few dhampires,” he said. “Does that make a difference?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re just curious.”
“I’m a scientist,” she said, as if that would explain everything. “I’m on this expedition to learn.”
“What kind of scientist?” he asked.
“Biologist, among other disciplines,” she said. “My mission is to observe as objectively as possible.”
“Then you have no stake in the outcome of the Conclave?”
“Of course I do. I believe in what it stands for, what it will mean if it succeeds.”
“I’d always heard that the San Francisco Enclave has had very poor relationships with the nearest Opiri communities.”
“No Enclave has suffered more from the war than ours. We provided blood-serfs to the Opir Citadel Erebus for many years before it became impossible to continue. They have not accepted the change gracefully.”
“Then why are you so sure the other Opiri want peace as much as you do?”
With an effort, she held his gaze. “You must know why we humans have hope. Opiri across the West have had to adapt to the lack of serfs as a source of regular blood. Many Citadels have gone from feudal societies where the strongest rule, to communities where resources are shared rather than fought over.” She looked away. “You, surely, have seen this yourself in your travels?”
Timon shrugged. “I’ve seen every possible way that humans and Opiri have adapted. That doesn’t mean that a change this massive will be easy.”
“I understand that you Riders don’t care if a lasting peace is achieved.”
“We’ve been hired to act as security at the Conclave. Our neutrality can’t be in question, but it’s to our benefit if things go smoothly.” He studied her face from the tip of her chin to the crown of her head. “How often have you been outside the Enclave?”
“What did my godfather say about me?”
“That you have little experience with the outside world. He’d like me to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take charge of me.”
He laughed, his white teeth gleaming. “It’s no imposition, Ms. McCullough,” he said lightly, removing his gloves. “Some things are worth looking at more closely.”
Is he flirting with me? she thought in confusion. “What do you see now?” she asked, far bolder than she meant to be.
“Fishing for compliments?” He grinned. “You must know you’re beautiful.”
Oh, God. “I...” she stammered. “I wasn’t—”
“Hasn’t anyone ever teased you before?” He grew sober. “Maybe you don’t even know it. I’ll tell you something else about yourself—you’re a brave woman. But that doesn’t mean what happened didn’t have an effect.” He took her hand, and Jamie realized that her fingers were trembling.
“That’s why you shouldn’t be alone,” Timon said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
She jerked free, alarmed by his touch. “When are you going to need us to donate blood?” she burst out. “I need time... I mean, you should warn people beforehand, so they have a chance to...”
She trailed off, deeply embarrassed. Timon looked at her in silence for a long time, as if weighing her words for some hidden meaning. “Are you afraid of me, Ms. McCullough?” he asked.
“No!” Jamie folded her arms across her chest. “Why should I be?”
With a soft sigh, Timon extended his hand again. “You’d better come with me,” he said.
A cool breeze whispered past her ear, lifting a strand of dark brown hair. “Really, I’m—” she began.
“You’re cold. You need the company of your own kind.”
He squeezed her arm, the slightest pressure of reassurance. Jamie allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her initial unease at the contact had already begun to fade. In fact, the pressure of his fingers felt like something solid to cling to in a world that had lost its moorings.
Before she knew it, she was among the people already settled around the fire. They made room for her, and somehow a warm blanket found its way over her back. Timon’s hands pressed into her shoulders briefly.
“Get plenty of rest,” he said, his breath caressing her cheek. And then, as before, he was simply gone, and she was left bewildered and feeling not at all objective.
I’ve just met him, she thought as someone passed her a handful of hard crackers. I don’t know anything about him.
Except that he was handsome and strong and brave—much braver than she could ever be—and that he’d taken care of her as if she were a friend.
When the others finally spread out their bedrolls to sleep, she pulled out her notebook.
He asked me if I was afraid of him, she wrote.
I don’t know.
She closed the notebook and lay down on her bedroll. Before she closed her eyes, she saw Timon again, watching her from the other side of the fire. His gaze was the image she carried with her into sleep.
And into her dreams.
At first light, Timon and his Riders gathered their charges and started south on the well-worn track parallel to old Route 101. The highway itself was buckled and pierced by shrubs and small trees, making travel over the old asphalt difficult.
The pace was slow, as Timon had expected. The horses drawing the three wagons moved at a deliberate pace, since the delegation had only one set of replacement animals for each, and the people walking their mounts beside the wagons were just as slow. It was better that way; Timon wanted them fit for the entire journey, not worn at the end of it.
He had been riding beside Councilman Parks for some distance, learning all he could about the delegation and the San Francisco Enclave. In all his time as a Rider, he’d never been part of an escort for the coastal Enclave, perhaps because the humans there kept largely to themselves.
Like Jamie McCullough.
Timon fell back, reining his horse toward the rear of the caravan. She rode quietly beside one of the middle wagons, constantly scanning the low, oak-studded hills and the marshes alongside the southern stretch of San Francisco Bay, occasionally jotting in her small notebook.
Keeping his distance, Timon considered what was wrong with him. From the moment he and Jamie had met beneath the oak, when he had helped her to her feet and looked into her wide blue eyes, he had felt a shock of attraction. It hadn’t seemed to be such an
