Nightmaster

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Palemon, Ares thought, was perfectly correct.

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

“Let her dress,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Still against us, I see.”

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

“Your politics are those of fear, Ares.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Palemon raised a pale brow. “No serfs?”

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

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

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

“Twenty thousand,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You dare?” he asked softly.