Nightmaster

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

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

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

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

* * *

It had not gone quite as Trinity had expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are ill,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Can you walk?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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