“In any case,” Theron continued, “if I wanted to kill you I’d have done it while your back was turned.”
True enough, Taras realized. He looked again at the rising light behind him, wondering if he might be able to strike fast and kill Theron before the sun rose. Probably not, he decided, unless he was willing to die this morning, as well. He glared at Theron, then put his claws away. Revenge would have to wait.
“What do you want?” Taras asked. “And be quick about it.”
Theron took a step forward, a crooked grin on his face. “I want to know where you will spend the day.”
Taras snorted. Of course he did. “I think not.”
“You misunderstand me,” Theron replied. “I seek shelter from the sun, the same as you. I did not have enough time to make my own before we were captured by Ramah, but you have been here for years, at least according to Baella. You must have a nice, safe place to wait out the day.”
Taras nodded. “Indeed I do. But I’ll not share it with you.”
Theron’s confident smile grew. “Oh, I think you will. You’ll have to. I will not allow you to leave this street until you agree to share your sanctuary.”
“You might find that harder than you think,” Taras replied. “I am not the same Bachiyr that I was in Jerusalem. You will not kill me easily, I assure you.”
“I don’t need to kill you,” Theron replied. “The sun will be up in a few moments. I only need to keep you busy until then.”
Taras swore under his breath. Theron spoke the truth, of course. The sun would kill him soon enough if he didn’t get off the street. “But then you would die, too.”
“So I would. But without your sanctuary I will die anyway, so it really doesn’t matter. This way, I at least get to take you with me.”
Damn. Taras looked over his shoulder at the bright tip of the sun, which had just crested the hills to the east. The light stung his eyes, but soon it would do much more than that. A few minutes after it rose fully into the sky, Taras would be nothing more than a pile of ashes in a city full of them. But at least Theron would die, too. Taras turned back toward his Bachiyr creator. The older vampire’s evil was great, indeed. He could do the entire world a service by letting the sun burn them both.
There is always a choice, even if it is not always a good choice.
Taras had made his a long time ago. He had chosen to live rather than to die, and he’d done so again earlier, when he forced his body up from the metal rod Ramah had used to impale him. But this was different. In both previous cases, his death would have accomplished nothing except to remove him from the world. But now, with Theron’s life hanging on Taras’s decision, he could finally die with dignity, and do the world a favor at the same time.
Taras made his choice.
“So be it, then. I would rather die burning in the sunlight than share my sanctuary with you. At least I will rid the world of your presence.” Taras advanced on his oldest enemy, claws once again at the ready. Now that he had a purpose, he was anxious to get started. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would take the sun to kill them and how much it would hurt. He’d never seen a Bachiyr burn to death before. With luck, he would get to see Theron burning, as well. That would be a wonderful last sight.
“I thought that would be your answer,” Theron said, still smiling. “But you are forgetting something.”
Taras paused, suspecting a trick. “What?”
“Her,” Theron pointed to the woman on the ground. “I saw you protect her. I’ve been following you for a while now. She is not dead. Not yet. Would you let her die in the street like a dog?”
Taras looked over at the woman. She lay in the street amidst a growing pool of blood, both hers and the legionaries’. Her right arm was outstretched, reaching for her dagger, which lay a foot beyond her reach. She looked dead, but her heart still beat a faint rhythm in her chest. The heartbeat was weak, but it was there. Even so, she would not be alive for much longer. The brigands had seen to it she would die a slow, painful death, but there was nothing he could do to help her.
“She is dead no matter what I do,” Taras replied. “Stop wasting what time we have left and let’s get on with it.” He sprang forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Before Theron had even raised a hand to defend himself, Taras had his claws pressed into his throat. They drew a thin line of blood from the flesh, but Theron seemed not to notice. He didn’t even move.
“She doesn’t have to die,” Theron said.
“What?”
“She doesn’t. I can save her.”
“What are you playing at?” Taras kept the tip of his claw at Theron’s throat, just in case it was a trick.
“Do you remember how I healed you in Jerusalem,” Theron asked. “After that fool Gordian had you stretched on the rack?”
Taras did remember. He had felt so strong and so indebted to Theron, whom he knew then as Ephraim, that he had raided his dead friend’s gold and paid half of Jerusalem to vote for Jesus’ execution over Barabbas. It was not something he remembered fondly. “You should have let me die,” he said. “Your damned healing touch has brought me nothing but regret.”
“I probably should have,” Theron agreed. “But I made you an offer, and you accepted it. Jesus’ life for your own. Living was your choice. What would her choice be?” He pointed to the woman in the street. “Do you think she would choose death? Or do you think she would rather see the sun rise tomorrow? Is your pride worth her life? And please hurry. The sun is starting to tip the lower buildings.”
Taras looked again at the woman in the street. He’d gone to a great deal of trouble to try and keep her alive. Not because she was useful or important, but because he felt he needed to help her, somehow. Because it was the right thing to do. “How do I know you will not try to kill us once we arrive at my sanctuary?”
“What if I gave you my word?”
“I would say your word is worth less than the dirt under my feet.”
“Then I have nothing else to offer you,” Theron said. “And you are wasting time.”
Taras stared at the woman, listening to the shallow sound of her breathing, and asked himself if he had the right to make that choice for her. To allow Theron to die would be a good thing, even if it meant his own death. But could he die with a clean conscience if killing Theron meant she had to die, as well? Granted, his morality had become skewed over the last three decades. Maybe Theron’s death was worth her life, but it felt wrong to leave her to such a fate.
A gleam of light across the street caught his attention. The sun had breached the rooftops and now shone brightly on the surface of a shiny coin. Dawn had arrived. He was out of time. “Very well,” he said. “I will accept your terms. But I will have your word that you will leave tomorrow night and that you will leave both of us alive and unharmed.”
“I thought my word was worth less than dirt,” Theron said.
“Do I have it or would you prefer to die?”
“I swear by The Father that I will leave your sanctum tomorrow night and will not harm either of you. May he judge me unfit to live should I break my oath. There, will that do?”
Taras nodded. “I will be watching you, Theron. If you try to harm her in any way I will kill you, regardless of what will become of her.”
“Save your threats. We should be going now.”
Already the shaft of sunlight had moved several feet deeper into the street, soon it would reach the woman and Taras would have to burn himself to save her. He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether saving Theron was the right course of action, then he scooped the woman up in his arms and ran toward his shelter.
Theron ran alongside him, a satisfied smile on his face. “I knew you couldn’t do it, Roman. That is the difference between you and the rest of the Bachiyr. I would have been in my sanctuary long before you could have forced me into a deal.”