Harlequin Nocturne March 2014 Bundle: ShadowmasterRunning with Wolves

by Susan Krinard

  “How long have you known?” he asked.

  “For a while,” she said. “I realized you couldn’t be full Opir, or your teeth would show it.” She touched her own normal incisors. “I assume you don’t drink blood.”

  “Then what do you think I am?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I’d like a few answers first,” he said, his body visibly relaxing. “How is it that you had a dhampir father, when nearly all of them were children at the end of the War?”

  “Nearly all,” she said. “But some were fathered before the War began, before the Awakening, from humans the Opiri Elders took as serfs when they were the only Nightsiders roaming the earth. My father escaped to the Enclave in the middle of the War, and found sanctuary here. Back then, half-Opir children were treated no better than serfs by the full-blooded. But they were valuable, the same way they are now.”

  “For their blood,” Sammael said. “An aphrodisiac with potentially addictive qualities.” He laughed. “When you tried to seduce me, were you hoping to use your blood against me?”

  “Aegis doesn’t believe that a half-dhampir’s blood would have the same effect,” she said.

  “Yet even true dhampir children were abandoned in droves once the War was near its end,” Sammael said.

  “Most of the Opiri who abused and abandoned our women were masterless Freebloods. They weren’t interested in hanging around to care for any children they fathered.” She paused. “But you know all that.” She sighed. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “My mother was a dhampir,” he said slowly. “She also escaped, toward the end of the War.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “They’re both dead, like your parents.”

  Phoenix’s heart ached that it was so easy for him to spin such a lie, a past that so deliberately echoed her own. “What happened?” she asked.

  “My mother was killed by humans because of her Opir blood,” he said, utterly without expression. “My father attempted to take revenge and was killed by Enforcers. That is why I became a dissenter and an enemy of the government.”

  “My God,” she said. He was so convincing. She could almost believe he was exactly what he claimed to be.

  “I understand why you hate Enforcers,” she said, “and why you’d want to kill your captive. But I’d have to try to stop you if you tried.”

  “I don’t understand why you care about him at all.”

  “Maybe I just admire his courage. As I know you do. But I do wonder why you help humans when they killed your father and mother.”

  “I don’t blame everyone for the work of a few.”

  But he’d help kill them, anyway, Phoenix thought with anguish. “I guess being a Fringe Boss is a way of spitting in the face of the people you do hate.”

  “You’re very perceptive,” he said.

  But not enough, Phoenix thought. Not enough to understand how he could be the man he was and still be part of the potential destruction of the Enclave.

  “You need to get back to the Hold,” she said, “so those burns can be properly looked after.”

  “Rest is what I need now,” he said. “And since—as you so accurately pointed out—I can’t very well hold you prisoner, you go back. I’ll follow when I can.”

  His stubbornness left her at a loss. Yes, he needed rest, but they weren’t so far from the Hold, and he now knew that she could carry him.

  Maybe it was simply that he wanted her to think he was much weaker than he was, so he wouldn’t reveal what she knew to be true...that he was really a Daysider.

  “All right,” she said, getting to her feet. “But I’m going to find some water first. You’re going to need it.”

  She searched the building for any sign of plumbing that still functioned, but found nothing. That was only to be expected, since it would be inhabited if the Scrappers had the necessary resources available.

  She had more luck in one of the adjacent buildings, where there were, in fact, several families of Scrappers getting by with whatever was available. Unlike the ones she’d met with Sammael and the young Enforcer, these people were more suspicious than hostile and were willing to share a bit of water when she told them that a friend had been burned by The Preacher’s men. She thanked them profusely and returned to Sammael.

  He was fast asleep, though she was amazed he’d permit himself to take the risk. She set the bowl of water down, along with clean scraps of fabric, and bathed his face with extreme care. Once he was partly awake, she made him drink and half-carried, half-pulled him into deeper cover under a stairwell, making him as comfortable as possible. He was too exhausted to fight her.

  There was no question of leaving him alone now. But by late morning Brita had returned, and she ran off immediately to fetch a pair of Sammael’s larger male crew members. They carried him back to the Hold, Brita in the lead and Phoenix following, alert for the slightest hint of danger. Brita looked at Phoenix narrowly, but seemed satisfied that Sammael’s “guest” hadn’t learned more than she should know about the Boss. She believed Sammael’s secret was still safe. For now.

  Once they reached the Hold and the men set Sammael down, he shook them off and stepped back. He seemed better than he had, Phoenix noted—his face less swollen, less pain in his eyes, more grace in his movements.

  “I’ll see the prisoner now,” he said.

  Brita and Phoenix began to protest, but he gave each of them a look that silenced them both. Though he appeared to be stronger, Phoenix didn’t doubt for a moment that he needed more rest and whatever treatment she could offer to augment his natural healing abilities.

  Claiming to have important business to attend to, Brita left. Phoenix followed as Sammael strode down the corridor with the big men at his heels. Before he entered the room, he beckoned to Phoenix. “I want you to come in when I rap on the door,” he said.

  “Why?” Phoenix asked cautiously.

  “Maybe you can shed a little more light on why he behaved the way he did.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “I think you will,” he said, and closed the door between them.

  * * *

  “Who are you?” the young Enforcer asked, his voice strained with the effort to conceal his fear.

  Drakon paced slowly back and forth in front of the prisoner’s chair, concealing his pain and exhaustion as he passed in and out of the circle of light focused on the Enforcer’s face. He truly was little more than a boy, probably no more than twenty, with a slightly square jaw that still had a bit of softness to it. If he were anything like his father, he’d have nothing left of that softness soon enough.

  But Drakon was amazed that the young man had been permitted to become an Enforcer, let alone work without an experienced partner at his side. If Drakon had had any choice at all, he’d never have taken the boy. But he hadn’t been left with a choice.

  Then. But now...

  “Who do you think I am?” Drakon said.

  “You were with the traitor,” the Enforcer said, turning his blindfolded head this way and that as he tried to gauge the size and dimensions of his surroundings. “You’re going to be in big trouble for taking me, but maybe if you give her up...”

  “I don’t think I’m the one in trouble,” Drakon said. He glanced at the door. Several of the crew were outside, awaiting his decision.

  Having the young man eliminated would still be the simplest course, as long as Drakon was very careful to make it look like an accident or the work of one of the other Bosses. More specifically, The Preacher’s.

  And Drakon was tempted. One of the two men he most hated would suffer greatly because of his death. But Lark had threatened to stop him—or try to—if he attempted to carry out the most extreme option. And Drakon didn’t want to hurt her unless he had
absolutely no alternative.

  “The patrolmen are doing their jobs,” she’d said, “and it’s not their fault if their superiors believe I’m a traitor.”

  Doing their jobs, Drakon thought bitterly. Just as he had done in his human life, before he had seen his error, before he had been deported to become a serf in the Opir Citadel.

  As his fellow Enforcers had done their duties by betraying him as a traitor, worthy of the worst penalty the Enclave could impose. Was it their fault that a brother Enforcer’s wife and child had died because of a superior’s vindictive command?

  He began pacing again, aware of the young man’s well-trained silence. The longer he was missing, the more risk that every Enforcer, cop and Aegis operative in the city would descend on the Fringe. And likely round up or kill anyone in their way.

  “I asked you who you think I am,” he said to the Enforcer in a calm, level voice devoid of threat.

  “This is a Hold,” Patterson said. “There are lots of people here, but they’re scattered all over. So you belong to a crew, and you have to have influence or you wouldn’t be the one questioning me and giving orders. Maybe you’re the Boss.” He shifted, stretching his shoulder against the pull of the ropes. “I don’t know why you were with the fugitive, but she was obviously leading you somewhere, so you’re helping her somehow. Or she’s helping you.”

  “If I’m a Boss, why would I need the help of a fugitive with half the Enforcers in the city on her tail?” he asked.

  The Enforcer must have realized he’d already said too much. He fell silent. Drakon squatted before him. “Let me fill you in,” he said. “She was an Admin for the government, and she’s got classified information. She could sell it for help getting out of the city. That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

  That presumption, Drakon thought, would undoubtedly be held by this young man’s peers, the common patrolmen. But the officers of the various Enforcer units had to know what they were really chasing. That she wasn’t entirely human.

  “What surprised me,” Drakon said, “is why you were working alone and decided it was a good idea to tackle the traitor and a male companion without backup. Are you Enforcers spread so thin?”

  The young man’s lips tightened. “I was following orders.”

  “Or perhaps bending them so that you could take credit for capturing the fugitive yourself.”

  “I said I was following orders,” the Enforcer said through gritted teeth. “Look, I never got a good look at your face. I can offer an assurance on behalf of the Bureau that you won’t be harassed if you return the prisoner to us.”

  “Can you?” Drakon asked. “A few moments ago you threatened me, said I would be in ‘big trouble’ for taking you and presumably helping the fugitive.”

  The young man sat very still, obviously composing himself. “It was a stupid thing to say,” he admitted slowly. “But I mean what I’m telling you now. They don’t want you, or any of the Bosses. They only want her.”

  “And you have the authority to offer such a bargain? I don’t see any indication of it on your uniform. Or are you really an officer posing as a regular patrolman? Perhaps you even wanted to be captured, hoping you could obtain useful information.”

  “I’d have to be crazy to do that,” the Enforcer said. “I know you could have killed me anytime since then if you thought I was a threat. So why am I here? Do you really think I’m going to tell you something useful?”

  “You just indicated you had nothing useful to tell me.”

  “Then maybe you’ll consider the idea that we’ll not only leave you alone, but pay you more than the traitor ever could if you turn her over to us.”

  “I’d consider that you’re afraid that what she can tell me is very valuable, indeed,” Drakon said, rising.

  “She...” the Enforcer swallowed with obvious nervousness. “She could hurt the entire Enclave with what she knows, including the Fringe.”

  “Interesting,” Drakon said. “But again, I ask how you hold the authority to make such bargains on your organization’s behalf?”

  “I—”

  “I’ll tell you what I believe,” Drakon said. “Whatever rank you hold, you personally are of some value to the government. You took a stupid risk, and now you’ve placed yourself in a position where someone might pay a great deal to get you back, even without your so-called ‘traitor.’”

  “You’re wrong,” the Enforcer said. “I’m just a regular—”

  “We’re not quite as isolated here as you in the Nobs seem to believe,” Drakon said. “Your name is Lieutenant Matthew Patterson, your father is Senator Patterson, and he’d do anything in the world to get you back alive.”

  Chapter 11

  Patterson clamped his lips together in a way that told Drakon he wasn’t likely to offer any confirmation of his true identity.

  But there were other things Drakon wanted from the Enforcer at the moment. He needed to know if the average patrolman knew that their quarry wasn’t human, and that they were on the hunt for her under orders from Aegis. He needed to confirm Lark’s story about her past, her parents’ deaths, her adoption by Aegis. He needed to find out if her employers believed she was seeking revenge by using what she’d supposedly stolen. And what exactly they thought that revenge would be.

  But this Enforcer seemed to have courage, conviction and devotion to the cause he fought for. He wasn’t likely to give Drakon the answers he sought.

  Was that the real reason Lark had saved him? Not just because she hadn’t wanted to see an innocent young man killed, but because she’d recognized him as the son of the influential senator, just as he had?

  He laughed, making young Patterson jump. He still wanted to accept Lark’s explanations, even as his doubts grew stronger. So soon after she’d seemed to prove herself worthy of his trust by revealing the usefulness of her stolen intelligence, he’d been forced to realize how stupid he’d been in not recognizing that she was more than human.

  Now he could understand why he was so sexually aroused in her presence. It wasn’t just her enthusiasm and beauty and desire for him. Even if he couldn’t become addicted by it, he had unconsciously recognized her dhampir blood. And now he wanted very, very badly to taste it.

  “I’m not good enough to serve as an agent,” she had said. If she seemed an outsider, a misfit, she could be a far more effective operative under certain circumstances. If his worst suspicions proved true, why hadn’t she taken Matthew to safety when she’d had the chance? Wouldn’t returning him to his influential father have been more important than whatever her mission might be? Or had Brita actually stopped her?

  Drakon clenched his aching hands. He knew she wasn’t afraid of him, and he’d no more be able to force answers from her than he could from Matthew Patterson.

  But he’d looked into her eyes when she’d inspected his injuries, recognized emotions he’d seen in Cynthia’s eyes so many times before her death. She’d claimed such feelings before, and he had begun to believe they were genuine, even if they ran contrary to her purpose in the Fringe. Maybe he could make use of those feelings now.

  What if he were to offer to get her out of the city this coming night? Her reaction might prove—

  Young Patterson sucked in a breath, and Drakon snapped back to the task at hand. He retreated to the far corner of the room and let the Enforcer stew in silence a good half-hour before he rapped on the inside of the door. Lark entered as he’d instructed, her expression wary. Now he’d get a better chance to see how she and the Enforcer would interact under very different circumstances.

  “You’ve been questioning him?” Lark asked, though the answer was obvious.

  “He’s told me very little,” Drakon said.

  She moved closer to the young man, and Drakon saw a muscle twitch under her eye. “It’s all right,” she said
to Patterson. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  “Who are you?” the young man asked.

  “Lark,” she said. “Lark Bennet.”

  Patterson’s face crumpled in dismay and disgust. He looked as if he’d liked to have spit in her face.

  “What have you told him?” he demanded.

  “Please,” Lark whispered. “You don’t—”

  “You’re worse than any scum in the Fringe,” Patterson said. “Why haven’t you bought your way out of the city yet?”

  “Be silent,” Drakon barked. “She had no choice. This woman is my prisoner.”

  “Your prisoner?” He laughed under his breath. “What happened, Bennet? Your information not good enough? Couldn’t make him do what you wanted? Or are you enjoying being his whore too much?”

  “I told you to be quiet,” Drakon said in a very soft voice. “She may be a traitor in your eyes, but she’s no one’s whore.”

  The Enforcer turned toward Lark again. “They hired you even though your evaluations said you were unbalanced. They gave you a rating way above what you ever should have—”

  “How do you know all this?” Drakon cut in. “Did Senator Patterson tell you?”

  Lark cast Drakon a look of astonishment. Almost convincing, he thought.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t know who he was from the moment we took him,” Drakon said to her.

  She had the sense not to deny it. Instead, she leaned closer to Matthew as if to confide some secret to him. “The government decided to execute me without a trial, without giving me a chance to defend myself,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I run? Why shouldn’t I use whatever information I have to get out of the city?”

  The prisoner turned his head aside. “Do you want me to intercede with the senator and beg for your life? He won’t listen to me, even if I’d give you another chance.”

  “But you said you could guarantee that the Enforcers would leave the Fringe if I gave this woman up to you and let you go,” Drakon said.

  “He told you that?” Lark asked. “I—”