"My nephew, Nicholas Argeneau," Victor announced, gesturing to the man she was looking at. Turning next to Biker #3, he added, "And another nephew, Decker Argeneau-Pimms."
Sarita nodded in greeting, recognizing the names of Domitian's cousins. She then glanced to the men in the third cage on the opposite side. Eyes settling on the Scot, she said, "And I know you're Quinn . . . also Argeneau?"
"Sadly no. We are no' all Argeneaus, lass," the man said in a tone that suggested he was glad to have avoided that fate. "Fortunately, I'm a MacDonald through and true. And pleased I am to meet ye, m'lady."
He gave a gallant bow, waving his hand around as if doffing a hat, and then straightened and pointed to the second man in the cell with him and announced, "And me cellmate is one Ochoa Moreno, the most recalcitrant Latino I've ever had the pleasure o' meeting. We suspect he and his partner are both hunters for the South American Council, because they did no' come with us. But he'll no' tell us a damned thing about how he and his partner landed here. His partner by the by is Enrique Aurelios, the dark-haired fellow lying unconscious on the floor over there."
Sarita turned to glance toward the slumped fellow in the front cell next to hers.
"No, not him. That fellow is bald, and his name is Santo Notte," he said dryly. "I said the dark-haired-Oh, you recognize the name Santo," Quinn interrupted himself to say. "Ah yes, Domitian told you about his disappearing from the boat he was on with the fair Drina."
Sarita turned a glare at the Scot. "Do you think you could just stop reading my mind?"
"I'm afraid not," he said, not sounding very apologetic. "In truth, none of us has to read you. Like all new life mates you're kind of shouting your thoughts at us."
Sarita narrowed her eyes on Quinn and then turned to Victor Argeneau inquiringly.
"He is telling the truth. We are not reading your thoughts so much as receiving them."
Sighing, Sarita shook her head, and glanced to her right now, at the two men Asherah had shot. Enrique Aurelios, he'd said. She eyed the man, noting his dark good looks, and then glanced to the second man lying unconscious on the floor with a dart sticking out of him.
"That is Lucern," Quinn informed her dryly and then added, "Yet another Argeneau cousin of your life mate's."
Sarita merely nodded, recognizing the first name. She then turned her gaze to the last cell, the first one on the other side, across from Santo's cell where the women were. Victor took over the introductions again, saying, "The lovely lady with flame-colored tips to her hair is my sister-in-law, Eshe Argeneau, and the woman with pink-tipped hair is Mirabeau La Roche McGraw."
Eshe Argeneau snorted with amusement. "You could have just said the black chick and white chick, Victor. We wouldn't have taken offense and it would have been simpler."
"I would never deign to define you as simply black, Eshe," Victor assured her.
"But you'd define me by my hair tints?" she asked with disbelief.
"Our skin color is merely something we are born with, like our hair color and eye color," he said with a shrug. "However, the fiery tint you apply to your hair actually does reveal a great deal about you, and better reflects your personality."
"He's good," Mirabeau-the white chick-said, nudging Eshe's arm.
"Yeah, those Argeneau boys," Eshe said with a slow smile. "All smooth talk and sex appeal."
"Spoken like a woman mated to one," Mirabeau said on a laugh.
"And I'm not the only one here who is," Eshe pointed out and smiled at Sarita. "Welcome to the family, kiddo. I don't know Domitian well, but if he's anything like his uncles, you're in for one hell of a ride."
Sarita felt the blush that suddenly swept over her, but before she could even think of how to respond, the man Quinn had called Santo Notte suddenly issued a roar of pain. Turning sharply, she watched as he suddenly jerked upright and clasped his right wrist in his left hand. It was only then she noticed with some horror that his right hand was missing, cut off at the wrist.
The scream ended as abruptly as it had started, as if the sound had woken him from sleep, and now conscious, he could silence the sound of suffering. He sat panting for a minute, and then leaned back against the wall and took several long deep breaths one after the other.
Sarita swallowed the bile that had risen up in her throat at his suffering and watched with pity as he mastered his pain. She couldn't imagine what he was going through. Wanting to help if she could, she eased the little boy's head back to the floor and stood to move toward the bars between their cells.