Shadowmaster

And she enjoyed it. This wasn’t some sacrifice she had to brace herself to endure. Heaven help her, these feelings of attraction—desire—hadn’t been imaginary. He was an Opir, and she was ready...eager...to have sex with him.

She hated herself for it. She was too close to stepping over the line, forgetting that this was all part of the job—and the minute she did, all objectivity would be gone. It had happened before, and it had started the same way. With passionate, heedless sex.

This wouldn’t be heedless. All she had to do was unzip his pants and her own, drag him back to the bed, pull him on top of her, inside her...

It almost worked. She had his zipper down and his cock in her hand. He slipped his palms under her shirt to cup her breasts and kissed her again, spreading her thighs with his knees.

An instant later his heat was gone, and she was alone again.

“Your method needs refining,” he said. “You know you’re desirable, and you pretend to be willing. But no man or woman attains power in the Fringe without the ability to separate truth from lies.”

“Was my body lying?” she asked, pulling her legs together as she sat up on the bed.

“It was your test,” he said. “You wanted to see if I’d lied about taking advantage of you. I’m not playing along. You won’t buy my trust that way.”

He was angry. Very angry. And there was contempt in his voice, as if he didn’t believe a woman had as much a right as any man to freely express her desires.

That’s not why you’re here, she reminded herself. This is a job. Nothing more.

“You have nothing to gain by this,” he said. “Either your information is useful, or it isn’t. You’ll be left alone until I’ve made my decision.”

Phoenix breathed deeply, concentrating on slowing her heartbeat. “Where are you going to keep me? Do you have a cell for prisoners in this Hold of yours?”

He paused, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “You’ll stay here.”

“In your room?”

“For the time being. You’ll have only minimal contact with the others. You’ll wear the blindfold when you do leave this room, and then only in my company. When you’re here alone, you can take it off. I’ll be locking you in.”

“Thanks,” Phoenix said wryly. She pulled the fabric off and tossed it on the bed. His expression was rigidly controlled, jaw clenched, eyes hard. He was mastering his desire, but with a great deal of effort.

He’d said he had women willing to share his bed, and Phoenix had absolutely no doubt that he was telling the truth. It wasn’t only because of his position of power in the Fringe or his good looks, but because he exuded need as well as strength, an odd kind of gentleness as well as indisputable masculinity and a sense of leashed danger tempered only by a peculiar kind of thieves’ honor.

Gentleness? she thought. All Opiri are killers by nature, Daysider or not.

No reluctant kindness or self-control could change that.

“What are the sleeping arrangements?” she asked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light from a tiny lamp on the bedside table.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I can sleep anywhere. I’ll take the floor.”

“I wouldn’t dream of subjecting a guest to such treatment.”

“So now I’m a guest? How flattering.”

“Don’t push it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I have business to attend to. Remember, your life and freedom depend on your good behavior and what you tell me.”

“You’ve made that very clear.”

He met her gaze again, his eyes searching her face. How ironic that he was the one Boss she couldn’t hope to fight, either through the use of her superior senses or by physical means.

A trade-off, she thought, as he walked out the door and locked it behind him. Sammael would know about the assassin as no human would. But she was going to be fighting in other ways—fighting his nature and her own—if she hoped to get the information she wanted.

Because if she didn’t figure out how to carry out this mission without losing her head, it was already over.

* * *

“So who is she?” Brita asked as Drakon sat down at the battered meeting room table.

Remembering Brita’s warning, Drakon scanned the faces of his crew. Very few of them would be considered desirable companions by ordinary Enclave citizens. Some, both men and women, had suffered ugly lives of poverty and abuse. The majority of them had been condemned to deportation for relatively minor crimes, and had chosen to brave the dangers of the Fringe rather than submit. A few were simply dissidents with revolutionary ideas who had found their lives made “uncomfortable” by the Enclave authorities.

The ones he considered likely troublemakers were slumped in their mismatched chairs, clearly disgruntled by Drakon’s decision to bring an outsider into the Hold without consulting anyone else. Others seemed openly curious, but the majority were waiting for an explanation, their expressions neutral.

Brita was in the last group, and as Sammael’s lieutenant she had the right to speak first. Drakon nodded to her.

“Who is she?” Brita repeated impatiently.

“A fugitive,” he said. “An administrative assistant who gained access to certain restricted information that may be of use to us.”

“A fugitive,” Shank said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Just what we need, more Enforcers on our backs.”

“They never even got near us,” Drakon said, staring into Shank’s eyes. “She wanted help, and I determined that the benefits outweighed the risks.”

“You mean you wanted her for yourself instead of selling her to The Preacher. She’s quite the looker.” Shank licked his lips. “I wouldn’t refuse, either, if I was you.”

“If you know my mind so well, Shank, what am I thinking now?”

The human quickly dropped his gaze, but his posture remained defiant. In spite of Brita’s repeated warnings, Drakon wasn’t concerned. If necessary, he’d make an example of the man, or any others who challenged him. He had to maintain his cover. And his connections.

“What did she do?” Ferret, lean and tall, asked quietly. “Try to sell this information? Blackmail?”

“I haven’t had time to learn the details yet. I’ll know soon enough.”

“You went too easy on her,” Brita muttered.

“She’s been here less than an hour,” Drakon said. “She wants out of the city, and is willing to pay.”

“And you think she’s telling the truth?” Repo asked.

“Have you ever had cause to doubt my instincts?” Drakon said, sweeping the crew with his gaze a second time.

No one had the nerve to answer him. Brita alone shook her head. “Don’t waste your time, Sammael,” she said. “I can get this ‘information’ out of her without the bargaining.”

“She’s to remain alone and untouched, in my room.”

“So Shank was right,” Beachboy said, tossing his shaggy blond hair away from his forehead.