The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(71)

“I know why the Council blamed her.” Kane shook his head. “In the Old Laws, if someone dies without issue, the estate goes to the next of kin, no matter how distant the relation. If the person is murdered under those circumstances, however, their property, real or otherwise, goes unto the Council. The intent of the law was to discourage heirs who were not first-degree offspring like sons or daughters from killing their benefactors, on the theory that direct issue have enough of an emotional connection to their blooded parents to avoid matricide or patricide no matter how large the inheritance. In fact, however, the law served as a fundraiser for the Council. If everything you say is true, they needed to find someone guilty of murder so they could split the estate.”

“Those bastards.”

And she included her grandfather in that. Had he been paid somehow?

“For all their dainty airs and social propriety, the glymera can be very cutthroat.” Kane exhaled in a defeat. “Regardless of who they hurt. Or who they ruin.”

“So my grandfather sacrificed her to them. Why the hell . . .”

Nyx stopped and rubbed her aching head. There were going to be no answers to all that now, but as soon as she was home, she was going to make him tell the truth.

Assuming she made it out alive.

“Was your sister dead, then?” Lucan asked. “Did you find her name on the Wall?”

“Yes.” Nyx met the male in the eye. “Her name was inscribed in that lineup. She died here.”

After a moment, the male nodded once in respect. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” To change the subject, she said, “What about you? What’s your story?”

Lucan leaned back on his palms and crossed his legs. “I am wolven. I was put here because others of your species do not like us.”

“But that’s discrimination.” And it explained why she had always sensed something was different about him. “They can’t just throw you in here for being—”

“Can’t they?” Lucan touched his collar. “And I would be out of here except for this. I can’t change with this goddamn thing on my throat, though.”

“I would take it off you if I could,” Nyx said.

There was a moment of silence. Then he smiled a little. “In spite of the way we met, I actually believe that.”

Nyx returned his smile, and then glanced over at Mayhem—who, as it turned out, was sitting forward on his butt like he was holding his hand up and waiting to get called on in school.

“And you?” she asked.

“I was bored,” he announced with a kind of pride.

There was another pause. And then the whole group leaned in toward the male—like everyone was wondering if they’d heard right.

“I don’t understand,” Jack said.

Mayhem shrugged. “I didn’t have anything I particularly wanted to do, and nowhere in particular I wanted to go, so I figured, what the hell, I’ll hang in prison.”

There was another pause. Just in case there was a punch line.

When Mayhem merely smiled pleasantly, there was a lot of blinking around the pool. Even from Apex the Whittler.

“Are you fucking insane?” Lucan said.

Kane shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s a bit inexplicable, my friend—”

“You are such a twat-waffle,” Jack blurted. “And no, I don’t know what that means, but it is not good.”





It’s time.”

As Jack spoke, Nyx was already getting to her feet, the muffled marching reaching her keen vampire ears. Strapping her pack back on under the loose tunic and resettling her outer layer, she felt like she was moving out of a place. Which was nuts. Still, this experience had been so vivid, it was like she had been down under ground for a decade.

She took a last look around as the other males went off to make sure things were safe to step out into the prison proper. The pool was as she had first seen it, gently frothing, lightly steaming, the candles all around, offering a golden haven in the midst of hard rock and hopelessness and strife.

Then she focused on Jack. He was dressed in fresh prison togs, his hair rebraided, his face drawn, likely because of the feeding and what it had cost him to be so generous with his vein. As she worried about him, she wished she could reciprocate. She wished they had more time. She wished . . .

“I know,” he murmured.

Nyx smiled even though her eyes were filling with tears. “How are you so sure what I’m thinking about?”

“I can guess.” He took her hand and put her palm on the center of his chest. “Because I feel the same.”

She reached up and stroked his face. “I wish . . . well, a lot of things. But I want you to know, no matter how much it hurts, that I’m not sorry I met you. I’ll never be sorry.”

“I will get you out of here. I promise. So you can go back to your true home.”

It was a nice thing for him to say, except he really couldn’t guarantee the outcome, could he. Yet she let his vow stand because she could feel the resolve he was forcing into the words: He was willing, with all the strength in his body and all the power of his intentions, for her to find freedom safely.

In a strange way, it was a declaration of love, wasn’t it.

“Listen,” he said urgently, “if anything happens to me, I want you to keep going. You need to save yourself. No matter how much you may want to stop and help, you must keep going. Promise me?”