-----WARNING----- There is an "ick" factor to a section near the end of this chapter. If there is a problem... let me know and I will remove it or edit it. Suffice it to say... that one of the villains is going to have a rough time... and then strike back. --elle

Chapter 103

Athens

Denara gasped for air… tasting seawater. She was on a bed… and her hands and feet were tied.

"She's awake!"

The voice was the one of her "mother" from the hospital. The woman sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over the struggling child.

"You can't get loose Denara. We've made certain of that. Now relax and promise not to scream and I'll remove the gag so we can talk like civilized people."

Denara wished her eyes could shoot blades. She wanted to kill this mewling woman. Instead she nodded. She wanted the wet gag out of her mouth.

The woman removed it. "My name is Anita. I am not your enemy little one. Indeed… I want to know you better."

"Then let me go!"

"I cannot do that. Not at this time. You are needed for an important study."

"Study? Is that what you call attacking us and killing my friends?"

Anita sat back. "Their deaths are regrettable. Ursa was too big for us to handle. We could not subdue him. His death is a loss to us all."

"You have no idea!" Denara hissed. "I needed him! Only he could stop what is happening."

"Child…"

"I am not a child!" Denara screamed. She fought against the hands on her and the attempt to re-gag her.

"Denara… Listen to me. There are those who want me to order your death. I won't… as long as you cooperate."

Denara stopped struggling. She had to get this woman to understand. "What do you want?"

"That's better." Anita said with a smile. "Now then… We need to know where the immortal who directed the battle on Niebos is?"

"Why?"

Anita took a deep breath. Finally she smiled. "He's a very good fighter."

Denara nodded. "He's the Swordmaster."

"The Swordmaster? The one who teaches you?"

Denara shrugged. "If we are worthy of his attention."

Anita sat back, her brows knotted in thought. "Does he have a name?"

Denara smiled. "He has many names. We small ones simply call him the Swordmaster."

"How old is he?"

Denara shrugged. "I don't know. Older than me."

"Did he ever mention knowing anyone… say Xerxes or Agamemnon… or Alexander?"

Denara's eyes widened at the last name. She bit her lip.

"Alexander?"

Denara said nothing.

Anita sat back. She turned to her companion. "There were some old Chronicle entries about an immortal who once introduced himself to enemies as 'The Swordmaster of Alexander the Great'. Get on the phone to Paris and have them check through the files."

"Quid pro quo," Denara said.

Anita smiled. "I beg your pardon?"

"I gave you something. Now you give me something."

"And what would you like?" amusement fluttered about her lips.

"Take me to Niebos and let me go."

Anita chuckled. "I can't do that."

"You have to!" Denara tried to sit up.

"Explain!"

Denara collapsed back on the bed… her mind attempting to determine how much she should tell this woman. Could she trust this woman with the knowledge of Nestor's existence? What would these Watchers do if they found him? Would they understand not to kill him?

"You have to let me go. Something has gone wrong there. It's why Ursa wanted to get back there."

Anita looked at her quizzically.

"Call it something I learned when I took his quickening. He was being called back to Niebos despite the danger. He was likely the only one who could have stopped what is happening there. Your attacks there have unleashed an ancient evil."

Anita laughed. "Of course they did." She patted Denara's arm and made to leave.

"You have to believe me! Nestor is free!"

The name Nestor caused Anita to freeze in her steps and turn back to regard the small immortal restrained on the bed. "Nestor? He's been dead for centuries."

Denara shook her head soberly. "He's not dead. We were hiding him."

"Why not kill him?"

"Dark quickening," Denara said, defeated for the moment. "He has a dark quickening. Any of us who kill him succumb to his evil."

"Dark quickenings are myth." Anita turned to go once more.

"Duncan MacLeod had one!"

Anita paused.

Denara licked her lips. "Check his Chronicles if you don't believe me. Check with Paris! Duncan told me what it was like a few years ago when he came to see us. He wanted us to understand why it was so important that none of us kill Nestor."

"How bad can it be. MacLeod obviously overcame the one he had."

"Nestor is worse… and far, far older. His quickening consumes the new host body and eats away at the host's strength until nothing is left. If MacLeod hadn't been helped by the doctor… if he'd gone on much longer… he would have been lost to his as well."

Anita laughed Denara's words off with a shake of one hand.

"You must believe me! Why would I lie?"

"In an attempt to win your freedom, perhaps?"

"There is that… but Nestor is a threat not only to us… but also to you. If anyone takes his head… he'll find a new host. He might even survive to be reborn in a new immortal."

Anita chuckled. "Now I know you're lying. There are no new immortals. The last of you has been born."

Denara sighed deeply. "That may be so…" After all she'd met the strange Alisaunne years ago and recognized the slight difference in the way the girl had felt. She likely was the last of the immortals to be born into this world to play the game. "But if any evil could find a way to continue… it is Nestor."

"And you think he's free."

Denara nodded. It was the only thing that made sense in Ursa's need to return there.

Anita patted Denara's leg. "I'll talk to my superiors."

"Please… you have to let me go there. I may be the only chance to discover who or what he's hiding in!"

Anita paused, her hand on the door to the hall. "I said I would consider it. Gag her again," she said to one of the stern-faced men remaining in the room.

"Why not just drug her?"

"She may not be a child… but she's so small… the drugs might be too strong for her system. I'm not willing to risk losing her. Rawlins wants a child for his experiment."

Denara struggled against the gag. "No! You have to listen…" The rest of her words were lost behind the gag.

She screamed her indignity as loudly as she could… hearing only a dull gasp. The wet gag was shoved deeply down her throat and secured. She couldn't breathe! Darkness hovered. Death claimed her for the fourth time this day.

-----

Watcher Compound

Henry Rawlins's behavior was growing increasingly erratic… and it had not gone unnoticed. Rawlins was yelling at personnel, slamming doors, and throwing objects in his frustrations.

The elevator doors opened and Wilderman noted a woman… thin… haggard… hollow-eyed… dressed in filthy, ill-fitting clothes… being shoved from it roughly and dragged into the office. The men escorting her quickly closed the door and stood guard. Occasionally they flinched as if hearing something they did not like.

The sounds of blows and screams eventually erupted from the office. Then all was quiet. Wilderman shook his head. This was not good. If his boss was insane… then how long before Rawlins turned on all of them.

-----

"You've let your fabled looks go my dear," Rawlins oozed charm and power over Meaghann. He roughly rubbed his hands over her. "You look terrible! Why do I keep you around?"

Meaghann spit.

He backhanded her with a grin. "That's right… you swore you could get MacLeod for me. Guess what? It's been years! Has he called you? Evidently you didn't do your job. And if you didn't do your job… perhaps we should end our relationship." He forced her to her knees and blew on her face. "Unless you can convince me of why I should keep you here."

He unzipped his trousers.

Meaghann nodded. He closed his eyes and waited. Meaghann began as always… and as always he was amazed at that woman's tongue… the things she could do. Rawlins let out a ragged breath and felt his tension raise his senses to new heights… then…

He howled in pain! She'd bit him! The bitch had bit him! Blood spurted and smeared her grinning mouth. She looked for a moment like some harpie of mythology feasting on the innards of men who'd died in battle!

He leaped back and attempted to staunch the blood with his hands!

Meaghann collapsed on the floor… laughing hysterically and pointing at him!

Suddenly her laughter hurt more than the actual bite. He roared his anger and began to beat her about the face… again and again.

Still she laughed and cackled as if she'd finally found an escape!

He picked up a heavy ashtray and pounded it into her grinning face until there was nothing but bloody pulp. Then he ripped her filthy shirt from her thin body to use as a bandage. He settled in a chair and shuddered as the full horror of what she'd dared to do to him began to take its toll. His pants were sodden. The shirt was soaked.

He reached for the intercom. "Send Dr. Romney up."

He settled back in the chair and lifted the wadded up shirt and then clamped down once more. There was a mad light in his eyes and a sickly sheen on his face.

At a knock on the door a few moments later… he called out. "Who is it?"

A weak voice replied, "Claire Romney, Mr. Rawlins… you sent for me."

Rawlins grinned with a nod. "Come in my dear and close the door." Perhaps he could still salvage something from this horror.

Claire entered and gasped at the sight of Meaghann's body. She stared fearfully at Rawlins. He smiled. "I've had a little accident and need some medical attention."

Claire swallowed nervously and stepped over the bloodied corpse to approach him. She knelt down.

He lifted the shirt. "As you can see… I have a problem… Discretion is most important. Can you help me."

Claire's eyes widened. "I… I'll need my bag."

Rawlins hit the intercom. "Herve'… get Dr. Romney's medical bag."

A few moments later there was another knock at the door. Claire rose and opened it slightly to get her bag.

She adjusted the desk lamp and knelt once more. "I'll need to give you a tetanus shot… and something to kill the pain while I stitch you up."

Rawlins shook his head. "No shots. I can bear the pain and the tetanus shot can wait." He feared she might give him something to knock him out. As tired as he was… it wouldn't take much.

She pulled out some alcohol preps… ripped them open and began to swab him. "This will sting."

Rawlins hissed.

Then Claire opened a suture kit. "Are you certain you don't want something?"

"Just do it!" He gritted his teeth and shook with each suture. Tears stung his eyes.

"You'll need some ice."

He pointed to a pitcher beaded with sweat.

She immersed a hand and grasped ice cubes, which she wrapped in the bloody shirt. Then she pressed it to him. He sighed and closed his eyes. He held the crude icepack to him with one hand and with the other toyed with a lock of Claire's hair that had fallen free. "Lovely hair color, my dear."

Claire attempted to pull back.

He wadded his hand in her hair and restrained her. "I think I need some additional clean-up."

She nodded. "Whatever you want, sir. I'll get some towels and hot water from…"

"No."

Claire looked at him quizzically.

He lifted the ice pack and pushed her face between his legs. "Just lick it up." He held her there until finally she began to do as he asked. Rawlins sighed. In spite of everything… he was still the one in control… the one in power… and the bitch would do what he wanted.