"But if it was physiological rather than an illness, wouldn't he have died shortly after being born?" Sarita asked, not wanting to believe the boy couldn't be saved.
"Perhaps," Victor said. "But from the boy's memories it would seem he has always been weak and gasping for breath. He could manage a sprint for a brief distance, but had no endurance so was unable to run and play with the others. And then as he aged he could no longer sprint or even walk far, and then not at all without losing his breath. He has apparently grown weaker over time as his body grew."
"You can read him?" Sarita asked glancing over with surprise.
"Yes."
"Domitian couldn't read the gilled man we encountered. I thought perhaps they were all unreadable."
"Most of them are," Victor said with a shrug. "I haven't been able to read or control any of the other hybrids we've encountered. Just this boy, which is what made me wonder if from the waist up he is not completely human."
Sarita turned to look back at the boy. He was lying on hard concrete with just the thin blanket beneath him. It didn't look comfortable, she thought. Sitting down, she drew his head into her lap and brushed the hair back from the boy's face as she silently cursed Dr. Dressler to hell.
Knowing that was a waste of time, Sarita glanced to Victor and the other two men in the cell across from her, noting that they'd all moved to the front of the cage and were now leaning against it, watching her. This time when she looked them over, she noted that they not only looked similar to each other, but that many of their features, especially their eyes, were very similar to Domitian's.
"So?" she asked, zeroing in on the larger man in the middle. "You're Victor Argenis? Domitian's uncle?"
"I am Domitian's uncle Victor," he acknowledged, but then added, "However, it is Argeneau, not Argenis."
That made Sarita frown. "But Domitian's last name is Argenis not Argeneau."
"Both are just a variation on our ancient name Argentum," Victor explained. "In old times there were not really last names. It was basically Bob the baker or Jim the smithy. For us it was a first name plus silver, because of the silver in our eyes. As the family grew and spread, different variations of Argentum occurred, Argenis in Spain, Argeneau in France, and so on."
"I see," Sarita murmured, but wasn't sure she did. Whoever heard of someone changing their name to match the country they lived in or moved to? And just what kind of person did that?
"Someone who wishes to not draw attention to themselves," Victor said quietly, obviously reading her thoughts.
Sarita bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him for obviously piddling about in her thoughts again. Though, judging by the amusement that suddenly curved Victor's lips, she suspected he knew she was peeved. Sighing, she shifted her gaze to Biker #1.
"My nephew, Nicholas Argeneau," Victor announced, gesturing to the man she was looking at. Turning next to Biker #3, he added, "And another nephew, Decker Argeneau-Pimms."
Sarita nodded in greeting, recognizing the names of Domitian's cousins. She then glanced to the men in the third cage on the opposite side. Eyes settling on the Scot, she said, "And I know you're Quinn . . . also Argeneau?"
"Sadly no. We are no' all Argeneaus, lass," the man said in a tone that suggested he was glad to have avoided that fate. "Fortunately, I'm a MacDonald through and true. And pleased I am to meet ye, m'lady."
He gave a gallant bow, waving his hand around as if doffing a hat, and then straightened and pointed to the second man in the cell with him and announced, "And me cellmate is one Ochoa Moreno, the most recalcitrant Latino I've ever had the pleasure o' meeting. We suspect he and his partner are both hunters for the South American Council, because they did no' come with us. But he'll no' tell us a damned thing about how he and his partner landed here. His partner by the by is Enrique Aurelios, the dark-haired fellow lying unconscious on the floor over there."
Sarita turned to glance toward the slumped fellow in the front cell next to hers.
"No, not him. That fellow is bald, and his name is Santo Notte," he said dryly. "I said the dark-haired--Oh, you recognize the name Santo," Quinn interrupted himself to say. "Ah yes, Domitian told you about his disappearing from the boat he was on with the fair Drina."
Sarita turned a glare at the Scot. "Do you think you could just stop reading my mind?"
"I'm afraid not," he said, not sounding very apologetic. "In truth, none of us has to read you. Like all new life mates you're kind of shouting your thoughts at us."
Sarita narrowed her eyes on Quinn and then turned to Victor Argeneau inquiringly.
"He is telling the truth. We are not reading your thoughts so much as receiving them."
Sighing, Sarita shook her head, and glanced to her right now, at the two men Asherah had shot. Enrique Aurelios, he'd said. She eyed the man, noting his dark good looks, and then glanced to the second man lying unconscious on the floor with a dart sticking out of him.
"That is Lucern," Quinn informed her dryly and then added, "Yet another Argeneau cousin of your life mate's."
Sarita merely nodded, recognizing the first name. She then turned her gaze to the last cell, the first one on the other side, across from Santo's cell where the women were. Victor took over the introductions again, saying, "The lovely lady with flame-colored tips to her hair is my sister-in-law, Eshe Argeneau, and the woman with pink-tipped hair is Mirabeau La Roche McGraw."
Eshe Argeneau snorted with amusement. "You could have just said the black chick and white chick, Victor. We wouldn't have taken offense and it would have been simpler."
"I would never deign to define you as simply black, Eshe," Victor assured her.
"But you'd define me by my hair tints?" she asked with disbelief.
"Our skin color is merely something we are born with, like our hair color and eye color," he said with a shrug. "However, the fiery tint you apply to your hair actually does reveal a great deal about you, and better reflects your personality."
"He's good," Mirabeau--the white chick--said, nudging Eshe's arm.
"Yeah, those Argeneau boys," Eshe said with a slow smile. "All smooth talk and sex appeal."
"Spoken like a woman mated to one," Mirabeau said on a laugh.
"And I'm not the only one here who is," Eshe pointed out and smiled at Sarita. "Welcome to the family, kiddo. I don't know Domitian well, but if he's anything like his uncles, you're in for one hell of a ride."
Sarita felt the blush that suddenly swept over her, but before she could even think of how to respond, the man Quinn had called Santo Notte suddenly issued a roar of pain. Turning sharply, she watched as he suddenly jerked upright and clasped his right wrist in his left hand. It was only then she noticed with some horror that his right hand was missing, cut off at the wrist.
The scream ended as abruptly as it had started, as if the sound had woken him from sleep, and now conscious, he could silence the sound of suffering. He sat panting for a minute, and then leaned back against the wall and took several long deep breaths one after the other.
Sarita swallowed the bile that had risen up in her throat at his suffering and watched with pity as he mastered his pain. She couldn't imagine what he was going through. Wanting to help if she could, she eased the little boy's head back to the floor and stood to move toward the bars between their cells.
"Stop!" Victor barked. When she paused and glanced around with surprise, he added, "Do not go any closer, Sarita. Santo might lose his head and attack if you get close enough for him to grab you."
"I will not attack her." Santo's voice was a weary growl. "But I would appreciate it, Sarita, if you would move back to where you were. Your scent is strong and, frankly, more of a torment than Dressler's pitiful attempts at torture."
"Pitiful?" she asked with disbelief. Cutting off body parts seemed pretty horrific as tortures went to her, Sarita thought as she surreptitiously bent her head to sniff herself by the shoulder and armpit.
"Si. Pitiful. I have been tortured by men far better at
it than him," Santo said solemnly.
Sarita frowned, both at his words and at the fact that she didn't smell that bad. She wasn't fresh as a daisy, but--
"He means you smell delicious," Victor said, sounding amused.
"Si. Delizioso, like Momma's Swordfish a la Siciliana," Santo said on a sigh, and then lifted his head and inhaled deeply.
Her brow furrowing with concern, Sarita ducked her head again, this time sniffing her other shoulder and armpit. She didn't smell anything fishy, but she had been in the ocean all last night swimming here and she hadn't had a chance to shower or anything since. Sighing, she moved back to sit down next to the little boy again.
"Is Santo the only one of you that Dressler has experimented on so far?" Sarita asked as she eased the boy's head onto her lap again.
"Experiment? Is that what he calls it?" Victor asked, his voice stiff.
Sarita nodded. "Apparently he's been subjecting the other immortals he has to various and sundry experiments."
"And here we thought he just cut off Santo's hand because he wouldn't tell him how to turn a mortal," Decker said dryly.
"Turn a mortal?" Sarita asked, glancing up with surprise. "Can you do that?"
Victor gave one slow nod.
"And Dressler wants to know how?" she asked sharply. The ramifications of that happening rushed through her mind. The man was brilliant, and as Mrs. Dressler had said, he thought ten steps ahead of everyone else. That was how he had got away with torturing his hybrids, holding people against their will, kidnapping immortals, and probably killing people for fifty years on this island without detection. The one bright spot her grandmother and Mrs. Dressler were looking forward to was the day he died and they would be free. But what if he discovered how to become an immortal and turned himself? God save them all then. The man could continue torturing and maiming people and immortals on this island indefinitely. The thought was a horrific one.
"But no one has told him, right?" Sarita asked anxiously. "Not even the guy he cut in half?"
"He cut someone in half?" Victor asked sharply.
"Who?" Decker gripped the bars of their cell. "What was his name?"
"I don't know," Sarita admitted with a frown.
"What did he look like?" Nicholas asked.
Sarita tried to think back. All she could remember was his open wounds and how gray he had looked. She couldn't envision his face at all.
"Did you see what color his eyes were?" Victor asked.
"Green," Sarita said at once. Domitian had asked her the same question and she remembered the man's eyes opening as she had when he'd asked. "And he had fair hair, and--"
"It is all right, we can see the memory in your mind," Victor said quietly.
Sarita raised her eyebrows. Domitian hadn't been able to do that, but then he said life mates couldn't read each other's minds.
"It was Davies," Decker muttered with disgust.
"Yes," Nicholas agreed. "Christ, he's just a pup. Barely a hundred years old."
"But he was one of the first to go missing," Victor pointed out. "So if he yet lives, the others might still be alive as well."
"It wasn't the first time Dressler did that to him," Sarita said with a frown. "He said he'd cut him in half and left him for only ten seconds the first time and had worked his way up to two hours. If what Dressler truly wanted was to know how to turn a mortal, well . . ." She shook her head. "Frankly, I'm surprised anyone could withstand that torture and not tell."
"Hmm," Victor murmured, looking troubled, but then he asked curiously, "Would you let Dressler know how to live forever?"
"God no," Sarita said at once. "I'd rather die."
Victor nodded with approval, but said, "The problem is, Domitian wouldn't."
"You don't think he'd die rather than tell him?" she asked with surprise, because frankly, Sarita couldn't see that. She was quite sure Domitian would agree with her and die before giving such information to the man.
"I am sure he would die before telling Dressler," Victor said solemnly. "But I do not think he could stand by and let you die for any reason. Even that one. He will do whatever it takes to save your life if it comes to that."
Sarita shook her head.
"He is right, Sarita," Decker said solemnly. "All of us would give anything for our life mates. It is our greatest weakness."
Sarita lowered her head, her mind suddenly whirling. These people thought that Dressler's experiments were just an excuse to torture information out of immortals on how to turn a mortal. Or how he could be turned, because that's what Dressler no doubt wanted it for. But she didn't totally agree with their assessment.
Dressler was a scientist, he needed to know how things worked, and she had no doubt he'd want to know how the nanos would affect him once he was turned. She suspected many of the experiments were to see what he could survive, or how long certain injuries might incapacitate him. The man did things ten steps ahead after all. He must know that becoming immortal wouldn't stop the others from hunting him. If anything they'd probably look harder. Knowing what he could withstand and the fastest way to heal, and the like would certainly be useful to a man like that.
But what of her and Domitian? She'd thought they were put on the island as part of an experiment. But this business about turning a mortal and how protective immortals were of their life mates put a new slant on things. The birdman, Cael, had said Dressler was headed to the small island when MacNeil had called with the news that she and Domitian had left it. What had he and his men been coming to the island for? Nothing good she was sure, but . . .
"Dressler probably intended to force Domitian to tell him how he could be turned by threatening your life," Victor said quietly.
Sarita glanced at him, for once not annoyed that her mind had been read. "But why put us on the island at all? Why didn't he just try to force him to do it here? In his lab?"
"Perhaps he thought Domitian would be more likely to give up the information if the two of you had bonded," Decker suggested and then said, "Apparently you did not know Domitian before being thrown together on the island?"
"No. I didn't know him from Adam," she admitted. "But he knew me. He'd known I was his life mate and had been getting reports on me for fifteen years. So are you saying that Domitian would give up that information now, but might not have before our time on the island?"
"No. I am saying Dressler no doubt believed that was the case," he said gently. "You have to remember that he has kidnapped and tortured several immortals in the last couple of years, yet none of them would reveal the information, even though it probably would have saved them from future torture and might perhaps have gained them their freedom. For a man like Dressler, who has no concept of what it means to be immortal or the value of a life mate or even how to love, it would be beyond his understanding as to how a man would not give up that information to save his own life, but would for a woman he had never interacted with. He was probably hedging his bets. Making sure Domitian wanted you badly enough before he carried out his plan."
"So I am the bait," Sarita said grimly. "He'll make Domitian reveal your secret by threatening my life?"
"Undoubtedly," Victor agreed solemnly. "And Domitian will not hesitate to give him what he wants to save you."
Sarita thought about that for a minute, and then glanced to the women and asked, "But Domitian and I are the only life mates he has, right? None of you--"
"You are the only life mates that are both here," Eshe agreed. "Fortunately for us, Lucian would not allow life mates to work together on this hunt. He felt it too dangerous."
Sarita nodded, then eased the boy's head to the floor again and stood to approach the bars between her cell and Santo's again.
"Sarita," Eshe said with concern. "I can see what you are thinking, but there is no need for this."
"Christ, she's going to sacrifice herself," Decker muttered, sounding dismayed.
"Domitian called Lucian with the information about this island, Sarita," N
icholas reminded her urgently. "He will be here soon bringing the other men with him and--
"Santo," Victor growled suddenly in warning when the other man turned his head abruptly, spearing Sarita with silver eyes rimmed with black.
Dressler had said the nanos went into the organs and whatnot to remain in the body when an immortal had been drained of blood, and it seemed a lot of them were in Santo's eyes. Pausing at the bars, she slid her hands through to his side and gestured to Santo like he was a puppy and she had food.
"Come. Feed," she encouraged. "Drain me dry. I don't want Dressler to hurt even one more person."
Domitian was creeping through the strip of jungle between the bluffs over the beach and the fence around the labs when he heard a pssst.
Pausing, he peered around until he spotted a woman in a white lab coat, crouched about ten feet ahead, behind a tree. He was sure he'd seen her come out of the labs several moments ago and walk down to the gatehouse to talk to the guard there. Apparently, she'd made her way around here afterward.
Domitian eyed her warily, but when she gestured for him to go to her, he considered his options. He'd searched the jungle for Sarita first. He hadn't been surprised when she wasn't there, but he'd had to make sure and glancing around as he moved through it hadn't slowed him much. He'd reached the edge of the jungle to find the men all gathered on the lawn getting instructions on searching the island for him. Using their distraction to his advantage, he'd moved along the inside edge of the jungle until he was parallel to the back of the house and then had quickly snuck across to the back corner.
A glance through the window in the first door had shown him a kitchen with a woman pottering around, apparently oblivious to or unconcerned by what was happening outside. Domitian had moved on without disturbing her and used a set of French doors that had led into an empty games room. Other than the woman in the kitchen, the house had seemed completely empty. Domitian had searched it quickly, but there had been no sign of Sarita. As he'd feared, she'd been taken to the more secure labs with their towers and gatehouse. He'd spent the last hour or better, moving through the woods that lined the back and sides of the fence, looking for a weak spot, or a place he might enter without anyone noticing. But while he could control the guards in the corner towers and make them look away, the cameras everywhere ensured his approach would be seen.