Tempting Evil

Chapter Seven

Which was impossible, of course. If Moss had shifted shape, become a bird, I would have heard the flap of wings. The forest was too still, too quiet, and the sound would have carried. And if he'd become something else there would have been a trail to follow. Hell, even a vampire couldn't help leaving signs of his passing in the lush undergrowth of the forest floor. Not that a vampire could have disappeared like that in the middle of the day—unless, of course, he was some sort of day vampire, able to use the daylight to hide his form the same way a regular vampire can use the night and the shadows.

Even then, I should have been able to catch his non-scent on the still air.

So, there had to be some other explanation. Like maybe, a hidden entrance to underground hideouts. There hadn't been one on either the plans Jack had given me or the ones Dia had drawn, but then, if Starr was so worried about security, he wouldn't have advertised the fact that his foxhole had escape routes. Exits could become entrances to those with unsavory intent.

I let my gaze roam over the ground, but I couldn't immediately see anything that screamed "hidden entrance." Nor could I afford to waste time searching. Not now, in daylight. But it might be worth coming back tonight and checking it out more thoroughly. If I could escape Moss's clutches at a decent hour, that was.

I turned and retraced my steps. When I was well clear of the spot where Moss had disappeared, I hit the com-link.

"I just met Leo Moss."

"And?"

"He's madly in lust with me. I'll be spending tonight in his bed." Or wherever else it was he liked to have sex. It wouldn't be standard stuff, of that I was certain.

"Excellent. I wouldn't try reading his mind tonight, though. Scout out the situation, give it time, and let him feel relaxed around you."

"I wasn't intending to do anything until Rhoan got here." He was the experienced one, so everything I did I'd clear through him first. If that was possible. "Listen, has the Directorate got access to satellite scanning?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I followed Moss, and in the middle of the forest he simply disappeared. I'm thinking there might be a few tunnels under this joint."

"Makes sense that Starr would have escape routes. And we do scan this area every six months to record changes, but maybe the tunnels are a recent addition. I'll arrange for scanning in the next pass over."

"Good, but I might check it out later tonight anyway."

"Don't do anything to jeopardize your position."

"I'm not dumb."

"No, just inexperienced."

"This from the man who is constantly pushing me to be a guardian."

"Which is why I don't want to lose you just yet. Be careful, that's all I'm saying."

"I will. Talk to you later, boss." I pressed the com-link, and loped the rest of the way to the clearing where Kade waited. Where, after a little discussion on what had happened, we filled in the remainder of the time sating his needs and mine.

The old man came out as I rode up to the stables. Kade stopped, and I slid off his back.

"Good ride?" he asked, accepting the reins from me.

I nodded, and patted Kade's sweaty shoulder. "This bad boy was horribly frisky. I think he needs to be ridden more often."

Kade snorted and stamped a foot, and I barely restrained my grin.

"You'll be back tomorrow then?" the old guy asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll get security to notify us when you're headed this way, so we can have him ready for you."

"Thanks… have you got a name?"

"Tommy."

He thrust out a hand and I shook it. His fingers were rough, textured by time, grime, and probably years of hard work. He didn't seem the type to work for scum like Starr, which was an odd thing to think about someone I'd barely met. For all I knew, Tommy could be Starr's uncle. "I'm Poppy. Thanks."

He took Kade inside, and I headed back to my room to clean up. Neither Berna nor Nerida were there, but my bag was sitting on my bed. A quick check revealed that my clothes and underclothes had disappeared, but all my toiletries remained. Grateful for small mercies, I headed into the bathroom to clean up. Surprise, surprise, there were cameras here, too. I couldn't see any microphones, though. Maybe they figured not a lot of nasty talk could happen in a bathroom—which only went to prove the installers were men. All women know just how nasty bathroom conversation can get—especially when it centered on men. Though, given the man behind this whole weird show wasn't exactly chummy with linear lines of thought, maybe he just didn't care.

By the time I got back to the bedroom, Berna and Nerida were both there, the still-clothed bear-shifter prowling the room like a caged animal and the overall-clad fox-shifter lounging on her bed, reading Cleo. The cream overalls were extremely tight and left very little to the imagination, making me wonder why she bothered. Hell, her breasts were so tightly packed they were stretching the material to the max, making the pocket—and the gray and white hanky sticking out of it—stand out like, well, dogs ball's. If she thought the overalls would draw less attention, she was seriously delirious.

Both of them were studiously ignoring me, so I returned the favor and headed over to my bed to open the window. Fresh air drifted in, touched by the coolness of the oncoming night. But aside from the snorting or stamping of horses and the occasional crunch of a guard's footsteps, very little noise carried on the breeze. All the normal dusk sounds—like the warbling of magpies or even the singing of crickets—was nonexistent here, and that one fact sent chills up my spine. Anything that scared insects senseless was something to worry about, in my estimation.

At six forty-four, Berna reluctantly began to strip. She seemed big in her clothes, but she was positively huge out of them. And none of it was fat. She was just large in every conceivable way—huge shoulders, brawny arms, melon breasts, big hips, and chunky, muscular thighs and shins. She pretty much looked as if she could snap someone in two without effort between those legs of hers, which made me wonder about her earlier statement that she wasn't a top wrestler. How could someone be built like that and not be one of the best?

It wasn't a question I had the chance to ask, because she'd barely finished stripping when our escort showed up. He gave us all a once-over, nodded in what I presumed was approval, then motioned us to follow him.

Which, of course, we did. The remaining women who'd been on the bus were already in the hallway and being guided away, and amongst them were two women I didn't recognize. Probably two of the three women who had remained from the last group.

We were escorted along until we'd reached one of the arena doors, which had been locked against my earlier explorations.

According to the plans, the arena was designed after the old Roman gladiatorial arenas, though on a far smaller scale. But as we walked into the room, I realized the plans gave no real indication of the sheer scale of the place. Not only did everything soar in this room, but everything seemed oversized, as if the whole intent was to make the room's occupants seem small by comparison. Which was probably the effect someone as warped as Starr would want. The ceiling arched so high above us that without the spotlights it would have been shrouded in darkness, and the statues of naked men and women that lined the wall were at least double the standard sizing. The arena walls were high enough to prevent most shifters and weres from leaping out, though it wouldn't have stopped winged shifters. The arena's center was sand, but studded posts stood at either end, the wood chipped and stained. By what, I just didn't want to know.

Tables and chairs lined three-quarters of the arena. A long table dominated the far end, the white tablecloths, gold settings, and grandiose, highly ornate chairs that looked like something out of the courts of kings. Starr's seating area, obviously.

Though he and his entourage weren't here yet, a lot of people were. There weren't many women, meaning the whores probably didn't rate an invite to this little shindig. Some of the men I knew from the files Jack had given me on known Starr associates, but there were many more I didn't recognize. Just as well Rhoan was coming in with the camera—I had a feeling there were a lot of wanted people in this room.

Of course, with so many people already here, the babble of voices and reek of aftershave and humanity was almost overwhelming. But it was the underlying scent, the base rawness of death and despair that seemed to be leeching from the sand itself that had trepidation stirring.

This room wasn't about fighting. Wasn't about enjoying a spectacle. It was about control. About destruction.

Of hope. Of humanity.

I didn't realize I'd stopped until Berna shoved me from behind.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she said, voice low and annoyed.

"You're a bear-shifter—can't you smell it?"

"Misery," Nerida said softly, her sharp gaze briefly resting on mine. In the amber depths of her eyes, fear flickered. "This place is drenched in it."

"Weres," Berna said heavily, "are very strange people."

"No. It's just that dogs of all kinds have noses designed to trap smells, and certain emotions are accompanied by strong scents. Fear, for example." I glanced at her as our guide led us to a table near the wall and the stained post. "I would have thought a bear-shifter would know that, given your olfactory senses are as keen, if not keener, than a wolfs."

She shook her head. "That may be true, but we are attuned to physical scents and sounds more than emotional ones. The click of a gun being cocked one hundred feet away or the scent of a carcass two miles away, for instance. Emotions have no scent for us."

"So this arena doesn't worry you?"

"I'm being paid good money to fight in it." Her gaze came to mine. "So are you."

"I love a good fight as much as the next wolf, but this arena isn't just about fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "If that turns out to be true, then maybe the three of us should plan a little bust-out."

"With cameras on every corner? They'd catch us inside a minute." Though if I wanted to get out of this place, I'd damn well find a way, cameras or not. "And I'd be careful where you said that, because they have voice monitors as well as cameras in this joint."

She looked around as she sat down on the chair near the wall. "Really? Where?"

I nodded to the black dome above the table to our left. "That looks like a PTR-1043. It comes complete with sound and motion sensors." I grinned at their surprised looks, and embellished the truth with a little lie. "Fucked a home security guy for a while. He liked to go on about his hardware."

Nerida snorted. "As all men do."

"I'm gathering that's where you picked up the finer skills of a thief?" Berna asked.

I glanced at her. There was no animosity in her voice or on her features, yet I felt the wave of her disapproval all the same. "Yes."

She harrumphed and didn't add anything else, simply crossed her arms and stared out over the arena. Nerida looked at me for a few seconds longer, then said, "You don't seem like a thief to me."

That's because I wasn't, but if I was fooling Berna and everyone else, why wasn't I fooling the fox-shifter? What was she picking up that the others weren't? I forced a casual shrug. "And what does a thief look like?"

"Shifty. Desperate. You don't."

"Well, I'm not right now, am I?"

A set of trumpets blasted before she could answer, and an unseen announcer ordered us to rise. I ignored the speculation in Nerida's eyes, pushing to my feet as I glanced over to the main table. Starr, his lieutenants, and their hangers-on were entering the room like royalty. And considering at least one of them was a queen, maybe that was appropriate.

Starr himself wasn't the type of man who immediately drew the eye. He was on the small side, thin, with bristly brown hair and sallow-looking skin. Not that this was the real Starr—he'd been killed off some time ago and replaced by the shapeshifting son of the man who'd started the whole cloning nightmare. This Starr was flanked by his two lieutenants—Moss in front, Merle behind, both men naked from the waist up. Of the three, Merle was perhaps the most eye-catching. Not only did he have the build of an Adonis, but strong, almost feline features and the striped skin of a tiger. In any normal situation, I would have named him yummy and pounced. But knowing who he was, what he was, kind of killed desire.

Which wouldn't matter a damn if he had an aura as powerful as Moss's.

One of the accompanying guards pulled out the most ornate of the chairs. Starr didn't immediately sit, instead leaning his hands on the table as he skimmed his gaze across the crowd. He seemed to pause when he came to our table, and though we were far enough away that I couldn't even see the color of his eyes, a chill ran all the way down my spine. It was as if, in that brief moment, Starr sensed who I was.

I licked my lips, and clenched my hands against the sudden desire to run. This rush of fear was ridiculous. Starr couldn't know my real identity. I'd be dead, or locked up in one of his freak pens, if he did. His gaze lingered for several rapid heartbeats, then he leaned sideways and made a comment to Moss. When he finally moved on to the remaining crowd, I sighed in relief. Not that it eased the tension curling through my limbs any, because I had a bad feeling I was going to get an introduction to that madman far sooner than I'd anticipated.

Once Starr had taken a seat, the rest of us were allowed to. Waiters immediately appeared, plunking plates of vegetables and meats on the table.

As we ate, a solitary man walked onto the arena. Spotlights followed his progress, shining across his hairless cranium but throwing the rest of his body into shadow. The babble of voices gave way to a weird mix of trepidation and excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen." His voice seemed to echo across the vast arena, and the clink of cutlery died. "Tonight you will bear witness to the price of foolishness."

He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and part of the wall on the far side of the arena began to slide up. From it came two men and a woman. She was striking to look at—white blonde hair, golden skin, big breasts, and hourglass figure. The sort of woman who'd graced the centerfolds of men's magazines year in and year out, almost since the birth of such things.

Though her hands were tied, her expression was defiant, like she was sure this was nothing more than a minor hiccup.

I was sure it wasn't.

The tension that had begun to ebb revved into high gear again, and suddenly the food on my plate lost its taste. I forced what I already had in my mouth down, then pushed the rest away. I had no stomach left for food. No stomach for whatever it was that was coming.

"This fighter, Janti Harvey, was caught in an off-limit space. She was given the choice of being whipped for her mistake or facing the arena. She has chosen the arena."

Bad mistake. She had to be a shifter or were of some kind, so however bad the whipping was, for her it was a survivable punishment simply because shifting shape would heal the worst of the wounds. And okay, it wouldn't be pleasant and would probably haunt her nights, but that would surely be better than facing the unknown in the arena.

But as my gaze went to her face, I saw the arrogance. The confidence. Maybe this woman had been so successful in the arena she figured she could beat whatever foe they presented her with.

Obviously, no one had ever shown her the zoo or the creatures held prisoner within it.

"Bring down the cage," the announcer continued dramatically.

Both he and the woman looked up, so it was natural the rest of us would follow suit. From the shadows of the vaulted ceiling, a huge cage began to lower. It was made of some kind of shiny metal and looked very much like the top half of a fancy birdcage. It lowered to the wall and clicked into place with barely a whisper, covering the entire arena in a huge mesh of metal. Which was how they kept the bird-shifters in.

"Release her ropes."

The two guards did so, then quickly retreated. To anyone with an ounce of common sense, that would have been the first warning that things were going to get much worse. But the woman simply shook her hands and rolled her head.

I crossed my arms, somehow resisting the urge to stand up and tell her to run. Because caged as she was, where could she actually run?

"Release her opposition for the fight." The words were barely out of his mouth and the announcer was beating a hasty retreat to the entrance he'd appeared from.

The woman began a series of warm-up exercises. Down the far end of the arena, doors slowly opened. Tension rolled through me, tightening already taut muscles to the point of pain.

I didn't know what was worse—sitting here waiting to see what would come out of those doors, or knowing there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to stop the woman below from meeting her fate.

A fate she seemed so oblivious to.

The doors opened fully, and out of the shadows of the tunnel beyond stepped two thin, blue humanoids with butterfly wings folded at their backs. A murmur of approval ran across the crowd, but stopped at our table. Nerida and Berna looked every bit as disturbed by events as I was.

The blue things halted just past the door and lightly fanned their wings. The lights caught the colors in the delicate, veillike membranes, making them gleam like a thousand different jewels. But the beauty of the wings were offset by the wicked claws that replaced the top half of their fingers. And by the barbs that lined their cocks.

The woman stretched her arms, wriggled her fingers. If she was alarmed by the fact she was outnumbered or that these things were naked and nasty looking in the equipment department, it didn't show. Confidence still held sway over her expression. But how long would it last once the blue things got moving?

One of them began to fan his wings harder and, with gentle grace, rose in the air. The other walked forward, his wings fanning slowly, barely even stirring the few pale wisps of hair that spotted his blue head.

She didn't wait for them to come to her, and attacked the man on the ground with a ferocity that was surprising. The blue thing was momentarily beaten backward by the force and speed of her blows, and yet, at the same time, seemed unworried by them. The second creature rose high, then with a flick of his wings, dove downward. The air screamed with the force of his plummet, and the woman threw herself out of his path. Claws raked the air, missing her skin but snagging strands of gold. They glittered brightly under the spotlights as the creature soared upward again. The woman hit the sand and rolled to her feet in one smooth movement, but barely had time to turn around before the grounded creature was on her. His blows were a blur, fast and hard, and for every ten punches she blocked, five got through. No were or shifter, no matter how tough, could stand such a beating for long.

As her confidence gave way to desperation and her breath became little more than sobs of fear, the blue thing on the ground stepped back. The woman dropped to her knees, alternatively sucking in great gulps of air and crying. I wanted to jump up, to scream that it wasn't over, that those things hadn't finished with her yet, but I forced myself to remain still and watch events. I couldn't help her, and I couldn't risk drawing unwanted attention, so I really had no other choice.

The circling creature began to drop. Anticipation rode the air, thick and sharp. I looked across at the other tables.

Most were watching with avid fascination. Waiting for blood, wanting flesh to be rent and torn.

Bile rose, and it took every ounce of control I had not to throw up right there and then. At least the blue things were doing what they were bred to do—kill. The people watching had no such excuse. It made me hate them, made me want to throw them all into the arena and watch them scream and struggle against the blue things.

The stirring air must have warned the woman of the second creature's approach, because she suddenly gasped and threw herself to one side. Wicked claws rent her back as she rolled, and blood began to flow freely down her sides. A collective cheer went up in the arena, and some even began urging the creatures on.

The only table that was totally quiet was ours. Nerida wasn't even watching. Her eyes were closed and her whole body trembled—though I couldn't smell fear, so it was probably anger.

As one creature soared away, the other came in. This time the woman had no chance, and no time, to avoid the blows. Soon she wasn't even trying, just lying on the sand with her hands over her head, her whimpering lost to the whirring of wings, the thud of flesh against flesh and the cheers of the crowd.

After God knows how long, the other creature landed, and together the two of them dragged the bloodied woman over to the post. They pulled her upright and tied her chest-first against the wood.

And then, without ceremony, they butt-fucked her. She screamed, a sound so high and filled with agony that tears filled my eyes. I closed them, and covered my ears with my hands, but still her agony hit, battering my skin, my senses, reaching deep down to my soul, making me sicker than I ever thought possible.

They would pay for this. God help me, if it was the last thing I ever did, Starr, his lieutenants, and this whole perverted crowd would pay for what was being done here today. And the fact that I didn't even know this woman was inconsequential. No person—whether they be human, were, shifter, or whatever else there was—deserved to be treated like this.

Especially considering her only crime was trespassing. If she'd attempted to murder Starr, then maybe the brutality would be more understandable—still not acceptable, but at least understandable.

But there was no understanding this. It was just another pointer to the sickness of the mind controlling the cartel.

Eventually the creatures were sated and the woman dragged away. The announcer walked back onto the sand and introduced the next piece of entertainment—the evening's fight between two guards. I didn't watch any of it, just kept my gaze on the table. If I looked up, caught Starr's gaze, he'd see the need to kill, and that could be disastrous when the whole point of the scene with the woman was to bring fear, and cow those of us who were new.

After the fight, guards approached several tables, including ours. Berna raised an eyebrow as a guard motioned me to stand.

"Hang on, I thought if we were naked, we had freedom of choice."

I snorted. "Unless the boss's lieutenants decide they like the look of us. Apparently, it's in the small print."

"I read the small print. I can't remember that."

"Exactly what I said." My gaze went to the blood-soaked sand near the pole. "But I guess they figure they can pretty much do what they want while we're here."

Her expression suggested disagreement, but her gaze Flicked to the camera and she didn't actually say anything. I followed the guard like the good little puppy I was pretending to be, but when he approached an elevator that wasn't on any plan I'd seen, I began to take a lot more interest. He shoved a key in the lock, then punched a code into the accompanying keypad, but his fingers were far too quick for me to see—let alone memorize—the numbers. The lift doors opened and I was waved inside.

Though there were six buttons, only three had numbers. He punched sub-three and the doors closed. I casually looked up at the ceiling, checking for cameras and other security devices—particularly psychic deadeners. There was a security cam, which meant there was probably voice monitoring as well, but I couldn't see anything else. Not that that meant anything.

There was only one way to find out if I could do what I wanted to do. I lowered my shields a little, and felt for the guard's thoughts. His hunger and arousal hit like a club, and my body reacted as instinctively as ever. But below his hunger were his thoughts, and the ease with which I reached them surprised me. I would have thought anyone who knew the codes to any of Starr's private areas would have been either shielded or mind-blind.

Not that I was about to complain about the lack. I shuffled quickly but lightly through the guard's mind, picking up not only the code for the elevator, but general information like shift times and the fact that most of the security pool either visited the whores or played snooker in the bunkhouse when not on duty. There was also some interesting impressions about the guy who was the head of security—he was a tall, balding man with pock-marked skin. According to this guard, he was also an all-talk, no-skills fuckwit who liked taking the credit for other people's work. Which just might mean he was ripe for a little werewolf action—and mind-reading. As head of security, he'd surely know a whole lot more than this guard—and probably have access to the spare set of lift keys. If there was a spare set. This guard couldn't confirm that there was.

The elevator came to a stop. I withdrew from the guard's mind, re-shielding quickly as the doors swished open. Directly opposite was what I presumed was another elevator, this one not only secured by a key and keypad, but thumbprint scanner as well. The hallway to either side was long and silent, with the only source of light coming from the elevator itself and two solitary light strips down either end. Shadows haunted the space in between, lending to the feeling of isolation.

"Mr. Moss waits tor you down that end," the guard said, pointing to the left. He had his hand on the elevator door to prevent it from closing, which obviously meant he wasn't coming with me.

"What's down that end?" I pointed to the right.

"Mr. Merle."

"They don't share quarters, then?"

The guard snorted. "They don't share much at all."

I raised an eyebrow. "Even women?"

"Especially women." He motioned down the hall again. "You'd better move. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Tough was my instinctive response, but not one that was wise given my mission was to seduce first, raid mind second. So I nodded to the guard and headed off into the shadows. My footsteps echoed across the silence, a sharp tattoo of noise that rebounded eerily down the long hall. I'm sure the whole setup was meant to be scary—to induce that whole walking-into-the-shadowy-unknown fear.

And it might have worked had it not been for the fact that I'd faced far worse in the last four months. Shadows and the unknown were easy by comparison.

The small light above the metal door flicked to green as I approached, and the door slid open. The room beyond was surprisingly welcoming. A solitary light lit one corner or the large room, giving the golden walls an even richer hue but leaving the rest of the room to the shadows. The furnishings were a mix of oak wood and claret colored cushioning, and thick woolen rugs were scattered across the carpeted floor. A room that was comfortable and inviting was not something that I would have associated with Moss, but then, what did I know about the man other than the fact he was a psychopath with a hot and heavy aura?

Moss wasn't in the room, but something was. His scent was obscure, oddly hinting at earth and air. I stopped just behind one of the thickly padded sofas and let my gaze roam until I pinned his vague shape in the shadows. Another spirit lizard. Like the other versions I'd seen, this one also had suckered ringers and toes, so there was definitely gecko in their DNA mix somewhere. How "spirit" entered the equation was anyone's guess, but I figured it might have something to do with the fact that even in a room lit by the glow of a lamp, he was almost invisible.

Not that he was cloaking himself as a vampire might. He didn't need to. He was as naked as a newborn, and his skin was as black as the night. In the dusky light, he was little more than a black outline, a figure who had a basic shape but no distinct features. He didn't even have any noticeable type of genitalia—male or female—so why I kept thinking of it as a "he" I'm not sure. Maybe it was the shape of his face—there was something a little more masculine than feminine about it.

"So," I said brazenly, "what the hell are you? The welcome wagon?"

His thin lips curved into a smile. His eyes were blue—all blue. No white, no black pupil, just a dark, almost midnight blue. Pretty, but eerie. "Most first time visitors feel fear when they first see me. Second timers even more so."

I took the time to look him up and down again. "And what is there to fear?"

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Obviously." I let my gaze slide around the room. "Nice place—yours?"

He shook his head. "I am here to prepare you."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Sex, of course."

My gaze jumped down his body. "With what?"

"With this." As he spoke, genitalia appeared, dropping down from inside of his body, finding shape and size between his legs. It was like watching a blow-up doll inflate and find form, only weirder.

"Interesting way to deal with the problem of getting kicked in the balls," I noted dryly.

He smiled. As he did so, spines appeared along his cock, flicking upright to reveal pointy ends.

"That," I added bluntly, "isn't coming anywhere near me."

"Yes, it is."

"You try, you die."

"You are here to do as you are told."

"No, I'm here to have sex with Moss. If he hasn't got the equipment to do the deed himself, then that's tough. I'm not fucking a cactus just so he can get his rocks off."

The black creature raised an eyebrow, and I would have sworn there was amusement in his eyes. Then all expression froze as his gaze moved beyond mine, and something inside me quailed.

"Interesting," a voice said from the behind. "You do not fear the creature and the damage it could do."

A cold sensation ran down my spine. For several heartbeats, I couldn't move, could barely even breathe.

I didn't know the voice, but I didn't really need to. Not when his evil seemed to permeate the room, sucking away all the good air, leaving only foul.

The black creature mightn't have induced fear, but the man who stood behind me certainly did.

Because that man was Deshon Starr.