Page 152 of The Satyr's Guilt
Out of the shadows came the camp follower inthe long gauzy dress who had propositioned Jarek. Her kohl-linedeyes were narrow slits of derision. “You think he will keep you? Donot fool yourself. He will return to me and to others at thiscamp.”
“That would be his choice. Wouldn’t it?”
“Not as long as you have him spelled.”
“Spelled? Don’t be ridiculous. He is a freeman who will choose for himself. But be sure of this. I won’t kickhim out of my bed.” Lizette didn’t dare turn her back on this womanwith madness in her gaze.
“He will be mine.”
“Listen to me. Once, my job was to counselwomen who were brokenhearted after a failed relationship. Let megive you the same advice I gave them. Have some dignity. If heleaves you, he was never yours. Accept that. Accept therelationship is over. Be good to yourself. Move on. Someone will bethere for you. I’m not sure my usual advice holds, but here goes.You could be shopping for groceries next week and bump into himwith your cart. I don’t know if this idea works on Scath, but youget the drift.”
In truth, Lizette doubted Jarek and thiswoman had ever had a relationship. He saw it as sex. Obviously, shewanted more. Lizette could sympathize. He was an easy man tolove.
“No. I will kill you first.”
The woman withdrew a knife from the folds ofher dress and stormed forward.
Without thinking, Lizette held up a hand,palm out, wishing for help. It came in the form of a Bengal tiger.Prowling out of a puff of smoke, it stalked the woman. When thebeast snarled, its lips pulled back to reveal sharp canines. Thecamp follower pivoted and sprinted for the tree line. Seemingdisappointed, the tiger faced Lizette, sitting on its haunches,cocking its head, as if a pet cat.
Her eyes wide, she spoke to the tiger. “Nowwhat?”
It snorted.
Lizette flicked her wrist, watching as herbeast evaporated in a funnel of smoke. After a few moments, herknees gave out and she sank to the ground.
Damn. That’s some good counseling.
****
Pain.
Ram awoke, grinding his molars, his jawclenched. The odor of antiseptic hung in the air. And blood.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
How long was this nap?
A white-coated human leaned in close with aneedle and thread between his fingers. The guy’s arm moved up anddown. Needle in. Needle out.
Between gritted teeth, Ram snarled. “You’redead.” Did he speak the words or think them? It didn’t matter.These white-coats were cadavers walking.
The guy jumped back when Ram’s gaze lockedonto him. “He’s awake. Fuck. Hit him with the sedative.”
Another white-coat poked a syringe into thesatyr’s flesh. Sounds faded, faces blurred, and smells vanishedlike memories. Darkness set in again.
When the Firebrand surfaced once more, hetested his bindings. No give.Damn. A slab of metal chilledhis ass. He bit back a groan, but the pain was bearable. Hesniffed. Not as much blood. A band strangled his arm as a machinedinged.
Someone moaned. Norah?
Cracking a lid, Ram glanced from side toside. He was hooked to medical equipment. Wires led to the noisymachine. A cuff sheathed his upper arm. Pads stuck to his chestwhich was now stitched, but the red gaps in his flesh told him hewasn’t healing. Of course not. He had to feed.
Through blurry vision, he made out the fadedaura of a lump of flesh on another metal cart. A dead vampire.Varik.
The satyr clamped his lids closed as thedoorwhooshed. Footsteps. More than one human. He flexed hiswrists again.
Not dying.Nope.
He had promised to return to Jonquil. Hecould not let her down. And he wanted to try with Denim. Was ittrue?Yes.
