"Wait." Thorne hurried after him. "You have a little over four hours before you have to do that."
Domitian paused and thought briefly, and then sighed and nodded. "Si. I will look for her first. If I find her I will free her, but if not, I will turn myself in at midnight."
"What about getting word to your uncle?" Thorne asked with dismay.
"I have no way to call him and have no idea how long it would take me to swim to Isla Margarita. I will not risk trying to swim there and return with a team in time to save Sarita. I must be here at midnight to turn myself in. We are on our own."
Fifteen
"Your name is Sarita."
Sarita turned from watching Asherah and Cael leave and glanced warily at the men in the cell across from the one she was in. She was quite sure the man who had spoken was one of those three, but had no idea which one. They all looked very alike. All of them wore identical black leather outfits as if they belonged to a biker gang. They also all had dark hair and similar facial features. They were obviously related, but the two on the ends were a little smaller than the man in the middle. Not a lot, they were all big men, but the two on the ends just had very muscular shoulders, while the one in the middle had incredibly muscular shoulders. Sarita dubbed them Biker #1, Biker #2, and Biker #3 in her mind.
"Sarita Reyes," the man in the middle, Biker #2, said now.
"You are Domitian's life mate," the man on the left, Biker #1, said with interest.
"You sacrificed yourself for him," the one on the right, Biker #3, added.
"You-"
"Okay, let's just slow our ponies here, boys," she said finally, interrupting Biker #2. Propping her hands on her hips and using her best constable scowl, she said, "Yes, my name is Sarita Reyes. Yes, Domitian thinks I'm his life mate. But no I didn't sacrifice myself for him." Raising her eyebrows she suggested, "Now how about you guys mind your own business and stay the hell out of my head? Hmm?"
"Domitian does not think you are his life mate," Biker #2 said solemnly. "He knows it . . . and so do you."
Sarita scowled at the suggestion, but before she could comment, Biker #3 said, "And you did sacrifice yourself. Knowing he could not see them, you tackled the men coming up along the side of the house . . . sacrificing yourself so that he could escape."
"I'll take that as a 'no, we won't mind our own business and stay out of your head, Sarita,' shall I?" she asked dryly, and then snapped, "And I did not sacrifice myself." Scowling, she added, "I mean, it wasn't supposed to be a sacrifice. I was supposed to kick their butts and join Domitian to head back to the cottage. And I did kick their butts. I just didn't expect Bigbird to fly in and carry me off like an eagle snatching up a bunny," she finished irritably, because, really, that hadn't been fair at all.
"You're more a porcupine than a bunny, lass," one of the two men in the cell on the right of the one holding the bikers commented with a thick Scottish accent. Sarita scowled at the blond man for his trouble.
"Quinn," Biker #2 growled in reprimand.
"What?" the Scot asked innocently. "Ye have to admit she is, Victor."
Sarita stiffened at the name Quinn used to address Biker #2. She was pretty sure the uncle Domitian had mentioned being taken was named Victor. Could this be him?
"Bunnies are soft and fluffy," Quinn continued. "This woman's thoughts are sharp and pointy." Turning to Sarita, then, the Scot smiled charmingly and added, "It's no' an insult. I like sharp and pointy. A lot."
"Dial it down, Quinn," Victor suggested dryly. "Try to romance this woman like you do every other mortal female and Domitian will kill you. She is his."
"I am not!" Sarita protested at once, resenting the way they made her sound like a possession.
"Really?" Quinn asked, waggling his eyebrows.
"Oh, stuff it, Romeo. I'm not interested," she growled, and then glanced down at the boy at her feet when he moaned in pain.
Frowning, Sarita dropped to her haunches to get a better look at his face. While Asherah had turned on bright lights when they'd entered, she'd also turned them off on leaving. The only illumination in the room now came from weak bare bulbs overhead that cast a dim glow. It was enough to see by, though, and she peered at the child's pale face with concern and then felt his cool forehead.
"He doesn't have a fever," she mumbled to herself as she looked him over. The boy was panting slightly, and there was a bluish tint to his lips and ears. Intending to check his fingernails to see if his nail beds were blue too, she tugged his blanket away and then froze.