Chapter 6

No, I thought, it can’t be. Surely if other déchet had survived, I would have come across them sooner rather than later. Granted, assassins—like lures—were bred with specific skills and abilities built into their DNA, but that didn’t explain the fact that in just over one hundred years of running regular supply raids into Central, there’d never been the slightest suggestion of another déchet living within her walls.

I tried to hurry without being obvious about it, desperate not to let the stranger get too far ahead of me.

Could he be an assassin déchet? Was it possible? Or was the goddess just teasing me? Like us, they’d been an extremely small group—far more lures and assassins had died in the tubes than regular déchet and, of those who did survive, more than eighty percent had not made it to puberty. When it came to the assassins, this high attrition rate was due in part to the fact that they’d used not only shifter and vampire DNA, but actual animal DNA. And the death rate within the blue-steel program—or grays, as they’d become known, thanks to the fact that their salamander blood had given their skin a silky smooth but slightly gray tone—had been ninety-eight percent. Only five had survived past puberty, and I knew at least one of those had died during the war.

Up ahead, the man with the blue-steel hair disappeared into one of the many walkways that made quick access from one street to various others possible. I broke into a run, desperate not to lose him, weaving my way through the crowd with little of the decorum expected in this part of Central.

I turned into the walkway. It was a three-meter-wide canyon between two high-rise buildings and was bathed in UV light. My steps slowed as I desperately searched the crowd moving between Victory and First Streets for any sign of the stranger. There was nothing.

I cursed softly and ran to the end of the walkway, stopping again when I reached First. Still no sign, but a scent teased the air. A scent that spoke of deep forests, dark satin, and something else. Something unexpected and icy.

But there was enough familiarity within that mix of aromas to stir memories of long nights of passion spent in the arms of a man with blue-steel hair. A man I’d been assigned to instruct in the arts of seduction and sex once he’d hit adulthood, and with whom I’d become closer than perhaps was ever wise.

A man who’d saved my life when I’d all but given up hope.

I followed the fragile, teasing scent through several more walkways and came into an area I wasn’t familiar with. I paused, looking around, and caught sight of the stranger up ahead just before he disappeared around Fourth Street’s gentle curve.

But I’d barely reached the spot where I’d last seen him when someone grabbed my arm and hauled me—rather unceremoniously—through a doorway and into more muted light. Before I could react in any way, a hand clamped over my mouth, then a velvety voice whispered, “If you do not wish to be caught by the ranger who follows you, make no sound.”

It was definitely his voice.

Even after all this time, it was as familiar to me as the touch of the sun. I swallowed heavily, then nodded. Confusion, hope, and disbelief churned through me, all fighting to come to the fore and dominate. None of which was surprising, given I’d spent so long believing I was the sole survivor of my race.

His grip slipped down my arm to my wrist, and his large hand clasped mine. His skin was like silk, cool to the touch, but his palm was calloused. It hadn’t been, when I’d known him.

He tugged me forward, through the semishadows, weaving in and out of various rooms and up several sets of stairs. I couldn’t say anything. I could barely even think.

“This way.” He flashed me a brief but all-too-familiar smile that had my senses dancing and desire stirring. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?” I somehow managed to say, part of me still unwilling to believe that this was happening, that he was real.

“To our transport, of course.” There was amusement in his tone. “The ranger may be able to trace your scent through the streets, but he cannot fly.”

He opened another door and we entered a small parking area that housed half a dozen short-hop vertical takeoff and landing vehicles—or VTOLs, as they were more commonly known. He waved a hand to the small red one. “Your chariot awaits, dear Tig.”

So I wasn’t mistaken. It was him. His silvery gaze, when it met mine again, was as filled with wonder and disbelief as mine had to be.

“Sal?” I whispered, still fearing to believe, despite everything my senses and my memory were telling me.

“Yes, and I have to tell you, I’m finding it just as difficult to believe it’s actually you. That disguise of yours is rather repellant.”

I smiled. “So how did you know it was me?”

“Because I would know your scent anywhere, even after all these years.” He briefly touched my face, something close to wonder in his. “It is so good to see you again.”

“But how did you surv—”

He placed a finger against my lips, stopping my question. “I’ll explain later. For now, get in, as we’re not safe from the ranger’s pursuit just yet.”

I climbed inside the small two-seater. He jumped into the driver’s seat and, with little ceremony, secured the canopy and started the VTOL’s engines. Dust whipped around us as the vehicle rose. Then Sal pressed the steering stick forward and the craft shot out of the parking lot and into the bright light of day. I gripped the side of my seat somewhat fiercely and resisted the urge to look down. It had been a long time since I’d been in a VTOL—and I’d never been overly keen on them in the first place. I’d always been of the belief that if I’d been meant to fly, I would have been designed with wings.

Thankfully, short-hops were designed for just that. Sal steered the VTOL into another midbuilding parking lot, then stopped.

“And that,” he said, opening the canopy, “should be the end of the ranger following you. However, we’ll still head somewhere he cannot go, just to be sure.” His gaze met mine. “Then, dear Tig, you can tell me why it’s taken you so long to arrive in Central.”

Meaning he’d been here all the time? Surely not. Surely the goddess would not have been so cruel as to put us so close to each other and yet never allow our paths to cross.

But I nodded and followed him back down to Victory Street. He caught my hand again, guiding me across the road to the building that was all glass and delicate steel. Given its proximity to both Central Park and Government House, even the bathroom in this place would come with a very high price tag. It certainly wasn’t the sort of building where the likes of me would be welcome.

“I’m not sure I’m exactly dressed—”

“Actually, you’re probably overdressed, given Hedone is, at its core, a very high-end brothel.” Amusement touched his lips as he opened the ornate glass-and-metal door, and waved me through. “Please, inside, so that our scent doesn’t linger.”

“You work in a brothel?” I asked, though it wasn’t entirely surprising. Assassins, like lures, had been designed to be sexually attractive to shifters, even though seduction wasn’t often on their agenda. If Hedone catered to shifters, he’d be in high demand.

“No,” he said, the amusement sharper. “I own it.”

My gaze shot to his. “You own it?”

“Let’s just say I have made the most of my escape from near death.” He caught my hand again and led me through a foyer that was crisp and white. Sofas and comfortable chairs filled the huge expanse, most of them occupied by men and women as crisp and white as their surroundings. Some were sipping champagne, some were eating canapés, and others were flicking through electronic catalogues, no doubt trying to decide who might be the morning’s entertainment.

A petite blond woman looked up from the large white desk that dominated one wall of the foyer, a smile touching her perfectly painted silver lips as we approached. “Mr. Casimir, I wasn’t expecting to see you again this morning. Is there a problem?”

“No,” he said evenly. “But I have a meeting at six, so could you give me a call at five thirty? We’ll be in my private suite.”

“Not a problem, sir.” The woman’s gaze flickered to me, her curiosity evident. But she didn’t question my presence, and Sal made no move to explain it.

We walked into a lift that was all glass. Sal pressed his thumb against the scanner, then said, “Tenth floor.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Just how many floors do you own in this building?”

He caught my hands in his and stared at me for several seconds, as if he still couldn’t believe his eyes. “Just ten,” he said eventually. “Although I am planning to buy more in the next few years.”

I laughed softly and shook my head. “Only ten? Good grief, Sal, real estate in this part of town is worth a fortune. How on earth have you managed to buy ten floors?”

“It’s not hard to do when you’re as good at seduction as I am.” It was immodestly said and actually quite true. He’d certainly practiced his seduction techniques on me often enough, both when I’d been assigned to teach him such things, and later, in the few times we’d met out in the field. “And I’ve had a hundred years to gather a fortune.”

In a hundred years, I’d barely dared to venture outside my bunker. I stepped closer and gently traced the outline of his luscious lips with a finger. “How did you survive the cleansing?” I asked softly. “I thought I was the only one.”

“So did I, for a very long time.” He pressed a kiss against my fingertip. Desire surged between us, familiar and fiery. “You have no idea how glad I am to discover that you survived.”

“And I you.” It came out husky. Lord, it had been far too long since I’d been in the arms of another, let alone felt the touch of someone I actually cared about. To say my body was humming with eager anticipation was something of an understatement.

The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. The room beyond was vast—it ran the entire breadth of the building, in fact. Windows lined two sides, and sunlight burned in, so bright it was almost eye-watering. The space was divided into various zones by furniture, and somehow managed to feel more intimate than the sheer size of the room should have allowed.

Though the apartment’s walls were as white as anything else in this section of Central, the furnishings were a riot of color and brightness; reds, greens, purples, golds, even the occasional splash of black, filled the room and no doubt added to the feeling of intimacy and homeyness.

It was a vastly different way of living from my old bunker.

“Drink?” He released my hand and moved across to a bar that dominated one corner of the kitchen zone.

“Yes.” I stopped in the middle of the room and dropped my bag and cloak onto a nearby chair. And couldn’t help feeling very out of place and somewhat awkward in all this opulence.

He poured two glasses, then walked back and offered me one.

“To survival against the odds.” He touched his glass against mine. “To the renewal of a very old friendship.”

“To friendships and renewals,” I echoed, then took a sip. The bubbles teased my nose, and the liquid burned my throat, tart but refreshing.

For several minutes, neither of us moved. We simply drank the champagne and stared at each other. Then his gaze left mine and slid down my body, becoming a sensual and yet excruciatingly slow exploration that had pinpricks of sweat breaking out across my skin. It was all I could do not to pluck the glass from his hand and wrap my arms around his neck. To kiss him. Touch him. Make love to him.

He smiled at that moment, and I knew he’d sensed exactly what I was thinking.

“We have so much to catch up on,” he said softly.

“We do,” I agreed.

He placed a fingertip against the base of my neck, his touch light and cool. “So much to talk about.”

“Definitely.” I took another drink. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fire growing inside me.

His touch slid down and, one by one, he deftly undid the buttons of my dress. “And yet,” he murmured when the last button came free, “talking is the very last thing I want to do right now.”

“I’m gathering that,” I said, unable to keep the slight trace of amusement from my voice.

“What gave me away?” His touch slid back up and gently circled one nipple, then the other.

A shudder of delight ran through me. “Call it an educated guess.”

“You always were a very smart individual.” He brushed his lips across the base of my neck. “You were my teacher, my lover, and my friend, and it has been such a long time since I have experienced anything close to what we once shared.”

“I’ve never experienced it, Sal. Not in more than one hundred years.” I closed my eyes, drawing in the silky dark yet oddly corrupted scent of him, tasting in it enough familiarity to chase away fear and warm my senses.

“No other lovers?” he murmured, as his kisses trailed up my neck.

“No lovers. Just sex.”

“Me, too.”

His lips finally claimed mine. Our kiss was a long, slow exploration that was both familiar and new.

“I need you, Tig.” His breath caressed my mouth and his gaze burned deep, the force of his desire so strong it singed every part of my being. “As you are, in this form, here and now.”

“Then take me,” I said simply.

He plucked the glass from my hand and placed both on the nearby coffee table. “It will be my great pleasure.”

“And mine, I hope.”

He chuckled softly, then his lips claimed mine again, although the urgency I could feel in him was still leashed, still restrained. He slid his hand around my waist, his fingers cool as they pressed against my spine and pulled me closer. His body was warm, hard, and so very familiar. I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing us closer still. Restraint gave way to passion, and the kiss became fiercely erotic.

After what seemed like hours we finally parted. My gaze met his, and in the bright silver of his eyes both lust and memories gleamed. The rapid pounding of my heart was a cadence that filled the silence, and desire—both his and mine—was so thick and fierce it burned my throat with every breath.

I undid the buttons of his crisp white shirt, pushed it free from his shoulders, and ran my hands over the muscular planes of his chest and stomach, refamiliarizing myself with his body. His muscles quivered under my touch, but when I went to undo his pants, he slid his hand across mine and stopped me.

“Not yet,” he murmured, “or this will be over in a second flat.”

I laughed softly. “Has it been that long for you?”

“No. I just never did have much in the way of control when it came to you.”

His fingers splayed against my rear end. Heat pooled wherever skin met skin, and flared across my flesh like fire. Lord, his touch was even more intense than I remembered.

With little effort, he lifted me, then carried me across to the dining table. My rump had barely touched the glass when he slid his hands up to my breasts, teasing and pinching my engorged nipples. Delight spun through me, but I had no intention of being a passive recipient of pleasure. Ignoring his earlier warning as much as his halfhearted attempt to stop me, I undid his pants and pushed them down, then proceeded to caress and explore him as thoroughly as he did me. For a very long time, we did nothing more than renew our memories of each other, teasing and enticing familiar responses, until tiny beads of perspiration covered our skin and all I could think about, all I wanted, was him. Until the two of us were trembling, hovering on the edge of climax and aching for release.

Finally, his fingers slid through my slickness and entered me, even as he pressed his thumb against my clit. He began to stroke, inside and out, and I shuddered, writhed, until it felt as if I were going to tear apart in sheer pleasure.

Unable to take any more, needing a whole lot more, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A heartbeat later, he was in me, thrusting deep and hard, claiming me in the most basic way possible. Then he gripped my hips, his fingers bruising as he held me still for too many seconds.

But, oh, it was so glorious, being held motionless while my body throbbed with need, his body deep inside mine, heavy and hot with the same sort of need. I loved the feel of him. Loved his size and his shape and how insanely good it felt when he was in me.

Then he cursed softly and began move. Not gently, but fiercely, urgently, all control gone and nothing left but need. I was right there with him, wanting everything he could give. The deep ache blossomed, spreading like wildfire across my skin, becoming a kaleidoscope of sensations that washed through every corner of my mind. I gasped, grabbing his shoulders for support as his movements grew faster, more urgent, my body shuddering with the fierceness of his movements. Then everything broke, and I was unraveling, groaning with the intensity of my orgasm. His movements became almost savage, and, a heartbeat after me, he came so very deep inside.

For several minutes afterward, neither of us moved. Then he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm and rapid against my skin.

“Dear god,” he murmured. “That was a whole lot faster than I’d intended, but it was as every bit as good as I remembered.”

“Dear god?” I repeated, amusement running through me. It was basically the human equivalent of the shifter term “by Rhea.” “Since when did you start using human terms so freely?”

He grinned. “Since I began fucking them for a living. Shifters may have won the war, but there are still plenty of wealthy humans about more than willing to part with large amounts of cash in return for a good time. And they are far easier targets than most shifters.”

There was something in his voice—an odd edge—that made me frown. “Calling them ‘targets’ makes it seem like you were doing more than merely seducing them.”

“Maybe I was, but who really cares? We’re talking about a race that stood by and did nothing while shifters erased our kind. We owe allegiance to no one but ourselves.”

“Humans lost the war, Sal. They couldn’t have done anything else but stand by and watch.” Besides, it wasn’t like humanity hadn’t suffered losses. Millions had been killed; not just those who’d created us, but all those who’d fought behind déchet front lines, and all those who hadn’t evacuated the cities in time.

He snorted. “It’s their damn fault the war started in the first place. You cannot continually squeeze an entire race of people into ever-decreasing parcels of land and not expect a backlash.”

“I’m not here to argue the rights and wrongs of the war, Sal. I’m just saying we’re not the only race that suffered. Everyone lost in that war—even the shifters.”

He raised an eyebrow, a touch of—not contempt, but something close to it in his gaze. “You’re defending them?”

“No, I’m not. I’m just pointing out fact.” Besides, I’d had a long time to think about the war. I couldn’t hate the humans because I owed them my existence, and while I will never forgive the way shifters had destroyed us, I couldn’t really hate them, either. Not when shifter blood ran through my veins and I’d spent so much time in many different shifter camps. I understood them far better than I did humans.

I unwrapped my legs from his waist, and he stepped back from the table.

“Another drink?” He turned and walked across the room. The afternoon sunlight caressed his skin, giving it a lovely silvery sheen.

“No, but I wouldn’t mind something to eat.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Bacon and eggs okay?”

“Divine.” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had them. He continued on into the kitchen. I trailed after him, gathering my clothes but not bothering to put any of them on. “So how did you survive the cleansing, Sal? And what have you been doing these last hundred years?”

He selected our meals on the autocook, pressed a button, and then swung around to face me. His expression had lost much of its glow. But then, talking about the cleansing was enough to wipe the smile off anyone’s face. Anyone who’d been there and survived it, at any rate.

“It was pure luck.” His voice was soft, but I could see the shadows in his eyes, feel the pain and the anger in the emotive swirl surrounding him. “I was in Carleen when they bombed it. They wrote me off as dead and dumped me in one of the craters, along with everyone else who hadn’t made it to the shelters.” He grimaced. “By the time my body had repaired itself, the base had been all but razed, and all within murdered.”

Including the children, I thought, and tried to ignore the bloody images that flitted through my mind. I swallowed hard, and wondered why humans seemed to believe that time erased all wounds. It didn’t. It couldn’t.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Same really. Just pure and utter luck.”

The lie slipped off my tongue easily enough, though I wasn’t entirely sure why instinct was warning me not to remind him about the genetics that made me immune to poisons. This was Sal: a déchet, just like me, and the man I’d once trusted with all that I was. But a hundred years had passed since I’d last seen him, a hundred years in which I’d done little more than protect my little ghosts and our home. I wasn’t about to endanger them, even when it came to someone like Sal. Not until I knew beyond doubt that he was worthy of holding such a secret. People could change in a matter of years. In one hundred, anything could have happened.

“How long have you been in Central?” he asked. The autocook pinged and the door opened. He removed two plates, then walked across and handed me one. It smelled so good my mouth began to water.

“A few weeks.” I picked up a crisp bit of bacon and munched on it. Damn, it was almost as good as sex. Almost. “But I’m officially out of credits, and I’m looking for work.”

The words were out before I’d even thought about them. So much for not wanting to get involved with Nuri’s investigations, I thought resignedly. Instinct, it seemed, had far more sway over my actions than common sense.

He slid some cutlery my way, then perched on the stool beside me, his arm brushing mine as he tucked into his own meal. The brief moments of contact sent warm awareness surging through my body. I may have started out as the teacher when it came to all things sexual, but in subsequent years, he’d certainly taught me a thing or two. And even now, one hundred years later, that awareness and connection still burned bright and fierce between us.

He paused, his expression amused as he looked at me. “As much as I would love to offer you a position at Hedone, I’m afraid I’d much rather keep you in my bed than have anyone else in yours.”

“Nor would I wish to make money that way.” My smile faded. “These days, sex is something I have because I wish to. I have no desire for it to become a task again, in any way, shape, or form.”

“An understandable, if somewhat antiquated view.”

I frowned. “What’s antiquated about wishing to choose who I have in my bed rather than being told?”

“Perhaps ‘antiquated’ was the wrong word to use.” He shrugged. “I merely meant that we were designed with specific skill sets, and it’s a shame not to use them for our own gain.”

“Which is what you’ve been doing for one hundred years—using sex and assassination to feather your own nest?”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement lurking around the corners of his eyes. “It sounds rather tawdry put like that.”

“It wasn’t meant—”

He raised a hand, stopping me. “I know. And no, I haven’t spent the last one hundred years fucking and killing my way to a fortune. It’s only been in more recent years that I returned full-time to the task for which I was created.”

My gaze rose to his rather individual hair color. “And no one has ever said anything? Suspected you were far more than the front you present?”

He reached out and tugged at my hair. “Your deep orange-and-black hair is rather unique, missy. Has anyone ever said anything to you? Or do you wear this rather dowdy disguise full-time?”

Orange and black? Had he forgotten I was a white tiger rather than regular? I opened my mouth to remind him, then stopped, that odd warning to keep silent raising its head again. So I simply said, “Not full-time, but whenever I’m in Central, then yeah.”

“And yet it is not as if there aren’t plenty of shifters in Central. Your natural color—and mine—is mild compared to some of theirs.”

That was certainly true. I guess I’d just been so caught up in the need for safety that I’d gone totally over the top. I mopped up the remains of the eggs with the last bit of bacon, then placed my cutlery on the plate and pushed it away with a sigh.

“That was lovely. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” He paused. “I know plenty of influential people, thanks to this place. It might be possible for me to at least get you a job interview. What are your qualifications these days?”

“Beyond theft?” I asked, amused. “Not a whole lot, to be honest.”

He snorted softly. “There’s not many calls for thieves, I’m afraid.”

“Hence the reason I’m still unemployed.” I hesitated. “I heard on the grapevine that someplace called Winter Halo was recruiting night watchmen, but I have no idea where or how to apply.”

“I believe they are.” His eyes narrowed as he studied me for a moment. “Do you have ID?”

“Of course.” Or would have, if Nuri came through with her promise.

“Good.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I know the man in charge of recruitment, and I’m afraid he’s very particular about the type of guard he employs.”

“Particular how?” I hesitated. “He sleeps with them?”

“As far as I’m aware, no. Even in Central, such harassment is frowned upon.”

“‘Even in Central’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing more than an acknowledgment that even with Central’s somewhat lax employment laws, overt sexual harassment is not allowed.”

Meaning it was allowed—or at least ignored—if it was done covertly?

“Anyway,” he continued, “all of those chosen as guards are curvaceous in build, with large breasts and orange hair. It would appear the owner of Winter Halo has something of a fetish for the color.”

As fetishes go, that was definitely one of the minor ones—and while my natural hair color was white and black tiger stripes and I couldn’t exactly be described as curvaceous, as a body shifter it wasn’t a hard form to attain. “Which isn’t actually a problem, as you know.”

“No.”

I frowned, sensing an odd . . . not reluctance, not really. But there was definitely some sort of background resistance to the idea of my applying for the job at Winter Halo, and I couldn’t figure out why. “Do you think you have enough swing with the recruiter to get me an interview?”

“Possibly. I should warn you, though, that the night watch has a very high turnover. Women do not seem to last very long in the position.”

And did the reason have something to do with harassment of some kind? Or was something else going on?

My frown deepened. “Any idea why?”

He shook his head. “But there are few here in Central who are comfortable at night. The fear of vampires is fierce, even with the UV lights and the wall keeping them at bay.”

“Then why would they apply for the job in the first place?”

“You really haven’t been in Central very long.” There was amusement in his tone, but the shadows were deeper in his eyes. “It’s not all sunshine and roses, believe me.”

“For you, it must be.” I waved a hand around his apartment. “You have all this, after all.”

“Yes, but I didn’t always live and work on First Street. I started on Twelfth—and believe me, it’s a very long, very steep road to get from there to here.”

I guess it would have been. Certainly Deseo was a far cry from Hedone—and if I ever had to work in a brothel, it would be at one like Hedone. I hadn’t seen much of the place, but the foyer alone suggested the rooms where the transactions took place would contain far more than merely a bed and a box of toys.

“Anyway,” he continued, gathering the plates, then rising and walking them over to the dishwasher, “I’ll see what I can do. Of course, you do know it means you’ll have to see me again.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You say that like you expect me not to.”

“Oh,” he said, his grin cheeky, but the shadows even stronger in his eyes. “I can smell exactly how much you want to. I was merely giving you the option to walk away if you so desired.”

I smiled. “I haven’t seen another déchet for a hundred years. That, I believe, is answer enough.”

“Well, then how about dinner? Somewhere fancy to celebrate our reunion?”

“I don’t think I have the clothes to do fancy—”

He held up his hand, stopping me again. “Then it will be my pleasure to supply you a dress. Shall we say six tomorrow evening, in the lobby?”

“Sure.” It would give me time to gather courage and head back into Chaos. Hopefully, Nuri would be as good as her word when it came to getting me an ID.

“In the meantime,” he said, spinning my chair around so that I faced him. “I have forty-five minutes before I must leave for my appointment. Shall I fill you in on some of my missing years, or shall I simply fill you?”

“My, my,” I murmured. “Haven’t we lost some finesse over the years.”

He smiled. “Finesse, I have learned, doesn’t always get what I want. And you didn’t answer the question on the table.”

I placed my finger on his chest and gently followed the faint line of hair down his stomach. His cock leapt, as if eager for my touch. I obliged.

“You could do both,” I murmured, then leaned forward and ran my tongue across the tip of him, tasting sex and eagerness.

“No,” he said, shuddering, “I don’t believe I can.”

From there on in, there was no talking, and I had absolutely no complaints. I might have spent many an hour longing for adult conversation, but sex and silence with a man I was so familiar with—and one of the few I’d trusted during the war—was far, far better.

And it was certainly far better than I remembered.

•   •   •

I left Sal’s place at six, well satiated, well fed, freshly showered, and wearing my own clothes—which had been laundered and repaired. If I’d had tabby rather than tiger in my DNA, I probably would have been purring right now.

Dusk was just beginning to settle across the skies, though the streets of Central were still as bright as day, thanks to the UVs kicking into full action as the night approached. I hurried down Victory Street, heading for the drawbridge and hoping like hell it hadn’t already been raised for the night. My little ghosts would worry if I wasn’t back by nightfall, and if I didn’t get out of this place before the drawbridge went up, I would be stuck here for the night.

The huge gatehouse came into view, and relief ran through me when I saw it was still down. But the guards were out of their houses, prowling about like beasts contained, their anxiety stinging the air. Obviously, the last pod of the day was late, and they weren’t happy. And they would stop me from exiting if they saw me.

I ducked into the nearest walkway, waited impatiently for several people to pass, then, when the coast was clear, drew the light around me. It would dissipate as quickly as the remaining sunlight once I moved beyond Central’s UVs, but that didn’t matter. I doubted anyone would chase me even if they saw me at that point, as they generally feared the dark far more than they feared losing one citizen to night and the vampires.

I continued on to the exit. The ends of the silver curtain that Central used in place of the more conventional portcullis gleamed brightly thanks to the lights that lined the gatehouse, but the sensors fitted into the thick metal walls didn’t react to my presence, though they would have, had I been full vampire. It had taken ten years to completely rebuild Central, and, by that stage, all HDP bases had been well and truly destroyed, and the déchet population decimated. It never occurred to them that some might have survived—hell, it hadn’t occurred to me, and I was one of the survivors—so they never built that possibility into their security systems. For which I was extremely grateful. Feeding myself would have been far more problematic had I not been able to make regular raids into Central.

I moved through the gatehouse and out onto the drawbridge. The last pod of the evening finally pulled into the station, and people began streaming toward the city, forcing me to duck and weave to prevent collisions. While the sunlight shield prevented anyone seeing me, I hadn’t physically disappeared; they would feel me if I collided with them. Once I was over the bridge, I jumped down into the rail yards and quickly traversed them. The farther I moved away from the lights, the faster the shield unraveled, until it had completely disappeared and I was visible to anyone looking my way. Pain flitted across my senses at the shield’s loss, but I kept running until I finally reached the Barra’s old watercourse. Though the possibility of being seen by a too-alert guard was now unlikely, I didn’t relax. Night had all but settled in, and the vampires would be rising. And while I was close to the South Siding exit and there were, as far as I knew, no enclaves in this immediate vicinity, that didn’t mean anything. There were who-knew-how-many old sewerage and transport tunnels under Chaos, and Chaos itself was within easy running distance. Just because I’d never seen any vamps near here didn’t mean they couldn’t get here altogether too fast if one or more of them happened to be close enough to smell my scent or catch the sound of my heartbeat.

Which meant I had better get a move on.

But I’d barely taken three steps when Cat appeared. Her energy whipped around me, filled with fear and panic and images of darkness on the move.

The vampires weren’t under Chaos.

They were attacking the South Siding exit, trying to get into our home.