Thankfully, this form didn’t have the limitations of my flesh form, and it took a little over fifteen minutes to get close to the bunker.
I sent a message to Cat and Bear, asking them to bring out washcloths, fresh clothing, and one of the purple vials still kept in the freezer units of the main med center. Then I reclaimed flesh form and collapsed in a quivering, aching heap in the trees behind the museum. As much as the need to keep moving—to get into Central before Sal or his partners came looking—burned through me, I couldn’t. Not in this state. I needed to repair my body and erase most of my wounds before that happened. One or two I could explain away, but not a multitude.
I pulled myself into a sitting position and reached for the healing state. Eventually, the waves of pain began to fade away as calm descended and the healing began. It took longer than I might have wished, but it had to be done.
When I finally opened my eyes, Cat and Bear were waiting patiently. The cloths, my tunic and sandals, and the vial I’d asked for were sitting in front of my crossed legs.
I smiled and sent them mental kisses, but their relief at seeing me was tinged with concern. They knew what I was about to do; they knew it was dangerous.
“I’ll be okay,” I said softly. “And it’s the only way to get the information we need about those children.”
Cat drifted forward and patted my arm; Bear was not so easily mollified. “I promise I’ll come back,” I added. “But this has to be done, and I have to do it alone. I cannot risk Sal or anyone else who comes after me sensing your presence. Besides, I need you to help protect the bunker.”
Bear’s energy combined briefly with mine, forming the link that allowed him to speak. Nuri is there. She will not let us come to harm.
“Not unless she needs to,” I agreed. “But the vampires may well mount an attack, and you have to be there to help protect the little ones, Bear.”
His energy withdrew. He wasn’t happy, but he accepted the situation. I wrapped my arms around their little forms, feeling their particles in and around me; feeling their fears and concern.
“Go,” I said, releasing them. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
They went reluctantly. I pushed to my feet. Pain flared across my ribs, but it was little more than an echo of the pain that would have hit me had I not taken the time to heal myself. I picked up the small vial and studied it. It had been a long time since I’d used this stuff, and I wasn’t looking forward to the aftereffects. But it was the only way I was ever going to get anything resembling the truth from Sal.
I uncorked the tube, quickly tipped the frozen liquid into my mouth, and crunched the ice before swallowing it. It would take little more than ten minutes for the fast-acting poison to leach into my skin; it wouldn’t kill me, but it would kill anyone who came in contact with me. Even Sal, who could heal himself against any wound, but who didn’t have the immunity to the more severe toxins that I did—and they didn’t come any more toxic than Sueño. It was fast, and it was very deadly.
But before he died, he would talk.
I took a deep, quivering breath, then became one with the night again and moved toward Central. The haphazard walls of Chaos came into view, the bottom levels wrapped in darkness, the upper levels randomly lit by patches of bright light. I swerved away, keeping to the shadows that hugged the curtain wall between Chaos and the drawbridge. Though I wasn’t entirely sure where Old Stan’s was from this side of the wall, I knew it was closer to the main gate than Chaos itself.
At the midway point between the two, I surged upward. The closer I got to the top of the wall and light of the UVs that poured over it, the more the shadows within began to unravel. As my flesh form began to reinsert itself, I made a last, desperate lunge for the top of the wall. My hands slid against the slick surface and suddenly I was sliding backward again. I cursed, scrambling madly, and, at the last possible moment, found a fissure big enough to hook my fingers into. My momentum was such that the sudden stop just about wrenched my shoulder out of its socket, and I hit the cold metal wall hard enough to force a grunt of pain. For several seconds I just hung there, my heart going a million miles a minute as I sucked in air and tried not to look at the long drop below me. If I did fall it wouldn’t actually matter, as I could become night again and stop long before I got anywhere near the ground, but that knowledge didn’t stop my irrational fear of heights asserting its ugly head once again.
But hanging here was wasting time, and I had a bad feeling that was something I was fast running out of. I lurched upward, grabbed the far edge of the thick wall, then pulled myself up onto the top of it.
Central stretched before me, bright and quiet. While there were guards stationed atop either drawbridge, they only did random patrols of the main wall if the vampires were notably active. The UVs had long ago been protected from any sort of standard weaponry taking them out, and, as far as I knew, the last of the bombs had been destroyed at the war’s end. None had been made since. No one wanted to take the risk given the amount of rifts already rolling across the landscape.
I took another deep breath, then called to the sun shield. While the guards might not actively patrol, if they happened to be looking the right way and saw a shadowy human form running along the top of the wall, they would investigate. As light wrapped around me, I finally looked down, searching for a way off this wall. Old Stan’s was only a few buildings away to my left, but I needed a building that was taller. I might have a tiger’s sure-footedness, but I couldn’t run the risk of breaking something with that sort of drop.
I padded along the wall, moving away from the inn and the markets. The ramshackle buildings that hugged the wall grew ever taller, and I soon found a building where the drop was only a couple of floors. I took another of those deep breaths to calm the butterflies and irrational fears, and jumped down. I landed safely, my fingers barely brushing the rooftop as I steadied myself, then moved toward the edge of the building and jumped to the next one, then the next, moving steadily downward each time.
As I neared the inn, I let the sun shield unravel and jumped down into the lane. The two old men sitting on either side of a fire burning in an old bin gave me a nod as I walked past them but made no comment. But there was a gleam in their eyes—an odd watchfulness in their expressions—that made me wonder if they were something other than just old men huddling near a makeshift fire. Given what I’d discovered when moving the bed to get into the hidden stairwell, it was very possible that these old men were actually guards.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the cramped foyer. Old Stan still manned the desk and gave me a nod before returning to his reading. Something within me relaxed. If there’d been someone waiting upstairs, I had a feeling he would have warned me.
I took the stairs two at a time but slowed as I neared the top floor. While instinct might be suggesting Old Stan could be trusted to pass on a warning, I wasn’t about to take chances. The fourth floor was dark and silent, but I couldn’t sense anything out of place.
I stepped into my room, but again, nothing and no one waited. I relaxed and stripped off my clothes as I walked to the bed. I was as hungry as hell, but it was the middle of the night and the majority of Central was asleep. If Sal came calling—and I had no doubt that he would—then he at least had to find me in bed, if not asleep.
I crawled into the thick but scratchy sheets and tried to relax. But there was no getting rid of the tension, and I practically jumped at every little creak. It certainly didn’t help that it now felt as if thousands of tiny ants were marching across my skin, making it prickle and sting. It was the first indication that the drug was taking hold.
I closed my eyes, willed myself to ignore the hostel’s creaks and groans, and slept.
Only to be woken by the realization that someone was watching me.
Tension rolled through me, but a heartbeat later, Sal’s seductive, satiny scent enveloped me, and I relaxed.
But only outwardly.
“Sal,?
?? I murmured, not having to feign the sleepy exhaustion in my voice, “what in Rhea are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize for my rather ungentlemanly manner yesterday morning,” he said. “And to check that you were all right, given you didn’t turn up for our dinner date.”
That was because I’d totally forgotten about it. I opened my eyes. Though his smile touched the corners of his silvery eyes, he was watching me a little too carefully. Suspicion and regret stung the air, though I wasn’t entirely sure whether the latter was his or mine.
“If there’s one thing I have no expectations of when it comes to you,” I replied, “it’s gentlemanly behavior.”
He laughed softly and reached out, hooking the edge of the blankets with one finger and pulling them away from my body. The cold air caressed me, sending goose bumps skittering across my skin and making my nipples harden. Or maybe that was a side effect of the sudden heat in his gaze. He might not trust me, but he sure as hell still wanted me.
His finger moved to my skin and began a long, almost tortuous journey from my shoulder to my hip, then back up again, until he paused at the long, barely healed scar under my left breast.
“I didn’t notice this yesterday,” he murmured, his fingertip following the scar’s length, then journeying the final inch or so to my breast. My breath caught as he squeezed my nipple, his touch just an edge into the territory of pain.
“That’s because it wasn’t there yesterday.” I shifted from my side to my back, presenting my full length to his gaze. His desire flared brighter, igniting the flame of my own. If this was to be our last time together, then I wanted it to be the best time.
“It almost looks like someone clawed you.” His touch moved to my other breast, again more forcefully than needed, as he caught and teased my nipple.
“Someone did.” Amusement teased my lips. “How do you think I got the money for this room, Sal?”
His gaze leapt to mine and, just for an instant, something dark and almost predatory touched his gaze. “I thought you didn’t sell yourself.”
“Under normal circumstances, I don’t, but I need to eat and I need shelter, and I have no desire to enter Chaos to find either.” I shrugged. “It turned out he was after something more than just sex, but hey, I’ve done far worse in my time, and he paid well.”
His fingers brushed the scar again, as if he could uncover my lies by mere touch. “You took a chance with such an action—the authorities do not approve of sex workers plying their trade beyond approved venues.”
“I was careful, Sal.” I caught his shirt and gently but firmly pulled him closer, until my lips brushed his, as I added, “So is an apology all you came here for?”
He smiled. “It certainly isn’t.”
Then his lips came down on mine and he kissed me. It was a fierce thing, a hungry and yet oddly desperately thing, but it nevertheless sung through me as sweetly as anything we’d ever shared before. Perhaps because this was the last time we would ever share this sort of intimacy.
Or perhaps it was because I wasn’t the only one resorting to poison. It was there on his lips—I could taste the sourness of it.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed tighter against him. I could feel the tautness in his powerful body, could sense the need for satisfaction warring with the urge for caution. I released one hand and undid his shirt and released the ties on his pants. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, and eager. I caressed it, and a shudder ran through him before he abruptly pulled away.
“My apology will be entirely too fast if you keep doing that.” Amusement touched his lips. He rose and shucked off his shirt and pants. “Scoot over.”
I obeyed. He joined me on the bed and pressed his length against me.
And in doing so, signed his death warrant.
In that moment, I hated myself—hated Rhea and fate and even my birthright. I was killing the only friend I’d had during the war—the only person I’d ever really trusted—and all I wanted to do was cry.
I blinked rapidly against the sting of tears and forced myself to concentrate on sensation. He slipped a hand underneath me, pulling me closer as his other hand cupped my breast and his thumb brushed my nipple. Pleasure shuddered through me and he chuckled softly, then repeated the process, again and again, first one breast, then the other, until I was aching with the need to be touched elsewhere.
I turned and pressed my butt against him. His thick cock speared between my legs, moving back and forth through my wetness, teasing but not entering me. He nipped my earlobe, an action that again bordered on pain, and a shudder ran through me. He chuckled quietly and ran his tongue across the lobe, a touch that briefly eased the ache before he nipped again. I moaned softly, unable to help myself. He continued to alternate between the two, moving from my ear to my neck and across my shoulder before moving down my body until he reached my hip. There, his movements stilled. His breathing was harsh, rapid, and it brushed my skin with heat. Desire—his and mine—stung the air, thick and sharp and luscious. He was fighting for control, I realized, fighting the need to plunge himself into me, to take me hard and fast and furiously. And I knew why; he needed time for the poison on his lips to start reacting on me.
Given that I needed the very same thing, I didn’t move. Then his hand slipped between my legs and caressed my clit, and I forgot about the poison, forgot about killing, and just enjoyed. He kept touching me, teasing me, until I was slick and desperate and shuddering with need. When he plunged his fingers inside and began to pump them in and out, I came, hard and fast and gloriously.
It was his undoing.
With a groan that was all desperation, he flipped me onto my stomach, lifted my ass, and plunged into me. His grip on my hips was as fierce and as desperate as his strokes, pulling me back against him after every thrust. I closed my eyes, becoming lost in the rough pleasure, moaning softly every time his thick cock speared deep inside me. His movements became faster, harder, until the whole bed was shaking under the force of it.
Pleasure rose and tightened, until my entire body felt ready to break. Then my orgasm hit again and I fell so deep and hard that for several seconds I couldn’t even breathe. A heartbeat later, Sal followed me over that edge, his groan loud as he came deep inside of me.
Neither of us immediately moved. I struggled to breathe, struggled to come down from the high and think. All I wanted to do was collapse on the bed and feel the warmth of Sal’s body wrapped around mine as we both drifted to sleep.
But that was not to be.
Not ever again.
Again tears stung my eyes. Again I blinked them away.
With a soft sigh of satisfaction, he released me, then rose from the bed and walked across to the autocook, punching the button and ordering coffee.
I swung my legs off the bed and sat down, watching him. As the rich aroma of coffee began to fill the air, I said, “What did you use?”
He glanced at me, surprise evident. “Veritite.”
I nodded. “A good drug.” It was one that killed slowly, without pain. It also forced the recipient to tell the truth, although it was nowhere near as powerful as the drug I’d used. He would be dead long before the Veritite truly began to react on my body.
The autocook beeped. He retrieved his coffee, took a sip, then said, “How did you know?”
“I tasted it when you kissed me.”
“And by then it was already too late to do anything about it.”
I nodded. “For both of us, I’m afraid. Because Veritite is not the only poison I’ve ingested this evening, and the vial I took began working on you the minute you touched me.” My voice was soft and edged with sadness, but it nevertheless contained a hint of command as I added, “You will keep your voice low and you will not call for help, either physically or mentally. You will not move unless I order it.”
He tried. His body trembled with effort as he attempted to move his arms, then his legs. But he couldn’t even drink the coffee from the mug he
held close to his lips. His fury and need to kill washed over me, so fierce it snagged my breath for several seconds.
“Bitch,” he eventually muttered. “But at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that you will die beside me.”
I didn’t disabuse him of the notion. It was far better for him—and his partners—to believe that was the case. “Sit down on the chair, Sal.”
He fought the order with all that he had, but his body had been mine to do with as I wished the minute he’d pressed his length against me. He might still have free thought, but he couldn’t refuse any order I gave him.
And soon he wouldn’t even have free thought, let alone breath or life itself.
I pushed away the tide of remorse and watched him move somewhat stiffly to the old chair and sit down. I rose, plucked the coffee from his grip, then sat back down on the bed again. After taking a sip of the hot but bitter liquid, I said, “What are you doing with the children, Sal?”
“I’m doing nothing with them. Were you the one who raided the bunkers?”
I half smiled. The compulsion to answer beat through my brain, thanks to the Veritite, but it was a desire I could have successfully fought if I’d wished. But there was no point in wasting energy that way. “Yes. How did you find out?”
His smile held very little in the way of humor. “Deseo is the first brothel I owned. I’m still a silent partner.”
Which perhaps explained his odd reluctance to set me up for an interview with Winter Halo’s recruitment officer. Maybe he’d suspected that I was behind the break-in at Deseo; he’d certainly never been one to believe in coincidences.
“What are your partners doing with the children?”
“Developing immunity. How did you find the false rifts?”
“The Carleen ghosts told me about them.” I paused, frowning. “Why do you need children to develop immunity? And immunity against what?”
His smile was cold and humorless. “We need them because they are either survivors of the rift doorways, or the children of such survivors, and that makes them special.”