Daysider n-1

by Susan Krinard

  If Damon was relieved by her reasonable tone, he didn’t let on. He bent to retrieve the sheath of his knife, flexing his wrist in a way that suggested it had nearly healed, and slid the blade in.

  “The center of everything is the colony,” he said, his voice turning brisk and businesslike. “We could hunt for other Expansionist agents and attempt to learn more from them, but there is no guarantee we would find them, or be able to defeat them if we did. We cannot go to Erebus. If we are to obtain useful information, we must approach the settlement directly.”

  “You’re suggesting making a move without instructions from your Council,” she said.

  “Up until now, everything you’ve done could conceivably be justified as being within the parameters of your assignment, even telling me what you were really sent to do. But what you’re proposing isn’t anywhere in those orders, is it?”

  She meant the question to mock him, hurt him...if he could be hurt by something as small as her words. But when he spoke, his voice was unmistakably humble.

  “No,” he said. “It isn’t. Nor, as you have said, is it in yours. Perhaps it is time these pawns became knights.”

  Slowly she turned to face him, caught unaware by a foolish and very dangerous undercurrent of pride. And yearning.

  More than mere yearning. It was the need to be with him again, in every way. To feel him on her, inside her, just as if nothing had changed.

  But if she gave in again, if she let herself be driven by passion, she would almost certainly pay a price she could never afford.

  “There’s still a good chance that at least one set of gunmen was from the colony,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “Even if they didn’t steal the patch, they may still be shooting at anything that moves.”

  “That is the risk, of course,” Damon said, studying her intently as if he had heard her highly inappropriate thoughts. “But I believe there is a way to obtain entrance to the colony without dying to achieve it.”

  Alexia braced herself. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I know the man who founded it.”

  * * *

  Damon experienced Alexia’s shock as if they were attached by thousands of tiny cables that conveyed every emotion directly into every nerve in his body. He had felt that shock time after time in the past few hours: Alexia’s grief, her suspicion, her hurt and sense of betrayal. Each one had destroyed a piece of his heart...the treacherous heart that could reduce a rational being to extremes of violence and tenderness all in the course of a moment.

  He gazed at Alexia’s calm face, amazed all over again at her resilience. He had asked—

  demanded—so much of her, and not once had she broken. She was capable of setting aside her intense feelings when indulging them became an obstacle to her mission; she could speak with complete poise and rationality even after he had repeatedly provoked and betrayed her.

  In many ways she was so much stronger than he was. She could leave him without a second glance if it was necessary. But he...

  Damon remembered the horror that had curdled in his belly when he’d seen Alexia with Lysander and realized his old enemy was loose in the Zone, claiming to be working for the Council. He remembered realizing that Lysander was trying to deceive both him and Alexia, an attempt ruined by the Opir’s mocking words about Eirene, and Alexia’s worth as a dhampir in Erebus.

  What he didn’t remember was what had happened afterward. He had attacked Lysander, and they had tried to kill each other. But the details were like a hole in his mind filled only with blood, rage and pain.

  He thought it had happened before. It seemed as if he’d woken from a bizarre nightmare—the kind only humans were supposed to have—and quickly found the details burning away in the light of the sun, as if his mind refused to accept that he had somehow lost his ability to control his every thought.

  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 preven
ted 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

  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 wron
g, 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.”