“I’m a little confused,” she said, “why did you claim me?”

“Your spirit intrigued me. You speak our language well, and I have some interest in the human perspective. Perhaps you can provide me with a new one.”

Trinity looked at him as if he were slightly mad. As he would be, in most Opiri’s eyes.

She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, though nearly all of Erebus was kept warmer than most of her kind preferred. “I know I have no rights. But I am … glad you won me.”

Yet her eyes were soft, her lips parted, her face flushed as if with desire. The unmistakable scent of sexual arousal rose from her body.

Ares grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her face to his level and kissed her. His teeth grazed her lower lip, giving him the smallest taste of her sweet blood.

SUSAN KRINARD has been writing paranormal romance for nearly twenty years. With Daysider she began a series of vampire paranormal romances, the Nightsiders series, for Mills & Boon® Nocturne™.

Sue lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with her husband, Serge, her dogs, Freya, Nahla and Cagney, and her cats, Agatha and Rocky. She loves her garden, nature, painting and chocolate … not necessarily in that order.

Nightmaster

Susan Krinard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, with thanks to Lucienne Diver and Leslie Wainger.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 1

Trinity Ward waited with the other dozen convicts, her wrists aching from the grip of the padded cuffs that kept her hands locked together at her waist.

Not that she would have fought to escape. This was where she was supposed to be, among these poor, lost souls whose punishment was to be more terrible than mere imprisonment. Or even death.

They were condemned to a life of blood slavery to some Nightsider master in the Opir city of Erebus—an existence of unending servitude—until they were too old to provide blood or serve in any other capacity.

But these living offerings around Trinity, men and women who had committed only the most minor crimes, were not old. Some were in their late teens; the eldest couldn’t have been more than fifty. If not for the Treaty and the need to maintain the Armistice, they might have lived normal lives, sentenced by the Courts to jail time, probation and reparations.

Except that there were only two jails in the Enclave, and they were nearly empty. Crime had dropped to levels unknown in all of human history. Dropped so far that the bloodsuckers were growing restless.

“What did you do?” a young woman standing next to Trinity asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

Trinity met her gaze. She knew what the woman saw: normal human eyes, not the catlike pupils of a half human, half Nightsider dhampir. In a way, the contact lenses were like shields, not only concealing Trinity’s identity, but also helping her keep her distance from those around her.

Distance, Trinity thought, shouldn’t be a problem. She had been chosen for this assignment because she was known as the most unflappable, most controlled operative in all of Aegis. The one without close friends or lovers, because she wanted it that way.

Still, it was hard looking at this woman’s face, knowing she hadn’t earned the fate that awaited her. None of these people had.

“I didn’t pay my taxes,” Trinity whispered. “You?”

The woman’s brown eyes filled with tears. “I stole a pair of earrings. They weren’t expensive at all, but I hadn’t had something pretty like that in—” She broke off, her calm dissolving in grief and fear.

“I’m sorry,” Trinity said, awkwardly touching the woman’s arm.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for my daughter,” the woman said, wiping her eyes on her forearm. “She’s going to stay with my parents now. They’ll take good care of her. But I—”

She didn’t have to finish. Trinity knew what it was like to lose family. Not that she’d ever really had one. Her Nightsider father, whom she didn’t remember, had been killed at the end of the War when Enclave soldiers had found him in possession of Trinity’s mother and their daughter, treating both as prisoners rather than anything a human would call a “family.”

Trinity’s mother had taken her back to the Enclave. But there had never been another father. And Trinity had grown up half vampire in a world of humans who feared and hated the part of her that made her so different, so much faster and stronger and keener of vision, able to see in the dark and with teeth made for drinking blood.

Something most dhampires would rather die than sink to.

“My name is Trinity,” she said to her companion.

“Rachel,” the woman said, raising her bound wrists. “I can’t shake your hand.”

Suddenly they both laughed, the laughter of people without hope. Trinity wasn’t completely faking it. She knew her odds of coming out of this alive and free were minimal, but that wasn’t what she feared. She had to obtain the necessary information and get word out of Erebus. If this was to be her last assignment, she intended to make it count.

“Attention,” the soldier at the front of the column shouted, his helmet reflecting the sunlight. “You’ll be boarding the ferry now. When we reach the Larkspur Ferry Terminal, you will board a transport to the border of the Zone, where we will proceed on foot to the transfer point.” He scanned the small gathering, his eyes—and his feelings—hidden behind his visor. “Any disruption or attempt to escape will be met with force.”

He glanced at his fellow soldiers flanking the crooked line of dozen convicts and moved closer. “Stay alive,” he said in a soft voice obviously meant only for the prisoners. “There’s always a chance things will change. If we ever beat the bloodsuckers—”

“Sergeant!” one of the other soldiers said. “Ferry’s ready to board.”

The sergeant stepped back and nodded brusquely, gesturing with his rifle. The convicts walked onto the boat and moved to the center of the deck, heads down and shoulders slumped. The soldiers instructed them to sit on the hard benches under the canvas canopy and then clipped the prisoner’s ankles to rings fixed to the deck at their feet.

Trinity watched the soldiers patrolling the deck, far more than were needed to escort a dozen petty offenders. Did any of them have relatives or friends who’d been deported? She knew that the kin of politicians and higher-ups in the government were usually spared this punishment, including the board of directors of Aegis itself.

It wasn’t fair. But neither was the fact that the bloodsuckers had devastated the earth before the attrition of their own numbers had forced them into a truce. These men and women were soldiers, and sometimes soldiers did what they didn’t want to do.

You can never forget you’re only a slave from now on, she told herself. You have to make sure you’re chosen by the right Bloodmaster or Bloodlord. And then you have to make yourself indispensable to him.

That meant playing the part of a proper serf—and, if necessary, revealing her dhampir nature. Because, in spite of the supposed rarity of half-breed captives among the Nightsiders, it was believed that the leeches found nothing more delectable than dhampir blood.

Or more addictive. Some Nightsiders were highly prone to physical dependence on that same blood. And that was Trinity’s most powerful secret weapon. A dependent Nightsider was one she could manipulate.

But she intended to keep her true nature hidden as long as possible. In addition to the contacts, she wore caps over her front teeth to conceal her longer incisors, and no Nightsider she encountered would immediately be able to detect the difference in the smell and unique taste of her blood.

The experimental drugs she’d been given—drugs whose antidote had been inserted into one of her molars—would mask those differences until she didn’t need to hide them. They would also counter the addictive qualities of her blood until she required them. But just as important were the injections that were supposed to lessen the risk of Conversion or pregnancy.

Of course, no one was completely sure what happened when a dhampir was converted, in spite of the many times Aegis operatives had come into contact with Opir agents in the field. If any dhampir had become a Nightsider, he or she had never returned to the Enclave. And no one had ever seen the child of a dhampir and a Nightsider.

The engine of the ferry rumbled beneath Trinity’s feet, drawing her out of her thoughts, and soon the vessel was pulling away from the pier. No one spoke until they reached the Terminal in the old county of Marin. One boy of about eighteen let out a yell of sheer terror and then went silent when one of the soldiers turned his way.

After that, there was only more silence as the soldiers herded the prisoners to the truck.

The ride was jolting and uncomfortable, the truck carrying its unwilling passengers over roads left to weeds and weather, across fallow and overgrown fields, past empty towns and small cities that seemed to echo with ghostly voices.

Trinity stared straight ahead as the truck cut north toward the transfer point in the abandoned city of Santa Rosa. It was dusk when the truck reached its destination. The soldiers helped the exhausted prisoners climb down from the vehicle, unfastened the cuffs and offered them dinner rations and water. Some ate as if they were starving; others ignored the food completely.

Trinity ate. She needed all her strength, and because she was one of the sixty percent of dhampires who didn’t require drugs to digest solid food, she was free to eat whatever she wanted. Once she was finished, she listened to the hoot of an owl and the nearly silent footfalls of a coyote in the hills—sounds none of the humans could detect.

By sunset, as the human soldiers watched with guns raised and night visors glowing, the Nightsiders, anonymous behind their own visors, emerged from the fringe of oak woods at the base of the hills to the west.

In minutes the formal exchange had been made. The Enclave soldiers stepped back, and the Nightsiders closed in around the exiles.

No one put up a struggle. The Nightsiders spoke no more than was strictly necessary. The prisoners climbed into the hills and walked along narrow roads that wound through the Mayacamas mountains, wreathed in darkness lit only by the sweeping beams of the Opir soldiers’ headlamps. Halfway up to the pass, the Nightsiders made camp and allowed their charges to eat and sleep.

Trinity remained awake, listening and observing as the bloodsuckers spoke among themselves in their ancient language, hoping that one of them would be careless enough to reveal something that might be of use to her.

But none said anything she didn’t already know. After a while, the soldiers and their prisoners continued up the mountain, making camp again with the rising of the sun. The Nightsiders set up a shelter of heavy canvas, and two rested while the other two kept watch.

Near the end of the second night, they saw Erebus.

The vampire city was all black crystal spires and obsidian facets, a vast hive surrounded by pastures and fields of grain that produced food to keep the serfs alive and healthy. Trinity knew that Erebus housed some five thousand Opiri—and three times as many humans. Below the Citadel’s foundations lay countless chambers occupied by the lowest-ranked free Opiri and public serfs who served the city as a whole.

In the spires, the Towers, lived those of highest rank: the Bloodmasters and Bloodlords with their Households of vassals, serfs and client Freebloods. In their feudal society, rank and power were everything.

One of the prisoners began to weep and collapsed to her knees. A wiry man in his twenties helped her up with quiet words of comfort. Then they were moving again at a faster pace as the Opir raced the sunrise, descending out of the hills.

When the exiles were within a quarter mile of their new “home,” three of the soldiers picked up the slowest prisoners and flung the humans over their shoulders like sacks of grain. The rest, including Trinity, crept closer and closer to the Citadel until they were at its foot, gathering under the stares of the Freeblood guards along the sheltered battlements.

Trinity gazed up at the tall, heavy gates, obsidian black like the rest of the Citadel, and watched them swing inward. More Opir soldiers waited inside to take charge of the prisoners.

The humans stood inside a wide, enclosed area between the curtain wall and the Citadel proper. Heavy material that seemed to be a combination of canvas and plastic stretched across the open space several yards above Trinity’s head, protecting the Opiri within. Bright lights, harmless to the Nightsiders, shone from niches in the walls, obviously installed for the benefit of the human serfs, who were hard at work performing various tasks. The towers, visible through a slight gap in the canopy, pierced the lightening sky and the scudding, orange clouds.

The second set of soldiers uncuffed the prisoners’ wrists and gestured with their rifles toward a second gate on the other side of the courtyard. Moments later they entered a wide, dimly lit corridor, elaborately etched and painted with baroque designs and stylized figures in different hues. The corridor led to another and yet another, a maze humans might negotiate only with the aid of the changing colors and designs on each wall. Trinity could feel the passages descending into the bowels of the city, smelling of dampness and a taint of old blood.

The final corridor ended in a row of holding cells. Two by two the new serfs were ushered into the cells, and Trinity found herself housed with Rachel. The cell itself contained only two narrow cots, a toilet and a sink with towels.

“Are we supposed to clean up in here?” Rachel asked in a dull voice.

“I don’t know,” Trinity said, examining the sink. “There’s some kind of soap dispenser, but I can’t believe they expect us to do much with it.”

Nevertheless, she wet one of the towels, squirted a little soap on it and washed the grime off her face. She undid her hair from its rough ponytail and shook it out.

“You’ve got pretty hair,” Rachel said.

“Thanks,” Trinity muttered, hardly knowing how to react to the compliment. She wasn’t good at that even under the best of circumstances.

As Rachel washed her own face and sat on the edge of one of the cots, slumping in exhaustion. Trinity lay face up on hers, pillowing her head on her arms, and tried to clear her mind.

She knew what was coming: the Claiming, where the highest-ranked Opiri were given a chance to bid on the new serfs. Considering the process from an entirely intellectual perspective, Trinity knew the experience was going to be unpleasant. But her only goal was to catch herself a Bloodlord or Bloodmaster who would unwittingly help her achieve her goals. The higher the rank of her owner, the more freedom she was likely to have within the Citadel. And such freedom was what she needed to carry out her mission.

* * *

Trinity woke to the sound of the door to the cell swinging open. She jumped to her feet in a single motion, forgetting that she had to blend in with the untrained serfs. Rachel got up more slowly, shrinking behind Trinity as if she knew her cell mate was capable of much more than her ordinary appearance indicated.

In the doorway stood a Freeblood, white haired and pale skinned, no soldier but some kind of functionary in plain black robes. He gestured to Trinity and Rachel.

“You are to be prepared,” he said in a voice that told Trinity that he had little interest in the proceedings. “Come with me.”

She assumed her role as a subjugated human and walked out of the cell, Rachel on her heels. The other female prisoners were huddled in the corridor under the supervision of several black-robed Opiri. The Nightsiders herded the new serfs to the door of a much larger room, fitted with open showers, a row of curtained booths and three female attendants.

As Trinity and the other convicts entered the room, two of the attendants, wearing shapeless white shifts, smiled encouragingly. The third woman, dressed in a white tunic and trousers, was considerably more severe.

“You have to be examined,” she said without preamble.

Trinity stiffened and then forced herself to relax. She’d been thoroughly briefed, after all. The bloodsuckers had to know what they were bidding on.

The new serfs were instructed to undress, shower and then enter the booths. A few minutes later the examiner swept aside the curtain and entered Trinity’s cell. With practiced efficiency, the women examined Trinity’s body, looking for scars, disease or other defects.

She frowned as she finished. “Something different about you,” she said.

Trinity laughed to hide her unease. “I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

The examiner sighed. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” Trinity said, releasing her breath. “Is that important?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” the other woman said. “Not to most of them.” She made a notation on her pad. “You’ll do.”

The examiner instructed Trinity to dress, and then swept out of the booth. Trinity followed, and the attendant waiting outside gestured her to a seat facing a row of mirrors.

“The more attractive you appear,” she said, smoothing her fingers over Trinity’s damp hair, “the greater the chance that you will be claimed by an Opir of high rank and live a life of relative ease.” She selected a brush from among the items on the nearby shelf. “You have lovely hair. I think we’ll leave it loose.”

When the attendant had finished brushing Trinity’s hair to a glossy, chestnut sheen, she produced a shift similar to her own but much shorter and sheerer. It would do little to disguise the body beneath.

That, too, was no surprise.

The other prisoners were put through the same ordeal, and when the attendants were finished even the older women, dressed in more modest shifts, seemed nearly incandescent. Only their grim and frightened faces spoiled the effect.

“Be brave,” the elder attendant advised them. “Remember, your fate is at least partly in your own hands.”

The prisoners were led into the corridor where they met the equally dazed men, who were dressed in longer tunics and groomed to their greatest possible advantage. With the black-robed escorts around them, the humans were ushered into a large elevator, which swiftly ascended several floors.

When they arrived at their destination, the humans stepped into an entirely different world—not dark like the lower levels, but gleaming with saturated color like rich velvet and painted with golden symbols.

Trinity observed carefully as she was shown to a private cell, this one with a transparent front wall and no furnishings at all—the “display case” for the serfs to be claimed. Through the slightly opaque sidewalls she could make out the boy who had panicked earlier, though his face was only a blur.

Outside the clear wall was a semicircular room, a kind of covered amphitheater with rows of richly upholstered seats. Within minutes the first of the Opiri arrived, male and female, some dressed in embroidered robes that reached nearly to the floor, others in thigh-length tunics and loose pants tucked into handmade leather boots. Jewels cascaded from long white hair, at throats and belts; the men were as regally clothed as the women. Each and every one could pass as a king or queen of his or her own realm.

But one stood out from all the others. A silence fell among the murmuring Nightsiders as a tall lord wearing a long tunic, wide embroidered belt and trousers of deep blue entered the room. He appeared to be in his early thirties, but Trinity knew he could be anywhere from one hundred to ten thousand years old.

This man’s age wasn’t what interested her. He had raven-black hair. No Opiri except vassals, who retained their human coloring for some time, had anything but white hair. And this one’s skin, instead of being bone-white, was a very fair gold. His face was lean and handsome, and his eyes...

As if he sensed her stare, he looked directly at Trinity. His eyes were not the deep purple or maroon of a normal Opir’s; they were a pale tint of violet that would have been extraordinary in any human. Trinity could feel that gaze stripping her shift from her body.

Without taking his eyes from her, the Nightsider gestured to the young human male behind him. The attendant held a tall staff capped with what looked like an ancient Corinthian helmet cast of gold. He handed the staff to his master, and the Nightsider held it firmly planted on the floor beside his chair as if he were staking a claim to territory no one dared dispute.

He was powerful. Trinity didn’t need anything but simple observation to make that very clear. The other Bloodlords and Bloodladies kept their distance from him, and several seemed to regard his presence with surprise.

Trinity knew then that he was the one. She couldn’t have explained it rationally, but instinct told her she was right. Dhampir instinct. And she intended to trust what her half-vampire nature told her.

Even if it told her that she was feeling things she had no right or reason to feel. That suddenly she didn’t look upon surrendering her body and blood to a Nightsider as a terrible sacrifice.

And that feeling, unfamiliar and insane as it was, held far more danger than fear. Especially if her instincts were wrong, and this man was the cruelest, most barbaric bloodsucker in the Citadel of Night.

Chapter 2

Ares had expected nothing like the woman in the center cell.

It wasn’t only that she was beautiful. That was clear at first glance. The display at the top of the cell marked her as a healthy female of twenty-nine years, free of disease or obvious defect. Further description indicated that she was well educated in her own Enclave, fluent in the Opir tongue and several ancient human languages. Her hair, a rich coppery-brown, fell just past her shoulders. Her striking eyes were brown rimmed with green.

Those eyes gazed at him unflinchingly, as if she thought nothing of her near nudity and her pitiful situation. That was unusual in a new serf put up for Claiming. They were usually frightened and confused, rarely defiant.

Not this one.

Ares rested his chin on his fist, suddenly aware of all the sounds and scents and small movements in the room. He had come to the Claiming because Lady Roxana had convinced him that it was well past time for him to reinforce his rank as a Bloodmaster. He preferred keeping to himself and appeared in society only as often as maintaining his status made necessary.

But suddenly this ritual seemed far less pointless than he had expected.

He signaled to Daniel, who stood attentively behind his chair. Most of the other Bloodmasters and Bloodlords in the room had brought several servants, some merely as decorative accessories, some to provide fresh blood should their masters develop a thirst during the Claiming. Ares had far better control, and he believed in self-discipline, like the philosophers he admired.

“Wine,” he said. Daniel stepped away and returned with a cabernet bottled at Ares’s own vineyards to the north of the Citadel. The serf poured it into a crystal glass and offered it to his master.

“What do you think of her, Daniel?” Ares asked.

“Beautiful, my lord. Will you bid?”

The other Bloodmasters and high-ranking Bloodlords around Ares studied each serf with varying degrees of calculation, determining which might be an asset to his or her Household. But most Opiri were eager to claim the most attractive humans, and Ares could see that the woman had captured their attention as much as she had his.

Shifting in his seat, he realized his body was responding to the subtle curves of her figure and the warm scent that escaped through the ventilators in her cell. The blood beating just under the surface of her skin smelled of wine and wildflowers, sparking a need that surprised him.

Daniel knew him far too well. Ares was aroused as he had not been for some time, in spite of the excellent services provided by his Favorite. He took Cassandra’s blood and body because his physical needs had to be met. But it was never like this.

For the first time in years, Ares found himself considering making a claim.

That didn’t mean he would do so. It was one thing to admire the female, and quite another to let lust and hunger lead him around by the teeth.

So he waited, observing silently as the first of his prospective rivals rose to examine the serfs more closely.

“Palemon,” Daniel whispered.

Lord Palemon, Bloodmaster, Ares’s equal in wealth and status. Like Ares, he had walked the earth for centuries before the Awakening. He was a vicious killer and one of the leaders of the Expansionists, the Citadel’s war party, allied with equally malicious Opiri who scampered at his heels like hyenas after a lion.

Dripping with jewels and furs, the Opir lord moved casually toward the female’s cell. He paused to look over the serf in the cell next to hers, a boy just entering manhood as humans reckoned such things. The boy trembled and refused to look up from the floor.

Palemon turned his attention to the woman, who met his gaze through the transparent barrier without a hint of submissiveness. Palemon looked her up and down with careless disdain, as if he had no interest in her at all.

No one, least of all Ares, was deceived by his playacting. Palemon’s mouth twisted in a smile of haughty amusement. “This claims you are a scholar of some kind,” he said to the woman, briefly gesturing at the display above her. “A historian, well versed in the arts and sciences of previous eras.” He glanced back at Ares with deliberate mockery. “How extremely dull.” His smile vanished, and he turned to the woman again. “Remove your shift.”

The female heard him well enough, but she didn’t move. Almost immediately one of the black-robed Freeblood attendants entered the cell from the door behind and repeated Palemon’s command. She pulled on the ties at her neck and waist and the shift fell around her shapely ankles.

Several Bloodlords moved up behind Palemon, careful to keep their distance from him. Ares rose, handed his staff to Daniel and made his way through the gathering. There was no need for aggression; the others retreated to either side of his path, unwilling to Challenge one they were unlikely to defeat.

“She is a beauty, is she not?” Palemon remarked without turning. “Full breasts, hips made to fill an Opir’s hands and a neck begging to be bitten. And such a face, such bold eyes...”

“Why should she interest you?” Ares asked with a semblance of indifference. “All Erebus knows you hold more serfs than any other Opir in the Citadel. This one—” he waved a dismissive hand at the female “—if she is some kind of intellectual, she can hardly be your type.”

Palemon chuckled. “You must know how much I enjoy the challenge of a rebellious serf.”

Ares knew, and so did every other lord in the Citadel. Palemon acquired not only the most attractive humans for his Household, but also bid extremely high sums for those who seemed to require the most breaking. And when they were broken and he was weary of them...

“What makes you think she will be rebellious?” Ares asked.

“Look at her,” Palemon said. “She cannot hide it.”

Palemon, Ares thought, was perfectly correct.

As if she had heard his thoughts, the female looked directly into Ares’s eyes. He beckoned to the attendant.

“Let her dress,” he said.

Palemon eyed him with exaggerated surprise. “Is that pity, Ares?” he asked. “But of course every ranking Opir in Erebus knows how you indulge your serfs.”

“I find I receive better service if my humans do not live in constant fear of me,” Ares said.

“Ah, yes. And now, after years without a new serf, you finally found one worth claiming. It seems you have changed since we last had dealings with each other.”

“You have not. Or have you given up campaigning for war?”

“Still against us, I see.”

“I have seen nothing to change my opinion of your politics, Palemon.”

“Your politics are those of fear, Ares.”

“Fear of humans?” Ares smiled. “I merely wish to avoid any disturbance to my preferred way of life. If I were afraid of my serfs, I would treat them as you do. And I still wonder, Palemon, why you bother with Claimings when you can illegally breed humans to behave exactly as you wish.”

He and Palemon locked stares. The attendant in the cell bent to retrieve the female’s shift, but she snatched it out of his hands and held it loosely in front of her body. Her gaze darted from Palemon to Ares with an intensity Ares couldn’t interpret. It almost appeared as if she was pleading with Ares, and that hardly seemed in keeping with her demeanor.

But Ares didn’t doubt her intelligence. It shone in her bright eyes. She had certainly realized that Palemon would be a harsh, even brutal, master. And that Ares would be a far better one.

She was too young to have attained much wisdom, Ares thought. Still, she might provide him with the different perspective he had been seeking....

Oh, yes, he thought with a silent, cynical laugh. He could find many excuses for claiming this female. His blood was running hotter than it had in years, and he found it easy to envision her gratitude for her rescue from Palemon...imagine her in his bed, offering her neck and her body to him.

No act was more exhilarating to an Opir than taking a serf’s blood in the act of sex. Until, as with Cassandra, it became a matter of routine.

Routine that had perfectly satisfied him until today. And that made him wonder, with some bewilderment, how he could move from curiosity to calculation to surging lust in a matter of minutes—uncontrolled thoughts and emotions that tested the rationality and control he valued above all else.

He could think of no better trail of his discipline than taking this female as his serf.

“Where is the staid philosopher now, Ares?” Palemon asked, leading Ares to wonder just how obvious his reaction had been. “Have you discovered that you, too, have weaknesses of the flesh?” He lifted his head slightly, addressing the attendants who waited out of sight, prepared to record the offers. “Ten thousand bloodmarks and three prime serfs.”

Ares stiffened. It was a very high bid. “Twelve thousand,” he said.

Palemon raised a pale brow. “No serfs?”

“I am not required to offer any of my humans as part of my bid.”

“You are sentimental, Ares. A trait I think you will one day have cause to regret.” He waved his hand. “Fifteen thousand and five prime serfs, including two produced from my best breeding stock.”

Now he was openly defiant, advertising his “forbidden” activities. Ares glanced at the woman again. She was still looking at him, her skin pale but her gaze as direct as ever.

“Twenty thousand,” he said.

A deep hush fell over the room. It was an amount only the most wealthy Bloodmasters could afford to offer for a single serf.

“Twenty-five thousand and twenty prime serfs,” Palemon said, looking at Ares inquiringly. The silence pressed down on Ares as if all the weight of the Citadel were driving him deep into the earth from which the Opiri had arisen more than two decades ago.

He knew that if he exceeded Palemon’s final bid, he would be leaving himself dangerously vulnerable. His income was considerable, but he required it to provide for his serfs, maintain several client Freebloods and put on the occasional ostentatious display of wealth and power.

Any failure to uphold appearances put the elite of Erebus in constant danger of Challenge by a fellow Bloodmaster or ambitious Bloodlord, and if he impoverished himself, he would have to fight one foolish duel after another simply to maintain his status.

“She is not worth so much to me,” he said, turning away before he could observe the woman’s face again.

He retrieved his staff and started for the door, but some unfathomable compulsion made him stop and listen, his back to the rows of seats and the Opir lords and ladies awaiting their chance to claim the remaining humans. Daniel, carrying the wine and glass in their case, moved quietly out of his way.

The attendants were opening the woman’s cell. Ares could hear her sharp intake of breath as she fully understood her fate.

“My pretty little serf,” Palemon said. “I believe I shall enjoy you for some time. If you behave.”

Ares heard a scuffle, a gasp and a thump as a body fell heavily to the ground. He swung around. The serf, her shift torn away, was trying to rise from the floor. Her mouth was smeared with blood.

Primitive rage flared in Ares’s gut as Palemon jerked the serf to her feet and seized her mouth with his, licking up the blood as he thrust his tongue between her lips.

Ares strode back to Palemon and grabbed his rival’s shoulder.

“Stop,” he said, his voice sounding ragged to his own ears.

There were shocked exclamations among the observing Opiri. Palemon pushed the female away and jerked free of Ares’s grip.

“You dare?” he asked softly.

Ares held the other Bloodmaster’s stare, taking dangerous pleasure in Palemon’s astonishment. No Opir ever touched another without risking a violent reaction. It was considered one of the gravest insults one Bloodlord or Bloodmaster could give an Opir who was not demonstrably his inferior.

Ares glanced at the woman, who was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in an obvious gesture of disgust. He knew then that Palemon would have to kill her in order to break her. She showed little emotion, but Ares could almost feel the banked fire inside her, just waiting to be released.

“Are you offering Challenge?” Palemon demanded.

If Ares had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that Palemon would be compelled to call for an accounting. If he failed to do so, he would lose status, inevitably leading to a catastrophic decline in fortune and, ultimately, death. Palemon himself hadn’t lost a Challenge since the founding of the Citadel, but he knew that Ares hadn’t lost one in centuries.

Even a victory would bring unwelcome disruptions to Ares’s life. But if he didn’t respond appropriately, it would be even worse.

Palemon had calculated very well indeed.

“I offer Challenge for the serf,” Ares said, “to disability.”

Palemon looked Ares up and down as if he were a human up for claiming. “You are badly out of practice, Ares,” he said, more confident now that he knew his life was not at risk. “I confess I am at a loss to understand why there have not been many more Challenges called against you. You are a freak of nature, an affront to our species. You should have been eliminated long ago.”

It was not the first time Ares had heard such threats. To the contrary, he had become accustomed to them more than two thousand years ago, after the most ancient and powerful Opiri had gathered to arrange the details of the Long Sleep.

“Do you intend to hurl insults,” he said, “or accept the Challenge?”

Palemon’s pale face turned grim. “I accept. And I will accept nothing less than my personal choice of half your serfs when I win.”

Ares was almost driven to laughter. But Palemon was still a deadly fighter, and it was conceivable that he might fulfill his boast.

“You will have nothing of mine,” Ares said.

Fury flared in Palemon’s eyes, though his expression remained unchanged. “We shall see,” he spat.

In the tense silence that followed, the attendants pulled the female away and gestured for the other Opiri and their serfs to clear the open area at the front of the theater. The unclaimed serfs huddled in their cells, as far from the observation windows as they could get.

The Bloodlords and Bloodmasters watching from the sidelines made no sound, but Ares felt the other Opiri’s poorly concealed eagerness, their bloodlust, their hunger to be entertained by the spectacle of two Bloodmasters locked in combat.

For the female it was no game. When Ares glanced at her one last time, he knew from the rigidity in her naked body and the way her fists clenched that she understood what was at stake.

Daniel came up beside Ares. “My lord,” he said, his voice strained with worry as he offered the staff to his master. “Is there anything you require?”

Blood, he meant. Palemon was already availing himself of one of his serfs, sloppily feeding with no regard to the comfort of the female he abused.

Ares shook his head. He shed his overtunic and shirt, tossed them to Daniel and ordered the human to the side of the room.

Wiping his mouth, Palemon allowed his other attendant to remove his tunic and strutted to his side of the area allotted for the fight. He banged the head of his staff against the floor, sending an echoing crack around the room. Ares did the same with his own staff and passed it to one of the attendants.

Then he abandoned the last vestiges of detachment and let the thrill of battle rise from within, his muscles tightening, his heart speeding. Palemon grinned, his teeth still stained with blood, and flexed his fingers. His nails, kept long as most Opiri preferred, were almost as deadly as claws.

The fight was swift and vicious. The only weapons permitted were strength, swiftness and the tearing bite of long, razor-sharp incisors. Twice Ares pinned Palemon to the ground, his teeth inches from the other Bloodmaster’s throat. But each time Palemon threw him off, and soon both of them were panting and dripping blood from numerous small wounds on their arms and chests. Three times Ares heard the female human gasp, once more giving the lie to her formerly dispassionate demeanor.

The thought of her naked body under his distracted him for one vital moment. Palemon lunged and drove Ares down, sinking his teeth into his enemy’s neck.

“No!”

The female ran toward them, as fearless as a hummingbird protecting its egg from a hungry crow. She struck Palemon on the shoulder. He reared back, lashing out at her, and she danced out of range.

Ares didn’t hesitate. He flung himself on Palemon, banged his head against the floor several times and bit down hard on the other Opir’s jugular. Blood gurgled in Palemon’s throat, and he gave up the struggle.

Rising to his feet, Ares stared down at his enemy and caught his breath. Palemon would recover from the bite; all Opiri healed as quickly in an hour as a human might over many days, or even weeks.

But Palemon was in no condition to move now, and Ares had no desire to gloat over his victory. He looked around the room at the other Opiri. None would meet his gaze.

That was as it should be. Ares had gone far to reinforce his status, and without seriously maiming his opponent as he could have done. Palemon was within his rights to demand a rematch because of the female’s unprecedented interference, but he would look the fool for seeming to suggest a serf had made a difference in the outcome.

No, Ares thought. When next Palemon Challenged him, it would be to the death.

As Daniel cautiously approached to return Ares’s clothes, the female stood with her arms wrapped around her chest and stared at Palemon with obvious shock at what she had done. It seemed incredible that she had put herself between two Opiri who could have torn her apart in an instant. But had her actions been born of ignorance, desperation...or almost unimaginable courage?

Now that she was unquestionably his, such questions would be answered in due time.

“Find another shift for the female,” Ares said to the nearest attendant. The Freeblood hurried off to fulfill his task and returned quickly with a slightly longer shift, less transparent than the first.

“Dress yourself,” Ares ordered the woman. Moving slowly, she held his gaze as she slipped the shift over her head and tied the belt around her waist. It was the most unattractive garment in all Erebus, one assigned to City serfs, yet she was still beautiful, her hair falling about her shoulders and the curves of her body very much in evidence.

“Would you have her bound, my lord?” the attendant asked.

“Should I bind you?” Ares asked the woman harshly in the Opir language, his blood still thick with the dregs of violence. “Or will you come with me of your own will?”

Chapter 3

Ares heard the shifting and barely audible murmurs of the other Opiri. They knew he would not address a serf in such a way before his peers if he were not utterly secure in his power.

The female seemed to know it, too. “I’ll come,” she said, lifting her chin.

Turning to the attendant, Ares pressed his ring seal onto the tablet the Freeblood presented. He became aware once more of the silent audience, waiting for him to complete his claim with the serf’s blood.

“Bend back your head,” he told her.

She did as he commanded, baring her throat. Hunger flooded Ares’s mouth and desire hardened his body. He took her by the shoulders, and she didn’t resist.

Most Opiri would be satisfied with physical submission. But that wasn’t enough for Ares. He sensed that she had accepted his power over her because she had no choice—and, perhaps, because she was grateful.

But he still smelled her defiance, saw it in her posture, in the clenching of her fists and the set of her jaw. He would never attempt to break her as Palemon would have done, so it was quite likely that she would always keep some part of herself away from him.

That would be a mixed blessing for what he had in mind. He wanted her thoughts free enough so that she would be of use to him in his study of human behavior and emotion, but at the same time he recognized that part of him craved another kind of challenge.

It would be a kind of game he played with himself, keeping that uncommon lust for her in check and rising above his species’ predatory nature. He would call upon the discipline, persistence and resolve that had kept him alive over the centuries and allowed him to fend off every Opir who would take what was his.

“Daniel,” he said, releasing the female’s shoulders, “take the staff and return to the Household. Have them prepare for a new arrival.”

After the servant left to do his bidding, Ares nodded to the woman and walked out of the Claiming room. She fell in step behind him, and he could smell her arousing human scent. Once they were out of the Claiming room and in the lobby, she abruptly stopped.

“Why didn’t you bite me?” she asked.

Ares continued on without looking back. “I chose not to.”

“What about the others?” she asked, changing subjects so quickly that it took him a moment to realize she was referring to the remaining serfs.

“They will all be claimed,” he said, slowing his pace. “You are said to be a female of some intelligence. Were you unaware of what would happen to every human in your party when you arrived in Erebus?”

“I was aware,” she said. “But Palemon...”

Ares stopped and turned to face her. “Palemon will be in no condition to claim any serf today.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. Ares knew she had been deeply worried about her fellow Homo sapiens, afraid they would fall to a cruel master as she almost had.

“Why do you care?” he asked. “Did you know these humans before you were sent here?”

“No,” she said. “But maybe that’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Perhaps I wish to learn.”

She blinked, clearly surprised. “You wish to—”

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Trinity,” she said in a husky voice. “I know you can change my name if you want to. But I’m hoping you’ll let me keep one thing that still belongs to me.”

“You very nearly lost your life,” he said, absurdly angry when he had no cause to be. “You interfered in a Challenge.”

“I thought you were about to lose.”

“I would not have lost.”

“It looked bad to me,” she said. “I knew what Palemon would do to me if you didn’t win.”

That was exactly the motive Ares had expected. “You made a grave error,” he said, holding fast to his temper. He turned away again. “Come.”

Her hand darted out to touch his arm. An instant later he had her by the throat. She dropped her hand from his sleeve and coughed, but her gaze never left his.

“There is something you must understand,” he said, releasing her almost instantly. “You saw what happened during the Claiming when I touched Palemon. No serf touches an Opir unless she is commanded to do so.”

“Commanded?” she whispered, rubbing her throat. “Is that what you plan to do to me?”

“No,” he said. “That is not how I handle my humans.”

“You mean by the throat, or are there other ways?”

It was hardly possible for an Opir to feel shame over the treatment of a serf, but Ares knew he had behaved no better than Palemon by giving way to his instinctive rage at her unexpected touch. He had hurt her, though he should never have expected her to fully grasp the taboo against unwanted physical contact when humans were so drawn, even compelled, to initiate it.

And her touch had done more than enrage him. It had aroused him to such an extent that he would gladly have dragged her into one of the private rooms off the lobby and taken her then and there.

He would not fall prey to such primitive urges again.

“Are you in pain?” he asked more gently. “Do you require medical assistance?”

She touched her throat again. “I know you could have broken my neck. But you didn’t. I don’t think you plan to kill me anytime soon.”

Ares couldn’t help but admire the courage that allowed her to behave with such composure when she had twice come so close to death. He pulled her hand away from her throat and bent close to examine her skin. The marks were nearly gone, but her pulse still beat very fast in the hollow of her neck.

She did not need healing. But still he felt...

Regret. That was the proper word. Regret for touching her in anger, for marking that delicate flesh. And there was a small, hard knot in his stomach, like the grain of sand that becomes a pearl within an oyster’s mantle.

His gaze fell to her parted lips and the small cut where Palemon had struck her. The soft, pink skin still held a trace of blood.

He glanced down at her chest, rising and falling with each harsh breath, her erect nipples pushing against the shift’s thin material. He stiffened, imagining those breasts in his hands, those sweet, rosy nipples in his mouth.

Then he remembered the vow he had made to himself. He would not take her in any way, body or blood; she must come to him of her own will. She was an intellectual puzzle to be solved, her bewitching essence a challenge to his self-control. A challenge he intended to win.

“You must understand,” he said, “for your own safety. You are my property. Step outside of the boundaries set for a serf when we are in public, and you must suffer for it.”

“Because of your pride?” she asked.

“Pride, as humans understand it, is not a factor.”

“Of course. It’s because you have to maintain the respect of those who would be happy to take you down.”

“You understand our culture, then.”

“I’ve studied it,” she said. “But I still don’t understand it.”

“Perhaps you will come to, in time.”

She gazed into his eyes. “I’m a little confused,” she said. “Why did you claim me, if you’re not going to use me the way most of your kind use humans?”

“Your spirit intrigued me. You speak our language well, and I have some interest in the human perspective. Perhaps you can provide me with a new one.”

She looked at him as if he were mad. “Will Palemon Challenge you again?” she asked.

“Perhaps. But that will not be your concern.”

She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, though nearly all of Erebus was kept warmer than most of her kind preferred. “I know I have no rights,” she said. “I know you can kill me on a whim and no one will care. But I am...glad you won me. And not just because you saved me from him.”

Ares wondered if she was confessing to some kind of attraction. It seemed very sudden, but then so was his lust for her. Perhaps, in a way, her admission allowed her to keep some dignity, some small control over her situation, even though she would never again set foot outside the Citadel.

Yet her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, her face flushed as if with desire. The unmistakable scent of sexual arousal rose from her body.

Ares grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her face and kissed her. His teeth grazed her lower lip, giving him the smallest taste of her sweet blood. She struggled for a moment and then went limp in his hold, her eyes losing all expression.

Disgusted again at his own behavior, Ares altered the composition of his saliva and took her lower lip into his mouth. The bleeding stopped instantly. Soon there would be no trace at all of what he had done.

Not on her body. But frightening her, making her believe he would use her whenever he liked, was not at all what he wished.

“I...did not intend—” he began. He hesitated, knowing he could never apologize to a serf, and yet wanting her to know he regretted his actions. “It was not my intention to harm you.”

Her eyes focused on him again. “I know,” she said softly.

He nodded and continued along the corridor. She followed, her footsteps a little slower than before.

Ares knew curses so ancient that no human remembered them. He must... He would conquer this savagery within himself. As he would conquer Trinity—without ever again touching her against her will.

* * *

It had not gone quite as Trinity had expected.

Ares strode ahead of her without once looking back to make sure she followed. He wouldn’t have had to worry even if she hadn’t promised to go with him willingly. Getting to this point had been difficult enough, and she wasn’t going to ruin what she’d managed to achieve against all the odds.

She watched the play of Ares’s muscles under his clothes, the grace of his long stride, and marveled at her luck for the dozenth time. She never would have expected that her new master would ask her if she should be bound, as if she were free to make the decision. That he wouldn’t bite her after he’d won his Challenge, when she knew Opir custom demanded that he complete his claim. He’d only tasted her blood when he’d—

She probed at her lower lip and then at her throat. It felt as if Ares had never touched her. She couldn’t hate him for half choking her; it was as much her fault as his.

More her fault. She’d done it deliberately, as a kind of test, to see just how far she could push him. She’d discovered his limits the hard way.

Ares had simply acted out of sheer Nightsider instinct. Vicious, animal instinct that ran in all Opir blood like a poison. A poison she’d known must be hidden under the skin of the black-haired Nightsider, even when she had chosen him as the master she must win.

Walking obediently behind him, Trinity could still remember how she had felt when she had first met his gaze. She remembered her inexplicable emotions, the way her whole body had lit up inside like a Fourth of July sparkler even while he had been assessing her as he would a broodmare, his surprisingly light eyes taking her in with unnerving interest. Unnerving because there was no naked lust in his that gaze, not at first. Only remote curiosity.

Not like Palemon’s greedy stare, his undisguised hunger when he had forced her to strip and had seen only a female to service him, a human to break with casual cruelty.

Until that moment, she hadn’t been ashamed...not of her nudity or her vulnerability. She had always thought she was ready for anything that might occur during the Claiming.

But she hadn’t been prepared for Palemon. When he had begun to show interest in her, she had fully realized how much she could lose if the black-haired Nightsider didn’t choose to claim her. She could still feel the crack of Palemon’s hand against her face, sending her to the floor with the taste of blood in her mouth.

Trinity stumbled, though the floor of the corridor was smooth as glass. She knew now that she should have worked more diligently to appear submissive, even frightened—the kind of serf that would bore a creature like Palemon. But when she’d seen Ares’s interest, she knew that ploy wouldn’t work with him. She needed to arouse more than his lust; she had to intrigue him, engage his intellect and admiration as well as his desire.

But she’d also have to “negotiate” with that dark, animal side. The side that had reacted so violently to the touch of a human hand.

Yet his hand had caressed her so gently afterward, and she’d felt his regret. “Sentimental,” Palemon had said. Ares had come as close to an apology as any Opir could.

Trinity smiled grimly as she put one foot in front of the other, careful of her strangely uncertain balance. Most humans believed that Nightsiders couldn’t experience emotions that weren’t directly related to survival or protecting their status in the Citadel. Perhaps it would be easier to manipulate Ares than she’d had any right to hope.

But she knew she’d be lying to herself if she denied her own loss of emotional discipline. And it wasn’t getting any better with time. She was reminded of her unwilling attraction every instant she was in Ares’s presence. He smelled not of blood but of wholly masculine scents she couldn’t quite name. His uncommon black hair, drawn into a simple queue at the back of his head, framed his starkly handsome face like raven’s wings, making her ache with the need to bury her fingers in it. His nearly human eyes had an almost metallic sheen that reminded her of a dagger’s blade, yet she could imagine she saw warmth in them.

And his body... Under his loose clothes his physique had been a mystery, but once he had removed his shirt she had seen a chest, shoulders and arms hard with muscle and honed for battle. She remembered how powerful he had been, how graceful and deadly his every move as he’d fought for her.

She could so easily imagine herself in those strong arms, her nails raking his back as he entered her, as she cried out in pleasure and...

A sudden wave of nausea made her stumble again, and she fell against the nearest wall. Ares stopped immediately and turned to grasp her arm.

“You are ill,” he said.

That was concern she heard in his voice, though his speech was harsh and clipped. He caught her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his.

“Are you still in pain?” he demanded. He brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb, and she shivered violently.

Ares scooped her up into his arms. Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Trinity only became aware of her surroundings again when she heard the hum of the elevator hurtling upward into the highest levels of the Citadel. Ares had set her on her feet, but his arm around her shoulders prevented her from falling.

She breathed in his scent, her cheek resting against the velvety fabric of his tunic, aware of the slow thump of his heartbeat. The elevator came to a smooth stop, and Ares held her tighter against him.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

Bracing herself against the wall, she pulled away from him. “Yes,” she said. “I...don’t know what happened.”

He frowned. “I will have my human physician examine you.”

“Please,” she said. “I’m all right. I...I’m grateful for all you’ve done.”

“You will be given every opportunity to display your gratitude.”

And she was ready to show it, to play the part, to become whatever Ares wanted her to be.

Play the part, she thought. Nothing more....

The elevator door opened onto a grand lobby faced with black marble and punctuated with alabaster busts of presumably important Opiri, each one a stylized depiction carved of planes and angles that she guessed were representatives of Nightsider “art.” Ares urged her down the hall to another set of elevators—three this time, each one marked with an Opir name and an emblem that represented the Household of the Bloodlord to whom it belonged.

Ares helped her into the one identified with the design of a Corinthian helmet. Its interior was padded and gilded like something out of a grand nineteenth-century hotel. It began to rise without any move on Ares’s part and opened to yet another lobby. But this one was not decorated with busts, and it wasn’t empty.

Three humans, two men and a woman—all dressed in deep blue tunics and pants belted with tooled leather—were waiting as if they had expected their master’s arrival. The younger man was missing one eye, and the elder was scarred across the face but standing foursquare against the pull of his years. The woman was middle-aged with a round, pleasant face.

The three serfs bowed, and the scarred man offered a large silver goblet of liquid as fresh and red as the petals of a newly opened rose. Ares accepted the cup and sipped, barely wetting his lips, and then returned it.

Neither of the men paid any visible attention to Trinity, but she could feel them observing her out of the corners of their eyes. She took the opportunity to study them, wondering if any of the three might be connected to the Underground. There was no guarantee that a member of the Underground lived within this Household, but it was her task to find out as quickly as possible.

After introducing Trinity, Ares glanced at the older woman. “Elizabeth, she is unwell,” he said. “Take her to Levi and see that she is cared for. Send Abbie to find suitable clothes.”

“Yes, my lord,” Elizabeth said, bowing again.

“Diego,” he said to the man with the cup, “I will have your report in two hours.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Jonathan,” Ares said, turning to the scarred man. “Ask Cassandra to attend me in my rooms.”

The serf responded with a bow, and all three retreated, Elizabeth supporting Trinity toward a door at the end of the hall. Trinity balked, looking over her shoulder at Ares. He looked back at her, his light eyes unreadable, and disappeared through the double doors.

“Do you need more assistance?” the middle-aged woman asked in a gentle voice.

“I’m all right,” Trinity said, touching her pounding temples. “I’m just a little dizzy, and I have a headache. If you have any pain relievers...”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said with a slight smile. “The Opiri don’t need them, of course, but we do.”

“Who were those men?” Trinity asked as they reached the door.

“Two of the senior serfs. Diego—the young gentleman—is the majordomo of the Household, and Jonathan is the Master of Serfs.”

“Wouldn’t those jobs usually go to vassals?”

“Ares hasn’t any vassals,” she said.

Surprised at Ares’s flouting of Opir custom, Trinity raised a brow. “And what are your duties in the Household?” she asked.

“I guess you could say I look after the women’s matters. You’ve been through a lot today, and there’ll be plenty of time to learn after—”

She didn’t finish, but Trinity knew what she meant. After Ares had done what he’d failed to do at the Claiming. After she’d shared his bed, and he had marked her as his.

No emotion, she reminded herself. No fear, no desire, no admiration. Nothing existed but the mission.

And that mission had well and truly begun.

Chapter 4

They descended a staircase to what Elizabeth referred to as the serf’s quarters and entered a brightly lit corridor. “This is where we live and where Household operations are located,” the older woman said. “Everything above belongs to the Opiri—Ares and his few Freeblood clients.”

Casing the layout of the Household was one of the first things Trinity needed to do. “Is there another way up the tower besides the elevator?” she asked.

Elizabeth threw her an amused glance. “There’s a staircase off the other side of the lobby, but we prefer to avoid climbing all those steps.”

“How big is this place?”

“Ares shares this tower with two other Bloodmasters,” Elizabeth said, tightening her grip on Trinity’s arm. “Are you able to walk?”

“I’m all right,” Trinity said, though she hadn’t been faking either her dizziness or sudden exhaustion. Where had it come from? She knew it wasn’t just because she’d had a rough couple of days—she had far more stamina than any normal human.

Could it have been because Ares had drawn a tiny bit of her blood when he’d kissed her? Could he have done something to her in spite of her injections?

“You’ll soon learn your way around,” Elizabeth said, oblivious to her thoughts. “Right now I’m taking you to Levi, our physician.”

“The serfs’ doctor?”

“Naturally. There are no Opiri physicians.”

Of course not, Trinity thought. Certain diseases were unique to Nightsiders, however rare, but their injuries from Challenge or accident either healed on their own or killed the Nightsider, and Opiri had no sympathy for the weak among their kind.

“I heard that Ares hasn’t claimed a serf in quite a long time,” she said.

“That’s right. I heard he actually Challenged for you.” Elizabeth hesitated. “In all the time I’ve been here, he’s never done that. He despises Challenges.”

“He seemed to like my ‘spirit,’” Trinity said with a brief laugh.

“You are quite beautiful,” Elizabeth said. “But physical beauty has never seemed to matter to him when it comes to serfs. In fact, he has a tendency to pick up the ones no one else wants, as you might have noticed with Diego and Jonathan.” She came to a stop in front of one of the many doors along the corridor, her expression relaxing. “Here we are.”

The door slid open, and they entered a large, pristine infirmary. A man in his forties with neatly cropped salt-and-pepper hair sat behind a desk situated on one side of the room, his gaze fixed on a monitor. He rose quickly, gazing at Trinity with distracted surprise.

Once Elizabeth explained the situation, Levi put her through the paces of a typical physical exam and declared her suffering from exhaustion.

“She needs to rest,” he said to Elizabeth. “What can Ares have been thinking?”

“He brought her back himself,” the older woman said. “What does that suggest to you?”

Levi gave Trinity a second, far less professionally detached look. “Is he tired of Cassandra?” he asked.

“I’m sitting right here,” Trinity said. “We may be slaves, but I refuse to become an object to be discussed like an expensive piece of jewelry.”

Levi and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances. “I can’t believe that pure lust would be enough,” Levi said. “There must be something special for her to be treated like—”

“I was under the impression that he treats all his serfs well,” Trinity interrupted.

“He’s always been a good master,” Elizabeth said. “We need to get her into bed, Levi. Abbie will be coming to measure her when she’s rested.”

“And then Ares is going to send for me, isn’t he?” Trinity asked.

“When you were brought here, you must have known what to expect,” Levi said, not quite meeting her gaze.

“I didn’t deserve to be sent here at all,” Trinity said, injecting resentment into her voice. “Why were you deported?”

“We don’t speak of such things in this Household,” Elizabeth said with a pained smile. “Unless you want to offend your fellow humans, and no one wants to be alone among enemies.”

Interesting, Trinity thought, that Elizabeth would come right out and say the word “enemy.” It was something a member of the Underground might say, especially if she’d forgotten she couldn’t trust everyone around her.

“Come along now,” Levi said, taking one of Trinity’s arms as Elizabeth took the other. They half carried her to a bed and helped her climb onto it. “I think we’ll give you an IV drip. You look more than a little dehydrated.”

Trinity didn’t object, and soon she was resting comfortably while Levi worked away at his desk. She badly wanted to jump out of bed and take a good look at the serfs’ area of the Household, check out every possible exit and search for likely hiding places.

But all too soon a very tall young woman, who introduced herself as Abbie, arrived with Elizabeth and walked around the bed, cocking her head as she studied Trinity from all angles.

“Very promising,” she said. “When does Ares want her?”

“He only said to let him know when she was feeling better,” Elizabeth said, talking over Trinity the way she had before.

“I’ll put together something simple for now,” Abbie said. “I know just the thing...”

“Do you always talk about new serfs as if they were animals?” Trinity said, looking at each of the three in turn. “Or is this your way of making your lives more bearable?”

Abbie looked at her blankly, and then blinked as if she had snapped out of a dream. “I’m sorry,” she said, her long face crumpling in remorse.

“Sometimes we forget the things we most need to remember,” Elizabeth said. “You’re handling this better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Trinity wondered if she could pry a little more information out of Elizabeth. “Earlier, you mentioned that Ares seemed to be acting out of character....”

“I made too much of it,” Elizabeth said, flushing a little. “I meant it when I said he was a good master. He very seldom interferes with the running of the Household.”

“He never gets angry, almost never even impatient,” Abbie said, jotting a note in the pad she kept in her wide front pocket. “He’s never sold any of us or given us away as gifts to other Opiri.”

“Everything runs like clockwork in this Household,” Levi said, checking Trinity’s pulse against the watch he wore on his wrist. “Ares likes peace and quiet. We’re rather used to it.”

A Household that ran like clockwork, where everyone knew their places and no one caused trouble. The perfect cover for members of the Underground.

“Who is Cassandra?” she asked.

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, masking her obvious relief with a look of chagrin. “Didn’t I tell you? Cassandra is the master’s Favorite. Whatever blood he took from you at the Claiming wouldn’t have been enough to satisfy his needs.”

“But he didn’t bite me,” Trinity said.

“He didn’t?” Levi asked, his unflappable demeanor giving way to genuine surprise.

Trinity touched her lip again. She didn’t know if she was telling the full truth or not, but she wanted to gauge the others’ reactions.

“When he does,” Abbie said, “he won’t hurt you. He’s very careful about that.”

“Have you ever been with him?” Trinity asked.

Abbie almost jumped. She recovered quickly and wrote out another note. “He has Cassandra for that,” she said, “though technically he can take blood, or anything else, from any of us whenever he wants to.”

“But he doesn’t,” Elizabeth said. “He doesn’t even keep a harem for variety.”

That was unusual, Trinity knew. Almost unheard of. A Bloodmaster relying on only one human for his blood? He must drink very sparingly, yet he showed no signs of weakness.

“Don’t worry about anything for now,” Elizabeth said. “You have the potential to rise high in this Household. Make the most of it.”

She and Abbie left the room, and Trinity closed her eyes for a while. When she opened them again, Levi was standing at the foot of her bed.

“You can shower now,” the physician said, indicating a door inside the room. “And you must be hungry. I’ll have someone bring you a tray.”

“Thank you,” Trinity said.

“I’m stepping out for a few minutes,” Levi said. “If you need anything, use the buzzer just inside the front door and someone will come.”

In a moment he was gone. Trinity sat on the edge of the bed, repeating Elizabeth’s final words in her mind.

Make the most of it. Could that possibly be some kind of code, letting her know that Elizabeth suspected her true purpose here?

That, too, she would learn in time. She was just heading for the shower when a stunning young woman walked into the room.

She wore a deep red gown of a fabric that caught the corridor lights and accented every lush curve of her figure, the neckline plunging in folds that opened just above her nipples. Her face was striking, her blond hair falling in glorious waves around her shoulders.

“So you’re the new one,” the woman said, smiling as she draped herself against the doorframe. “Elizabeth tells me you’ve been a little sick. The Claiming can be difficult for novice serfs.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Trinity said, keeping her expression neutral. “I’m fine now.” She offered her hand. “You must be Cassandra.”

The other woman ignored Trinity’s friendly overture. “How did you know?” she asked.

“You’re too beautiful to be anyone else.”

Cassandra’s smile flickered as if she suspected Trinity of a backhanded compliment. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, too,” she said. “You’re as lovely as they said. Or you will be, once you’re cleaned up.”

“Thank you. I didn’t expect to be so...warmly welcomed.”

“We’re all family here,” Cassandra said, her body relaxing. “But your arrival has created quite a stir, what with Ares Challenging for you and all.”

“So I gathered,” Trinity muttered.

“Well, I’m sure everyone will get used to the change. You are fortunate to have been claimed by Ares, but here’s a friendly word of advice—don’t expect too much.”

“Why should I expect anything?” Trinity asked.

Cassandra tossed back her hair. “You tell me.”

“You were just with him, weren’t you?” Trinity asked, feigning naive curiosity. “Was he different than usual?”

Ares’s Favorite almost permitted a scowl to twist her full red lips, but she covered her anger quickly. “He was...very energetic, shall we say,” she said. “Hot-blooded, to use a human expression.”

“I always heard Nightsiders were insatiable,” Trinity said, swallowing nervously for effect.

“Ares is a good lover. Very considerate for an Opir. Enjoy it while you can.”

Elizabeth had said nearly the same thing earlier, but somehow Trinity didn’t think that Cassandra meant it in quite the same way.

“You mean he’ll get tired of me?” she asked.

“It depends on what he wants you for. I’ve been his Favorite for three years.” She smiled unpleasantly. “I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

“Then why are you worried about me?”

“Worried?” Cassandra stroked her long, graceful neck, running her perfectly manicured nails over a set of small red marks that had almost healed. “Did I give you that impression?”

Trinity knew she’d made a mistake in resorting to sarcasm. “No,” she said. “Not at all.”

“I’m sure things will settle down again very soon,” Cassandra said, favoring Trinity with another false smile, “and once Ares is done with you, you’ll be given some task in the Household that will make you content, like everyone else here.”

“I hope so,” Trinity said. She gazed up at Cassandra like a lost puppy. “Maybe you could show me around when you’re not busy.”

Cassandra yawned behind her hand. “I’d love to help you, Trinity, but I’m on call twenty-four hours a day. I doubt I’ll have the energy.”

In spite of herself, Trinity felt a little sorry for the woman. She suspected that Cassandra’s sense of self came entirely from being the Favorite of Ares’s Household.

But pity couldn’t distract Trinity from her mission, and she quickly brushed it aside. “I understand,” she mumbled, looking down at the floor.

Cassandra placed a slender hand on Trinity’s shoulder. “Just give yourself a little time to adjust, and don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Thank you,” Trinity said, laying her hand on top of Cassandra’s. “I think I won’t find it quite as difficult now.”

“I’m glad my little visit was of some help to you.” Cassandra glided to the door and turned around again. “Just remember, Trinity...it’s very important to remember your place. It won’t be so easy if you make enemies of your fellow servants.”

“Yes,” Trinity said. “Elizabeth said—”

“Cassandra.”

The voice was unmistakably Ares’s, and he was standing somewhere very close to the door. Cassandra started, and her confident attitude changed to one of uncertainty and fear.

Not of Ares, Trinity was sure. It was the fear that came from being caught doing something forbidden.

“Why are you here?” Ares asked, still out of Trinity’s sight.

“I only came to welcome the new serf, my lord,” Cassandra said, moving from the doorway.

“She was to rest,” Ares said, a trace of anger in his voice. “Go to your room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Trinity heard Cassandra’s soft footsteps retreating, and then Ares was filling the doorframe, a dark silhouette with eyes that seemed to pin Trinity to the spot. He wore a long, deep blue tunic, and his hair was loose around his broad shoulders.

He entered the room and strode to her side. “Are you well now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, averting her gaze. “Much better. Thank you, my lord.”

He took her chin in his hand and drew her head up. “What is this new humility? It doesn’t suit you.”

Trinity shivered at the touch of his hand, the nearness of his body, the clear evidence that he was very much aroused. He’d just been “served” by Cassandra, but it was obvious that he was far from satisfied.

His desire still seemed at odds with his normally cool, controlled demeanor, but she’d seen just how much he could change from one moment to the next.

“Should I resist you, my lord?” she said, meeting his gaze. “Is that what you want me to do?”

He released her chin and stepped back. “When you have bathed and receive proper attire,” he said, “you will join me in my apartments. I shall see if you are worth the trouble it took to win you.”

Chapter 5

Trinity struggled to contain her sudden rush of desire, the moist heat between her thighs, the pounding of her heart.

She kept her face averted, praying Ares couldn’t detect her inner thoughts. It seemed impossible that she should welcome his touch, especially because such feelings on her part went well beyond the scope of her mission.

Still, she couldn’t keep pretending these feelings didn’t exist. Fighting them would only expend energy she couldn’t afford to waste.

And she needed him to trust her, to talk with her, to allow her freedom in the Household. When she “surrendered” to Ares, her attraction would seem all the more genuine. She’d be able to concentrate on the work that was of the utmost importance.

She met his gaze. “I will be honored to serve you in any way, my lord,” she said.

“Will you? Even after what I did to you?”

He meant the kiss, she thought. As if he still felt badly about it. Even guilty.

Surely that wasn’t possible.

“What must I do to prove myself?” she asked.

With a sharp, almost clumsy motion, he turned away. “Have you eaten?”

“I was told a tray would be brought here for me.”

“And clothing?”

“The same.”

“Then I will leave you.” He walked out the door with a single, smoldering glance over his shoulder.

Trinity’s mouth was dry, and her breath seemed to burn in her lungs. She quickly found the shower and removed her shift, intensely aware of her body, even more so than when Palemon had forced her to strip. Her breasts were tender, her nipples hard, her legs trembling.

She turned on the water, adjusting it to the coldest setting. But as soon as she began to lather her body with the sweet-smelling liquid in the dispenser, her imagination began to kick into overdrive. She felt hands caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples, working the soap into her stomach and lower regions. She felt the hand slip between her thighs, sliding into her natural wetness.

Ares’s hands. And his lips grazing her neck. His teeth...

Trinity half stumbled out of the shower and snatched at the towel hanging from a rack set into the wall. She rubbed herself furiously, removing every last drop of moisture from her body. Then she dragged on her shift and sat on the bed, closing her eyes and focusing on regaining her equilibrium.

When a young serf knocked on her door to deliver a tray of fresh, fragrant food, Trinity ate it as if she had an appetite. Soon afterward, Abbie arrived with a gown: a simple, floor-length, amethyst silk slit to the thigh and cut low in the neckline, though not as low as Cassandra’s. Trinity allowed the tailor to help her put it on. There were no undergarments to mar the clean lines of the gown or disturb the liquid caress of the silk gliding over her skin.

Elizabeth arrived just as Abbie was leaving. The two women exchanged a few brief words in the hall, and then the older woman came into the room. She looked Trinity over with obvious appreciation.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Abbie has outdone herself this time....” She hesitated. “Are you all right, Trinity?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a look of carefully constructed tranquility. “I’m ready.”

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m afraid we really haven’t been of much help to you,” she said slowly. “But I want to make sure you aren’t afraid of Ares. When I was quite a bit younger, I belonged to another Bloodmaster. It was not a pleasant experience. When I had grown too old to interest him, he offered me for open Claiming.” She released a breath. “It’s usually reserved for cast-off serfs, and most are only valuable for increasing the number of an Opir’s staff, and his or her prestige.”

“What happened to you?” Trinity asked.

“After the Bloodlords and Bloodmasters have chosen all those serfs that interest them and paid their former owners the pittance they are worth, the rest are available to Houseless Freebloods. You understand what Freebloods are?”

“Former vassals converted into full Opiri.”

“Made free to build their own destinies,” Elizabeth said. “Some become clients either to their own Sires or other Bloodlords. But they can also choose to fight their way up the ladder and form their own Households. For them, acquiring serfs is not a simple matter of bidding. They fight for their property, and many die.” She sighed. “Two very nasty Freebloods were fighting over me when Ares stepped in and claimed me. I have been here ever since.”

“So he saved you. What would have happened if he hadn’t?”

“Freebloods live on the edge. A serf’s life under such circumstances is fragile. And often short. Now I have a comfortable home where I can be useful. And I’m not alone.”

“Thank you for telling me this,” Trinity said.

“No need to thank me.” Elizabeth rose again, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “I’m just saying that even if Ares doesn’t keep you with him, you’ll have a comfortable life. Cassandra deliberately sets herself apart from the rest of us. It won’t be that way with you.”

“No,” Trinity said. “It won’t.” Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed the silk over her thighs. “When do I—”

As if in answer to her unfinished question, the serf she’d seen with Ares in the Claiming room entered the infirmary. Daniel, she remembered Ares calling him—a young man of medium height, with sandy hair and light blue eyes. “Good afternoon,” he said, the words as flat as his expression.

“Is it afternoon?” Trinity asked, glancing up at the ceiling as if she might see the sky.

“We keep clocks in the Household to remind us and help us keep to our routines.” He looked her over appraisingly. “Are you ready? Ares said he’d wait if you needed more time.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. “But I’m not afraid.”

Daniel’s eyes warmed slightly. “Ares chose you for more than just your looks.” He gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”

Keenly aware of her naked skin under the gown, Trinity followed Daniel through another series of corridors to a curved staircase ascending to the main floor. At the top of the stairs, a plain door opened onto a hall that could have been the throne room of a palace, elegant and imposing.

Daniel escorted Trinity between stately Grecian columns to a set of double doors. Behind the doors was an antechamber, one wall decorated in the style of ancient Athenian vase paintings. Yet another door, carved with images of ancient warriors in battle, stood at the end.

Daniel touched a panel to the right of the door. Beyond was a room unlike anything Trinity had ever seen. It stretched out in a vast semicircle, a huge, shuttered window taking up half of the curved wall at the back. The floor was strewn with embroidered cushions, and couches from many historical periods were scattered in groups around the room.

On the other half of the back wall hung nearly a dozen paintings, some of which Trinity recognized as well-known masterpieces lost in the War. Sculptures, most in the Greek and Roman style, stood on stands or in wall niches, interspersed with several shelves of old-fashioned books.

“Philosopher,” Palemon had called Ares. But what kind of philosopher? How much of this was for show to his fellow Nightsiders? “The Great Room,” Daniel said, unaware of her musings. He pointed to an arched entryway to the left. “That door leads to the harem chambers, unoccupied at the moment. That door—” he swept his hand toward the opposite side of the room “—leads to Ares’s personal suite. Cassandra lives in rooms adjoining his, but with a separate entrance from the antechamber.”

“I was told she’s been his Favorite for three years,” Trinity said, feeling breathless.

“Yes,” Daniel said, his face turning cold. “Perhaps she won’t retain her place for long.”

He doesn’t like Cassandra, Trinity thought. “Does Ares intend to make me his Favorite?” she asked.

“That’s not for me to know. He has seemed content with Cassandra, taking her blood about once a day.” He met her gaze. “If you feel any gratitude toward him, encourage him to take yours.”

“I am grateful,” she said. “Did he save you, too?”

Daniel look startled, as if she’d read his mind. “That’s unimportant,” he said, gesturing toward the door to Ares’s suite. “Go right in. The master’s waiting.”

He retreated through the doors to the antechamber, leaving Trinity alone. She hesitated, staring at the door to the suite. This was not the time to lose her nerve. She was where she needed to be.

Lifting her head, she walked to the door. She caught Ares’s scent, clean and masculine, but the room she entered was empty.

Once again she paused to get her bearings. His suite was just as comfortably appointed as the Great Room, if a little less elaborate in decoration. It had three interior doors, and one was open. More bookshelves lined the walls. A large desk stood to one side of the room, with a computer monitor facing a padded leather chair. A seventeenth-century map of the world hung behind it, and the dark wood and furnishings made it feel like a Victorian gentleman’s office, his private domain in a world run by servants and women.

All so very “human,” Trinity thought.

She looked to see if anyone was watching and went to the desk. The computer wasn’t on, and Trinity assumed it was seldom used. The internet was a thing of the past, at least in a worldwide sense, but both humans and Opiri still kept electronic data and records. If she could get into those records in Erebus...

“Trinity.”

A chill slid down Trinity’s spine. Ares hadn’t seen her yet, but he didn’t have to. Just as she hadn’t needed to see him to know he was there. Like her, he had other heightened senses at his command.

“I’m here,” she said.

“Come in.”

She followed the sound of his voice through the door farthest to the right. The first thing she saw was the bed, easily large enough to accommodate four people, heaped with pillows and covered with a spread embroidered with a nearly perfect reproduction of the famous Bayeux tapestry. A huge Persian carpet stretched across the floor.

The rest of the room was surprisingly spartan. Ares sat in a chair to the right of the bed, next to a small table set with a plate of delicacies, two glasses and a bottle of wine.

Wine was almost impossible to get in the Enclave. The Nightsiders had taken over most of the vineyards, and living on blood didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy some human food and drink.

For a moment, Trinity felt only anger and disgust for what Ares’s kind had stolen from humanity. She stopped just inside the door, and his gaze swept over her with seeming indifference.

“Abbie should not have dressed you this way,” he said in the Opir language. “I brought you here to talk, not to serve me in bed.”

Trinity had thought she was ready. But now, enduring his intense inspection, she found herself trembling.

And oddly disappointed.

“Are you afraid?” Ares asked, his voice almost gentle.

“Do I look afraid?” she asked in the same language.

“That’s better,” Ares said with a slight smile. He gestured to the thickly upholstered chair on the other side of the table. “Sit.”

She glided toward him, lifting her skirts to lengthen her stride. She took the chair, feeling the silk tighten across her breasts and thighs. Ares seemed not to notice as he filled both glasses with wine.

“A very good year,” he remarked, offering her one of the goblets. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Can I refuse?”

“You have that choice,” he said. He sipped from his glass, and then set it down. “For the time being, I want to know more about my newly acquired property.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to start by tasting it? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin. “What did you do in the Enclave? You speak our language fluently, and you apparently know some history. Tell me.”

Trinity could hardly believe he was genuinely interested in hearing about her work or her past. In fact, her background story was not entirely concocted. She had studied languages and history as her specialty at the Academy, and she was grateful she wouldn’t have to fake it.

“I was one of the lucky citizens to be chosen for an advanced education,” she said quietly. “I learned ancient Greek, Latin and modern languages. And Opir, of course.”

“As I see. You have very little accent. Our tongue is not easy to master.”

“Because it’s a mishmash of ancient languages,” she said, leaning toward him. “Greek, Latin, Babylonian and various ancient Indo-European languages we have yet to decipher.”

“A mishmash,” he said drily. “I am certain our own experts in human languages would find that description less than amusing, especially because they believe all ancient human languages derive from ours.”

She held his gaze. “Did I offend you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want your opinion.”

“Why would the opinion of a serf matter to you?”

He smiled slightly, and she felt a deeper stirring of interest that went well beyond helpless sexual attraction. He was treating her almost as an equal, and she doubted that this was his ordinary way of dealing with new serfs.

“You intrigue me,” he said. “You’re clearly intelligent, and your spirit has not been broken by your deportation from your city.”

“And so that’s the reason I’m here. That and your interest in the human perspective. But on what?”

He nodded at her glass of wine. “Drink.”

Reluctantly she picked up her goblet and sipped. The wine, as expected, was glorious.

“I don’t suppose you share your wine with your serfs as a rule,” she said, setting the glass down again.

“Not as a rule.” He stared intently into her eyes. “What crime did you commit to be sent here?”

She hesitated, as if it were a painful memory. “I didn’t pay my taxes.”

“Such a small thing,” he said.

“They’re finding it more and more difficult to gather criminals to send to you as serfs, and they don’t want to break the Treaty.”

Ares was silent for a while, perhaps brooding over her insolent behavior. But he didn’t chastise her. To the contrary, he appeared more intrigued than ever.

“And why weren’t you able to find a protector to clear you of these charges?” he asked. “You are a beautiful woman. Surely some powerful male would have been prepared to spare you exile in return for—”

“Is that what you think of human women?” she interrupted. “That we give ourselves to men so they’ll protect us from the consequences of our actions?”

“Trinity,” Ares said in a soft voice. “Do not speak to me in that manner again.”

All at once, without warning, he was master and she his slave, utterly subject to his will. She was reminded that, in spite of his mild manner now, taking liberties with him too quickly might result in her being punished, or even sent away.

Or perhaps it would arouse his sexual interest again. The kind that had gripped him—and her—just after the Claiming.

“I’m...I’m sorry, my lord,” she said meekly.

He picked up his glass and set it down again without tasting the contents. “I warned you before that you should consider the consequences of your behavior, Trinity. In Erebus, those consequences can be much worse than mere exile.”

“I know,” she said. “But if you’ll allow me to explain...”

When he waved his hand to grant her permission, she continued more carefully. “The women of the Enclave aren’t like that,” she said. “Most would never think of seeking that kind of protection from a man. All people, regardless of gender, are equal.”

“But it was not always so,” he said, relaxing again. “I remember. Among my kind—through all the ages—there has never been any significant distinction between male and female Opiri in terms of power or status. You’ve come far since the days when you were merely the extensions of your mates.”

“That’s right,” Trinity said. “But I don’t understand why you don’t already know this, my lord. Opiri faced plenty of female soldiers during the War.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was merely interested in your experiences.” He smiled slightly. “I can imagine you as a soldier.”

Trinity tried not to let him see her alarm. “I’m not brave enough for that.”

Ares leaned over the table and touched her cheek. “I think you are. But that is of no consequence now. That life is over.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you’ll find it displeasing,” he said, stroking her face.

“I’m ready.”

He jerked his hand back. “You speak as though you must brace yourself for some unspeakable torment.”

Now that she had reached the crucial moment, Trinity lost her resolve to acquiesce so easily. “I owe you so much, my lord,” she murmured.

Ares bolted from his chair. “I don’t want your gratitude,” he said. “I want—”

He broke off, and Trinity held very still, aware that he had begun to lose his grip on the calm and rationality he seemed to value so highly. He strode to the other side of the bed and punched his finger on a keypad set in the wall. Wide shutters slid open, revealing another window.

“Come here,” he said.

Trinity rose and joined him. She looked out the window. The dome of the city curved below—smoky-gray rather than black from this angle—shielding Erebus from the sun.

Beyond the dome and the towers on the opposite side of the Citadel stretched the muted sky, the fields and the mountains, robbed of their color and vividness by the protective glass. Ares touched the keypad again, and suddenly they were looking directly into the interior of the city, thousands of roofs and open plazas and strange gardens under artificial lights. It was frighteningly beautiful.

“Nothing can touch you in this city,” he said. “No one can harm you. Not as long as you belong to me.” He turned to look at her. “And I intend to keep you, Trinity. Make no mistake.”

He pressed on the pad, closing the panel, and then returned to the table, slopping more wine into the glass.

“I will know everything about you,” he said, capturing her gaze. “Your mind, your soul, your body. You will never hold any secrets from me. But when you come to me, you will do it because you wish to.”

Trinity realized how vulnerable Ares had just made himself, vulnerable in a way that was almost human. She felt an uncertainty in him, bewilderment that he should treat any serf as he treated her...as if she mattered to him as a woman, not merely a slave. “I wish it now, my lord,” she whispered. And she did. More than was practical. Or sane.

“No,” he said, dropping into his chair. “You will sleep in the harem quarters tonight.”

It wasn’t going to work. Not now, not for Ares. For some reason he was holding himself back. She bowed and retreated.

“Trinity,” he said, stopping her as she moved to the door.

“Yes, my lord?”

“My name is Ares. You may use it when we are alone.”

“Thank you...Ares,” she said, bowing her head.

He made a sound very like a snort. “I told you before that such humility doesn’t suit you. Don’t play games with me. You can’t win.” He caressed the stem of his wineglass. “I do want to know your thoughts, Trinity. Your true and honest thoughts. I have had long experience with humanity. I walked the earth while most of my kind slept under it. But now I require a human of the Enclave to share her views and understanding of our people, and to explain her world to me.”

“Why?” she asked. “I will never give you information you could use against the Enclave, even if I’d ever had access to it.”

“I have no interest in acting against the Enclave. My life is as I wish it to be, and any disruption such as a new war would only disturb it.”

“An excellent reason for opposing the deaths of thousands of humans and Opiri.”

“Trinity—”

“Forgive me, my lord. I’m sorry for speaking out of turn.”

Suddenly he was on his feet again and striding toward her, and it was all she could do to hold her ground. He loomed over her, staring down at her like a hungry panther.

“Do not mock my liberality,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “I can withdraw it in an instant. I can still take from you whatever I wish.”

“What I offered already,” she said, tipping her head back to give him easy access to her throat.

He leaned toward her, and she could feel his warm breath fanning over her flesh. Once again she imagined his teeth grazing her neck, puncturing her skin on that big bed, while he...

Oh, God, she thought. She couldn’t let it happen. No matter how decent, how reasonable...how sexually attractive and potent he was to her. She couldn’t let herself feel.

“Go,” he said, stepping back as if he didn’t trust himself any more than she did her own mind and body.

Stumbling out of the room, Trinity half ran through the office and into the Great Room. His abrupt dismissal didn’t matter. He wanted to probe her mind and absorb her knowledge—though she didn’t trust his reasons in the slightest—and was clearly fighting his own desire to take her. He’d given her a kind of power over him she could use to her own advantage.

She would learn everything she could about the workings of the Household. She would make friends of even the lowliest serfs. She would use any method necessary to find members of the Underground in Ares’s Household and contact those outside it.

And she’d become invaluable to Ares. So indispensable, so trustworthy and useful that she’d make it impossible for him to resist her.

He’s only the means to an end, she reminded herself. And she was a soldier of the Enclave who hated everything he stood for.

And always would.

Chapter 6

Ares summoned Cassandra six hours later, after Trinity had retired to rest. He ordinarily avoided taking blood from his Favorite more than once a day, but his body’s other hungers had become too demanding to ignore, and he knew that Cassandra would never object.

He had spent those six hours pacing his room, trying to concentrate on ancient human texts, receiving his client Freebloods, taking reports and drinking wine until he could drink no more.

Every hour he had considered calling Trinity to him. His entire body throbbed with wanting her. She moved him not only physically, but also emotionally, and that made no sense to him.

He had told her the truth: he wanted to know her thoughts, to hear her views of things about which he could not be objective. But, above all, he needed to understand why she could be so unwillingly attracted to an Opir, especially when he owned her very life. She had every reason to hate him, like any of the humans in Erebus. But he had smelled her arousal, heard the rapid thrum of her pulse when he came near. She seemed to be giving way to some primal urge within herself that had little to do with gratitude.

He wondered if she was drawn to him because he was different.

From the beginning of human civilization, when the first Opiri had begun to gather in groups and hunting parties, Ares had been branded an outsider. The earliest Bloodmasters had declared that he could not be full-blooded because of his hair and eyes—that he was, as Palemon had called him, a “freak of nature” and a throwback to some ancient, more primitive species no Opir wanted to remember.

Many had tried to kill him, but he was strong, and he had fought all the harder to prove himself. Fought to show he was more a true Opir than any of them, in every way that implied. He had fought and killed until no one dared Challenge him again, and he had remained awake while the vast majority of other Opiri had taken the Long Sleep.

In all those years, weary of bloodshed and battle, he had lived alone, making no contact with the other Bloodmasters still roaming the earth. Since the Awakening, he had maintained a solitary existence within the Citadel, devoting himself to study and intellectual pursuits.

That had directly led to his choice to treat his property with decency and avoid unnecessary conflict. It was simple logic that one’s life ran more smoothly without such complications, and he despised any alteration of the Household routine.

Now, merely because of her arrival, Trinity had completely unsettled it. “My lord?”

Cassandra, dressed in a sheer sleeping shift, her eyes heavy and her hair tousled, stood in the doorway to his bedchamber. She had never looked more beautiful.

“Come in,” he said. “Wine?”

“Please.” Cassandra glided toward him, the diaphanous fabric sliding over the lush curves of her body, concealing and revealing naked flesh with every step. Smiling seductively, she lifted the glass of wine he poured and watched him over the rim of the goblet.

“How may I serve you, my lord?” she asked, her full lips stained red with the wine.

Before she could answer, she set down her glass, undid a tie at her neck and let the shift fall into a foamy puddle at her feet. As he had expected, she clearly had no objection to sharing his bed again after only six hours.

He had never asked her why she had been Deported, but she had been both experienced and unafraid when he had claimed her. She had told him more than once, when they were entangled in the bed and the barriers had fallen, that he was a superb lover.

Without waiting for his suggestion, she climbed onto the bed. She seldom required any foreplay, and she seemed far more eager than usual.

Because of Trinity, he thought. She believed she had a rival.

Refusing to think on it further, Ares began to shed his clothes, hardly aware of what he was doing. When he joined Cassandra on the bed, he wasn’t thinking of her at all. It was not her hips he caressed as he positioned himself behind her, not her lovely back or the elegant lines of her neck.

“My lord,” she said, squirming to entice him. “Please.”

He rolled off the bed, leaving her looking after him in confusion. He dressed with his back to her.

“I have no need of you now,” he said, more roughly than he had intended.

“My lord?” she said. “How have I displeased you?”

He forced himself to look at her. She seemed very small, very vulnerable, all her sophistication and provocative manner gone as if she had shed it along with her shift.

“It is not your fault,” he said, belting his tunic. “Go to your room, Cassandra. I have asked enough of you today.”

Cassandra stared up at him, tears leaking from her eyes. Ares had never seen her cry.

“How long will it be my room?” she asked, clutching the sheets tightly above her breasts. “I knew this was going to happen ever since I saw her. She’ll have my place, won’t she? You’ll send me to the harem, and I—”

“Silence,” Ares snapped. “You will do as I tell you. Go to your room.”

She climbed down from the bed, dragging the sheets with her. “I know you,” she said, her voice trembling. “She can only cause trouble here. Why did you fight for her?”

“You would be wise to hold your tongue, Cassandra,” he said.

“I know she excites you, but she’ll never let you have her the way you want her.”

“She is a serf. She will obey me.”

“But you don’t want it that way, do you?” she laughed bitterly. “She isn’t afraid of you. She’s not afraid of anything. You could take her if you wanted, but you expect her to come crawling to you and beg. You never had to do that with me.” She took a step toward him. “There is something wrong about her, Ares. If you can’t see it...”

All the tension in Ares’s body seemed to explode out of his skin. He strode to Cassandra and grabbed her wrist. The sheets fell to the floor.

“I have given you every privilege,” he said. “Every comfort, the highest status a serf can possess. But you will not speak to me this way, Cassandra. You will never challenge or question my decisions again.”

She stared down at his hand on her wrist. He let her go, sickened by the look of despair on her face.

“I have no wish to cause you pain,” he said as gently as he could. “Trinity will live in the harem quarters. Her value to me is in her knowledge.”

“You are generous, my lord,” Cassandra said, bending to pick up the sheets. Ares got to them first and stood holding them in his hands until she took them and covered herself again. “I shall never forget your kindness. May you always find what you seek.”

She walked through the door to her room, the sheets sweeping behind her like a train. Her parting words rang in Ares’s ears.

They made no sense to him. Had he not just told her that Trinity would never fill her role in his life? Yes, he wanted his new serf, and badly. But it was all part of the experiment to test Trinity...and himself.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

The next morning—or what passed for morning in this city of perpetual darkness—Trinity woke to the sense that she had been asleep far too long. She kicked the sheets away and rolled off the bed, instinctively ready to fight.

But there was no one here to be afraid of, not even Ares. She was already in a position that would make it much easier to do her work, as long as she didn’t goad Ares into the kind of jealous possessiveness he’d briefly displayed when he’d shown her the city.

I intend to keep you, Trinity, he had said. You will never hold any secrets from me.

Little did he know just how well she was keeping them.

She yawned, sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at the ornate clock on her bedside table. It was just past 5:00 a.m. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep not long after Ares had dismissed her, though it had still been early in the evening and only ten hours since Ares had claimed her.

Just before Trinity had given into exhaustion, Elizabeth had brought a selection of sleeping shifts, loose tunics and pants and another gown from Abbie. She had informed Trinity that she was to remain in her room until Ares summoned her, but had seemed relieved that Trinity appeared well and unafraid in her new surroundings.

As if for the first time, she glanced around the room. It was luxurious, with attractive paintings above the bed, a small Persian carpet and furniture that might really be Louis XVI. Several dozen books stood on a small shelf against one wall. A dresser, supplied with various kinds of makeup and skin lotions, supported a large mirror. A side door led to a private bathroom.

Fully awake, Trinity went to shower and prepare herself for her second day as Ares’s serf. She sat in front of the mirror and, ignoring the facial enhancers, combed out her hair and pulled it behind her head. She didn’t intend to make herself look seductive; she had to play this out carefully, because Ares was bound to make the next move in their “game.” The one he’d told her she couldn’t win.

She put on the serf’s tunic, pants and slipper-like shoes, tying the tunic with a colorful sash that marked her “uniform” as slightly different from the ones she’d seen most of the other serfs wearing. The neckline of the tunic was low, exposing her throat,

All the better to bite you with, my dear, she thought, still dizzy in the midst of such contradictory feelings. She thought she might actually have to lie down again.

Someone knocked on the door and Trinity shot to her feet. Daniel stood in the doorway.

“I’ve been told to escort you to breakfast,” he said.

“Am I...dressed properly to meet Ares again?” she asked, pretending unease.

“You’re not going to Ares,” Daniel said. “He’s ordered that I take you down to the serf’s dining area.”

For a moment Trinity was completely startled. Was it really going to be that easy for her to make contact with the other serfs and scope out the Household?

“Is he dismissing me?” she asked as she joined Daniel at the door.

“I told you I don’t know his mind,” Daniel said stiffly, leading her toward a side entrance within the empty harem quarters. “He didn’t take your blood, did he?”

“No, but—”

“Did you refuse?”

“No. I offered. He still wouldn’t take it.”

Daniel snorted. She stopped him with a touch on his shoulder.

“You don’t want me here, do you?” she asked.

“Not if you disturb his peace and give him nothing in return. He’s been happy as he is.”

“Are Opiri ever happy?” she asked.

He began to walk again. “Until you know him,” he said, “you can’t understand him.”

“Then help me know him,” she said, catching up. “I have to live here, and I don’t know what I—”

“I’ll help you enough so that you don’t make too many stupid mistakes,” he said, “like interfering in a Challenge.”

“Ares already warned me about that,” she said. “You care about him, don’t you?”

“We’d all be much worse off in any other Household.”

Which wasn’t much of an answer, Trinity thought, but she’d begun to realize that she might learn a great deal about Ares from Daniel. If he was willing to tell her.

Still, she remained silent until they entered one of the narrow side corridors reserved for servants. Soon they reached a back staircase that descended to the floor below. Trinity memorized their path.

Instinctively she turned toward the delicious scents she knew must lead to the kitchen, but Daniel hung back.

“I have other duties,” he said. “The mess is through that door. Try not to make any trouble.”

Then he was gone, and she was left angry and frustrated by his unwarranted hostility. He was clearly very protective of Ares, and for some reason he thought she would be a detriment to the master’s life. The question was...why would he jump to such a conclusion?

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