Night Quest. Susan Krinard

      He looked her up and down with those keen eyes. “Why are you so afraid?” he asked softly as the rain continued to pelt down on his head and shoulders. “Is the prospect of helping me find a lost child so repugnant to you?”

      A human child, she wanted to cry out. Why should I care?

      But how could she lie to him, and to herself?

      “You would ask me to hunt my own people,” she said.

      “They’re barely ‘your people’ at all.”

      “But they are. And I believe they have a chance at a better future than what they face in the Citadels or as exiles.”

      He arched a brow. “You didn’t mention this before.”

      “Why should you listen?”

      “What does this ‘better future’ involve, Artemis? Teaching the rogues to follow your example and refuse to take human blood? Convincing them that humans aren’t animals, aren’t just another form of prey? How would they consider that an improvement on their lives now?”

      She shook her head sharply. “There is so much you cannot possibly understand.”

      “I understand that you follow an ethical code of conduct that stretches to include humans, and that you live alone because you won’t share your life with barbaric killers.”

      “I will not debate this with you,” she said, knowing that she’d made a mistake in bringing her philosophy into the argument. “If our positions were reversed,” she said, “would you lead me to humans I might choose to kill?”

      “When did I say that I planned to kill anyone?”

      “You have made your feelings about Freebloods very clear,” she said, “and you will not hesitate to use any means to save your son.”

      “You’re right,” he said, matching the challenge in her voice. “But I’m not seeking revenge. If I can get Timon safely back without resorting to violence—” He broke off and took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to a point somewhere behind her.

      She glanced over her shoulder. The bear had obviously seen them and had reared up again. Her formidable teeth flashed in her brown muzzle.

      “Is that what you were hunting?” Garret asked.

      Artemis licked the moisture from her lips. “I had no plans to attack them,” she said, grasping eagerly at the change of subject.

      “But you haven’t found anything else.”

      “That is not your concern.”

      Garret set his pack down against the boulder. “I think you need my help,” he said.

      Growing sick with hunger and the scent of the blood pumping beneath his skin, Artemis stopped herself from falling against the boulder by a sheer act of will. “You cannot help me,” she said.

      “Do you object to taking human blood, even if it’s freely given?”

      “Freely given—at a price,” she whispered.

      “You live in the wilds. I’m well trained, but you’re faster and have keener senses than I do. Even if you won’t come with me, you can point me in the right direction. That’s all I ask.”

      His voice began to fade in and out, the sound replaced by a thrumming behind her ears. She tried to convince herself to hold to her convictions, her vow never to take human blood again.

      But philosophy would always fail when survival was at stake.

      “Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

      No longer able to resist, she stumbled toward him. He picked up his pack and kept just ahead of her, leading her under the shelter of a stand of close-growing alders. Without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself on the damp ground beside him.

      Garret removed his coat and then his shirt, neatly folding both garments and laying them across his pack. Her head began to pound, and she found herself staring at the muscles of his shoulders, arms and chest—an ideal image of human masculinity. There was nothing vulgar in the way he displayed himself, but she felt need pulsing not only in her belly but also between her thighs.

      As she struggled with growing delirium, he removed a rubber cord from his pack, tied it around his arm above his biceps and flexed his hand into a fist, raising the veins in his wrist. His forearm was corded with muscle, the kind achieved only through hard manual labor.

      But then she looked up at his face and noticed the pulse beating in his neck. Her mouth watered. She knew that he was no serf to be taken by the throat, though the desire to bare her own body, press it against his and sink her teeth into his neck was nearly more than she could endure. She looked at his mouth, the lips slightly parted, and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

      She hadn’t kissed anyone in over a century.

      “Are you certain...this is what you wish?” she asked, her voice raw with thirst.

      He didn’t seem to hear her. He ran his finger along the length of the most prominent vein in his arm and met her gaze.

      “Are you ready?” he asked.

      A thread of sickness coiled through her belly like a parasitic worm. “I should not—”

      “Are you afraid you’ll hurt me? I promise that won’t happen.”

      She licked her lips. “I can’t.”

      Garret held her gaze. “You’re afraid of losing control, aren’t you? Whatever you think you might do, I’m prepared for it.”

      “Perhaps... I am not.”

      “You’ve run out of options, Artemis. Take my blood—or die.”

      His words were more than merely a warning. They were certainty, and Artemis knew he was right. It was a kind of blackmail, but he must know that in her desperation she might still overpower him and take what she needed.

      He trusted her.

      One time, she told herself. Then she would be strong again, and she would have learned from her mistakes.

      Unable to fight her instincts, she grabbed his arm just below the elbow and bit into his wrist, barely remembering to temper the force of the bite before her teeth pierced his skin. He didn’t so much as flinch, nor did he look away.

      As his blood flowed over her tongue, Artemis felt something quite extraordinary. It wasn’t at all like taking blood from the Citadel’s public serfs, provided to Freebloods solely for the purpose of keeping them alive...barely. Nor was it similar to the times she had been compelled to feed from humans before and during the War, before the establishment of the Citadels.

      That had been necessity. This was a far more intimate act, not merely a bargaining chip.

      Intimate. That was the word, the sensation, the emotion, that overwhelmed her. Her body grew warm with the rush of vital nourishment and the headiness of lust.

      Only after she was sated did she dare to look up. Garret’s aura was alive, a scarlet halo visible only to her mind. His eyes were like faceted emeralds, cool and hot all at once. His chest rose and fell quickly, and she could smell a distinctive change in his earthy, masculine scent.

      Lust. It was happening again...his emotions were invading her mind, feeding her desire as hers fed his in an endless cycle.

      Bending to his arm again, she sealed the wound. Her tongue lingered on his skin, tracing a line down to his palm. He made a sound deep in his throat, and she felt herself being pulled toward him. Her heart seemed ready to leap from her chest into his. She closed her eyes and pressed herself against him, her breasts exquisitely tender. He adjusted her to straddle him, and she could feel his hardness thrusting against her through his camouflage pants.

      Then he turned his face aside,