“He always knew.”
“If he shot at us...”
He frowned. “I can’t believe snipers from his colony would have known exactly who they were shooting at.”
“They might not give you a chance to tell them who you are. You’re taking a big chance, Damon.”
“So are you,” he said, hating the need for what he was about to say. “I told you about the potential worth dhampires have to Opiri. It will be impossible to disguise your eyes.
The colonists will know what you are at once.”
“And that means?”
“I will have to lay claim to you as my serf.”
Chapter 14
Alexia pulled back, her eyes unreadable. “How is this going to work when they’ll know Darketans don’t have serfs of their own?”
“Ordinarily, they would not. But there is nothing ordinary about what Theron has apparently attempted to do. Assuming he has enough control over his people that there will be no open challenges—which would make his entire philosophy untenable—I may be able to keep you with me. But I don’t know how he deals with serfs at all. He might
—” He stopped, wondering how he could make what he was about to say remotely palatable. “He might keep them in common for the use of all Opiri in the colony, as is the case in the Darketan dormitories.”
“What would you do in that case?” she asked as if the answer were nothing more than a matter of idle curiosity.
“I would fight for you.”
Her eyes widened. “That would be a very bad idea.”
Remembering how it had been with Lysander, Damon couldn’t have agreed more.
“Normally, a Darketan is no match for an Opir in a head-to-head fight,” he said. “And there is also the complication of your nature as a dhampir. That may create conflict where there might have been none.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
He stared at her. “I don’t think you understand me.”
“Oh, I understand just fine. We go in, I’m your slave, someone decides they want me and challenges you, a fight ensues...what then?”
“If I win, I keep you. If I lose...”
“But this whole challenge thing might not happen at all.”
“There is no way of knowing. It is possible that, in recognizing you as a dhampir, they will realize you are an Enclave agent and will leave you alone, or even let you go.”
“Maybe they would answer our questions without all this playacting.”
“I would not risk a direct approach with so little information to go on. But your danger would be great, either way. That is why I must ask again that you return to the Enclave—
or, failing that, remain under cover until I return from the colony.”
For the first time since this painful conversation had begun, there was a real light in her eyes, a vivid reflection of the life and spirit that had drawn him to her from the very beginning like a bee to a blossom.
“Do you think I’ll let you have all the fun?” she asked with an impish grin.
“Alexia—”
“When do you want to leave?”
It was quite hopeless. He knew that, and though part of him wanted to rage at her and threaten her into submission, he knew she would never be cowed by him again.
“We will leave tomorrow afternoon,” he said, “after I have fully explained the situation to you and you understand what you must do.”
She adjusted the strap of her VS130 on her shoulder, her smile fading. “Do you want to do anything with those bodies back there?”
“They died in the course of their duties,” Damon said. “They may yet serve to make the enemy believe any direct threat posed by Council agents has been eliminated.”
“They’re almost right,” Alexia said. She moved briskly to kneel beside her pack. “But we’re going to show them almost isn’t enough.”
Damon was too humbled by her indomitable courage to answer. He watched her as he pretended to check his own weapons and equipment, wondering how it was possible that he had never recognized the value and worth of her kind. Not just the Opir half, but the human, as well.
“You were human once,” Alexia had said. And though he didn’t remember, now he had cause to be proud of that blood.
As he prepared to fieldstrip his rifle, an explosion of pain burst inside his stomach, sending a volcanic rush of acid into his throat. He dropped the weapon and doubled over, turning away so that Alexia couldn’t see.
The Hunger. But that wasn’t possible. It was too soon. Much too soon. When Lysander had taunted him about needing blood, he had discounted it as sheer maliciousness, an attempt to frighten Alexia and arouse her suspicion.
But he remembered his powerful reaction when he had tasted Alexia’s blood, however briefly, and how he had stared at her lip when she had bitten through the skin.
Now he wondered what Lysander had seen in him that he hadn’t seen himself. And why it should be coming on him now.
“Damon?”
He straightened and turned, schooling his expression to neutral inquiry. “Yes?”
“Nothing.” She frowned. “I thought... Never mind.”
She returned to her work, but Damon remained very quiet, listening intently to his body. The flare of pain was gone, but he could still feel its aftereffects. He stared at Alexia’s back, imagining them entwined together, his mouth on her neck, taking her blood as he took her body.
No. He was imagining this need because he wanted her, that was all. He would simply have to be at his most disciplined the next time she needed his blood.
Hands trembling, he bent back to the rifle and went to work.
They encountered no interference as they descended out of the hills and entered the valley. The quiet was almost ominous, but Damon knew he and Alexia were as prepared as they could be. They had advanced within five hundred meters of the colony walls, crossing open fields and cleared pastures, before the first bullets bit the dirt on each side of their feet.
Damon put his arm out to hold Alexia back. “Say nothing,” he reminded her. “No matter what happens, hold your peace.”
“Like a good serf should,” she murmured.
Even as he winced at her wry comment, he recognized the courage it had taken for her to accept his plan. Asking her to lie down and die would have been easier.
Much easier. But she had decided to live, even at the price of relying on his blood and his word. He wouldn’t let her down again. He would give his last breath to save her.
If his judgment was wrong, that last breath might be coming at any moment.
He and Alexia remained silent and motionless, waiting for more direct acknowledgment of their presence as their shadows stretched before them across the rough native grasses. Damon heard the distant sound of cattle lowing from the direction of the colony, undoubtedly kept behind the high walls for protection after all the hostile activity going on around them. After nearly half an hour Damon heard footsteps approaching from behind them. Alexia stiffened. He raised his hands above his head.
Damon felt the muzzle of an automatic weapon dig into the back of his skull. Alexia’s hands curled into fists, but she stayed absolutely still.
“Who are you?” the man demanded, his voice muffled behind his visor.
Opir, Damon thought. The rustle and creak of his bulky protective suit gave him away.
“I’ve come to speak to Theron,” Damon said.
The Opir laughed. “Everyone wants to see Theron,” he said, “especially to kill him.”
Did that mean they’d already been attacked? Damon wondered. “Tell Theron that Damon of the Darketans has come under Blood-truce,” he said. “If I make any hostile move, you can always kill me.”