Nightmaster. Susan Krinard

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

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

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

      “Bend back your head,” he told her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Why didn’t you bite me?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Perhaps I wish to learn.”

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

      “What is your name?” he asked.

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

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

      “I thought you were about to lose.”

      “I would not have lost.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      He would not fall prey to such primitive urges again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “You must understand,” he said, “for your own safety. You are my property. Step outside СКАЧАТЬ