Page 96 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
To her credit, she didn’t blink. She simply waited, tense yet controlled, her pulse beating fast in her throat.
“Hawk is a friend, and a good man, and whatever you remember or don’t, you should know that you’ve changed him. I can see it. It’s all over him like he’s been dipped in honey. You’ve given him hope, and if you take it away . . . I think it will kill him. He’s strong, but no man is invincible. For him, as it was for me, hope might mean the difference between life and death.”
Jacqueline processed that, her expression severe yet contemplative, and Morgan felt the same admiration she’d felt when Jacqueline had offered belu at the punishment tree. Whatever her faults, this was a woman of strong convictions, serious thought, and more than a little self-control. She might be afraid, angry, and utterly confused, but she wasn’t intimidated, she wasn’t backing down, and she definitely wasn’t allowing her fear to make the decisions.
They’re a good match, Morgan thought, surprised and pleased.
Jacqueline asked guardedly, “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I mean that in just a few hours Hawk is going to put his life on the line in a contest against the man who leads this little colony of ours . . . and only one of them is going to emerge from that contest alive.”
Jacqueline blanched, but Morgan forged ahead. “It’s our way. It might not be the best way, and it’s definitely not the most enlightened, but there you are. This isn’t a democracy. I can explain more later, but suffice it to say that I have no doubt that you’re the flame that set that particular stick of dynamite alight, and whatever Hawk thinks is going on between you and him will affect the outcome of their battle.” Her voice darkened. “And believe me when I say that it’s in everyone’s best interest if Hawk is the victor. Including yours.”
Jacqueline’s jaw worked. “So you’re asking me to . . . what? Pretend?”
“No. I’m asking you to be patient. And understanding, even though you don’t understand, and never will, because you’re a different species from him.” She smiled. “Just like every other woman who loves a man.”
Jacqueline stared at her for a long time. Eventually, she huffed a soft laugh, then stood. She dragged a hand through her hair, paced a circle around the table, and stared out into the jungle. After several minutes of chewing her thumbnail, she said, “Okay. Walk me through this. How long have I been here?”
“A few days. Before that, I believe it took another ten in travel from New York.”
Silence. Then: “And you say I was brought here to observe. To witness.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
Morgan said, “Do you remember writing an article for the New York Times about Shifters? ‘The Enemy Among Us,’ it was called.”
Jacqueline turned to look at Morgan. “No.”
“Very effective piece of propaganda, that. And extremely well written. You were nominated for the Pulitzer.”
“Did I win?”
“No. But it was the reason you were chosen. You’re a voice they listen to. You’re a voice we need to win them over to our side.”
Jacqueline studied her closely. “They?”
“Humans.”
The word hung there between them in the air, until finally she came and sat across from Morgan again, shifting her weight restlessly in the seat.
Her expression conflicted, she said, “I remember that word you said before, Ikati. I do remember what that is. What you are.”
“What about how you feel about us? Do you remember anything about that?”
Jack looked her over, lips pursed. She said drily, “Well . . . aside from being the lovechild of the Wolverine and Coco Chanel, you seem all right.”
Morgan laughed, long and loudly. “I’m gratified to hear it. I’m sure under different circumstances we could have been good friends.”
Jacqueline looked down at her hands, and Morgan noticed they were slightly shaking. She gathered herself, took a breath, and said, “There are holes. The past few days are a black wall, but before that it’s all pretty clear. My job, my life, my friends. But there are these big, gaping holes, too, like something’s been . . . censored. Blacked out. I can’t get too close to my childhood, for instance. I remember bits and pieces, but I don’t remember my parents. I don’t remember where I grew up.” Her voice grew quiet. “I don’t remember if I have any siblings. Or if I was happy.” She looked up, her eyes filled with trepidation. “What do you think that means?”
Morgan debated whether or not to head down this particular path. After a few cheek-chewing moments, she decided that if the roles were reversed, she’d definitely want to know.
“There’s a way I might be able to help you. I don’t know if it will work, but I’d like to try. If you’re willing.”
“Does it involve drilling holes in my skull?”
