Читать книгу Shadowmaster - Susan Krinard - Страница 9

Chapter 3

“Your orders?” Lark said, resuming her seat on the bed after Drakon had her shackles in place.

“No one will take the risk of letting you escape.”

“I came here willingly, didn’t I?”

Drakon didn’t bother to answer. He went out into the corridor—where, as expected, Repo was keeping watch—and sent the man for water. When Repo returned, he was obviously near bursting with questions.

“Be patient,” Drakon said. “Find out what the others are saying, and report back to me.”

“Yes, Boss.” Repo hurried off, and Drakon went back into his room. He undid the shackles and handed Lark the slightly cracked glass, which she drained quickly.

“More?” he asked.

“Not now, thanks.” She ran the back of her hand across her lips...those full, enticing lips. Drakon swallowed. He wondered just how much she’d be willing to trade for her safety.

And felt no better than the other Bosses, whom he despised.

“Then let’s get back to the essentials,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I told you,” she said. “My name is Lark.”

“Lark what?”

“What difference does it make?”

“You do realize that you are completely in my power?”

“Ooh, scary,” she said, her mouth twisting into an ironic smile. “Have you ever read the pre-war literature known as ‘comic books?’”

Drakon froze, caught one of the thousands of memories he had managed to bury deep in his mind since his deportation. A little boy, laughing in delight because his father had managed to buy him a very rare bound edition of The Iron Corps for Christmas. It hadn’t been black market, but Drakon—the man he had been then—had saved up a portion of many months’ salary to buy it, even though Mark had still been a little too young to understand all the words.

“I know of them,” he said coldly.

“Then I don’t have to explain.” She shifted her weight, and even that slight movement brought his attention back to her body and the aching hardness that refused to be banished even by a firm act of will.

It’s the blood, he told himself. Like fine wine, human blood came in many vintages.

And he’d never smelled anything so rich and sweet. He wanted it, badly. But he knew his reaction now was fueled as much by hunger as inconvenient lust.

He would have to access his stores very soon. They had been going down more quickly than he’d expected and would need to be replenished, not a task he could entrust to any member of his crew. “Lark,” he said, pushing his hunger aside. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

She pulled a few strands of her dark hair out of the blindfold. “I’ve been branded a traitor by the government.”

“Why?” he asked.

She plucked at the blouse of her torn uniform. “I was an Admin. Very low clearance. I came across confidential information I wasn’t supposed to be able to access. Someone found out, and—”

“What kind of information?” he interrupted.

“Let’s just say that it would be more than a little embarrassing for the higher-ups, and possibly make trouble for certain parties involved in the election.”

Suddenly, Drakon was interested in Lark for more than her blood, her beauty and her spirit. “And what?” he prompted.

“They regard any breach very seriously. Rather than take a chance I might use it, they trumped up charges against me and were going to have me executed. I was able to—”

“Executed?” he interrupted. “Not deported?”

“They don’t deport traitors,” Lark said, a grim set to her mouth.

“And are you one?”

She suggested he do something anatomically impossible. Drakon let it pass. Whatever she’d discovered, it couldn’t just be “embarrassing for the higher-ups.” Drakon knew well enough that the Enclave government could be as ruthless as the Citadel’s Council, and would sooner kill than take the slightest chance of a security risk.

“So you think you’ll be safer out of the city,” he said.

Her blindfold shifted, suggesting eyes widening in astonishment. “Wouldn’t you, if you didn’t have such a good thing going here?”

He leaned over the bed. “What do you know of my business?”

Her body quivered as if it recognized the threat of a predator. “Only what I saw, back there. What you told me. And what everyone knows about the Fringe.”

“That there are ways of getting out in this part of the city? Why do you think such exits exist?”

“You are kidding, right?”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“Everyone remotely connected to the government knows that such passages exist. Most of them have been shut down by the Enforcers, but someone always manages to find another one. It’s common knowledge that convicts can be smuggled out of the city for the right price.”

“The price.” Drakon straightened and circled the room, his heart beating fast. “Why do you believe we have use for information on the foibles of a government official?”

“That’s not all I have,” she said. “Some of it might be very useful to your...operations.”

He came to a stop before her. “If you have something valuable to us, why do you believe you can withhold anything we choose to take from you?”

“You mean by torturing me? Or do whatever you thought this Preacher guy would do?” She shook her head. “That would be a mistake. You see, even the lowest-level govrats—to use your Fringe lingo—are given anti-torture conditioning. It’s not much, but usually it works by triggering a fatal chemical reaction in our bodies after a significant amount of pain is applied.”

“This is the first time I’ve heard of such conditioning,” Drakon said.

“It’s new. They want to keep it secret, of course. But I’m telling you now because I have nothing to lose, and you’d be better off taking what I’m willing to give you instead of losing all of it. I promise you that what you’ll get from me will be worth what I’m asking.”

Drakon took the chair again.

“Assuming you have such information,” he asked, “how are we to substantiate it without risk to ourselves?”

“I never said it was without risk,” she said, “just as I knew it could be a fatal risk coming out here.”

Perhaps even worse than merely fatal, if he acted as loyalty dictated. He had no reason to trust her. If he found a chance to pass her on to Erebusian agents who could get her to the Citadel, she could be extremely valuable as a source of intelligence.

But he couldn’t envision taking such a drastic step, and he certainly wouldn’t return her to her Enclave hunters. His mission had been clearly defined, and once completed would have virtually the same effect as if he were to tear the government down with his own two hands.

One highly popular mayor, in the midst of a highly contentious election, dead. The mayor who claimed to want to end the deportation of criminals to Erebus, cut off the tribute of blood serfs who were so essential to maintaining Opiri society in the Citadel of Night. Essential to maintaining the Armistice and preventing another devastating war.

Aaron Shepherd. One of the two men in all the world Drakon wanted dead more than he wanted to live.

* * *

Phoenix couldn’t see the man’s face, but she didn’t have to. She’d memorized it the first time she’d glimpsed him, when he’d snatched her away from the leering henchman of The Preacher, the Boss she’d been sent to find.

Either someone at Aegis had given her very bad information, as this man had told her, or her instincts had been dangerously off. But she didn’t think hearing a man offer to buy her for “five hundred A-dollars” would inspire much confidence in even the most desperate fugitive.

She could honestly say she’d been incredibly lucky. This Boss’s treatment of her had been no worse than she might have expected from any one of his kind, likely better than most. He was handsome, most definitely, with his defined features, gray eyes and auburn hair. Strong and fast, his movements swift and graceful. He had struck her right away as being someone extraordinary.

Even so, she hadn’t been sure until she’d seen the faint red reflection behind his otherwise very normal-looking eyes. His incisors were covered in some way she couldn’t quite define. She’d been luckier—or unluckier—than she or Aegis could possibly have imagined.

The man who had “saved” her from The Preacher wasn’t human. After the first shock had passed, Phoenix had quickly realized that neither his fellow Boss nor either of their crews knew what he was. His coloring told her he must be a Daysider—one of those very human-looking “mutant” Opiri who could walk in daylight without suffering fatal burns—and Daysiders looked very human to most non-Opiri. The headlamp he wore wasn’t just protective camouflage, since his breed couldn’t see nearly as well in the dark as dhampires or other Nightsiders. But he seemed to have forgotten that no ordinary man or woman could keep up with him, and that he was supposedly leading a human female to safety.

What he believed to be a human female.

He didn’t seem even remotely concerned about what he might have revealed, but if he believed her story, he wouldn’t expect a govrat to be looking for Opiri in the city.

And this Opir had done very well for himself by becoming a turf Boss. He couldn’t be the assassin Drakon, since no one less than a Freeblood—the lowest rank among full-blooded Opiri—could be trusted with such a task, and only a true Nightsider could operate in the dark with complete freedom.

But any Opir in the Enclave had to know who and where the assassin was hiding. This was too big an operation for one agent to handle alone. Others would be helping him make preparations. All resources would be thrown behind the killer, regardless of the danger to the other spies in San Francisco.

“I knew it could be a fatal risk coming out here,” she’d told him. She had been warned that the Fringe could be dangerous, but now that she’d seen it—seen how people were forced to live, families scraping by on whatever discarded material they could find, raiding garbage bins in the Mids, forced into theft and worse by the very need to survive and protect those under their care—she understood why the Fringers might attack an outsider.

It had made her feel sick, this suffering...a feeling she’d had to force aside as a distraction she couldn’t afford. And any trouble from the people here was by far outweighed by the incredibly delicate and deadly task of prying information out of her “captor” without getting herself summarily killed or, almost as likely, smuggled out of the city and shipped right off to Erebus for interrogation.

Phoenix wondered if he’d accepted her implausible story about the new anti-torture conditioning. What she did have was an implant in one of her molars, the old reliable standby of covert agents since well before the War.

But she wasn’t nearly ready to die. She’d completed Phase One of the operation: making a connection with someone influential in the Fringe, one who could help her locate an Opir operative. The Preacher, or another like him, was to have provided the necessary access, but she’d bypassed that step entirely. Phase Two, finding an Opir spy, was also complete.

That was all she was supposed to do. Phase Three, pinning down the location of the assassin Drakon’s hiding place, was to be the work of a more experienced agent. She should have been making plans to escape and return to Aegis.

But not yet. Not quite yet. She was in too good a position to give it up now. Even though Aegis wouldn’t know how far she’d already come, they’d follow through with their part of the plan by continuing the search for the “fugitive.” And when she finally did return, she’d have plenty to give them.

Now the Daysider’s silence was heavy, as if his mind was focused on weighty matters...as well it should be. But she knew he was thinking of other, more personal subjects, as well, not the least of which was her body.

She’d been well aware of his arousal; it had been impossible not to be, given the impressive size of his package. She could still smell his desire for her like a heady perfume, even though she could no longer see the way his pale gray eyes followed every slight move of her body.

She’d planned to keep him from realizing that she knew what he was as long as possible, and prevent him from finding out what she was, until she had no other choice but to consciously make use of her true nature. But if part of his nearly instantaneous and obviously powerful attraction to her was due to the scent of her part-dhampir blood, she had no idea how long her secret could last.

“Lark,” he said.

She almost—almost—forgot to respond to her alias.

“Was the information you plan to sell to me the reason your government believed you’d betray them?” he asked, resuming their conversation as if there had never been a break. “Or was it something else?”

Phoenix thought through her cover story. There was still something about her claims he wasn’t buying.

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “I found some...stuff that I thought might bring in a little extra income. They don’t pay us govrats that much, you know. Not at my clearance level.”

“What stuff?” he asked, his husky baritone sending unwelcome shivers down her spine.

“Just a little persuasion,” she said. “A politician who’d rather not have anyone know he keeps a little something on the side.”

He snorted. “And they caught you?”

“They only found out at the last minute who did it.”

“And you were stupid enough to risk so much without taking sufficient precautions.”

“Maybe I needed the money fast.”

“Why?”

“Do I have to tell you my life story to get you to help me?”

“You’ll have to provide a lot more than that if you want our help.”

“Isn’t that what this conversation is all about?”

The chair he was sitting on creaked, and she turned her head to follow the sound of his progress around the small room.

“It isn’t only the Enforcers who are chasing you,” he said. “Not if you’ve been declared a traitor. Traitors are the ones who might reveal things to the bloodsuckers that could bring the Enclave down.”

“And you think I—” She gulped in a breath. “I don’t have that kind of information. And everyone knows the Nightsiders are evil monsters. Why would any Cit pass Enclave secrets on to those who would only enslave her?”

“Aegis must think you have those kinds of secrets,” he said. “They could be sweeping the Fringe in an hour.”

“I didn’t access Aegis files! I can’t even get near them!”

His weight—his heat, his warmth, his maleness—settled beside her on the bed. “Are you telling me the truth?” he asked, very softly.

“I—” For a moment she forgot what she was about to say, enveloped in the blatant desire emanating from him.

“It would be safer for me to turn you in,” he said. “Anonymously, of course.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

His breath sighed very close to her lips. “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he said.

“You warned me about The Preacher, even before he—”

“Maybe my motives weren’t very different from his.”

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t molest me?”

“I wouldn’t take any woman against her will.”

But the rough purr in his voice told her exactly what he meant by will. She’d been prepared for this. She’d been ready to offer her body in payment for what she had to have, regarding it as no more than part of her mission.

The problem was that her body was responding to his nearness, his potent masculinity, as powerfully as he was reacting to her. And her mind was refusing to think of using that body as just a tool in a war for the Enclave’s survival. Her nerves hummed in response to the aura of sheer sexual need that surrounded him, and she realized that she had somehow developed a very personal, visceral interest in her “savior.”

Her enemy.

“Before we go any further,” she said, “would you mind telling me your name?”

Her question broke the spell. “Sammael,” he said, slight annoyance in his voice.

“That sounds familiar,” she said.

“An archangel,” he said. “Some call him the ‘Angel of Death.’”

“Now you’re trying to scare me again.”

“Perhaps my bark is worse than my bite.”

She nearly burst into highly inappropriate laughter. “Is that what the other Bosses say?”

“Ask the ones who tried to invade my turf.”

“Very reassuring. Okay, about that information. It could make it a lot easier for you crimin... Your smugglers to establish better contacts and get access to valuable goods outside the Fringe. And I do have a way for you to check on it before you commit yourself.”

“What is it?”

“I want your word that you won’t kill me as soon as I tell you.”

He laughed, a sound that would have been pleasant under other circumstances. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, running his warm, calloused hand down her arm, his skin caressing where it brushed over the hole in her uniform blouse.

Oh, God, she thought, feeling all the heat in her body rushing to a very precise location between her thighs. “Until you...until you have a good reason to believe me,” she stammered, “you’ll continue to wonder if what I’m offering is worth your help. Just give me a chance to...prove myself.”

“And what will you do once you’re free of the Enclave?”

Phoenix found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation. “What do the other emigrants do?” she asked, her heart beginning to race. “Make a life somewhere in the Zone?”

“Where they may starve or be picked up by bloodsuckers,” he said.

“Obviously, that’s a chance they’re willing to take.” She steadied her voice. “If my choices are blood-slavery, execution or a very unlikely chance at life and freedom, I’ll take the last, thank you very much.”

“No matter how slim the odds?”

“Yes. Will you give me a chance?”

It didn’t seem possible that he could move any closer, but he did. “There is no question of your leaving the Hold until your background story is thoroughly checked, your initial information proves genuine and all risks have been carefully weighed.”

She bit her lip. She might as well bring the subject out into the open.

“You mean you think I’m leading the Enforcers into the Fringe,” she said.

He met her gaze sharply. “Are you?”

“You’re thinking that I was out to find Bosses and expose them, aren’t you?”

“A good guess,” he said grimly. “It’s been tried before.”

“I was looking for The Preacher, but there was no guarantee I’d find him. And the only reason I’d do anything like that is if I were some kind of spy.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you’d think that for a moment. Not about someone like me, a humble govrat.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You’re right.” She frowned. “So what are you going to do to check out my story?”

“That doesn’t concern you. I’ll make the decision about whether or not you stay. My crew will abide by my decision once the situation has been explained to them.”

“What if they don’t?”

His voice dropped to a low growl. “If you’re afraid any of them might hurt you, you can stop worrying. You’re under my protection.”

Another silence fell, seething with sexual awareness. Use it, she told herself. Distract him. Bind him to you. Give him a reason to take this situation personally. Very personally.

She knew she wasn’t at any risk that he might take her blood and learn what she really was. He’d be giving himself away. And she couldn’t think of any sane reason he’d do so, just as he knew he couldn’t be taking blood from his crew.

But where he obtained his blood was a disturbing question she had to set aside for now. Deliberately striking a pose she knew would emphasize the curve of her breasts under her shirt, she turned her head toward him, sensing without sight how close his lips were to hers.

“Perhaps you’d like a more immediate gesture of goodwill,” she said. “I’m prepared to give you something I know you want.”

“And what is that, Lark?” he said, though Phoenix knew very well that this was only a kind of formality between them. A maneuver with only one possible ending.

She licked her lips. “Me,” she said. “Right here, right now.”