Daysider (Nightsiders) (15 page)

But until Alexia, with such worry in her eyes, had asked him what he remembered of the fight, he hadn’t really understood that something dark inside him had claimed his mind, a darkness he couldn’t see when he was normal. If he had ever been “normal” at all.

What the Lamia had done, interfering in the fight and killing Lysander, was far from normal. Nor was what Damon had sensed when the creature had looked into his eyes with an intelligence and purpose none of its kind had ever revealed before.

Protect,
it had said in his mind.
Save.
And an image of Alexia had filled his head, shaded with emotion no Lamia should have been capable of feeling.

That was when he had known what the creature was.
Who
it was. And knew, too, that Alexia had recognized the truth before the creature had killed Lysander, and kept it from him.

He
had told Alexia truths he had never meant to share, revealed his original mission, exposed inner thoughts and feelings he had once rejected with all his will. He had wounded her, turned her against him, flinched at the agony in her eyes.

Irrational impulses.
Lysander had recognized that weakness in Damon far too well. But Damon hadn’t known the Council had chosen him to work with the Aegis operatives because of that weakness. Or how well it would blunt his intellect and competence. Lysander had taunted him about that, too.

Since Eirene died.
But it wasn’t just Eirene. It was Alexia. He would have given his life gladly to spare her one more moment of pain.

But he had no right to spare her any truth that might keep her alive. Thank the First Sires that his suspicions of Michael’s involvement in the theft of the patch were no longer relevant to that purpose.

If only—

“Theron?” Alexia said, breaking his silence. “You
know
him?”

Damon shook himself out of his dark thoughts. “From Erebus,” he said. “He was a Bloodmaster, and one of the few Opiri who treated Darketans as equals and believed they should have full representation in the government.”

Alexia remained very still, barely breathing. “A Bloodmaster,” she said. “Are you saying he was your
friend?
”

Damon remembered the long, philosophical discussions with Theron in his tower apartments, the only span of time in which Damon was free to speak, feel as he chose without consequences. It had all been so much illusion in the end.

“Friendship is not a concept easily understood in Erebus,” he explained. “Darketans cannot advance in Opir society, and any relationships not based on alliances for power are considered deviant.”

“Like your relationship with Eirene,” she said.

There was no malice in her question, but Damon still felt the blow. “Yes,” he said, “but Theron had sufficient influence to circumvent the restrictions placed on Darketans in Erebus. He had many unpopular ideas, including the concept of establishing what you would call more democratic methods of government. He did what he could to further the rights of Darketans and vassals, even though his stance put him in some danger from more conservative Opiri.”

“The Expansionists,” Alexia murmured. “Did Theron believe in human equality, too?”

Damon had known the question was coming. He had considered Theron far more than a friend; the Bloodmaster had been like a benevolent Sire as far back as Damon’s memory reached, when he had discovered that Damon was one of the few Darketans unable to suppress his emotions with the rigid discipline imposed on all his kind.

But Theron had still been a Bloodmaster. He would never have considered that humans could be equal to Opiri of any rank. That would require setting them free, and losing access to the blood every citizen of Erebus must have to survive. Such a radical concept would shake the very foundations of Opir belief and society. It could destroy Erebus, and every Citadel like it.

“No,” Damon said softly. “He did not.”

Alexia was quiet for a while, but when she spoke again her voice held no trace of anger. “Is that why he decided to establish outside Erebus?” she asked. “To implement his philosophy?”

“So it appears. I was not privy to his plans to do so. The Council would have prevented it if they had known, so he must have worked subtly to evade their notice.”

“So subtly you didn’t know anything about what your ‘friend’ was doing?”

Damon smiled grimly. It was so much like Alexia to cut straight to the heart of the matter, like a surgeon with a scalpel.

“Theron disappeared from Erebus a year ago,” he said. “I had no idea what had happened to him. Apparently neither did the Council.”

“So you were led to believe.”

He inclined his head to acknowledge her scathing comment. “Yes.”

“But if the Expansionists knew about the colony early on and supported it, at least secretly, didn’t they know that Theron’s ideas went against everything they believed in?”

“Either they were unaware Theron himself was in charge,” Damon said, “or they believed they could manipulate or force him into furthering their cause. Knowing what I do of him, I doubt Theron would have hesitated to deceive them as to his purpose if it would further
his
goals.”

Alexia sighed sharply. “All right,” she said. “But you’re sure that your past connection will get us into the colony now, even though your ‘friend’ didn’t bother to tell you what he was doing or invite you to join his experiment?”

“As sure as I can be.”

She pushed her bangs away from her forehead as if she were brushing away her doubts. “Doesn’t he know you’re working for the Council?”

“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

A
lexia 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.”

“Gallows humor, I believe the humans call it,” the Opir said. The rifle’s muzzle pushed into the back of Damon’s neck with bruising force. “Who sent you?”

“I come on my own.”

“A Darketan?” the Opir asked, incredulity in his voice.

“I was originally assigned by the Council to observe your colony,” Damon said.

“Spy, you mean.”

“I was one among many, as you are undoubtedly aware,” Damon said, disregarding the Opir’s remark, “but my fellow agents were killed by Expansionist operatives. I learned that Theron was the leader of this settlement, and as I have been left without orders...”

“You thought you would join us?”

“Theron was my mentor, and—”

“You’re lying,” the Opir interrupted. “No Darketan abandons his duty to Erebus.”

“Not all Darketans are alike,” Damon said. “I value my life as something more than a tool of the Council. I know you seek independence from Erebus. So do I.”

“And you claim to
know
Theron?”

“I was his student. If you are familiar with his philosophy, you must realize that he regarded my people as equals to Opiri. He treated me as such when I knew him in Erebus.”

He could hear the stark skepticism in the Opir’s silence. “I have no reason to accept your claims,” he said. “We know the Expansionists have their own agents watching us constantly. Why should I believe you?”

“The Expansionists would never use Darketans to do their work,” Damon said. “I encountered a few of their operatives, and now they are dead. I have important information for Theron that cannot wait.”

The Opir grabbed Damon’s shoulder, his fingers pressing so hard they numbed Damon’s arm all the way down to his healing wrist, and spun him around to face Alexia. “Who is
she?
” he asked.

“My serf,” Damon said.

“A dhampir?” The Opir leaned toward her, his eyes barely visible through the tinted visor, and inspected her badly torn and stained clothing, her dirty face and tangled hair, all arranged specifically for this moment.

“She was in the company of one of the Expansionist operatives,” he said. “I found her as you see her now.”

“And the operative?”

“Dead, like the others.”

The Opir’s expression was invisible, but his scorn was evident in his posture. “Why do you bring her here?” he said, giving Damon a hard shake. “Darketans keep no serfs.”

Damon refused to react to the provocation. “As I said, I am not like other Darketans. I have no weapons, and any Opir has strength superior to mine. You have nothing to lose by taking me to him.”

For a few moments Damon was certain he had miscalculated in his confident approach. He caught Alexia’s eye, and she nodded slightly. They were together in this, even if they could never be together in any other way.

If he was never to touch her naked body again, move deep inside her, feel her mouth pressed to his neck while she drank his blood, he would cling to those memories in the last instant of his life.

But it seemed that moment was not to come just yet. Abruptly the Opir dropped his hand from Damon’s shoulder. Without lowering his weapon, he faced the settlement and raised one hand in a gesture obviously meant as a signal. Two colonists, both in the same bulky clothing he wore, emerged from the gate set in the settlement’s high wooden wall. One figure was smaller than the other—female, Damon guessed—but just as heavily armed as the taller one.

The Opir continued to hold them until the other two had come half the distance across the open field. As soon as they had trained their own weapons on Damon and Alexia, he turned back toward the hills.

Damon made no attempt to talk to the two new guards, nor did he try to communicate with Alexia in any way, though he was constantly aware of the humiliation she must be enduring every moment this masquerade continued. The larger of the two new colonists moved in to pat Damon down while the other continued to stand guard, and then the smaller did the same with Alexia. After a seemingly endless wait the first Opir returned, carrying the weapons Damon had left behind as a sign of good faith.

The shorter of the two guards gestured with her rifle, making clear that Damon and Alexia were to precede her while the other two fell in behind their prisoners. The five of them covered the distance quickly. Though the area was quiet and Damon had never sensed the presence of other Opiri or Darketans in the area since he and Alexia had left their camp, the behavior of the colonists made clear how threatened they felt.

The gates swung open soundlessly as they came within a dozen meters of the wall. More well-armed colonists in protective suits met them just inside. As the gates closed, Damon made a quick assessment of the area immediately inside. It was bare dirt, clear of anything that might impede movement or catch fire. The colony proper—several clusters of buildings of various sizes, a half dozen well-tended gardens, a barn for livestock and other facilities appropriate to a small, self-supporting community—lay scattered around a commons, stretching some one hundred and fifty meters to the far wall built up against the eastern hills at the foot of the Sonoma Mountains.

The Opir who had first confronted Damon strode past him and gave Damon’s various weapons to the men who came up to take them: two male humans, one dark and short, one tall and fair, both dressed in typical serf’s tunics and pants. The immediate difference Damon noticed was that neither man wore the usual mark of ownership. One had a leather cord strung around his neck, what looked like a melted piece of metal hanging from it, and the other wore a colorful armband of cord and beads. At second glance, Damon saw that even their tunics were different in design and detail, as if the humans had been personally responsible for the decorations.

The two men glanced at Damon with open curiosity, looked with more intense interest at Alexia behind him, and carried the weapons toward one of the nearby buildings. Damon heard a whistle from overhead and saw that one of the several guards pacing the battlements at the top of the wall was waving to Damon’s original captor. He, too, was human.

“Fresh blood, Sergius?” he called down, startling Damon with his familiar manner of address.

“We shall see,” the Opir said. He bent to speak to the shorter of the two Opiri watching over Damon. She gave a quick nod and set off toward a low building with rows of windows that Damon guessed was a serf’s dormitory.

“Where is Theron?” Damon asked.

Sergius’s visor swung toward him. “Be silent,” he commanded. “You have no status here, Darketan.”

“I am not seeking status,” Damon said, making his scorn clear in his voice. “I said I have urgent—”

He broke off as a crowd of humans, most dressed in the same cut of shirts and trousers, a few of the females in well-cut shifts embellished with ribbon, leather and colored thread, gathered in a loose crowd to stare at Damon. If they had come from Erebus—which was Damon’s understanding—they might have seen a Darketan in passing, but it would be a rare occurrence.

What seemed odd was that none of the Opiri appeared to notice or disapprove of their gathering. Serfs in Erebus were not permitted to congregate in numbers above a handful unless they were all the property of one Opir. And in a colony like this one, each of these humans would have a well-defined task to keep the settlement running.