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Ares held the other Bloodmaster’s stare, taking dangerous pleasure in Palemon’s astonishment. No Opir ever touched another without risking a violent reaction. It was considered one of the gravest insults one Bloodlord or Bloodmaster could give an Opir who was not demonstrably his inferior.
Ares glanced at the woman, who was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in an obvious gesture of disgust. He knew then that Palemon would have to kill her in order to break her. She showed little emotion, but Ares could almost feel the banked fire inside her, just waiting to be released.
“Are you offering Challenge?” Palemon demanded.
If Ares had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that Palemon would be compelled to call for an accounting. If he failed to do so, he would lose status, inevitably leading to a catastrophic decline in fortune and, ultimately, death. Palemon himself hadn’t lost a Challenge since the founding of the Citadel, but he knew that Ares hadn’t lost one in centuries.
Even a victory would bring unwelcome disruptions to Ares’s life. But if he didn’t respond appropriately, it would be even worse.
Palemon had calculated very well indeed.
“I offer Challenge for the serf,” Ares said, “to disability.”
Palemon looked Ares up and down as if he were a human up for claiming. “You are badly out of practice, Ares,” he said, more confident now that he knew his life was not at risk. “I confess I am at a loss to understand why there have not been many more Challenges called against you. You are a freak of nature, an affront to our species. You should have been eliminated long ago.”
It was not the first time Ares had heard such threats. To the contrary, he had become accustomed to them more than two thousand years ago, after the most ancient and powerful Opiri had gathered to arrange the details of the Long Sleep.
“Do you intend to hurl insults,” he said, “or accept the Challenge?”
Palemon’s pale face turned grim. “I accept. And I will accept nothing less than my personal choice of half your serfs when I win.”
Ares was almost driven to laughter. But Palemon was still a deadly fighter, and it was conceivable that he might fulfill his boast.
“You will have nothing of mine,” Ares said.
Fury flared in Palemon’s eyes, though his expression remained unchanged. “We shall see,” he spat.
In the tense silence that followed, the attendants pulled the female away and gestured for the other Opiri and their serfs to clear the open area at the front of the theater. The unclaimed serfs huddled in their cells, as far from the observation windows as they could get.
The Bloodlords and Bloodmasters watching from the sidelines made no sound, but Ares felt the other Opiri’s poorly concealed eagerness, their bloodlust, their hunger to be entertained by the spectacle of two Bloodmasters locked in combat.
For the female it was no game. When Ares glanced at her one last time, he knew from the rigidity in her naked body and the way her fists clenched that she understood what was at stake.
Daniel came up beside Ares. “My lord,” he said, his voice strained with worry as he offered the staff to his master. “Is there anything you require?”
Blood, he meant. Palemon was already availing himself of one of his serfs, sloppily feeding with no regard to the comfort of the female he abused.
Ares shook his head. He shed his overtunic and shirt, tossed them to Daniel and ordered the human to the side of the room.
Wiping his mouth, Palemon allowed his other attendant to remove his tunic and strutted to his side of the area allotted for the fight. He banged the head of his staff against the floor, sending an echoing crack around the room. Ares did the same with his own staff and passed it to one of the attendants.
Then he abandoned the last vestiges of detachment and let the thrill of battle rise from within, his muscles tightening, his heart speeding. Palemon grinned, his teeth still stained with blood, and flexed his fingers. His nails, kept long as most Opiri preferred, were almost as deadly as claws.
The fight was swift and vicious. The only weapons permitted were strength, swiftness and the tearing bite of long, razor-sharp incisors. Twice Ares pinned Palemon to the ground, his teeth inches from the other Bloodmaster’s throat. But each time Palemon threw him off, and soon both of them were panting and dripping blood from numerous small wounds on their arms and chests. Three times Ares heard the female human gasp, once more giving the lie to her formerly dispassionate demeanor.
The thought of her naked body under his distracted him for one vital moment. Palemon lunged and drove Ares down, sinking his teeth into his enemy’s neck.
“No!”
The female ran toward them, as fearless as a hummingbird protecting its egg from a hungry crow. She struck Palemon on the shoulder. He reared back, lashing out at her, and she danced out of range.
Ares didn’t hesitate. He flung himself on Palemon, banged his head against the floor several times and bit down hard on the other Opir’s jugular. Blood gurgled in Palemon’s throat, and he gave up the struggle.
Rising to his feet, Ares stared down at his enemy and caught his breath. Palemon would recover from the bite; all Opiri healed as quickly in an hour as a human might over many days, or even weeks.
But Palemon was in no condition to move now, and Ares had no desire to gloat over his victory. He looked around the room at the other Opiri. None would meet his gaze.
That was as it should be. Ares had gone far to reinforce his status, and without seriously maiming his opponent as he could have done. Palemon was within his rights to demand a rematch because of the female’s unprecedented interference, but he would look the fool for seeming to suggest a serf had made a difference in the outcome.
No, Ares thought. When next Palemon Challenged him, it would be to the death.
As Daniel cautiously approached to return Ares’s clothes, the female stood with her arms wrapped around her chest and stared at Palemon with obvious shock at what she had done. It seemed incredible that she had put herself between two Opiri who could have torn her apart in an instant. But had her actions been born of ignorance, desperation...or almost unimaginable courage?
Now that she was unquestionably his, such questions would be answered in due time.
“Find another shift for the female,” Ares said to the nearest attendant. The Freeblood hurried off to fulfill his task and returned quickly with a slightly longer shift, less transparent than the first.
“Dress yourself,” Ares ordered the woman. Moving slowly, she held his gaze as she slipped the shift over her head and tied the belt around her waist. It was the most unattractive garment in all Erebus, one assigned to City serfs, yet she was still beautiful, her hair falling about her shoulders and the curves of her body very much in evidence.
“Would you have her bound, my lord?” the attendant asked.
“Should I bind you?” Ares asked the woman harshly in the Opir language, his blood still thick with the dregs of violence. “Or will you come with me of your own will?”
Chapter 3
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 of the boundaries set for a serf when we are in public, and you must suffer for it.”
“Because of your pride?” she asked.
“Pride, as humans understand it, is not a factor.”
“Of course. It’s because you have to maintain the respect of those who would be happy to take you down.”
“You understand our culture, then.”
“I’ve studied it,” she said. “But I still don’t understand it.”
“Perhaps you will come to, in time.”
She gazed into his eyes. “I’m a little confused,” she said. “Why did you claim me, if you’re not going to use me the way most of your kind use humans?”
“Your spirit intrigued me. You speak our language well, and I have some interest in the human perspective. Perhaps you can provide me with a new one.”
She looked at him as if he were mad. “Will Palemon Challenge you again?” she asked.
“Perhaps. But that will not be your concern.”
She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, though nearly all of Erebus was kept warmer than most of her kind preferred. “I know I have no rights,” she said. “I know you can kill me on a whim and no one will care. But I am...glad you won me. And not just because you saved me from him.”
Ares wondered if she was confessing to some kind of attraction. It seemed very sudden, but then so was his lust for her. Perhaps, in a way, her admission allowed her to keep some dignity, some small control over her situation, even though she would never again set foot outside the Citadel.
Yet her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, her face flushed as if with desire. The unmistakable scent of sexual arousal rose from her body.
Ares grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her face and kissed her. His teeth grazed her lower lip, giving him the smallest taste of her sweet blood. She struggled for a moment and then went limp in his hold, her eyes losing all expression.
Disgusted again at his own behavior, Ares altered the composition of his saliva and took her lower lip into his mouth. The bleeding stopped instantly. Soon there would be no trace at all of what he had done.
Not on her body. But frightening her, making her believe he would use her whenever he liked, was not at all what he wished.
