“Whatever you need,” The Preacher said, “I’ll gladly provide it, pretty thing.”
“Your choice,” Drakon said, his tone indifferent but the rest of him far from it. Touching her was like making contact with a live wire. His whole body seemed to catch fire, and he could not only feel the blood pumping through her body but smell it, as well. As he could smell the woman’s hair, the clean scent of it, though her clothes were torn and her face splotched with dirt. Her body held the faint musk of perspiration and that indescribable scent unique to women of both species. His cock stiffened, though the time for arousal couldn’t be worse.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she’d felt the physical change in him. For a moment he wasn’t sure if she’d bolt right into The Preacher’s willing arms. Drakon was inexplicably tempted to drag her away, willing or not.
“What’s your name?” she asked, astonishing him with the clarity of her voice and the sudden, fearless intensity in her eyes.
“We need to get out of here,” Brita said, cutting off his answer. “If she’s running from Enforcers....”
“I told you what to do,” Drakon snapped. “Get them home.”
With an openly hostile glance at the woman, Brita signaled to the others. As they melted into the darkness, The Preacher stamped the fire out with one heavy boot.
“I’ll give you five hundred A-dollars for her,” he said.
The woman reached down and gripped Drakon’s hand as if for dear life, and he understood the unspoken message in her eyes. He knew he was acting against sense, against reason, against the dictates of his mission, but he couldn’t let her go. He ran, pulling her with him, making his way easily in darkness that would confound his rivals. “Who’s after you?” he said, not even slightly winded.
“I...” The woman gasped, and it was clear she wasn’t in any state to explain.
“You’re leading Enforcers into the Fringe,” he said.
She didn’t answer, and he didn’t stop until they were far enough into the Fringe that the only illumination came from the scant light of false dawn in the west. He was running out of time.
But he still needed a few answers before he took her into the very heart of his hard-won turf.
As he came to a stop, she bent over, hands on knees, to catch her breath. He saw that her clothing was some kind of uniform, though a very generic one, the kind of standard issue that would be given a city or Enclave employee—known in the Fringe as a govrat, a citizen with a clearance rating high enough for government work.
As she straightened, he studied her face, making a rapid assessment: features somehow delicate and strong at the same time, stubborn jaw, smudges and scratches on her face that did nothing to lessen her beauty. Her body was slender and fit, that of a woman able to handle herself in a fight.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Lark,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Who’s after you?”
She met his gaze, half-defiant and half-afraid. “The Enforcers.”
Exactly what he and Brita had suspected. “Why?” he asked.
“If we don’t move soon, it won’t matter.”
He almost laughed at her bravado. “Why did you come with me?”
“I don’t know. I was told to find The Preacher.”
“Why?”
“They said he could get me out of the city.”
“He wouldn’t,” Drakon said. “You were given very bad advice.”
“Can you help me?”
“If you’re running from Aegis or the Enforcers,” he said, “you’re not my enemy. If this is a trick, you won’t get out of this alive.”
“A trick?” she said with a burble of choked laughter. “What kind of trick?”
Drakon considered that he might have jumped to conclusions a little too quickly. Something about this woman almost convinced him that her fear was real.
“What can you pay for my help in getting out?” he asked.
“Information. But you won’t get it until I know I’m safe and none of your Fringer friends are going to hurt me.”
The sound of fast-moving vehicles thrummed from less than a quarter mile away. Whether she was leading them or running from them didn’t matter now. Drakon seized her wrist again, and they ran until Lark—if that was really her name—was panting hoarsely and beginning to stumble. Drakon turned a sharp corner into an alley. She leaned against him as if she might fall without his support. He wasn’t thinking at all when he put his arm around her.
He could still smell her blood. Almost feel it inside him.
He reached inside his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out one of the blindfolds he and the crew had used on the emigrants. “Turn around,” he said.
Her gaze fell to the cloth in his hand. “You’re kidding. If you think I’d ever—”
“I’m not letting you into my Hold without this. I give you my word that you’ll come to no harm.”
“The word of a—”
“Criminal, a fugitive from justice? Enclave justice?” Drakon turned her and tied the blindfold around her head before she could even think of struggling.
“I must be crazy,” she said, her voice rasping with exhaustion.
“No,” he said. “You’ve made the only possible choice.” Taking her arm again, he led her alongside the building, constantly listening, and took a very circuitous course toward the Hold, dodging the sounds of approaching troops. They didn’t seem to be gaining ground, perhaps more concerned about ambush than moving too recklessly.
He continued on by one of the many hidden pathways he and his crew had devised over the past year, frequently doubling back to make certain they weren’t being followed. Dawn was beginning to break when they finally negotiated the last obstacles and entered the Hold.
The building didn’t stand out from the other half-collapsed structures throughout the Fringe, but there were traps set at every possible entrance, and guards at every boarded window. The widely spaced lights were flickering and dim. The common rooms, mess and meeting room were protected by many external walls, like a castle keep. No one could reach Drakon and his crew without the use of explosives. Like so many other of the black-market items Drakon and the other Bosses dealt in, those were hard to come by.
Repo was crouched right outside the inner door. He sprang to his feet and stared at the woman in astonishment.
“You brought her?” he asked.
“No questions now.” Drakon pulled Lark through the maze of corridors, passing
