Page 58 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
“We’ll do this in English for your benefit, my dear,” said the Alpha to Jack without taking his gaze from Hawk, who lifted his head and stared straight at her.
That focused look reminded her of his warnings, uttered such a short time ago.
One: the Alpha is always right.
Jack stayed silent, staring back at Hawk while the panic in her body rose to a burning, bright shriek of noise and pressure, painful as if her nerves were being scraped with the blade of a knife.
Was he afraid? Would he be badly hurt? What was that look in his eye?
Was it fear? Resignation?
Was it . . . blame?
Two: opinions won’t be welcome.
“Lucas Eduardo Tavares Castelo Luna,” the Alpha intoned, “Salsu Maru of the House of Air. For your disobedience you will be punished in accordance with the ancient rites, and will receive two hundred”—he glanced at Jack, hesitating only a moment before amending it to—“one hundred lashes. What do you have to say before punishment commences?”
Hawk’s gaze was so focused on Jack’s face, his stare so burning and intent, she felt as if he was trying to slip inside her body using only his eyes.
Three: Don’t go anywhere without me. Especially at night.
“The same thing I always have to say. Nothing.”
Hawk’s voice was empty, so empty and hollow and cold, but those eyes . . .
He’d tried to warn her. He’d tried to tell her to be quiet, to be safe, to let him lead the way, yet she’d ignored all the advice he’d given her simply because she was hurt and confused over his kiss, over the way he’d reacted to it as if putting his mouth against hers had been the biggest mistake of his life.
It’s your fault for writing that article and pushing us into a corner and forcing our hand!
God . . . he was right. This was her fault.
This entire situation was her fault!
“Then we’ll proceed,” said the Alpha, sounding smug, flush with anticipation.
As if cued, a man stepped forward from the crowd.
Sinewy, squat, and shirtless, he sported a black hood that covered his head. Only his eyes were visible through the dark cloth. They peered out with a feral, quicksilver flash like a wild thing from a nighttime wood. Two more males approached, stripped Hawk’s shirt off his back, turned him around, and shoved him toward the tree.
Oh God—oh God—No!
They chained him to the trunk. He remained mute and as placid as a lamb, allowing them to encircle his wrists in metal and raise them over his head so he stood flush against the dead tree with his legs spread, his broad, naked back exposed, his cheek turned to the black, broken bark.
He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.
From a small wooden stand beside the tree, the hooded man selected a cane from among perhaps a dozen of different widths and sizes. Long and tan and curved to a handle at one end, it sported small notches along its slender length, breaks that seemed sinister, able to inflict more pain than a solid one. The man in the black hood took the cane, positioned himself behind Hawk, and raised his thickly muscled arm.
The lower half of the cane was stained red.
The storm inside Jack rose to a howling, bright peak.
No! No! No!
“Wait!” Jack screamed.
Hawk stiffened. The Alpha’s head snapped around. Across from her, Morgan’s mouth opened into a silent O of horror, the same shape as her huge, disbelieving eyes.
The same shape as every eye in the crowd around her, as far as her own could see.
