The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(55)

But did they have that much time?

Letting her head fall back onto the stone, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she had felt this tired. And then she heard Jack’s voice in her head, repeating the pronouncement about flesh and wound and only . . .

Monty Python.

From out of her bone-marrow-deep weariness, she saw that scene from The Holy Grail, where the knight on the losing end of the sword fight, while he was gushing blood from every leg and arm socket he had, exclaimed the same in a haughty British accent.

It’s only a flesh wound.

“You are much relieved then?” Jack said.

Nyx opened her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Oh, it’s not because of . . . it’s this movie, you’ve definitely seen it—” She stopped herself. “I mean, it’s nothing.”

He hadn’t seen that movie. Or any other.

She focused on him again. And when she reached out to him, he scrubbed his jaw and chin with his palm, as if he were embarrassed by the stain of the male they had killed together—as if he wished she hadn’t seen what she had.

“Come here,” she said.

“We need a plan.”

“I know. But come here first.”

When he finally moved into range, she pushed his hand out of the way of his lower face. Going to the top of his tunic, she freed the buttons on the high neck and spread open the lapels.

His eyes grew remote. Like he knew what she was staring at.

“You don’t have a lock collar like the others do,” she said. “And the guards can’t hurt you. Who are you really and why do you choose to be here.”

“I am just like any other prisoner.”

Nyx shook her head. “You’re lying to me.”





Standing in Jabon’s drawing room, Rhage absorbed the details of the diorama of catastrophe as if the triangulation of figures would somehow reveal the truth beneath the surface of the allegation: Ellany, with her stained peach dressing gown and pale, heartbroken face. Her mahmen, poised for flight in her finery, gown skirting lifted—although given the fury on her face, it seemed as if she intended to engage rather than run.

With her daughter? Rhage wondered. Or with the male who had been accused?

The Jackal, meanwhile, was looking aghast, his shock so deep and honestly held, it was clear he could not respond.

And finally, there was Jabon, standing before the closed doors of his dining hall, his remote, masklike expression concealing what had to be the alarm going through his mind: A member of the glymera might entertain countless guests—including some who may have been of less than perfect repute—in a manner that was, at times, questionable, but provided the “questionable” activities with the less-than-“reputable” visitors occurred behind closed doors, and with no undue attention upon the comings and goings from bedrooms, there would be little social fallout. True, there were invitations unto Jabon that might be, and no doubt had been, revoked, and there would be certain high-bred females who would refuse to be seated beside him at festivals, but largely he would be left to his own devices, free to open his mansion up to whomever he chose.

However, all of that leeway would be rescinded in the work of a moment if a well-bred female of mateable age was dishonorably stripped of her virginity under his roof.

The downfall Jabon would experience would be swift, epic and lasting through countless future generations of his loins.

“I did it for you,” Ellany repeated unto Rhage.

He shook his head at the young female. “You did no such thing as I have never asked anything of you. Even when you sought me out.”

“Ellany!” her mahmen exclaimed. “Whatever did you—”

“Enough,” Jabon snapped with surprising strength.

Gone was the bon vivant. In its place was an utterly serious head of household who enjoyed his social station—and apparently wanted to retain it.

“You have disgraced my home,” he said to the Jackal. “You have mistreated an innocent of fine breeding under my roof—”

“I did no such thing!” The Jackal stepped forth, a strong figure, also of fine breeding, who knew exactly what would transpire upon him if the accusation stuck. “I have not put a hand upon her, and she knows it—”

“So ruining her body was not enough, now you must befoul her character?” Jabon slashed a hand through the air. “How dare you! You will take your leave of mine property at once, and there will be consequences to this.”

“She is lying.” The Jackal’s eyes bored into Ellany’s, who could not bear the scrutiny. As she ducked her stare, he cursed. “But yes, I shall depart at once, and ne’er return. My honor has been offended for the convenience of a social ploy that does not involve me, and I resent the implication into whatever scheme is being played out here. It has nothing to do with me.”

The gentlemale stalked out of the parlor, and as he came abreast of the mahmen and the daughter, he spoke in a low tone. “My scent is not upon her flesh, nor is it in her bed. Well you know this and so does she.”

As he inhaled, his nostrils flaring, his expression grew grimmer and his stare shifted to his host. “Did you coach the girl unto this before or after you left her garden so well plowed.”