Sergius’s expression was grave. “None of us could be sure of your motives when you first arrived,” he said, “especially given your treatment of Ms. Fox. We wished to keep you uncomfortable until we could learn more about your purpose in coming.”
Damon touched the back of his head. “You did that very well,” he said drily.
A slight smile touched the corner of Sergius’s mouth. “I only just learned what Ms.
Fox had told Emma when Theron sent for you.”
“He hurt you?” Alexia asked, stretching to peer at the back of Damon’s head. She glared at Sergius. “I was told he would not be harmed.”
A weight in Damon’s heart lightened at the anger and concern in her voice. “I believe I will survive,” he said, briefly meeting her troubled gaze. He turned to Sergius again. “I thank you for seeing to Agent Fox’s welfare.”
“It was my pleasure, though Emma deserves the credit,” Sergius said with an approving glance at Alexia.
Too approving, Damon thought. He rested his hand on Alexia’s shoulder.
“You house the humans in the dormitories, I take it?” he asked. “Where will Ms. Fox
—”
“For pity’s sake,” Alexia cut in. “There’s no need for such formality. All the rules seem to have been broken here already.” She smiled up at Damon, and he felt as if that smile alone could send him crashing to the floor again.
“Alexia,” he breathed, wondering if she recognized what he meant to express in that single word. She held his gaze a moment longer and then looked away.
“We shouldn’t waste any more time,” she said, sobering. “I told Emma about the Expansionists’ plan to move on them soon, but I’m sure Theron and his Council will want the details of what we managed to find out from Lysander and the other Nightsider.”
Damon hoped she hadn’t told Emma more than they’d agreed to reveal. “It would be wise to put more sentries on your walls immediately,” he said to Theron. “The Expansionists may take action at any time.”
“Perhaps you have forgotten that Theron was sired before humans built their first city,” Sergius said. “He needs none of your advice.”
Just as he finished speaking, a young human woman entered the room with a tray bearing a decanter, five wineglasses—two filled with clear water—and a plate of biscuits.
She set the tray on the small table next to the generator, smiled at Theron and went back out the door.
“Ah,” Theron said. “Let us have a little refreshment before we continue. It does no good to talk of such serious matters on an empty stomach.”
He moved to the table and picked up the tinted glass decanter. “Damon,” he said, “you will not be surprised, I think, to learn that we do not force any human citizen of Eleutheria to provide blood. They do so because it is their desire to contribute to our community and build new bonds of trust between our peoples.”
Carefully he poured the rich red liquid into one of the glasses. The blood was fresh and pungent, and the smell alone seemed to choke off Damon’s breath.
He had tried to disregard his growing hunger, refusing to acknowledge the warning signs since Lysander had mocked him about taking Alexia’s blood. Now he was in a place where he could find nourishment, and yet he didn’t reach for the glass Theron offered. He looked down at Alexia’s face for the expression of revulsion he expected to find.
Instead, he saw neither approval nor disgust, only a faint frown accompanied by an unreadable glance at Damon’s face. He raised his hand to refuse the glass. The door opened again, and Emma came into the room with another plate of fresh bread and a wedge of cheese. Her gaze lingered on Sergius, and then she joined Theron at the table.
“You must be hungry,” she said, smiling at Alexia. “Since you wouldn’t eat earlier, I thought—” Damon didn’t hear the rest of her words, for he was staggering, falling, his stomach turning inside out as he caught himself against the desk and cracked his head on the edge.
Alexia cried out, her small, strong hands clamping around his arm. His vision dimmed again.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, her voice thin and far away. “Help him!”
“He needs blood,” a male voice said.
Someone lifted Damon’s head from the floor and pushed a glass to his lips. He nearly gagged before the blood flowed over his tongue, and then there was a profound relief, as if his body had been numb for years and had suddenly come back to life.
“He never said anything,” Alexia said. “I should have recognized—”
“He needs rest,” Theron said. There was a sound of feet moving on the floor, and then the cup was taken away.
“This will serve only temporarily,” Theron said. “He is clearly starving. He must have fresh blood from a vein if he is to take full benefit.”
“That can be arranged,” Sergius said. “If you are certain you are up to speaking with us while he recovers, Ms. Fox—” Damon growled and reached out blindly, struggling to find Alexia through a vast inner blindness. Sergius had no right to speak to her so intimately. He didn’t know her.
And she was his.
“It will be all right, Damon,” Alexia said. He felt the slightly calloused pads of her fingertips brush his cheek and the corner of his mouth. “You can join us again when you recover.”
Driven by fury that seemed to consume every last drop of blood he had taken, Damon ordered his muscles to lift him from the floor. His will overcame their feebleness, and he was on his feet again, swaying, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. His vision cleared enough for him to see Alexia’s beautiful, anxious face, and then he pushed past her, heading straight for Sergius.
Theron caught him from behind and held him, speaking low in his ear.
“This is the Hunger talking,” he whispered. “I will take you to your room myself.”
“Go with him, Damon,” Alexia said. “I’ll tell you what we’ve discussed after you’ve done what you need to do.”
Done what he needed to do. The very thing she most despised. As he despised this helplessness and what it made of him.
That was the last rational thought he had. He made for the door, finding his way more by memory than sight. Sergius moved quickly out of his way and held the door open.
Damon blundered out, all raw instinct now, all need. His legs tensed to carry him in a sprint toward whatever prey he could find.
The woman who had brought in the tray was crossing the commons in the direction of one of the dormitories. Damon smelled the scent of the blood pulsing beneath her skin and started toward her. Voices called behind him, but he was already running. As he reached her, the woman turned to face him.
Her expression showed no fear, only calm acceptance. Damon skidded to a halt, his boot heels digging furrows in the dirt.
The woman held out her hand. “I can give you what you need,” she said. “You don’t have to take it.”
Damon closed his eyes, feeling a strange sense of weightlessness as his mind began to hold thoughts again. He didn’t have to take it. Not like all the hundreds of times before, when humans serving the Darketan dormitories were sent to him and the others, nameless men and women who were nothing more than cattle. Even to him.
Back then, before he had met Alexia, he had never considered any other way. And now this woman, who had full freedom to choose, was willing to ease his hunger. To trust him, as Alexia did.
“You don’t have to give him anything,” Alexia told the woman, coming up behind Damon. “I’ll take care of him.”
Damon turned his head halfway, afraid to move lest his body overwhelm his mind.