Chapter 24
24
W hen Peter regained consciousness the first time, he saw a coal black face. The man hovering over him laughed boisterously, then punched him.
The second time he came to, a man every female he’d ever known would swoon over, was frowning at him. Frown or no frown, if he was a girl, he might propose! But alas, the dark-haired, green-eyed god hovering over him shook his head in disgust, and also punched him.
The third time he woke up, nobody punched him. Probably because he was too busy screaming. “Get it off!” He tried to roll from whatever surface he was on but found himself strapped down.
Payback, was a bit…
“So, yer awake, are ye?”
Peter opened one eye. The black furry tarantula sitting on his chest was nowhere to be seen. “Where is it? Where. Is. It?!”
“Tylahs, ye mean?” came the same voice. One with a Scottish accent.
“Ty-what?” Peter looked at the huge kilted highland warrior standing over him. “Don’t punch me,” he squeaked. His eyes took in his surroundings. He was in a barred cell strapped to a table, much like the one in the lab. “Okay, I suppose I deserve this.”
The handsome highlander speared him with a look so intense, Peter thought he might soil himself. Oh, gad, had he?! “Ye have a lot of explaining to do lad. Best we wait for the others though.”
“Others?” He sounded like a schoolgirl.
The big Scotsman folded his arms across an impressive chest. “Aye. Ye’ve caused quite a stir.”
“Yes, quite a stirsssk!”
Peter’s eyes bulged. “Who said that?”
The Scot leaned over him again. “That would be wee Tylahs. Yer worst nightmare.”
Peter squeaked again. Now he sounded like a toddler. Folding himself up into a fetal position was sure to be next. That is, if he wasn’t strapped down the way he was.
“How is our prisoner?”
Peter turned his head to the open cell door. Another huge man entered. What was with all the drop-dead gorgeous men in this place? Even his grandmother would be salivating. This one had bright blue eyes, white hair, and was as big as the Scotsman. Bigger in fact. He had to be at least seven feet tall!
“Frightened,” the Scot said.
“Good. He should be.”
The newcomer had not only an accent he didn’t recognize, but a deep voice that cut right through him, as if he could see into his treacherous—no, make that traitorous heart. It wouldn’t take much to make him sing like a bird. But there were some things he had to make sure they didn’t find out.
“Ah, he is awake,” an accented voice said. Peter couldn’t place it. African perhaps?
A third man entered the cell. He was as tall as the one with the white hair, wore purple and yellow robes, and was just as coal black as Peter thought he was when he punched him the first time he woke up. Come to think of it, the Scot punched him the second time.
“Ah, c’mon, guys. Jokes over, okay?” Peter said hopeful. Maybe Vance’s men were pulling some elaborate prank on him. Fat chance, but it was a shot.
“Joke?” The one in the purple and yellow said. He got in Peter’s face. “Do you tink kidnapping an innocent girl, holding her prisoner, torturing her, is a joke?!”
“T-t-torture is a strong w-w-word,” Peter stammered. “I-I took some b-b-biopsies. A few vials of blood…”
“Enough,” the Scot snapped. “What ye did was wrong.” He shoved the other man out of the way, planted his fists on the table—on either side of Peter’s head—and bent to him. “We should kill ye right now, but yer no worth the miniscule effort it would take.”
Peter gulped. “You’re right. I’m not worth it. What we did… was … wrong.”
“It is too late to admit your guilt,” the white-haired one said.
“Markhel, do you wish to dispense justice?” The tall black one asked.
Peter shook his head. “No, Markhel…,” he assumed that was his name. “…bad time for that. You haven’t even asked me any questions yet!”
The Scot smiled. “Dinna fash, we’ll ask plenty of questions.”
Something between a giggle and a groan escaped him. “Of course you will.” He tried not to panic. “Um, did you get them out?”
“Oh yes,” the black man drawled. “And you had better hope he does not find out we have you. He will kill you on sight.”
He gulped again. “Ohhhh, you mean….”
“Yes,” the one called Markhel said. “My brother.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “This just keeps getting better,” he whined. “Brother, huh? Oh, I am so dead.”
The tall black man chuckled, then took on a serious look. “What do you dink, Time Master?”
Peter gasped and started to cough. “TIME MASTER!” He struggled in vain against his bonds. Now he definitely sounded like a school girl. Screaming.
“He’s an interesting catch, don’t you tink?”
“Aye and knows what a Time Master is.”
“My father will join us soon.” Okay, even while screaming, Peter knew that was Markhel speaking.
He pressed his lips together, trying to keep quiet. His screaming was down to the sounds of a whimpering puppy. “Guys, there’s no need for Dad to come. Whose dad is he?” He looked at the white-haired one. “Markhel, right? Nice name by the way. Please don’t kill me before Dad gets here.”
The three men exchanged the same look of… what was that? An, “are you kidding me?” look, or more of a “let’s just kill him now and be done with it,” sort of look?
A fourth man entered the cell. He was tall like the others, regal in bearing, and older, fiftyish maybe, with white hair, blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “You must be D-d-dad,” Peter choked out.
The newcomer arched an eyebrow at him. “Has he talked?”
“Oh, he’s talked all right,” the Scot said. “Fear induced gibberish.”
Peter looked at the four and realized that father and son were Muirarans. “I’m dead.”
“Not yet,” the older Muiraran threatened. “What can you tell us about the Anontist Center?”
Peter paled as a chill went up his spine. “Oh boy, you guys really do have long memories, don’t you?”
The elder Muiraran got in his face. They seemed to like doing that. “Hmmm. He is… squishy.”
Peter blinked. “What?”
“I’ll second that,” the Scot said. “But I assume yer no speaking of his body?”
The elder Muiraran closed his eyes. “Pliable, eager to please, does not think highly of himself. Corrupted, hmmm, but has compassion.” He opened his eyes and looked at Peter. “You wanted to help them.”
“Yes!” Peter blurted. “But, you know, the job comes with a lot of perks, and the dental is great.”
The Scot cocked his head. “What is he blathering on about?”
The elder Muiraran smiled. “The compensation he receives for doing his job.” He bent to Peter again. “What is your job, human?”
Peter began to sweat. Now they were getting down to business. “Um… I was… erm… Dr. Charles’ assistant.”
The elder Muiraran straightened. “He is the one in charge?”
“Yes,” Peter squeaked. “Um, yes,” He repeated in a low voice. Don’t show fear, no fear, no fear, no fear!
The elder’s eyes narrowed to slits. “He hunted down my son. Drugged him, took him!”
Peter tried to shrink against the table. Hard to do considering he was already strapped to it.
A fist hit the table next to his ear, denting it. “What else did he do to him?”
Peter closed his eyes. He was going to die. “Th-th-the same th-thing we dd-did to the female.”
“Which was?” the Scot demanded. Gad was that a real Time Master?!
“W-w-w-we took blood samples, did some biopsies. We did a bone marrow test on the girl.” A tear ran down his cheek. “It hurt her. A lot.”
The elder Muiraran was so angry he shook. He bared his teeth, and fangs descended.
“If you shift, Zerbe,” the black man cautioned. “You cannot question him.”
“Father, hold together.”
“Yeah, hold together!”
All heads turned to him. Beads of sweat began to drip down Peter’s forehead. “I mean, I was just doing what I was told. I didn’t want to hurt her or him. He was unconscious when we took blood and did the other tests.”
The elder Muiraran bent to him and bared his fangs. Peter noted he had both top and bottom ones. Did the one they capture have both? He was starting to draw a blank. “You will tell us everything we want to know, petty human. Refuse and we will rip the information from you.” He snapped his teeth at him and straightened. “Markhel, find out as much as you can. Use Tylahs if you have to.” He glanced at Peter with a look of disdain. “Though I doubt Sarian venom will be necessary. He has the heart of a mouse and squeaks like one.” He left the cell. “I have something to take care of, but I will return.”
The elder Muiraran slipped out another door and was gone. Peter was left with three agitated warriors, one of which was a Time Master!
“Time Master Kwaku,” Markhel said. “Would you do the honors? I do not think I can stand the loathsome creature for long. I will have to kill him.”
Peter watched as the black man hovered over him once more. “S-s-so you’re a T-t-time Master too?”
“Yes,” he drawled with a smile. “As is dat one.” He tossed his head at the Scot. He was shorter than the other two, by a half a foot, but no less intimidating.
“Shall we call for Tylahs, or will you talk?”
Peter returned his attention to the Time Master hovering over him. “Tylahs? Is that some sort of drug?”
“No,” the black man said with a smile. He put a hand on Peter’s chest. “Tylahs, introduce yourself.”
Peter looked at the huge hand on his chest, then at the Time Master’s face. A scream ripped from him when he saw the huge black tarantula scurry over the man’s shoulder, down his arm, and onto his chest.
The creature sat on its haunches, ignoring his screeching, raised one of his front furry little legs, and waved. “Hellosssk!”
“Ahhhhhhhhhoohhhhhheeeyyyy. You’re so cute!” His last word came out a high chirp. “Y-y-y-your Tylahs?”
Tylahs nodded. “Uh-huhsssk.” He grinned, showing off gleaming little razor-sharp teeth.
“Oh, my, those look like they can do some damage.” Peter started to sweat all over again. “H-how can something s-s-so cute be…”
“Dangerous?” The Time Master next to him said. “Tylahs is de most dangerous…” he stopped, turned to the others, then shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He sighed. “Still, Tylahs can kill you with one bite.”
Peter’s eyes rounded to saucers. “That’s bad. But there’s something worse?”
He bent to him again. “Oh yes, and you took something very precious to him .”
Peter was having trouble breathing. “The girl?!” He shut his eyes tight. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I swear!”
“Is he for realsssk?”
Peter’s eyes sprang open. “Hey, just because you’re cute and can talk doesn’t mean you can insult me.”
“Cute and deadlysssk!” the creature corrected.
“Don’t sound so proud of it!” Peter shot back.
Tylahs looked up at the Time Master. “Can I bite him now, Time Master Kwakusssk?”
Kwaku, that was an interesting name. Peter studied him, then the Scot. They looked human! “Dr. Charles was right…”
“What was that?” the Scot asked.
“Uh, nothing!”
Tylahs stood and started to bounce up and down. “Can I bite him nowsssk?”
“No!” Peter said with alarm. He realized the creature had two huge amber eyes, not eight like a spider. “What are you?”
Tylahs stopped bouncing. “Sariansssk!”
He blinked a few times. “I have no idea what that is.”
“What did ye say earlier about the doctor?” the Scot demanded. “He was right about what?”
Peter closed his eyes and sighed. He might as well talk. At least he’d live a little longer.
He opened his eyes and gave the three men a resigned look. “Dr. Charles knows about your race. The Muirarans. He captured some that were of mixed blood. Human and Muiraran. He got them to talk, and one of them, a younger one, told us a few things.”
“What happened to de oders?” Kwaku asked.
Peter sighed. “They refused to talk, so he killed them.”
Kwaku sucked air through his nose, his eyes narrowing to slits. The Scot looked like he was about to punch holes in the stone walls, and the white-haired Markhel… his back was to Peter. The air around him began to shimmer.
“What’s happening?” Peter asked with no small amount of concern.
Even Tylahs turned on his chest to look. “Uh-ohsssk.”
“Kwaku, get him out of here!” the Scot yelled.
They grabbed Markhel, shoved him out of the cell, and closed the door, locking themselves inside.
Peter yelped as the shimmering air around Markhel increased, and he turned into a huge black lion. The thing was as big as a horse! The beast lunged at the bars, bending them inward, several of them breaking, and let out a long, loud, roar. The animal’s hot breath blew Peter’s hair from his forehead, causing Tylahs to jump onto the arm of Kwaku and run up to his shoulder to hide.
There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that he’d soiled himself that time.