Because if his gut was wrong, if she did betray him after all, he would have to escape. He’d find another hiding place, and Lark’s treachery would give him the final incentive. All his doubts would be gone forever.
But there was a sickness in him as he thought of it, a feeling that part of him would already be dead. If he had ever been a superstitious man, one prone to believing in the supernatural, he might have believed this woman had bewitched him.
But he had never been superstitious. “We’ll do it,” he said. “Tonight, while my crew is handling other business. But only on the condition that you swear not to let yourself be taken by the Enforcers if we meet them.”
“The most important thing is for you to get away if we find ourselves in that position.”
He crossed the space between them and grasped her arms. “You’ll do what I tell you. That’s the condition.”
“Only if you listen to my advice when it comes to taking risks. When are we leaving?”
“I’ll come for you at sunset,” he told her, and finally walked out of the room, his body moving against the pull of his desire. He needed to speak to Brita, find out why it had been necessary for her to convince Lark that he was a merciful man.
He was anything but. And when he was finished, he never could be again.
* * *
Phoenix sat on the bed for a good half-hour before she felt capable of moving again.
It had all been part of the job, she told herself over and over again, their fierce lovemaking. The most potent sex she’d ever had in her life.
But she hadn’t been thinking of the mission when she’d responded so ardently to Sammael’s aggressive passion. She’d wanted it. Wanted him. Had felt nothing but need and indescribable pleasure as he’d moved inside her. Nothing but sheer, thoughtless lust.
She hadn’t needed to tell him about feelings to get him into bed. “It’s not because I’m attracted to you, though I am,” she’d said. “Maybe it’s something I just feel for you.”
And he’d mocked her, quite justifiably. Mockery she’d deserved. Twenty-four hours. It wasn’t possible, and she didn’t know why she’d said something more apt to drive him away than attract him.
But she’d doubled down after they’d finished in bed. He’d called her naive. She’d called him stubborn, and blind. “There can’t be anything more than this,” he’d replied.
Phoenix dropped her head into her hands. She knew that. Whatever part he was playing in the Citadel’s scheme, she knew she couldn’t appeal to any compassion he might feel for humanity, even if—as seemed to be the case—Brita, for her own obscure reasons, hadn’t told him of Phoenix’s true heritage. Of course he might be pretending not to know, but she didn’t believe he could fake what had just happened between them.
The problem was, she was now utterly convinced that Sammael was the very opposite of the stereotypical, evil, tyrannical vampire. He’d lost a wife and child. “At the wrong place at the wrong time.”
That could mean anything. But he’d lost loved ones, as she had. And it had hurt him, deeply. She had felt it as vividly as she felt her own pain when she remembered.
Except that what he’d said...wasn’t possible.
She looked up, frozen with realization. Could Daysiders have wives and children? Opiri didn’t live like humans. They didn’t marry. Their “children” were the vassals they created with their own blood. And even if Daysiders were outside the mainstream of Opir life, they still didn’t have normal relationships.
So he had to be lying. And because he looked and acted so human, because she wanted to believe him, she’d fallen into the trap. She’d told him more about herself than she’d ever intended.
Rising, she walked unsteadily around the room. “No lovers?” he’d asked, as if it really mattered to him. As if he could be jealous.
He had been manipulating her all along, not the other way around. And Brita had almost certainly helped his cause by showing her his work at the Wall.
Because they still believed she was here to set them up. She’d wanted to be her father’s daughter. Instead, she’d failed. Failed completely.
Nearly walking into the wall, she stared at the peeling paint and forced herself to think. There still might be a way of salvaging the situation. What if she could use her bewilderment, her tangled feelings, her desire, in ways that could benefit her mission? Take advantage of Sammael’s assumption of her weakness, his knowledge of her background and her apparent willingness to turn herself in to her pursuers to save the lives of those endangered by the Enforcers?
It still troubled her that the Enforcers had pursued Sammael and his crew. Could Sammael and Brita also have been lying when they spoke of his being pursued and nearly taken? Could it be yet another test on Brita’s part?
There were still too many variables, too many unknowns. Phoenix had to be ready for attack while pretending to be completely out of her depth in every possible way.
Which she very nearly was.
Casting off her self-pity, Phoenix walked slowly around the room again, frowning at the pockmarked floor. Her main concern now was to determine how going with Sammael to check out her story could work to her advantage, how she could continue to seem ready to “sacrifice” herself without actually doing it. He’d made her swear not to let herself be taken by the Enforcers, but he’d be ready to stop her if he believed for a second that she might reveal herself to the patrolmen, and him along with her.
With a sigh, Phoenix prepared to wait out the day, listening for voices that might reveal anything of interest. Repo brought her breakfast, and another woman served lunch and dinner. She ate only to maintain her strength, and because her body needed more protein than full-blooded humans. Soon after sunset, Sammael came for her. He deliberately kept his distance from her, seldom meeting her eyes, and explained in a clipped voice what she was to do.
There wasn’t quite enough moonlight for an average human to see by, which mean that Sammael had to wear his headlamp, out of necessity as well as for camouflage. Phoenix knew she had to be very careful not to reveal her own very good night vision at any point during their dangerous excursion. She pretended to rely on her own headlamp, moving cautiously even though she could clearly see what lay ahead of them and on every side: the same half-collapsed buildings, the squalor of the poorest citizens trying to survive, the leftovers of society.
It made her as sick to see it now as it had before, but she couldn’t let on that she saw it at all. Or that she was aware of the presence of Enforcers in the area at the same time Sammael sensed it. She followed Sammael’s lead in dodging them, pretending to defer to his greater knowledge of his stomping grounds.
However, once she and Sammael approached the universally accepted border of the Fringe, at the edge of the least prosperous area of the Mids, she could safely act with confidence in leading Sammael to their destination. Before she’d left on her mission, it had been arranged that she should give a certain signal to indicate that she’d come with the man or woman whom she’d convinced to help her “escape.” From there, everything should go smoothly, according to plan.
And it did. Phoenix led Sammael through backstreets, conveniently devoid of cops or Enforcers, to a particular bayside warehouse where goods from the Agricultural Enclaves were stored under heavy guard. She’d already explained how the patrol schedules had recently been changed—no less rigid, but altered from the original pattern because of some obscure administrative decision.
Nevertheless, Sammael was extremely cautious as she led him closer to the warehouse. He cast her frequent and suspicious glances, narrow-eyed and undeniably dangerous.
Together they crouched in the nearest safe cover and watched the heavily armed guards pace out their rounds, until, at 3:00 a.m., the relief appeared.
In that brief span of time, there was a moment when a sm
all section of the warehouse was left unguarded. Phoenix moved boldly in spite of Sammael’s whispered protest, turning off her headlamp and pretending to rely on the spotlights from the warehouse as she moved closer, paused to find fresh cover and ran closer still.
Sammael caught up with her, his breathing sharp not with exertion but with anger. His gaze snapped in every direction.
“This is what you brought me out here to see?” he asked as the new guards gradually took their assigned posts. “There’s almost no gap at all. And what about surveillance cameras?”
“I never said it would be easy,” she whispered. “But I also have access to codes that can disable the cameras. I’m sure that some of your clients won’t come anywhere near a Boss’s turf in the Fringe. I thought it would be worth your while.”
Sammael’s lips set in a grim line. “I could lose half my crew in an operation like this.”
“But at least you have a chance. The new routine hasn’t been established. The new guards don’t know the old ones yet, and vice versa. You’ll have to watch carefully, but there will be screwups. There always are.”
“You’re surprisingly knowledgeable for a humble Admin,” Sammael said.
“I’m not stupid. These guards are trained to shoot at anything that moves, but they aren’t Aegis agents. They aren’t even Enforcers. You just have to get your crew close enough to stun a couple of the guards, replace them with your own people and get inside the warehouse.”
“Just,” he said with a quiet laugh.
“Look at it this way. If the Enforcers are concentrated in the area of the Wall, they’ll be less likely to patrol this area.”
Sammael grunted, watching the guards intently. She followed his gaze.
“I told you I didn’t want anyone killed because of me,” she said. “All I have to do is walk out there and turn myself in. You should be able to get away without any trouble, since they’ll be busy with me. And I swear to you that I’ll never tell them where to find you or your Hold.”
His silence made her throat tighten—not with fear, though she knew he could destroy her mission in a heartbeat—but because she didn’t want to leave him. It seemed no amount of determination could protect her from either emotional or physical attraction. She was still painfully aware of the warmth of his body—so unlike the ancient legends of vampire-kind—his graceful strength, his striking and handsome face.
And the kindness she was forced to doubt but couldn’t forget.
“I can’t take your word for that,” he said coldly. “But this is good enough for now. I’ll want the rest of the information as soon as it’s safe to get you out.”
Chapter 9
Phoenix released her breath slowly. Sammael would probably never trust her completely—that would be madness on his part— but she thought he was sincere in his satisfaction with what she’d shown him. He didn’t suspect that everything had been prearranged.
“We’re done here,” Sammael said tersely. “Let’s go.”
They headed back for the Fringe by a different but equally circuitous route, pausing often to watch and listen. Phoenix was reasonably confident that the Enforcers would obey their orders and continue to stay out of her way, even though there would be at least one watching every possible route to and from the Fringe.
She didn’t realize she’d been too optimistic until Sammael suddenly disappeared, she heard the faint sound of a scuffle and he returned dragging a helmetless and clearly unconscious young Enforcer by the collar of his dark uniform.
“I caught one of your hunters,” Sammael said, his voice icy as the wind off the Bay in winter. “I’m surprised they let such a green recruit work without a partner.”
“How can you tell he’s green?” she asked with a calm she was far from feeling.
“Look at him,” Sammael said, nudging the man’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Young and stupid, hardly out of his teens. They must be getting desperate.”
Struggling to keep her fear from showing, Phoenix looked more closely into the young man’s face. “I think he’s a little older than he seems,” she said. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
He gave her a long, penetrating look. “What do you think I should do?”
“Leave him somewhere no one will find him for a while. He can’t do any harm now.”
“But he would have, if he’d managed to send for his comrades before I got to him. He might even have killed you. Or me.”
Phoenix allowed herself a very small measure of hope. Sammael didn’t know who his prisoner was...or was pretending not to. She knelt beside the young man, feeling for his pulse. Steady and strong. He wasn’t in any danger. Yet.
“The patrolmen are doing their jobs,” she said, rising again, “and it’s not their fault if their superiors believe I’m a traitor.”
“As you are.”
“Yes. But this one is no threat to you or your crew. Just leave him somewhere out of the way, and let’s go on.”
He stared at her for a long time. “No,” he said. “I think I’ll bring him along. We might find out what they intend to do if they can’t find you...if they plan to bring an even larger force into the Fringe, maybe even Aegis operatives.”
By questioning him, Phoenix thought with a sinking heart. You want to be absolutely certain the Enforcers are doing what I claimed.
“If he disappears,” she said, trying to conceal the desperation in her voice, “they’ll send more Enforcers, anyway.”
“I don’t think so. They expect some of their own to fall performing their duties.”
“You obviously don’t know much about cops, or soldiers,” she said. She touched his shoulder hesitantly, aware that she was taking another big chance with him. “I have another idea. Even if you can’t risk getting me out of the city now, maybe you could set it up to seem as if I’m gone. That would get the agents looking in the southern Zone outside the Wall and out of the Fringe, wouldn’t it?”
“And how am I to get that information to your pursuers?” he asked.
“We can think of something. You can still keep me around until you’re absolutely sure I’m not working for your enemies.”
He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her shiver. “Where is your former urgency?” he asked. “It almost seems as if you want to stay at the Hold. Is it because of these ‘feelings’ you believe you have for me? Because you believe I could return them?”
“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to expect that,” she said, lifting her chin.
Drakon stared at her a moment longer, heaved the Enforcer over his shoulder and waited for Phoenix to precede him. For a moment, she seriously considered using her superior night vision to create some kind of diversion and signal the other watching Enforcers to rescue their comrade while she pulled Sammael to safety.
But she knew if she made any rash moves, the young Enforcer might be the one to pay. And that would be far more of a disaster than she dared tell Sammael.
All she could hope for was that she could convince Sammael not to harm him. And that he wouldn’t break under questioning and give her—or himself—away.
Constantly aware of Sammael on her heels, Phoenix let him herd her into the Fringe by paths only the inhabitants could negotiate without difficulty. Once they were within a quarter mile of the Hold, he dropped the young Enforcer and spent a good while simply watching and listening. At least, Phoenix thought, the other Enforcers were keeping their distance.
But she and Sammael weren’t to be left alone after all. She heard the rustling of footsteps around them a few seconds after Sammael jerked up his head and tensed his muscles, ready for a fight. Out of the darkness, moving almost as silently as a dhampir, came a ragged man, and then a woman and a child followed by a small crowd of Scrappers. They spread out to form a loose circle around Pho
enix, Sammael and his prisoner. Sammael relaxed, and Phoenix guessed that they knew him...and he, them.
The young boy—no more than ten years old—moved closer, staring down at the Enforcer. His face was smudged with dirt and gaunt with hunger, his eyes hollow. He wore an expression weary and wise—and angry—far beyond his years.
“Look, Mama,” he said to the haggard woman behind him. “A Squeezer.” He looked up at Sammael, and Phoenix saw fierce admiration in his eyes. “Where’d you get him, Boss?”
Sammael cast a brief, warning glance at Phoenix. “He was dogging us,” he said to the boy in a deliberately casual voice. “You know how many Squeezers have been hanging around here lately.”
“Yeah,” the boy said, looking at the other silent observers. “They’re doing sweeps now. Like the one when they took Dad.”
There was a low, hostile murmuring that Phoenix pretended not to notice.
“The way they took my Lisa,” a tall man said, his voice breaking. “She never did anything. We never did anything but be useless to the government. So we came here, and even in the Fringe it wasn’t safe from them.” He pointed an accusing finger at the unconscious Enforcer.
There were more murmurs—of family members arrested and shipped off to the bloodsucker city, of unreasonable laws that condemned even the most minor lawbreakers, of constant hiding from Enforcer sweeps to maintain their fragile freedom, the right to live this hard and brutal life.
Almost as if he’d heard them, the young Enforcer groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. Sammael heaved him to his feet, bunched his fist and hit the boy square in the jaw. The Enforcer slumped again, and Phoenix suppressed the urge to hit Sammael just as hard.
“Where you taking him, Boss?” one of the male Scrappers said, his voice nearly trembling with hatred.
“Back to the Hold for questioning,” Sammael said, reaching down to grab the Enforcer’s collar. “Find out what they’re planning.”
“But we know why they’re here,” the young boy’s mother said. “Everyone knows they’re after someone who came to the Fringe to get away.” Her gazed fixed on Phoenix. “Who’s she? Never seen her before.”
Harlequin Nocturne March 2014 Bundle: ShadowmasterRunning with Wolves Page 9
