“I thought dhavids were illegal under the Old Laws. The Scribe Virgin never allowed them.”
“You think anyone cares about that out here? Why do you think he put the colony in all these goddamn bushes.”
“So we’re close.”
“Not close enough to make a go during the night we have left. Come on, before Nexi changes her mind.”
Except the female didn’t move. Ahmare just glared around the clearing as if she had X-ray vision and was convinced a good, sharp stare would reveal the colony’s entrance.
Duran slapped a sting on his ass and felt a young’s satisfaction as he flicked the dead bug off his butt cheek. But when he did the same on his left pec and then his right shoulder, there was no more feeling superior over killing something smaller than him.
“I’m getting eaten alive. Do what you want with this vehicle, but Nexi isn’t going to like it if you don’t put it where the sun don’t shine—and she tends to blow up things she doesn’t like.”
Something he might keep in mind.
Ahmare’s pale eyes locked on him. “I’m bringing all my weapons with me.”
“Okay, but keep them holstered. Nexi is not going to appreciate any aggression and she’ll deal with it in a way that require stitches.”
“You know a lot about her.”
“Not really.” He clapped his palm on the side of his throat. “Come on, we’ve still got some distance to go and I don’t like the look of the horizon.”
A subtle glow was kindling in the east, the kind of thing that a human might think of as the harbinger of a new day, the pretty precursor to a peach-and-pink departure party not just for night but for the storm clouds that were retracting from the sky as well.
He wished the damn things would stay put for another hour or two. They needed time, instead of some false show of optical-only optimism that would burn them both to a crisp.
Ah, the romance.
9
THE CABIN WAS OLD and small. The covert security measures were new and plentiful.
Ahmare would have been impressed under different circumstances.
Each of the four windows had iron bars and steel mesh—although only on the inside so as not to attract attention. The front door had no doubt been wooden when the place had been built, but that flimsy option had been swapped out for a reinforced steel vault panel. Motion detectors and security cameras had been mounted in each of the corners, and more mesh covered the walls, ceiling, and floor, ensuring that no vampire could dematerialize into the interior.
She was willing to bet there was an escape hatch somewhere, a way to get underground, but damned if she could find it.
“I’m going to use your shower,” the prisoner told Nexi.
He—Duran—didn’t wait for a yes or no—or for directions, not that there was any question where the running water was located. He just walked into the closet-sized loo and shut the door.
A low rushing hum came on immediately and suggested he wasn’t wasting time, and she appreciated that. But him being efficient with the soap and water wasn’t going to affect the velocity of the daylight hours. They were still going to take forever, like a bone healing on a human.
Weeks . . . months. Before mobility could once more be had. Or at least it was going to feel like that.
Ahmare looked across at the Shadow. That the female was watching her, all hunter-tracking-prey, was not a news flash, but come on. And one of the two guns with those laser sights was still palmed.
“You mind putting your weapon back in that holster,” Ahmare said.
“You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“If I was going to come at you, I would have already.”
“Tough talk.” The Shadow didn’t seem to blink, those black eyes so steady, it was as if they were made of glass, like the lens of a camera. “You like old Schwarzenegger movies? Bet that’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to a real fight.”
Ahmare made a show of checking out the interior again. The fact that the Shadow had figured out she was a teacher, not an actual fighter, seemed like a portent of failure. Sure, she had been trained in self-defense after the raids, and she had been teaching those skills to others at gyms up in Caldwell. But that was not the same as being a soldier.
Don’t think like that, she told herself. What was the saying? ‘Whether you believe you can or believe you can’t, you’re right’?
The furniture was all also-ran afterthought. Mattress on a wooden stand. Travel trunk with the lid down. Table and two chairs that were handmade, but not by someone who cared about how things looked. Then again, this bolt-hole was about war: A workstation housed gun-cleaning supplies and stones to sharpen daggers and knives. Holsters for various weapons hung on pegs. Bomb detonators and sniper rifle tripods lined various shelves.
“You ever kill somebody before,” the Shadow asked. “I’m just curious.”
“Yes,” Ahmare said roughly.