiling. Or the ceiling is an aquarium. How do you feed the fish if they’re all the way up there?”
His hands cupped her shoulders as he moved over her. “I imagine with great care.” He brushed her hair away from her throat. “And a ladder. Christian.”
“Jamys.” She lost interest in the fish, and shifted under him as a deep, pervasive throb spread through her pelvis and up into her breasts. “I have been thinking about this for so long . . . and now it’s happening, and I still don’t believe it.”
His voice went low and soft as he stretched her arms up and over her head, pinning them to the mattress. “You cannot have wanted this as much as I have.”
