Bound by blood, sealed in secrets

A half-blood Rider, Timon has a duty to anyone under his protection, but his intense attraction to scientist Jamie McCullough is complicating his latest mission. In a moment of desperation, he makes a difficult choice. His bite heals her—and creates a bond that neither of them can resist.

As she heads for a conclave convened to create new peace between humans and vampires, Jamie carries a secret that could secure peace everlasting. But before she has a chance to reveal it, she’s accused of bringing a vampire-killing virus to the negotiations. Though Timon is willing to pay the ultimate price to save her, can he first win the ultimate challenge of her trust?

“Teach me, Timon,” she whispered.

Taking her in his arms again, he lowered her to the ground and laid her on the blanket. Without a word he braced his arms on either side of her shoulders, leaned over her and kissed her.

This was not like the first kisses. It was much deeper, with that leashed ferocity, but also the tenderness she had felt in him before. His tongue ran along the inside of her lips, and a rush of warmth gathered between her thighs.

A normal response, she thought. But then she wasn’t thinking about anything but the kiss, hesitantly returning it, touching her tongue to his.

Then she felt his teeth, and her muscles stiffened.

Timon drew back. “You’re not ready,” he said hoarsely.

“Will you...bite me?” she asked.

“Not unless you want me to.”

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

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.

Twilight Crossing

Susan Krinard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Acknowledgment

Special thanks to Ginger Tansey, DVM, for her help with information on viruses and emergency first-aid treatment. Any and all errors are mine.

With gratitude to my editor, Leslie Wainger, who exemplifies everything an outstanding editor should be.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Acknowledgment

Dedication

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 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Extract

Copyright

During the fifty years following the post-War Armistice between the Opiri and humanity, the world slowly began to heal. As ruins crumbled and wilderness took the place of old towns and cities, both humans and vampires had to make difficult adaptations and hard choices.

In the earlier days of the “cold war,” human Enclaves, usually built out of cities that survived the War, paid tribute to the Opiri in the form of “blood-serfs,” criminals sent to the Opir Citadels in return for the cessation of blood raids on human communities. Citadels and Enclaves continued to spy on one another via half-blood agents—the Opiri’s “Darketans” and the Enclave’s dhampires—operating in the neutral Zone between cities, and skirmishes continued to break out between them, challenging the uneasy truce.

Over time, two significant trends put an increasing strain on the Armistice: the gradual reduction and eventual end to the practice of blood tribute, and the formation of new “mixed” colonies, in which Opiri and humans lived together in relative peace and cooperation.

This cooperation, however, was largely confined to these smaller communities, and communication between Enclaves and Citadels remained erratic until the rise of the Riders, a brotherhood of half-blood horseman whose work it was to carry messages and escort travelers across the western half of the former United States of America. Known for their skill in wilderness survival and fending off rogue Freeblood packs as well as human raiders, the Riders gained a reputation for trustworthiness and complete neutrality. Facilitation of contact and travel among human and Opir cities led to new alliances and discussions of a permanent peace, one in which the “mixed” colonies would provide an example of coexistence across the entire western region.

Thus, the original Conclave was born: a meeting of delegations from every major Citadel, Enclave and mixed colony in the West. The Conclave was to be held in the neutral area of the former city of Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was to be the first such meeting since the signing of the Armistice, and the Riders were to take the role of peacekeepers and upholders of the Conclave’s laws.

Though hope ran high for the success of the Conclave, there were many who resisted the idea of an ultimate peace and the cultural changes that would become necessary to sustain it.

—Alice J. Armstrong

Introduction to A Matter of Blood: A History of the First Conclave

Chapter 1

“Can you see who they are?”

Jamie McCullough squinted against the bright April sky, her eyes following Councilor Amos Parks’s pointing finger. “They’re on horseback,” she said to her godfather. “They must be—”

“The Riders,” Senator Greg Cahill said, talking over her. “It’s about time they showed up here.”

Here, Jamie thought. Far from the southern border of the San Francisco Enclave, even beyond the Zone that marked the no-man’s-land between Opir Citadel and human territories.

But people did live in this land, where wild cattle grazed among the pre-War ruins, alongside deer and pronghorn antelope. Small colonies, well-fortified, with mixed human and Opir residents; pure human settlements, always ready to defend themselves against raiders both human and nonhuman. And human and Opiri who stayed on the move, hostile like the Freeblood raiders or unaligned like the Wanderers.

Then there were the Riders. Skilled fighters, neutral in their loyalties, always half-bloods and always male. They were the men who rode fearlessly across the West in their tight-knit bands, carrying messages and escorting travelers and colonists through the dangers of the wilderness, facing down rogues, raiders and wild tribesmen. Both humans and Opiri hired them, sometimes even to communicate with one another.

Today they were coming to escort the San Francisco Enclave delegation to the grand Conclave in the old state of New Mexico, a journey of a thousand miles. With the wagons and frequent stops, it would take about two months of hard travel to reach their goal.

But without the Riders’ protection...

“They’re coming fast,” Greg said, his hand moving to the gun at his hip.

Too fast, Jamie thought. The thundering of hooves was shaking the ground under her boots. By now they should be slowing down, prepared to identify themselves. As they came closer, Jamie noticed that they were wearing hoods.

Riders weren’t full-blood Opiri, who had to protect themselves from the sun. Most of them would subsist on blood and were faster and stronger than ordinary men, but in other ways they were very human.

These horsemen covered their entire bodies under heavy coats and cowls and gloves.

“Raiders,” she said, her voice catching on the word.

“Freebloods,” Amos said, speaking of the wild troops of masterless rogue Opiri. He signaled for the others in the party to retreat to the wagons, while the four armed soldier escorts, led by Sergeant Cho, moved forward to position themselves between the horsemen and the rest of the delegation.

“Jamie!” Greg said, dragging her down behind a wagon. “Do you want to end up as some vampire’s meal?”

She winced at the pressure of his fingers on her upper arm. She mumbled an apology, but Greg had already moved away to shout orders as if he, not Parks, were in charge. The older man, grim-faced, caught Jamie’s eye and nodded. She smiled at her godfather to prove that she wasn’t afraid.

This wasn’t like that other time. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t helpless.

Someone pushed a gun into her hand. “You’ve had training,” Sergeant Cho whispered, crouching beside her. “Aim for the heart or between the eyes. Don’t fire wildly—take your time.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jamie said.

Cho squeezed her shoulder and quickly moved away. Jamie’s hand trembled on the grip. She wasn’t a killer. This was a mission of peace. For it to be born out of violence...

She’d barely finished the thought when the first horse barreled past her, hooves kicking up clods of dirt as the air filled with the smell of horse sweat and leather, and a sharper scent she thought must be the Opir rider himself. He didn’t stop to accost her, but a moment later she heard a cry and a shot. More horses flashed by; more shots followed, but the shouts were more of anger and defiance than pain.

Finally it was her turn. The horse reared up beside her, nostrils flaring, while its rider’s eyes seemed to burn down on her from beneath his hood. She raised the gun, and the raider knocked it out of her hand with no effort at all.

“Please,” she said, addressing him as calmly as she knew how. “I don’t mean you any harm.”

The horseman laughed. It was an ugly sound. He swept down and grabbed her arm, pulling her halfway into the saddle. His hot breath beat on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for the bite.

It didn’t come. He wheeled his mount around and rode away from the wagon, pinning her in place against him. When he stopped and let her slide to the ground, it was clear that the raiders had won.

Jamie counted. Five raiders, and ten in the delegate party. All ten were still alive, though one of the soldiers, Corporal Delgado, was lying on her side, nursing her arm. Three of the raiders were busy binding the wrists of their captives while the other two remained on their mounts, rifles resting on their thighs.

But Jamie saw no blood, except the little on the soldier’s arm. The raiders had won almost without trying.

They’re keeping us in good condition so that they can get the most out of us, Jamie thought, too numb to feel fear. This was a disaster of the highest order. Not only had the delegation been stopped before it truly started its journey, but now its members would serve as a food source for the raiders...kept alive for God knew how long, until they were too weak to keep donating blood. And then...

“This isn’t necessary,” she said, speaking clearly and loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We’ll be happy to share our blood with you until our escorts arrive.”

Her godfather, hands already bound, gave her a warning look. Greg’s face was dark with anger, and the soldiers stared at her as if she’d gone crazy.

The presumed leader of the raiders, one of the two watching on horseback, turned the black circle of his hood toward her. “It is a great comfort to know that you’re so willing to serve,” he said mockingly. “We would not wish to force you.”

“We are expecting others,” she said, refusing to let herself be intimidated. “Riders. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. They call themselves the Brotherhood, and they’re very good fighters. But there’s no need for more violence, if you’ll only accept our offer and then leave us in peace.”

The leader of the raiders whistled through his teeth. “You speak for all these humans?”

“I speak for them,” Parks said, his wispy gray hair floating in the breeze like a halo. “I’m President of the City Council of the San Francisco Enclave. We’ll give you whatever you need.”

Speaking a language Jamie knew to be rooted in ancient Greek, the leader addressed his mounted companion. The other Opiri gave an appreciative laugh.

“Put no faith in your Riders,” he said to Jamie. He called to his companions, who gathered up their human captives and forced them into a small space close to one of the wagons. She thought the raiders might take them on a forced march to whatever hideout the Freebloods kept as their base, but instead they left one guard to watch over the humans and retreated to the shade of one of the big oaks to the side of the track.

Waiting for night, Jamie thought. But they still could have taken blood from any of their captives, and did not. Jamie listened to the harsh breathing of the young medic next to her and tried to catch her godfather’s eye. But there were too many others between them, and there was nothing he could have done.

From a place of detachment she had fostered long ago, she recognized her own terror. It was perfectly rational to be afraid, under the circumstances...even for someone who had never faced a hungry Opir before. Especially just after sunset, when one of the raiders came to untie her and lead her under the oaks.

He won’t kill you, she thought, fighting panic as she was brought to stand before the leader. It isn’t in his best interest.

But when he flashed his very sharp teeth at her, she shuddered in spite of herself.

“You said you’d offer us your blood,” he said. “Is that all you’re prepared to give for your freedom?”

Jamie tilted up her chin. “I will do whatever is necessary to avoid more violence.”

“Quite a brave little human.” The Freeblood sneered.

She took a shaky step toward him. “Do you know why we’re here?” she asked. “We’re on our way to a meeting among dozens of Enclaves and Citadels and colonies, a Conclave to reach a new agreement for peace among all humans and Opiri. If we succeed, you’ll never have to hunt for blood again. There would be plenty of places where humans will give blood willingly, and—”

“You assume we want such a peace.” The leader grinned. “Come here.”

Jamie hesitated. Her escort pushed her toward the leader. She stumbled, began to fall, saw the leader jump up before he could catch her.

For an unknown period of time she lay on the leaf-littered ground, half-dazed. Again there were shouts and cries, hooves striking hard earth. This time there were no shots.

The others got free, she thought. But the voices she heard were not familiar.

A hoof stamped down next to her head, an inch away from striking her temple. She froze. The horse’s leg moved away, and a boot came down in its place. A strong, very masculine hand descended to grip her shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

She looked up through her tangled hair. An uncovered face stared down at her, but all she could see were a shock of dark hair and vivid violet-gray eyes.

“You’re late,” she whispered.

Chapter 2

“Yes,” the Rider who rescued Jamie said. “I apologize.”

He helped her to her feet, brushing leaves out of her hair. Jamie put her hand up self-consciously and stepped back, making sure that her footing was solid.

There was just enough moonlight filtering through the tree branches for her to get a better look at her rescuer. His features were handsome from what she could see of their lines—his chin firm, his cheekbones high and his gaze direct and curious. He had a Rider’s legs, firmly muscled, and his shoulders were broad under his shearling coat. He wore two knives: one in a sheath at his waist and a smaller one in his boot. His rifle was slung over his shoulder by its strap.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked, trying to look past him at the wagons.

“Only the soldier who was wounded before,” he said. He flashed her an utterly unexpected grin. “The raiders are gone, and they won’t be returning.”

“I have to see my godfather. Councilman Parks.”

“Of course. I’ll take you.”

“That won’t be—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. He looped his arm around her shoulder, half supporting her, and led her out from under the trees. There was no remaining sign of the raiders, except for a few abandoned weapons and broken earth where Opiri and half-bloods had struggled.

The night had grown dark, but her escort’s steps were sure, and someone had lit lanterns by the wagons. Her godfather appeared before she reached the nearest wagon, his eyes filled with alarm. Her savior let go of her.

“Jamie?” Amos said. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “I think I have this man to thank for that.”

She turned, but the Rider was gone.

“Come and sit down,” Amos said. “Our escorts have sent the raiders running, but they want us to remain together.”

Peering into the darkness, Jamie tried to make out the newcomers. “How many have come?” she asked.

“Four,” he said, guiding her to the nearest wagon.

“Almost evenly matched,” she said.

“The Riders seem to be very good fighters, as promised,” Amos said. “They didn’t even use their rifles.” He helped her sit beside the wagon. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

“You have other work to do, Amos,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

He crouched beside her. “You should never have spoken up as you did.”

“It was worth a try,” she said.

“You know better than anyone what they could have done to you,” Amos said, cupping her cheek in his hand. “And in spite of your one experience with an Opir, you’re still naive about so many things. I should never have let you come along.”

“How many times have we discussed this, Amos?” she asked. “It’s not just because of my mother. I’m a scientist, and I can’t hide forever. Too much of the outside world is still unknown to us, and someone has to keep a record of what we experience and observe. Whatever I learn will help us at the Conclave, and afterward. I believe in this peace.”

Amos sighed. “I know. But promise me that you won’t do anything so foolish again.”

She smiled unevenly. “I promise.”

With a slow shake of his head, Amos rose and walked away. Jamie released her breath. She wasn’t sure if she’d been truthful with her godfather. How could she be sure what circumstances would arise on their journey? Sometimes even a scientist had to take risks.

For her, even stepping outside the Enclave had been a kind of risk. She’d hidden herself away in her parents’ lab since her father’s death, avoiding all contact with the world outside the Enclave, missing even the most average social experiences most other young women her age took for granted.

Amos had called her naive, and maybe she was. But she had hope for the Conclave because of the words her mother had written in her journal—and because of what she had learned in the laboratory. A secret she believed might make all the difference at the meeting.

If she could present it at just the right time.

Rubbing her arms against the chill night air, Jamie found herself looking for her rescuer again. She caught a glimpse of him speaking to his fellow Riders, all four of them dressed in the same shearling coats tanned the color of wheat and with the wool side turned inward. He was tall and stood confidently, with an athlete’s bearing, and the other men listened attentively.

He must be the leader, Jamie thought. And judging by the rugged, competent looks of the other Riders, that would mean something.

But he was also a half-breed. Half-Opiri, needing blood to survive. Expecting to take donations from the delegation to nourish him and his followers over the long weeks.

Her turn to donate would come, too. But she wouldn’t think about that yet. For now she could honestly say to herself that this half-blood didn’t frighten her. He was living proof that not all Opiri were violent hunters.

She reached inside her jacket to touch each of the two hidden pockets, one containing her notebook, the other her mother’s journal. She pulled out her notebook and drew a quick sketch of the Rider, trying to catch the firmness of his profile and the way his mouth curved up at the corners when he smiled at something one of his men had said.

About six-three, she wrote beside the sketch. Lean and agile, but well-muscled. Darketan, with Opir teeth, human features and ability to walk in daylight. Hair dark auburn, eyes gray with violet tint; purple indicates Opir blood. Small scar above left eyebrow.

And handsome, she thought, her pencil hovering above the page. She couldn’t write that in her notebook.

She woke from her thoughts when the half-blood broke away from his men, clearly looking for someone, and stopped when he found Greg. The two men began to speak softly, Greg gesturing with obvious irritation.

Tucking her notebook away, Jamie inched her way toward Greg and the Rider leader. She was able to get close to them without leaving the partial cover of the wagon, and knelt beside the rear wheel to listen.

“...so late,” Greg was saying, his voice pitched high. “Do you have any idea what they could have done to us?”

“I can only apologize again,” the Rider said in a steady voice. “It was very bad timing on our part.”

“And will you be ready the next time?”

A tense silence fell between the two men. Jamie stared at the Rider’s profile. Moonlight rested on the planes of his face and shadowed his pale eyes.

Be careful, Greg, she thought. The Riders might be completely neutral, allied with no one group or race, but instinct told her that this Rider wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. And Greg was acting like a fool.

“The Councilman’s goddaughter was forced to go to that barbarian,” Greg said, fists clenched. “He could have sucked her dry, or worse.”

Light played on the Rider’s lower lip as the corner twitched upward. “She’s obviously a brave young woman. Have you spoken to her?”

Greg’s jaw bunched. “I was just on my way to see her.”

“Then I won’t hold you up any longer.” The Rider stepped gracefully aside, gesturing for Greg to walk past him. Jamie ducked under the wagon and crouched there, breathing a little fast.

Greg stalked away, but Jamie continued to watch the Rider as he scanned the camp and set off again with long, ground-eating strides. Jamie scooted out from under the wagon and followed him at a discreet distance.

Her godfather was talking with the two medics, Akesha and Don, when the Rider found him. Amos broke off with a reassuring smile and gave the half-blood his full attention. Jamie joined her friends, pretending to listen to their excited retelling of the attack as she focused on the other conversation.

“Didn’t realize I was talking to the wrong man,” the Rider said as he shook her godfather’s hand. “The Senator gave me the impression that he was in charge here.”

“He would,” Amos said with a slight smile. “But it doesn’t matter. It would be difficult to stand on ceremony over such a long journey.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” the Rider said, releasing Parks’s hand. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Timon, of the Kestrel Band.”

“Timon,” Amos acknowledged. “Needless to say, I’m very pleased to meet you. There’s no danger of the raiders returning?”

“None.” Timon glanced around him. “I’m told there were only minor injuries. Is there anything else we should know about?”

“It’s all under control, thanks to your men. And I want to express my gratitude for what you did for my goddaughter.”

Timon made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand. “I did nothing but help her up after the raiders fled. She’s a brave young woman.”

“I wish I could send her back.”

“Why?” Timon asked, cocking his head.

Jamie tensed, but she missed her godfather’s next words when Don raised his voice to relate some particularly exciting moment of the battle between raiders and Riders.

“No one can be spared to take her back to your Enclave,” Timon said when she could hear him again. “But she’ll be all right. There are four of us now, and we expect three others to join us before we reach old San Jose.”

“Rest assured that I won’t be doubting or questioning your judgment,” Amos said. “We’re in your hands.”

“Thank you, Councilman,” Timon said, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “Given what’s happened, I think we should wait for dawn before we set out...allow your people plenty of time to sort through their experience today. They’ll be better prepared for the next occurrence, if there is one.”

The next occurrence, Jamie thought. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned. The volunteers had been drilled a hundred times. But it was one thing to imagine and another to experience.

Timon obviously knew that.

Jamie mumbled something to Akesha and Don and retreated back to the wagon. Its solidity, and the medical and laboratory equipment it carried, gave her comfort. People were building a small fire, and she observed the activity with a strange lassitude, as if it were happening in some other universe. She watched the other Riders move easily through the temporary camp as if it belonged to them. They had probably been in hundreds of such camps before, guiding and escorting travelers between Enclaves and colonies and even Citadels.

“You should be with the others.”

Timon settled into a crouch beside her...he smelled of warm sheepskin and horse and something subtle but deeply pleasant. He smiled at her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that took her aback.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Jamie said, her heartbeat quickening. “After all, you said I would be all—”

She broke off, realizing what she’d been about to reveal. She didn’t stop soon enough. Leather creaked as Timon shifted, and she felt rather than heard the rumble of amusement in his throat.

“I knew you were listening,” he said. “You’re not very good at hiding.”

Her skin felt hot, and she barely prevented herself from raising her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “What made you so interested in hearing what we were discussing?”

She swallowed her unease. “I’ve never met a half-blood before,” she said.

Dark eyebrows lifted. “You live in an Enclave with dhampir agents, and you’ve never met one?”

“I’ve seen them, of course. But I never had any reason to be near them. And you’re not a dhampir.”

“No,” he said. “I’m a Darketan. My mother was an Opir, and my father was human. With dhampires, it’s the opposite.”

“I know that.” She felt hotter than ever. “I don’t know much about the Riders,” she said in a rush, “but you aren’t all Darketans, are you?”

“We have a few dhampires,” he said. “Does that make a difference?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re just curious.”

“I’m a scientist,” she said, as if that would explain everything. “I’m on this expedition to learn.”

“What kind of scientist?” he asked.

“Biologist, among other disciplines,” she said. “My mission is to observe as objectively as possible.”

“Then you have no stake in the outcome of the Conclave?”

“Of course I do. I believe in what it stands for, what it will mean if it succeeds.”

“I’d always heard that the San Francisco Enclave has had very poor relationships with the nearest Opiri communities.”

“No Enclave has suffered more from the war than ours. We provided blood-serfs to the Opir Citadel Erebus for many years before it became impossible to continue. They have not accepted the change gracefully.”

“Then why are you so sure the other Opiri want peace as much as you do?”

With an effort, she held his gaze. “You must know why we humans have hope. Opiri across the West have had to adapt to the lack of serfs as a source of regular blood. Many Citadels have gone from feudal societies where the strongest rule, to communities where resources are shared rather than fought over.” She looked away. “You, surely, have seen this yourself in your travels?”

Timon shrugged. “I’ve seen every possible way that humans and Opiri have adapted. That doesn’t mean that a change this massive will be easy.”

“I understand that you Riders don’t care if a lasting peace is achieved.”

“We’ve been hired to act as security at the Conclave. Our neutrality can’t be in question, but it’s to our benefit if things go smoothly.” He studied her face from the tip of her chin to the crown of her head. “How often have you been outside the Enclave?”

“What did my godfather say about me?”

“That you have little experience with the outside world. He’d like me to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take charge of me.”

He laughed, his white teeth gleaming. “It’s no imposition, Ms. McCullough,” he said lightly, removing his gloves. “Some things are worth looking at more closely.”

Is he flirting with me? she thought in confusion. “What do you see now?” she asked, far bolder than she meant to be.

“Fishing for compliments?” He grinned. “You must know you’re beautiful.”

Oh, God. “I...” she stammered. “I wasn’t—”

“Hasn’t anyone ever teased you before?” He grew sober. “Maybe you don’t even know it. I’ll tell you something else about yourself—you’re a brave woman. But that doesn’t mean what happened didn’t have an effect.” He took her hand, and Jamie realized that her fingers were trembling.

“That’s why you shouldn’t be alone,” Timon said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

She jerked free, alarmed by his touch. “When are you going to need us to donate blood?” she burst out. “I need time... I mean, you should warn people beforehand, so they have a chance to...”

She trailed off, deeply embarrassed. Timon looked at her in silence for a long time, as if weighing her words for some hidden meaning. “Are you afraid of me, Ms. McCullough?” he asked.

“No!” Jamie folded her arms across her chest. “Why should I be?”

With a soft sigh, Timon extended his hand again. “You’d better come with me,” he said.

A cool breeze whispered past her ear, lifting a strand of dark brown hair. “Really, I’m—” she began.

“You’re cold. You need the company of your own kind.”

He squeezed her arm, the slightest pressure of reassurance. Jamie allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her initial unease at the contact had already begun to fade. In fact, the pressure of his fingers felt like something solid to cling to in a world that had lost its moorings.

Before she knew it, she was among the people already settled around the fire. They made room for her, and somehow a warm blanket found its way over her back. Timon’s hands pressed into her shoulders briefly.

“Get plenty of rest,” he said, his breath caressing her cheek. And then, as before, he was simply gone, and she was left bewildered and feeling not at all objective.

I’ve just met him, she thought as someone passed her a handful of hard crackers. I don’t know anything about him.

Except that he was handsome and strong and brave—much braver than she could ever be—and that he’d taken care of her as if she were a friend.

When the others finally spread out their bedrolls to sleep, she pulled out her notebook.

He asked me if I was afraid of him, she wrote.

I don’t know.

She closed the notebook and lay down on her bedroll. Before she closed her eyes, she saw Timon again, watching her from the other side of the fire. His gaze was the image she carried with her into sleep.

And into her dreams.

Chapter 3

At first light, Timon and his Riders gathered their charges and started south on the well-worn track parallel to old Route 101. The highway itself was buckled and pierced by shrubs and small trees, making travel over the old asphalt difficult.

The pace was slow, as Timon had expected. The horses drawing the three wagons moved at a deliberate pace, since the delegation had only one set of replacement animals for each, and the people walking their mounts beside the wagons were just as slow. It was better that way; Timon wanted them fit for the entire journey, not worn at the end of it.

He had been riding beside Councilman Parks for some distance, learning all he could about the delegation and the San Francisco Enclave. In all his time as a Rider, he’d never been part of an escort for the coastal Enclave, perhaps because the humans there kept largely to themselves.

Like Jamie McCullough.

Timon fell back, reining his horse toward the rear of the caravan. She rode quietly beside one of the middle wagons, constantly scanning the low, oak-studded hills and the marshes alongside the southern stretch of San Francisco Bay, occasionally jotting in her small notebook.

Keeping his distance, Timon considered what was wrong with him. From the moment he and Jamie had met beneath the oak, when he had helped her to her feet and looked into her wide blue eyes, he had felt a shock of attraction. It hadn’t seemed to be such an odd reaction at the time; she was stunningly lovely in spite of her seeming lack of awareness of her own attractiveness. Her dark, wavy hair hung past her shoulders, though she had worn it in a severe ponytail or braid since their first encounter; her face was a near-perfect oval, with full lips and slightly arched brows that ideally suited the shape of her eyes. She was petite, but her body was curved in all the right places, and she moved with a natural grace.

A scientist, he thought as he maneuvered his mount to the other side of the wagon. Officially, Parks had told him, she was both his aide and one of the medics accompanying the equipment that was to be the core of a human infirmary at the Conclave. The Councilman spoke with pride of her work in the laboratory, searching for cures for human diseases.

But she obviously was naive. She had no skill at hiding her feelings or guarding her words, and the way she’d behaved with Timon hinted at something more than mere inexperience with half-bloods. Her outburst about donating blood told him that either she’d been more deeply affected by her brush with the “raiders” than even he had guessed...or something else had happened to make her fear the act.

Many humans did, associating the giving of blood with slavery and compulsion. But it seemed personal with her, and he had no desire to make her more afraid of him.

There was no reason he should be riding so near her now, studying her profile and the way she frowned slightly when she made a notation. Especially when he considered the other women he’d known, in the settlements or among the Wanderers he and other Riders often met in their travels. The experienced, worldly women who were all too happy to accommodate his needs while he happily accommodated theirs.

If Jamie had been different, if she’d been anything like those other women...

But then there was Cahill.

Timon looked forward to where the Senator was riding near the head of the column as if he himself were leading it. He hadn’t quite figured out the Senator’s relationship with Jamie. Most of the time Cahill left her alone, but every so often he would ride back and lecture her as if she was obligated to listen to and obey every word he spoke. Cahill told her, wrongly, that she held the reins incorrectly; he chastised her for falling behind when she dropped back to the middle of the column. And there was an air of possessiveness about him that had aroused Timon’s immediate dislike, though he shouldn’t care one way or another what the humans did among themselves as long as it didn’t endanger the party.

Realizing that he’d been glaring at Cahill’s erect back, he looked toward Jamie again. The horse was still there, walking placidly beside the wagon, but the rider had vanished.

Timon reined Lazarus behind the wagon and rode around it, coming up beside Jamie’s mount. She wasn’t with the animal. He continued toward the rear of the column and Ajax, the Brother riding drag, searching for Jamie with a vague sense of alarm.

He found her crouched at the side of the track, her fingers picking through the green spring grass. She plucked a golden poppy and examined it with great concentration, then set it aside and made a quick sketch of it in her notebook.

With a whispered command to his horse, Timon slid out of the saddle. Jamie looked up as his shadow fell over her, scrambled backward and landed squarely on her rump. A deep red flush tinted her creamy skin.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

It took a moment for Timon to realize that he had been frowning. “It isn’t wise for you to fall behind the column,” he said, offering his hand.

She stared at it as if it were a striking rattlesnake. “I haven’t fallen behind,” she said. “I was only—” Her bright gaze flashed toward the last wagon, pulling away at a steady pace. “Oh.”

He relaxed. “Being absentminded is an indulgence you can’t afford,” he said. “No matter how fascinating you find the local flora.”

Ignoring his offer of help, she jumped to her feet. “I didn’t intend to be so long.”

“Are you always so caught up in your work?”

“I’m not really a botanist,” she said, her voice rising with enthusiasm, “but there are only two in the entire Enclave, and they’ll want to know—” She bit her lip and scooped up her notebook. “I won’t let it happen again.”

He wanted to laugh at her grave pronouncement, but he knew it would sound too much like mockery. “The only way we can protect you is if you stay together,” he said.

“I understand.” She brushed off her pants. “I tied my horse to the wagon. It won’t take me long to catch up.”

“Let’s walk,” Timon said. He gave a short whistle through his teeth, and Lazarus stepped up to thrust his head between Timon and Jamie. He nibbled on Jamie’s hair, and she made a little sound of surprise.

“Lazarus likes you,” Timon said. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“Oh?” she asked with a smile that caught him utterly off guard. “Is he so fearsome, then?”

“Only to enemies.”

She cupped her hand over the horse’s nose. “He’s a very fine horse.”

“Is that your vast experience talking?”

Her smile faded. “Are you teasing me again?”

“I know that you’ve spent your entire life in the Enclave, curing human diseases.”

“Looking for cures, yes.” She began to walk after the last wagon. “It’s a very slow process.”

“And you’ve been happy inside your laboratory?” Timon asked, falling in behind her with Lazarus in tow.

She stopped abruptly and met his gaze. “We don’t know each other very well, Mr. Timon, but I don’t imagine that my happiness can be of much concern to you.”

“You value learning for its own sake.”

She pushed her hair away from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt across her temple. It only enhanced her beauty. “You speak as if the desire to learn is a freakish aberration,” she said.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Easy,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” she said in an offhand manner that was far from convincing.

He brought Lazarus to stand beside her. “We’re falling farther behind.” He stretched out his hand. “Ride with me.”

High color flooded her cheeks again, but when he looked into her eyes, he knew it wasn’t from fear. He felt a jolt of awareness spark between them.

The feeling passed in an instant, but Timon knew in that instant everything had changed. Now he could hear the rapid beat of her heart, sense the blood pumping through veins and arteries; he felt drawn to her in a way he never had before, not even when he’d first met her. And she stared at him as if she had never seen his face, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her eyes wide with sudden realization.

He was certain Jamie had never been with any man. But she was overwhelmed by feelings her rational mind clearly didn’t comprehend. Yet her body knew the truth, on a very primal level that had nothing to do with logic. She was just beginning to grasp what it told her.

And she was fighting that knowledge with every scrap of determination she possessed.

Perhaps that was why she took his hand, let him pull her up behind him into the saddle and put her arms around his waist as he urged Lazarus into a gentle canter. She had something to prove to herself.

Timon could guess what it was. She had set herself the task of observing, of remaining objective. Any strong emotion—fear, anger, desire most of all—interfered with that task.

As they rode, Timon felt her breath on the nape of his neck, the press of her breasts against his back, the roundness of her thighs rocking behind his. He could smell her hair and her skin and her clothing, a rich mélange of intoxicating scents it was impossible to ignore.

He slowed Lazarus as they caught up to Jamie’s mount, who nickered and tossed his head in greeting. Timon helped Jamie dismount and watched her climb into the saddle.

“You do that very well,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice perfectly steady. “The technique isn’t so difficult to learn, once you understand it.”

“And what do you do when you can’t understand something?”

“I keep working until I do.”

Timon wondered if she’d put so much effort into learning the joys of lovemaking. It would be another new world for her to explore, and the man who guided her through that world...

Would not be him. Jamie had far more sense than he did. He had no business lusting after a woman under his band’s care, especially not one who might have some kind of obligation to another man.

Even an arrogant bastard like Cahill.

“Thank you,” she said, calling him back to himself.

“For what?” he asked, keeping Lazarus well away from her mount as they rode side by side.

“For what you did last night. For making sure I was all right.”

He looked straight ahead, ignoring the dust rising from the track ahead of them. “It’s my business,” he said.

“But I was afraid.”

“You can’t be brave without fear.”

“You speak as if you know what that feels like.”

The conversation was becoming too personal for Timon’s liking. He began to pull ahead.

“Don’t fall behind again,” he called over his shoulder.

If she answered, he didn’t hear. He kicked Lazarus into a gallop and shot forward along the column, past Parks and Cahill and up to the Rider who had taken the lead. Orpheus glanced at Timon, raised his eyebrows, and waited companionably for Timon to fall in beside him.

“Trouble with the humans?” he asked.

Timon schooled his features. “Nothing we can’t handle,” he said.

Orpheus tossed long blond hair out of his eyes. “It’s true that I’ve never seen you have any difficulties with women before.”

With a brief laugh, Timon scratched Lazarus between the ears. “If you’re referring to Parks’s goddaughter, you’ve lost your mind.”

“She is rather beautiful, if you like the quiet type,” he said. “Which, come to think of it, you usually don’t.”

Timon wanted nothing more but to set off on a hard ride well ahead of the column, just to clear his mind and feel the freedom of nothing but open space before him. “The problem with Ms. McCullough,” he said, “is that she’s inexperienced enough to be reckless with her own safety.”

“Ah.” Orpheus nodded as if he understood everything perfectly. “Well, we knew what we were getting into.”

“I’ve seen no sign that any of them guessed that the raiders were our own people in disguise,” Timon said.

“Why should they?” Orpheus glanced over his shoulder. “We needed a way of learning their secrets, and now they think they owe us their lives. They’ll be that much more cooperative.”

“It’ll have to be done very carefully,” Timon said, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’ve already spoken to most of the people in the delegation, and a few look promising. But if you have a rapport with the McCullough girl, you should exploit it. Especially if she is so inexperienced.”

Timon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Cassius never told us who hired us to spy on these people. That isn’t what we do, Orpheus.”

“I know.” Orpheus shrugged. “Our first mission is to get these humans safely to New Mexico. If the San Francisco delegation means some harm to the Conclave, it’s bound to become obvious over the next two months.”

“The fate of the Conclave isn’t our business.”

“We’re Riders. We don’t take sides. But we can’t pretend that a permanent peace won’t affect us.”

“If it happens, there’s no point in worrying about it.”

“And there’s the Timon I know. I was beginning to think you’d turned into Cassius.”

“He can have the leadership as long as we have our freedom.”

“But we still have our duty,” Orpheus said.

Timon wheeled Lazarus around. “We’ll make camp in two hours. I’ll send Bardas ahead to meet the three who are rejoining us.”

He rode back the way he’d come, Orpheus’s words echoing in his head. If you have a rapport with the girl, you should exploit it.

His duty. If he chose to exploit the intense attraction between him and Jamie, he would be turning her apparent innocence against her. Surely she couldn’t know about any dangerous “secrets” hidden by the delegation.

But if she did...

He paused briefly to speak with Parks, ignored Cahill and looked for Jamie again. She was riding beside the two other medics, showing them her notebook as she chattered enthusiastically about some sketch she had made.

He had more than enough skill to seduce her, especially when she obviously had little defense against such attentions. Still, he didn’t know if that was the best way to get close enough to her to question her without giving up the game. A game he most certainly didn’t want to play.

He was bound by the Brotherhood’s oath to protect her as well as all the others in the delegation. But who would protect her from him?

Chapter 4

“Stay away from him, Jamie.”

Greg jerked on the reins, causing his horse to toss her head. Jamie pressed her lips together. Letting Greg have his say was usually the fastest way to get rid of him. And she didn’t want to get into another argument with him.

Especially not over Timon.

“I mean it,” Greg said. “These Riders may have a reputation for objectivity, but I don’t trust this Timon as far as I can throw him. He spends too much time with you, and for no good reason.”

Jamie lost her patience. “He knows the world, Greg, and I want to learn about it.”

“The world? Oh, yes, they’re worldly, the Riders. Everyone knows they keep lovers wherever they travel.”

Her throat went dry. “It’s nothing like that. He’s curious about our Enclave, and—”

“What are you telling him?” Greg interrupted. “He doesn’t have any need to know more about us than he already does. None of them do.”

Watching a passing hawk cross the sky, Jamie sighed inwardly. This wasn’t going to go away. And she wasn’t going to change her behavior just because Greg was jealous.

Does he have reason to be? she asked herself. It wasn’t as if she and Timon had ever discussed anything truly intimate. Yes, she’d managed to give away her unease about being bitten, but she’d never let on how attractive she found Timon, how he could draw her like a moth to a flame even when she feared what he was doing to her with every moment they spent together.

“It’s only natural that he’d want to know about an Enclave he’s never visited,” she said, clearing her thoughts. “Every human city-state is different, and I have the opportunity to learn about the ones he’s visited.”

“This isn’t about exchanging information,” Greg said, extending his arm to grab her wrist. “I won’t let you—”

He broke off, yelping in surprise as Timon rode up beside them, grasped his hand and lifted it from Jamie’s. She already knew how strong the Rider was, part of his half-Opir heritage.

But he’d never used that strength against anyone in the delegation. Greg snatched his hand away and pulled his horse’s head sharply to the side, earning a squeal of protest from the mare.

“Are you all right?” Timon asked Jamie.

Shaking with reaction, Jamie stared at him. “It wasn’t necessary for you to interfere,” she said.

“He was hurting you, wasn’t he?”

“Not at all,” she said quickly. “We were having an—”

“Argument?” Timon finished. “You seem to have them often.”

“That’s between me and the Senator.”

“Is it normal in your Enclave for men to dominate their women with threats?”

“I’m not his woman,” she said, flushing.

“But you have an understanding.”

Somehow the subject of her relationship with Greg had never come up between them before. Jamie realized she had been avoiding it, as if merely talking about it would make it more real.

“I don’t know what you would call it,” she said quietly. “It’s more of an—”

“Engagement,” Greg interrupted, keeping her horse between him and Timon. “For the past two years.”

Timon gave Greg a hard look. “Is that true, Jamie?”

She closed her eyes, shutting out Greg’s angry face. “My godfather would like us to be married.”

“But you don’t want to be.”

“How dare you,” Greg spat. “My relationship with Ms. McCullough is none of your business.”

“If there’s trouble between members of the delegation, it is my business,” Timon said. “It could jeopardize my mission.”

“There’s no trouble,” Jamie said, recognizing that she had to put a stop to this irrational hostility.

“I want you to stay away from her,” Greg said to Timon.

“You don’t own me, Greg,” Jamie said, surprising herself with her boldness. “And we aren’t engaged.”

Greg fell into a shocked silence. She had never spoken to him that way. She’d always let him win the battles, because it didn’t seem to make much difference one way or another.

He’d been one of her few friends since childhood. And if he’d changed over the years, become more overbearing since his appointment as Senator, she’d accepted it.

But no one had ever told her his behavior was unacceptable. No one had ever interfered, until Timon.

Suddenly, Jamie felt a sense of freedom. It was as if Timon’s words and actions had given her a glimpse into a part of herself she had left behind a long, long time ago.

“Excuse me,” she said, giving her gelding a little kick. “I need some time to myself.”

Neither of the men came after her as she rode forward, nearly to the head of the column where Timon’s colleague Orpheus rode point. She stopped before she passed him, not wanting to call more attention to herself, and rode a little way off to the side, into the long, unsullied grass.

She let her mind drift as the gelding clopped along at an easy pace. The sun was warm on her skin, and birds sang from the marsh at the southern end of San Francisco Bay. Ahead lay the extensive ruins of San Jose and its outlying suburbs; once the party had gone beyond them, they’d be following old Highway 101 another thirty miles until they reached the junction where they’d turn inland toward the great Central Valley.

But Jamie was thinking about the end of the journey, and the great work to be done there. Work Eileen would have done had she not died twenty years ago.

You would have loved this, Mother, she thought sadly. We could have shared so much.

At least she had the journal. It was close to her heart, the words inside it a comfort to her when she was sad or confused. As she was now.

That night she sat some distance from the fire, not quite cold enough to surrender her privacy. She could see her godfather casting several worried looks her way; she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her quarrel with Greg or Timon’s interference. Amos would be so disappointed...

“Good evening,” Timon said. He stood slightly behind her, making no attempt to sit, and gazed toward the fire.

Jamie knotted her hands together in her lap. “Hello,” she said.

There was no particular encouragement in the word, but Timon remained where he was. After an awkward silence, he said, “Do you want to marry him?”

Her muscles went stiff. Timon had no reason to bring the subject up again. Greg was right about that; it wasn’t any of his business.

“You won’t have to worry about our arguing anymore,” she said.

“You agreed to stay away from me?” he asked, his voice without inflection.

“That doesn’t seem to be possible,” she said.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She didn’t. That was the problem. Even now she could feel his vital heat at her back, imagine his strong, agile body standing relaxed and yet ready for any danger, envision his eyes glittering in the darkness.

“I wouldn’t have interfered if he hadn’t been hurting you,” Timon said.

“I understand,” Jamie said. She rubbed her arms. “You might as well sit down.”

Timon eased himself to the ground beside her, supple as a cat.

“Will you answer my question?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You don’t know if you’ll answer it?”

“I don’t know if I want to marry him.”

“What is he to you?”

“A very old and dear friend.”

“Then you don’t love him.”

His statement was worse than just impertinent. He seemed to think he could see what was in her mind.

“What do you know about love?” she demanded.

Timon leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Marriage usually requires love, doesn’t it?”

“Your kind doesn’t marry, or even allow women to join your Brotherhood. I doubt that you’re any kind of authority on the subject.”

Low laughter hummed in his chest. “You’re right,” he said. “What I know I’ve picked up from a hundred missions to human Enclaves and mixed colonies throughout the West. But the love-and-marriage situation seems to be about the same in all of them.”

“And why are you so interested in something that will never involve you in any way? Don’t Riders usually stay Riders for life?”

“Yes.”

“And you certainly don’t have time to love anyone.”

“We’re not monks, Jamie.”

His voice was amused, but the words were pointed, and Jamie’s heart kicked inside her ribs.

“I don’t think we share the same definition of love,” she said, regretting the words as soon as she’d spoken them.

“But there can be so many definitions. You love your parents, don’t you?”

“My parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded as if he meant it. Though Darketans had originally been raised in barracks as soldier-agents in the Citadels, never permitted to see their Opir mothers or human fathers, that had changed in recent years. Matings that had once been considered shameful in the Citadels were no longer quite so rare, and many mixed couples fled the Opir cities to raise their children in freedom.

It was possible that Timon had lived with his parents, grown up in something like a normal family. Jamie very much wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him, all the personal things they hadn’t discussed.

But she wasn’t prepared to risk giving too much in return for what she might get.

“Please don’t interfere between me and Greg again,” she said, rising to her feet. “I can deal with him.”

“By letting him believe you feel more than you do?” Timon got up slowly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, Jamie, it’s that you don’t play games. If you don’t want the man, let him go.”

They stared at each other, and Jamie could see a flame burning in the back of his eyes.

They’d known each other only a handful of days, spent a few hours riding together and speaking in generalities of her world and his. Until today, the question of any kind of love, carnal or otherwise, had never come up between them.

But Timon had made it very plain. We’re not monks, he had said. Greg had warned her. If she’d had any doubts before she’d left the Enclave, Jamie understood now just how vulnerable she was to the same physical desires that drove most other people, human or otherwise. Desires she hardly knew how to act on. She knew that Greg thought of her as an innocent, even though as a scientist she was not nearly as naive as he guessed. She certainly felt something for Timon, but she’d never made any attempt to appear attractive to him. She had no idea how to compel a man’s interest, let alone how to seduce one.

Even if it didn’t make any sense to her, Timon wanted her. If she gave in, if she let him see her feelings, she knew exactly where it would lead. They would end up together behind some tree or in the remains of some ruined building.

I can’t, she thought. She believed in logic, not in some kind of animal lust that couldn’t be controlled.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Jamie,” Timon said, perfect comprehension in his eyes.

“No,” she said, her mouth dry.

“Jamie, wait.”

Turning awkwardly, she strode away from the fire and into the wild shrubs and low trees to the west of the track. If she could just break contact with him for a few moments, clear her senses and regain her composure...

A hand clamped over her lips from behind. Instinctively she struggled, but the grubby fingers filled her mouth, and the body that held her was far too strong.

Still, she kicked, and the man yelped. She was free for an instant before the world went black.

Chapter 5

Timon heard the attack before he saw it. He’d gone into the bushes after Jamie when the first shouts came, and he turned back for the wagons with his rifle in hand.

This attack was not fake. Timon’s night vision showed him that the raiders bearing down on the delegates were almost certainly full-blood humans, tribesmen with long beards and animal-skin clothing. They rode toward the wagons with whoops and hollers, waving axes and a few rusted guns.

The battle was fully engaged before Timon joined it, and the delegate’s human soldiers were fighting alongside the Riders. Timon crouched near one of the wagons and took careful aim, downing an attacker before he could grab the Senator’s aide.

They’re after the women, Timon thought as a second raider charged the young medic named Akesha. The male nearly had her by the hair when Orpheus slammed his horse into the raider’s, knocking the bearded man from his saddle. Timon faced down the two raiders who were still threatening both women, circling like scrawny wolves around a pair of yearling fawns. He raised his rifle again, while Orpheus loosed one of his arrows into a raider’s shoulder.

Then, all at once, the attackers were turning, fleeing, kicking their mounts into a frenzied gallop across the valley toward the hills in the west. The Riders chased them, firing their rifles and arrows, while Timon dismounted and plunged back into the brush where Jamie had disappeared earlier.

She wasn’t there. But Timon quickly read the signs of struggle in torn earth and snapped branches. He followed hoofprints for a dozen yards and then stopped, cursing himself for his own stupidity.

The raiders had been after women. And Jamie had been alone.

Timon rode back to the column to take reports from his men. Akesha had been wounded but not seriously. The two other women in the delegation, the Senator’s aide and one of the soldiers, were shaken but unharmed; Greg Cahill was berating one of the Enclave soldiers for failing to protect them well enough.

After gathering his gear and strapping it onto Lazarus’s back, Timon assembled his men near the front of the column. Amos Parks ran up behind him, sweating and pale.

“Where is Jamie?” he panted, drawing his hand across his forehead. “I can’t find her!”

“I think she’s been taken,” Timon said. Lazarus shifted under the pressure of his knees, and he tried to relax. “I last saw her off the side of the road, and there are signs of struggle.”

“Then you must go after her!” Parks said. “Good God, what they might do to her—”

“They won’t hurt her,” Timon said through his teeth. “Women are highly valued by these human raiders.”

“And how long do you think they’ll leave her untouched?”

Not long enough, Timon thought. Not once they’d established who among their foul tribe would own and have the right to impregnate her. A deep and unfamiliar rage made the blood pound in his temples, and he remembered his own kidnapping when he was a child, terrified of the strange Freebloods who had taken him from his father.

“I’m going after her,” he said.

“Timon, our brothers still haven’t arrived,” Orpheus said, controlling his own agitated mount. “If you leave, there’ll be only three of us to protect the column.”

“Our brothers may arrive anytime.”

“Or not at all,” Orpheus said. “Something has delayed them. They might even be dead.”

“How likely is that?” Parks said, a note of desperation in his voice. “She’s my goddaughter, but she also has skills valuable to the Conclave. You can’t expect us to go on without her!”

Timon met the eyes of each of his men. They hadn’t been blind these past several days. They knew this wasn’t merely a matter of weighing the safety of the group against the life of one of its members.

But they also knew what their leader should choose. The mission was all-important. Nothing could stand in its way.

Except the woman he couldn’t abandon.

“Orpheus,” he said, “you’re in command. Work with the human soldiers. You know what to do—take them through the pass to the Central Valley as quickly as you can, and watch for ambush. We’ll catch up with you when we can.”

No one spoke. Parks moved up beside Lazarus and gripped Timon’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “I know you’ll find her and keep her safe.”

Timon met his gaze. “Do as Orpheus says, Councilman Parks.”

Without another word, he turned Lazarus about and set out toward the western hills.

He rode slowly through the dark, letting Lazarus find his way, and listened for any sound of men.

Once he reached the spring-green slopes of oak-covered hills, he took the path of least resistance along a creek bed. The shoeless hoofprints of the human raiders’ horses were clearer now, pushed into the soft earth and leaving splattered mud to either side of a rough trail.

They obviously didn’t expect anyone to come after them, Timon thought. Their tracks wound higher to the crest of the third ridge of hills and then sharply down into a narrow valley, a dry creek bed running along the bottom.

Timon dismounted under the cover of down-swept oak branches and rested his hand on Lazarus’s muzzle to keep him quiet. There were horses below, and smoke rising from beneath the creek-side trees. He could smell cooking meat and the scent of infrequently washed bodies.

This was their encampment, then. If it was like most that Timon had seen in his wanderings, it would be a temporary dwelling with tents taking the place of permanent buildings and a rough way of life.

If he was right, these people were bent on increasing their numbers, and they were perpetually short of females. They would raid where they could, and when they’d exhausted their supplies of game and possible captives, they’d move on.

He knew Jamie was down there—afraid but undoubtedly defiant. But the sun was rising; it would be foolish for Timon to approach now, when the raiders would most likely shoot him on sight.

He couldn’t get Jamie out by any direct approach. There would likely be a scout or hunter or two roaming around these hills, and if he could find one of them, he’d be able to gain more information about the camp and any weak spots. By sunset, he had to be ready to strike.

Mounting again, he guided Lazarus back down the hill and into another narrow valley, this one barely more than a cleft between two steep slopes. He fed Lazarus a little grain and then ground-tied the horse before climbing the hill again on foot. He lay on his belly and observed the camp through his field glasses, noting when people emerged from beneath the cover of the trees, men tending horses or patrolling the borders of the camp.

Timon only had to wait an hour before a mounted man left the camp and urged his horse to climb the hill on the opposite side of the valley. The sun was still angled low, and the shadows were long. Timon slid back down the hill, mounted Lazarus and worked his way up the side of the cleft until he reached the top of slope at the northern end. Seeking the cover of the nearest trees, he dismounted again and led Lazarus in the direction the scout had gone.

He found the man soon enough. The raider was tall and gaunt, festooned with leather and the furs of raccoon, fox and bobcat. Unlike most of the raiders Timon had seen, he was clean-shaven—a sign of lower status—and wore a deerskin hat with a fox’s tail trailing down his back. His horse stood a little distance away, tied to the branch of a tall shrub.

As Timon watched from cover, the man removed a stick from his mouth and swung his well-worn rifle up to aim at some animal moving in the brush to the west.

Timon drew his knife and crouched low, stalking the man as the raider stalked his prey. The human never heard him. Timon grabbed him from behind, covering the man’s mouth with one hand while batting the rifle away with the other.

The human fought back with wiry strength, biting down on Timon’s hand with brown teeth. Timon’s gloves took the worst of it, but the man’s jaw was strong, used to eating tough and stringy meat. Once he freed his hand, Timon punched the raider in the face, snatched up the rifle and threw it as far away as he could under the trees. The raider opened his mouth to call out.

Timon struck him in the temple with the butt of his knife. The raider collapsed, still breathing but too dazed to fight. Timon sheathed his knife and dragged the man into the trees, then ran back to collect the human’s uneasy horse.

Lazarus knew better than to greet the other animal with more than a brief touch of muzzles. But he had a soothing effect on his fellow horse, and Timon was free to concentrate on its rider.

The man stank, but Timon had been exposed to worse many times in his years as a Rider. It was the thought of Jamie in the clutches of a creature like this that fed his rage. He used rope from his gear to bind the man’s hands and feet, and then waited for him to regain full consciousness.

Timon’s knife was at the man’s throat when he opened his eyes.

“Quiet,” he said, careful to prick just the skin of the man’s neck. “I need information from you. If you give it to me, I won’t hurt you.”

The raider puckered his lips and spat in Timon’s face. “Bloodsucker,” he whispered.

Timon wiped the spittle from his face. “A woman was brought to your camp,” he said. “Is she all right?”

With an abrupt shift of his body, the raider tried to butt Timon’s head. Timon leaned back, rocked forward again and gave the man another taste of his blade.

“You will tell me what I want to know,” Timon said, shifting the knife much lower, “or I’ll do worse than slit your throat.”

As Timon had expected, the raider feared losing a certain part of his anatomy more than death. He talked.

Jamie was safe, for now. She was being held in the tent of the man who had taken her during the raid, but he was being challenged by several members just as eager to claim a mate.

She would have absolutely no say in the matter.

“You have no woman,” Timon said to the prisoner.

The raider turned his face aside.

“Were you planning to challenge for her?”

Maintaining his silence, the man stared into the woods. But Timon understood his position perfectly. This young male’s only chance of increasing his status was by gaining a mate.

If he hadn’t challenged yet, it still wasn’t too late.

Chapter 6

Night had fallen again by the time Timon rode into the camp, a deer’s carcass slung over his borrowed horse’s back. In the hills above, his prisoner had been bound and gagged. Lazarus, however little he liked being parted from his rider, remained where Timon had left him.

Timon was fortunate. The captive raiders’ eyes were pale, like Timon’s, the color difficult to make out in the torch-lit darkness, and Timon’s hair was covered by the fox-tailed hat. His masquerade may just work.

The men gathered around the several campfires either grunted brief acknowledgment or ignored him entirely. He scanned the camp, noting the positions of the tents, and located the place where the raiders prepared their meat. He led his horse to the fire and, keeping his face averted, unloaded the carcass and hung it over a pole near the fire.

Almost at once a woman in a ragged dress came scurrying out of the nearest tent to examine the carcass. Timon took the opportunity to retreat, walking with the kind of uneasy familiarity of a low-status hunter. He tied his mount near the string of horses toward the rear of the camp and melted into the deeper shadows under the trees.

He took a deep breath, trying to sort the overwhelming scents from the one that belonged to Jamie. It was an impossible task, even for a half-blood with an excellent sense of smell. He looked over the tents, noting which were the largest and most prominently situated. Men gathered about the outside of several of them, like warriors standing guard in front of palace gates.

Only one of the smaller tents had a similar retinue, with the men outside looking far less like guards and more like a hostile force.

The challengers, Timon thought. Jamie must be inside, along with her captor.

It took all Timon’s discipline not to rush straight at the tent and take on the six men. Jamie hasn’t been touched, he reminded himself. She was far too valuable a prize, and if her captor moved on her without accepting challenge, he’d likely be torn limb from limb.

If only Timon could tell her she wasn’t alone.

Even as he completed the thought, a short, muscular man emerged from the tent. He growled at his challengers, who muttered threats and brandished knives and axes.

Pushing his way through them, Jamie’s kidnapper walked into the center of the camp and began to speak. The meaning of the rough words, Timon thought, didn’t really matter; their purpose was to boast of his strength and his prowess, to scare off lesser challenges and reinforce his claim over the female.

Apparently there would be no waiting for the fighting to start.

Someone bellowed, and the first duel began. In spite of the earlier display of weapons, the two men fought hand to hand, viciously and with no apparent rules to constrain them. The men seemed equally matched in height and musculature, but it was soon obvious that Jamie’s captor was stronger. Using little more than brute strength, he battered his challenger down to the ground and used both fists and feet to pummel the man into unconsciousness.

A heavy silence fell. The other challengers shifted and grumbled. A pair of boys dragged the unconscious man away.

Then another man, bearing a wicked-looking knife in one hand, flung himself at Jamie’s kidnapper. A knife appeared in the first raider’s hand, and the second battle commenced with quiet and deadly ferocity.

It ended much the same as the first, but this time the challenger didn’t get off so easily.

Again there was silence. Two of the remaining challengers withdrew, heads bowed. The victor shouted hoarsely, mocking the others for their cowardice.

Timon knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. Lowering his head under the hat and drawing up the fur collar of his coat, he stalked toward his opponent. The victor grinned, showing half-rotten teeth, and beckoned the man he believed Timon to be.

He obviously wasn’t expecting much. He lunged at Timon with his large, long arms, as if he planned to break Timon’s back. Timon slipped out of his reach, darted underneath the man’s arms and butted him hard in the stomach. Confused by the suddenness of the attack, the man staggered back, holding his ribs.

But Timon knew it wasn’t nearly enough. His enemy recovered quickly and punched at Timon’s jaw. Again Timon was faster, and he landed a blow to the man’s face and followed up by heaving the tribesman to the ground.

There were murmurs of surprise from the watchers, undoubtedly wondering at their fellow tribesman’s unusual strength. Timon knew he didn’t dare drag the fight out much longer.

As soon as Jamie’s captor was on his feet again, Timon kicked his knees out from under him and dislocated both of his shoulders. Wailing in pain and rage, the man rolled onto his back. His efforts to rise failed over and over again, and after a time he lay still, his thickly bearded face a mask of fury and humiliation.

Checking to make sure that his hat was still in place, Timon turned to face the few remaining challengers. They looked from him to his opponent and, one by one, melted into the shadows. Timon turned and tossed back the tent flap, entering before any of the tribesmen could change his mind.

“Jamie!” he whispered.

She sat on the ground, bound to the tent pole, ropes digging into her wrists and ankles. Her lip was cut and bleeding, her hair tangled and wild around her shoulders. Her clothing was torn, and there was a heavy bruise on one cheek.

Timon swore, longing to charge back outside and treat her captor to a little more serious punishment.

“Timon?” she said, her voice hoarse. “Is it you?”

He was at her side in an instant, cutting through the ropes with his knife. “It’s me,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“They didn’t hurt me.”

Oh, no, Timon thought. The brutes had only handled her like a piece of livestock, hitting and terrorizing her with promises of worse to come.

But when he looked in Jamie’s eyes, he saw determination. And hope.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Can you run?”

“I heard fighting,” she said as she rubbed her wrists. “Did you—”

“I defeated the man who captured you. He’s off his feet, but there’s no guarantee.” He grunted and finished freeing her ankles. “No time to talk. We’re going out the back, and hope they don’t see us until we’re out of this valley.”

He helped her to her feet. She staggered against him, and for a moment he simply held her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart and the stirring in his own.

“Can you run?” he asked again.

“I can do whatever is necessary.”

“Then let’s go,” he said. He ran to the rear of the tent and used his knife to cut a new flap in the patchwork of homespun fabric and deerskin. He went out first, paused to listen, and then grabbed Jamie’s hand.

The tent was backed against the slope of one of the hills, partially sheltered by the twisted limbs of an oak. Timon pushed Jamie behind the wide trunk, took her hand again and began to climb, constantly listening for sounds of pursuit.

Jamie struggled but never gave up, her hands and feet clawing at the earth as she focused on the crest of the hill. She and Timon had almost reached the place where Timon had left Lazarus and his captive’s horse when the cries started from the camp, echoing up into the woods.

Timon almost threw Jamie into Lazarus’s saddle before taking the other horse, knowing that she’d have a better chance with a Rider’s mount than that of a tribesman. His horse was about as gaunt as its former owner, but it felt Timon’s experience and obeyed willingly as Timon gave Lazarus the command to run.

They crossed the ridge, the shouts of the men behind them, and plunged down into the next narrow ravine, splashing through a creek that still carried a trickle of water. Timon whistled to Lazarus, signaling him to take the lead, and he fell behind again, preparing his rifle.

After following the creek for a good quarter mile, Timon turned his mount up the slope. Lazarus climbed ahead of him, Jamie clinging like a burr to his back. The sounds of pursuit grew louder again. The horses galloped full-out along the ridge and into another dense stand of oak and underbrush. The wider Santa Clara valley lay below, a grassy expanse broken only by the occasional low hill or clump of trees.

The tribesmen knew these hills; they preferred the protection the higher ground afforded, but Timon had no doubt that they’d follow him and Jamie onto the plain.

He pushed the horses on to the foot of the final hill and brought them to a halt beneath a single oak at the edge of the valley. “Stay on Lazarus,” he commanded Jamie. “If we can’t stop them here, you run. Lazarus is very fast and strong. He can outrun the tribesmen’s mounts easily. You have to ride low and stay on until there’s no one left chasing you. Cross the valley to the old highway and the pass through the hills to the east. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I won’t leave you.”

“I’ve fought these kinds of men many times in the past. If they take you, your life will be slavery and degradation.” He checked his rifle again. “I didn’t come after you to see you fall to that.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her thick, dark hair falling over her face. “You should have stayed with the others, to protect them.”

“Get behind the tree, and be ready to run at my signal.”

But he knew she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t abandon him because she believed she owed him her life. And so he would have to make sure that their pursuers lost their nerve before they got to the bottom of the hill.

Crouching behind a thorny bush, Timon took aim. The first of the enemy riders crested the hill and began to descend at a breakneck pace. Timon shot the ground just ahead of the first horse, who squealed and hopped to the side, unseating his rider. Another tribesman, close behind, took a shot at Timon, but the bullet fell short. Timon returned the favor by shooting the man in the shoulder.

After that, the rest of the world went away. Timon saw nothing but the enemy, felt nothing but the rifle in his hands. Bullets whizzed past him, some close enough to stir the air near his body. He continued to fire, aiming, as most Riders did, to wound rather than kill, scaring the horses into throwing their riders.

It took a moment for him to realize when the tribesmen began to retreat, some on foot with their horses temporarily lost to panic and fear. A few paused to help their wounded; one man screamed threats down at Timon and shook his fist ineffectually before plodding uphill.

Ineffectual for now, perhaps. But Timon knew that Jamie was too great a prize for the tribesmen to simply give up. They’d try again.

Setting his rifle aside, Timon crawled backward to the base of the tree trunk. Lazarus peeked around and nickered, his ears swiveling back.

Jamie was slumped on the ground just behind Lazarus, her wrist bent oddly, blood flowing steadily from the bullet wound in her outer thigh. Her eyes were closed. Timon dropped to his knees beside her and felt for her pulse. It was a little thready but still regular. He cursed steadily as he examined the wound. The bullet had passed in and out of muscle, and hadn’t nicked any major blood vessels. But she was still bleeding freely, and her wrist appeared to be fractured, possibly a result of her falling out of the saddle. Only the luckiest of shots could have caught her without also wounding Lazarus.

He knew he had to stop the bleeding, bind Jamie’s wound and splint her arm. He had his medical kit and oak branches littering the ground around him, but he’d only be able to do a quick fix under the circumstances. He needed to find them a place where he could give full attention to her injuries without fear of attack.

“Jamie,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered.

“Lie very still. You’re injured, but I’m going to do what I can so we can get out of here quickly and find a better hiding place. It’s going to hurt.”

“I...know.” She reached out with her good hand, and he gripped it gently. “Do what you have to.”

She made barely a sound while he cut a long slit in her pants, carefully lifted her leg atop a heap of saddlebags so that the wound was above her heart and got the bleeding under control. Once the worst of it had stopped, he started a fire and boiled water to clean out the wound before bandaging it with more clean cloth and an outer covering cut from a bedroll.

Tears ran down Jamie’s cheeks as he set her wrist, but she never flinched. He bound the wrist and lower forearm to straight, sturdy branches with additional cloth and fashioned a sling with the rest of the blanket.

It seemed little better than butcher’s work to Timon, but at least now he could carry her on horseback without worrying that she might bleed to death.

“You’re very brave,” he told her, “and I’ll need you to keep your courage up a little longer. We have to run before the tribesmen come after us again.”

She nodded, her face drained of color. “I won’t...disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t,” he said. Overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude and tenderness, he kissed her dirt-smudged forehead. “I’ll get the other horse.”

But the tribesman’s horse had gone lame sometime during the chase, and the best Timon could do was leave him for his previous owners to reclaim. He loaded the saddlebags on Lazarus’s back and returned to Jamie.

“Hold on,” he said.

He lifted her in his arms and placed her in the saddle, then hopped up behind her. She collapsed against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, gathered up the reins in his other hand and turned Lazarus toward the valley.

Chapter 7

As Timon had predicted, the raiders began to follow again when he and Jamie were halfway across the valley. But Lazarus had all the heart and courage of the Riders’ specially bred horses, and he didn’t slow until they reached the hills on the opposite side. The tribesmen never had a chance.

By the time the chase ended, Jamie was deadweight in his arms. Timon found a place in the hills just south of the pass through which the delegates and their escorts would have gone only a short while before. He laid the half-conscious Jamie down under a tree and reexamined the bandages around her thigh.

The wound wasn’t bleeding heavily, but the pain would be excruciating, and he doubted she’d ever have experienced anything like it before. He was driving her body to move instead of rest when it had two injuries to heal.

He propped her head on his thighs and urged her to drink from his canteen. Most of the water dribbled down her chin, but a little got into her mouth, and she opened her eyes.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Away from the tribesmen,” he said. “They won’t find us now.”

“Thank...God,” she said. Her lips twitched. “And thank you.”

Timon felt deeply uncomfortable with her gratitude. Protecting the Enclave delegates was, after all, his job. If he’d observed well enough in the first place, this never would have happened.

He didn’t like owing anything to anyone, nor did he like others owing him. If she felt there was a debt to be repaid...

Then she’ll trust you, he thought. Isn’t that what you want?

“Lie still,” he said. “Your body has suffered multiple shocks, and you need rest.”

She moved as if she was trying to sit up, then fell back with a gasp. “We have to get back to my people,” she said. “My godfather—”

“They know I came after you,” he said. “We’ll meet up with them when we can. But driving yourself now will only increase the risk of your becoming worse.”

Jamie swallowed several times. “I understand,” she said. “It’s just... I wasn’t prepared for anything like this.”

“I know.”

“The...man who took me told me what he was going to do to me, and what would happen to me afterward.” Her words came out in a rush. “If I’d done enough research...if I’d paid enough attention, maybe I would have been ready to deal with it. I—”

“No. If I’d explained things more clearly—”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Tears rolled from the sides of her eyes. “Even after the first attack... I couldn’t have imagined such cruelty by humans against their own kind.”

Timon didn’t know how to answer her. He wet a scrap of cloth with the water and dabbed at the dirt on her forehead. Her skin felt cool, but that could change.

“You shouldn’t talk anymore,” he said. “If you’ll sleep a little, I’ll give you something to eat when you wake.”

“Sleep?” She coughed out a laugh. “I’m sorry, but... I’m afraid I’m a coward. It hurts too much.”

“There’s nothing cowardly about you,” he said, looking through his med kit for a packet of pills.

“How many of the humans living out here are like that?” she asked.

“Most aren’t,” he said, trying to ease the sting of her chagrin. “Most only want to survive peacefully, as you do.” He picked out one of the pills. “This might help with the pain, but I won’t lie to you. You’re going to be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll take...whatever I can get.”

He offered the pain pill with a sip of water, and then gave her an antibiotic. His supply was limited, and he had to be careful about the dosage.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked into his eyes. “You could have been killed, fighting those men.”

“I was lucky. I was able to pose as one of them.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t think they...bathe very often.”

For the first time since her capture, Timon felt like laughing. “I’ll change,” he said. “I have an extra shirt and pants you can wear, when you’re able to put them on.”

“You’re twice my size,” she said. “I can repair my own clothes, if you have a needle and thread.”

“Later. Nothing matters now but that you’re safe.”

“Is it that important?” she asked, closing her eyes.

It seemed to Timon that she was asking herself as much as she was asking him. “You’re important, Jamie. I know you have a contribution to make to the Conclave, maybe something no one else can.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and Timon saw them spark with surprise. “How did you...” She clamped her lips together. “You couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what, Jamie?”

She fell silent. The sun had grown warm, but suddenly Jamie was shivering. Timon fetched a blanket and tucked her under it.

“No more talk,” he said. “While you sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed.

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She began to shake her head, exhaled slowly and drifted into sleep.

Timon held her hand a little longer, amazed by its delicacy and softness. It wouldn’t be so soft at the end of their journey. Inevitably, she would lose whatever innocence she still had left. But her second capture, so soon after the first, had been a brutal way for her to experience the outside world.

He had lost his innocence much earlier, when he’d been kidnapped as a child by a power-hungry warlord. But even before that, growing up in a mixed human and Opir colony, he’d known how much danger lay beyond the seeming safety of the colony’s walls.

But he would regret the hard lessons Jamie had yet to learn. He knew he couldn’t afford to allow his personal feelings to get in the way, and yet he felt that if he could have kept Jamie in a bubble, protected from all unpleasantness, he would have done it.

He berated himself for his weakness. He couldn’t allow himself to get emotionally involved. He could still take her back to the Enclave.

And she would resist him every step of the way. Fear wouldn’t stop her from forging ahead, even though she had only one Rider to protect her.

A Rider who had ulterior motives. Even though he’d already come to hate the idea of manipulating her into giving up information he now had reason to expect she possessed.

This was the time to learn it. When she was vulnerable and dependent on him. When she had begun to trust him.

Rising quickly, Timon walked to the top of the hill. The grass in the valley rippled like water. It was very peaceful.

Timon’s heart was not at peace. He had the overwhelming conviction that it never would be again.

* * *

Jamie woke at dawn. Timon had built a small fire, sheltered from view by the hills. He crouched beside it, the planes of his face carved of shadow and firelight, his big hands dangling between his knees.

Instinctively, Jamie felt her thigh. The pill had done some good, but the wound throbbed constantly, and her wrist wasn’t much better. She felt weak and useless, worth no more than Timon’s pity.

She watched Timon as he rummaged through his saddlebags. He wore a homespun shirt and pants with leather insets tucked into his boots, and even from a distance she could tell that the odor of his “disguise” was gone. Each of his movements was efficient and smooth, well-developed muscle working harmoniously and with no extraneous mannerisms.

Had he moved the same way when he’d fought for her in the tribesmen’s camp, with such ease and grace? He’d overcome her captor, gotten her away, treated her injuries. She was completely dependent on him and his considerable skill.

Her face felt flushed, and she touched her cheeks. They were warm...with embarrassment, she thought. No matter how many times he told her she wasn’t at fault.

“You’re awake,” he said, turning as he spoke. He smiled, and the strong lines of his face relaxed. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure it was really true. Her stomach grumbled loudly enough for him to hear, and she winced. “Thanks to you.”

“You’ve already thanked me,” he said. He laid his hand on her forehead, frowned and touched her cheek. There was nothing detached about that second touch. It was almost a caress.

She started in spite of herself. “No sign of the raiders?” she said, her lip cracking open as she spoke the last word.

Timon got up and returned with a small piece of gauze. He dabbed at her lip. “Nothing,” he said. “They’d expect us to be long gone by now.”

“We should be,” she said, making an effort to rise. “We can’t stay here.”

His violet-gray eyes gazed into hers with a calm wisdom that made her feel self-conscious all over again. “We’ll only move when you’re up to it,” he said, “and that won’t be today.”

Rising again, Timon fetched a tin plate filled with a kind of gruel and a strip of dried meat. “I’m sorry this is all I have to offer,” he said. “But I was only able to bring my own packs with me, and I haven’t had the chance to hunt. Do you think you can eat?”

Jamie nodded, her gut rebelling at the sight of the gruel. She let Timon feed her, though she began to resent every spoonful that went into her mouth.

“I still have one hand,” she protested.

“I don’t want you moving around any more than you have to.”

“There are some things you can’t help me with.”

He grinned, showing his pointed cuspids. “I’ve lived most of my life on the move. Do you think something like that would bother me?”

“You only travel with men,” she said.

“But I’ve known plenty of women,” he said, an almost mischievous light glittering in his eyes. “Biology is biology. If you think you can manage it, I’ll help you get up.”

“You just said you didn’t want me to move!”

All at once he was serious again. “I would rather you didn’t.”

With a feeling of queasiness, she imagined him cleaning up after her. That was out of the question. “Help me get over to the tree,” she said. He half carried her to the tree and gave her a small measure of privacy, though she knew he was alert to the possibility of a fall. She was very careful not to fall.

Then he was easing her to the blanket again, laying her down with exquisite care, with something so much like tenderness that she almost didn’t feel the increased pain as her arm and leg touched the ground.

“I’ll give you another pill,” he said, adjusting her head into a more comfortable position.

“I don’t need one,” she said with greater asperity than she’d intended.

“You kept insisting that you’re a coward who can’t stand pain.”

“I am,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He laughed softly. “Don’t ever suggest such foolish things again.”

“What—”

“That you aren’t one of the most courageous women I’ve ever known.”

“And you said you’ve known plenty.”

She didn’t know what had gotten into her. God knew she didn’t want to hear the real answer.

“Do you want the details?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

Eager to change the subject, Jamie closed her eyes. “How soon will I be well enough to travel, so that we can catch up with the others? They can’t be too far ahead.”

“We have to make sure that the arm sets properly and the leg wound remains clean and healing. We’ll find a more permanent camp, and stay there for a couple of weeks.”

“What?”

“You need plenty of time to heal.”

She began to sit up, but Timon was already pressing her down again. “That’s too long!”

“Because you’re anxious to rejoin your friends?” he asked. “Or is it the fact that you’ll be alone with me?”

His bluntness surprised her, and she felt an unfamiliar heat swelling in her belly. “I’m not afraid of anything, remember?” she said.

“Good. Because the last thing I want is for you to have doubts about me.” He leaned over her, a quiet ferocity in his voice. “I won’t let anything else happen to you. All you have to do is trust me.”

The emotions in his eyes were far too complex for her to read. She turned her head away.

“I do trust you,” she said. “I don’t have any choice.”

His sigh told her it wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear. “If that’s true,” he said, “I can suggest a way that might allow us to move a little faster.”

She turned her head toward him again. “What?”

“It may not work. But there’s a chance, Jamie.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “All Opiri have a component in their saliva that can heal human wounds. Usually those are the small wounds that come with a bite. But sometimes...” He leaned closer, the subtle colors shifting in his eyes. “I’m only half-Opir. But some of us inherit the healing ability. If I bite you, I may be able to hasten your healing more efficiently than any antibiotic.”

Her stomach began to roil with alarm. “Bite me?” she said.

“It’s the only way to get the healing component into your bloodstream.”

All at once his face changed, became that of a monster, eager to drain her dry. “No,” she whispered. “Get away from me.”

Chapter 8

Jamie flinched away as Timon jerked back. “Jamie?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

All at once his face seemed to shift back to normal—though deeply concerned, uncertain, confused.

“You want to take my blood,” Jamie said, anger rushing in to replace horror.

“Take your blood?” Timon backed away and crouched again, studying her face intently. “I didn’t say that, Jamie.”

“That was part of the bargain, wasn’t it? Your Riders’ escort for our blood to feed you along the way?”

“What happened when the first raiders took you? Did one of them hurt you?”

She couldn’t answer. Though she knew he only wanted to help, the memories had been in her thoughts since the first raiders had captured the delegation. She looked at Timon’s face now, and all she could imagine were his sharp, tearing teeth, the feel of them sinking into her flesh.

“Don’t worry,” Timon said, holding up his hands. “I won’t touch you, Jamie. Not without your permission.”

“Please, leave me alone.”

Timon got to his feet and gazed down at her, his mouth pinched. “I’m going to leave you here for a short time,” he said, “and look for a better camp, farther off the main track. Is that all right with you?”

Oak leaves overhead shifted with the breeze, letting through a beam of sunlight. Sunlight the real bloodsuckers couldn’t tolerate.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, avoiding Timon’s eyes.

“Don’t try to move. Rest as best you can.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He hesitated, released his breath, and went to fetch Lazarus.

For a while, Jamie did nothing but listen tensely to every sound in her little haven: the slight rustle of fresh green grass just outside the circle of shade, the twitter of a bird, the chirp of an insect. There was no man-made sound anywhere within the range of her hearing, but she fought sleep as long as she could.

Then the dreams came. Timon was carrying her off, taking her away from her people just like the tribesman, his arm clamped around her waist and his expression grimly satisfied. He had claimed her for his own. He would brand her as his, with his body and teeth and his will, and no matter how hard she fought—

She didn’t want to fight. God help her; she would give in to everything, anything he wanted. Fear was gone. The barriers of pride and modesty and obligation had fallen under Lazarus’s pounding hooves.

“Jamie.”

Her eyes flew open. She thrust out her good arm as if to fend Timon off and draw him closer at the same time.

He caught her hand between his. She felt the roughness of his palm, the gentle clasp of his long fingers.

“Easy,” he said. “You must have been dreaming.”

Her entire body went hot. “I...”

After laying her hand on her chest, he let go and stepped back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She caught her breath, glad he couldn’t actually read her mind. “Did you have any luck?” she asked.

“I found a good place for us deeper in the hills, with more trees and water nearby.”

“Can we get there before sundown?”

“If you’re up to it.”

“Let’s go,” she said.

“I’ll have to touch you, Jamie.”

Heat rushed into her face. “I...didn’t know what I was saying before. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You must have good reason.”

It had happened eighteen years ago, Jamie thought, and she should have been over it. To confuse Timon with him...

Irrational, she thought.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m all right.”

She was very careful not to cry out when Timon lifted her into the saddle. Timon watched her face with acute concern, but she thought she managed to fool him. He kept Lazarus at a walk, and even the horse seemed to understand what Timon was trying to do; Lazarus avoided rocks and furrows with precise footwork that amazed her.

They reached the new encampment by midafternoon. Timon carried her to a large oak and positioned her with her back to the trunk, almost as if he knew that she couldn’t bear another moment flat on her back. He arranged the remaining equipment nearby, unsaddled Lazarus and then offered her water. She was far thirstier than she remembered having been before and exhausted by the relatively brief ride.

But she said nothing of it. She was grateful when Timon checked her dressings and seemed satisfied. His lean and muscular body relaxed as if he felt more at ease in their new location.

“Tell me about your life in the Enclave,” he said.

Startled by the abrupt question, Jamie looked at him. His profile gave nothing away, but she knew he didn’t mean to make idle conversation. He was still looking for reasons for her strange behavior, and he wouldn’t give up unless she distracted him with other topics.

“What do you want to know?” she asked cautiously.

“About your childhood. Your parents. What you were like when you were younger. What you dreamed of doing and becoming.”

“My whole life story,” she said, trying to laugh. “Believe me—it isn’t very interesting. My mother was a biologist—a geneticist—and my father was a physician. They met while doing similar research at the Enclave Medical Center.”

“What kind of research?”

“They never really talked about it. I know they were both interested in recovering the lost pre-War treatments for diseases humanity once thought were wiped out.”

“And you carried on in their footsteps.”

“I grew up around scientists,” she said. “I only went to school until I was ten, and after that my father homeschooled me.”

“You didn’t have many friends.”

It was a statement rather than a question, and Jamie winced. “There weren’t many young people my age helping their parents in a lab,” she said.

“You were lonely.”

“I was too busy to be lonely,” she said, irritated at his presumption. “My parents didn’t deprive me of anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“But you had at least one friend. Greg Cahill.”

She wasn’t about to fall into that trap again. “My parents’ closest friends were my godfather and Greg’s parents,” she said. “He always had ambitions to go into politics, and he was very successful.”

“So it seems.” Timon shifted his weight. “How does he feel about the Conclave?”

“He supports it, of course!”

“And you’ve dedicated yourself to it, even though you’ve never had to deal with Opiri.”

“My parents advocated for a new peace for many years. My mother spoke of it often, and wrote about it in the journal she left me.”

“But you didn’t grow up with open war. At worst, Opiri and humans have lived in a state of cold war for most of your life.”

“The Citadels stopped claiming serfs from our Enclave five year ago.”

“And that’s why you think the Conclave can succeed.”

“I know that not all Opiri are barbarians.”

“In spite of your lack of experience?”

She wished she could stand up and pace away her anger. “Why are you asking these questions? Have we given you any reason to doubt our commitment?”

“I’d heard rumors that the San Francisco Enclave had reservations about this new effort.”

“That’s outrageous,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “You supposedly have no interest in the outcome of the Conclave. Is this some part of your job, to test how devoted we are to the Conclave’s goals?”

His head came up sharply. “I only want to know more about you.”

The intensity of his gaze made her feel dizzy and uncertain. “I told you,” she said. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Timon said. “What did you do when you weren’t in the lab? Did Greg take you out to dinner in one of your restaurants, or to walk by the Bay?”

Back to Greg again, she thought.

“You said you’d never been to San Francisco,” she said, changing the subject.

“I did my research.” He looked away. “Did you ever have fun, Jamie?”

“Of course I did. My parents were very cultured. My mother...” She swallowed. “Eileen saw the joy in everything, in every part of the world she saw in the lab or outside it. She died before my father, when I was still a child. He never told me how it happened, and he died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult to lose both your parents when you were young.”

“And you...did you have a family, Timon?”

“I was born in freedom, outside the Citadel,” he said. “My mother also died when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry. Is your father—”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “He and his second wife are still living.”

“But you’re not close to them.”

“I’m a Rider. We put those relationships behind us when we join the Brotherhood.”

“You ever see them?”

“Not in fifteen years.”

She touched his hand. “When did you join the Riders, Timon?”

“I was seventeen.” He slid his hand out from under hers. “It’s not a very interesting story.”

So he didn’t want to talk about his past, Jamie thought. “Did you run away?”

“I was very young,” he said.

Had something his parents done driven him away? Jamie wondered. Something trifling and foolish he’d never admit to? Or had it been a matter of youthful rebellion, the kind she’d never experienced?

Had he had a choice to keep his family, when she’d been robbed of hers?

“Your whole life is the Riders now,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Your freedom is very important to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But we have our duties. Our leaders choose our assignments.”

“And how do you choose your leaders? Do you fight for your positions, like the Opiri of the Citadels do?”

“We don’t fight amongst ourselves,” he said, flashing her a reproachful look. “It’s a matter of consensus. Except in times of emergency, we hold elections. The highest-ranked Rider is called the captain. He arranges our hiring and holds ultimate authority over us.”

“You’re the leader of a band. Have you ever wanted to be more?”

“I wouldn’t want the responsibility.”

Jamie realized that he was being completely honest. He liked his life simple, uncomplicated by binding relationships or the desire to control others.

“Tell me more about your people,” she urged. “I already know you serve whoever hires you, regardless of their politics or race. What happens if—”

Moving as quickly and effortlessly as always, Timon got to his feet. “If you’re all right,” he said, “I have another thing to take care of. It might require a little more time, if you think you can stay alone for a while.”

“What is it?” she asked, sucking in her breath as she pushed herself a little more upright against the tree trunk.

“Horses. Lazarus can’t carry us both for long stretches of time, so we’ll need another mount.”

“You plan to go back to the tribesmen?” she asked in alarm.

“No. I saw a small herd of horses not far from here. I’ll bring one of them in.”

“A wild horse?”

“I suspect they escaped from captivity not too long ago.”

“And you think you can tame one well enough for me to ride it?”

“You’ll be on Lazarus—when you’re ready to ride.” He went to saddle the horse and returned to her. “If I can’t get one by sunset, I’ll return.”

Jamie gave no sign that she wished he would stay. Timon knew what had to be done, and she wouldn’t be any more of a burden on him than she had to be. If she didn’t want him to “heal” her with his bite, she had to do everything else possible to make sure they could move on a soon as possible.

She only wished her leg wasn’t hurting quite so much.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he said, peering into her face.

“I’ll just sleep,” she said with a smile. “Good luck.”

He accepted her reassurance with a brief nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Soon” proved to be much longer than Jamie had hoped. As the minutes passed, she began to feel warmer, and her leg continued to grow more painful. When she touched the bandage, it felt warm, as well.

An infection, she thought. That was no surprise, even with the antibiotics. The drugs hadn’t really had enough time to work. Undoubtedly the fever and pain would pass in good time.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Sometime later, she woke herself with shivering and pulled the blanket higher up to her chin. She drank from the canteen Timon had left for her and tried to go back to sleep.

The next time, she found herself in darkness. The steady clop of hooves approached from the north.

Timon, she thought, lost in a fog. The rider dismounted, and she heard him kneel beside her. A cool hand touched her forehead and then her bandages.

Jamie screamed.

Chapter 9

“Jamie, can you hear me?” Timon asked.

She tried to turn her head toward him, gasped and whimpered like a child. Timon couldn’t tell if she could see him, let alone hear him; her eyes were blank, and the tremors racking her body made it impossible for him to keep her still.

You’re delirious,” he said, cupping his palm over her burning forehead. “Jamie, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling worse?”

She blinked, tears leaking from her eyes. For a moment they focused on his.

“I’m...sorry,” she whispered.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, stroking her wet hair.

It was his misjudgment to leave her alone even for a few hours. Because he knew that she might have an infection coursing through her body, and without full medical treatment it could kill her.

He could think of only one answer. And he knew that she would fight it.

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