Black dawn (10 page)
Maggie looked back
up
at the boy.
He had finished with the handkerchief and was
now taking the top off some kind of leather bag.
Suddenly Maggie's eyes focused. Not a leather
bag; a canteen. He was tilting it up to drink.
Water.
All at once she was aware of her thirst again. It
had been shoved to the back of her mind, a con
stant pain that could be forgotten while she was
trying to escape from the slave traders. But now it
was like a raging fire inside her. It was the most important thing in the world.
And
"Please," she said. "Can we have some of that?
Could you drop it to me? I can catch it."
He looked at her quickly, not startled but with
cool annoyance. "And how am I supposed to get
it back?"
"I'll bring it to you. I can climb up."
`"You can't," he said flatly.
"Watch me."
She climbed up. It was as easy as she'd thought;
plenty of good finger- and toeholds.
When she pulled herself up onto the ledge beside
him, he shrugged, but there was reluctant respect in his eyes.
"You're quick," he said. "Here." He held out the
leather bag.
But Maggie was simply staring. This close, the
feeling of familiarity was overwhelming.
It was
you
in my dream, she thought. Not just
somebody like you.
She recognized everything about him. That sup
ple, smoothly muscled body, and the way he had
of standing as if he were filled with tightly leashed tension.
That dark hair with the tiny waves springing out where it got unruly.
That taut, grim face, those high cheekbones, that willful mouth.
And especially the eyes.
Those fearless,
black
lashed
yellow eyes that seemed to hold endless lay
ers of clear brilliance.
That were
windows on the
fiercely intelligent mind behind them.
The only difference was the expression. In the
dream, he had been anxious and tender. Here, he seemed joyless and bitter ...
and cold. As if his
entire being were coated with a very thin layer of
ice.
But it was you, Maggie thought. Not just some
body like you, because I don't think there
is anybody like you.
Still lost in her memories, she said, "I'm Maggie
Neely. What's your name?"
He looked taken aback. The golden eyes widened,
then
narrowed. "How dare you ask?" he rapped out. He sounded quite natural saying "How dare
you," although Maggie didn't think she'd ever heard
anybody say it outside of a movie.
"I had a dream about you," Maggie said. "At
least it wasn't
me
having the dream; it was more
as
if it was sent to me." She was remembering de
tails now. "You kept telling me that I had to do
something.
...'
•
"I don't give a damn about your dreams," the boy
said shortly. "Now, do you want the water or not?"
Maggie remembered how thirsty she was. She
reached out for the leather bag eagerly.
He held onto it, not releasing it to her. "There's
only enough for one," he said, still brusque. "Drink
it here."
Maggie blinked. The bag did feel disappointingly
slack in her grip. She tugged at it a little and heard
a faint slosh.
"Cady needs some, too. She's sick."
"She's more than sick. She's almost gone. There's
no point in wasting any on her."
I can't believe I'm hearing this again, Maggie
thought. He's just like Jeanne.
She tugged at the bag harder. "If I want to share with her, that's my business, right? Why should it matter to you?"
"Because it's stupid.
There's only enough for
one."
"Look--!'
"You're not afraid of me, are
'
you?" he said
abruptly. The brilliant yellow eyes were fixed on
her as if he could read her thoughts.
It was strange, but she
wasn't
afraid, not exactly.
Or, she was afraid, but something inside her was
making her go on in spite of her fear.
"Anyway, it's my water," he said. "And I say
there's only enough for one. You were stupid to try
and protect her before, when you could have gotten
away. Now you have to forget about her."
Maggie had the oddest feeling that she was being
tested. But there was no time to figure out for what,
or why.
"Fine.
It's your water," she said, making her voice
just as clipped as his. "And there's only enough for
one." She pulled at the bag harder, and this time
he let go of it.
Maggie turned from him, looked down at the
boulders where Cady was lying. She judged the dis
tance carefully, noting the way one boulder formed
a cradle.
Easy shot.
It'll rebound and wedge in that crack,
she thought. She extended her arm to drop the bag.
"Wait!" The voice was harsh and explosive-and
even
more harsh
was the iron grip that clamped
on her wrist.
"What do you think you're doing?" the boy said
angrily, and Maggie found herself looking into
fierce yellow eyes.
CHAPTER 8
What are you doing?" he repeated ferociously.
His grip was hurting her.
"I'm throwing the water bag down there," Maggie
said. But
she was thinking, He's so strong
. Stronger
than anybody I've ever met. He could break my
wrist without even trying.
"I know that!
Why?"
"Because it's easier than carrying it down in my
teeth," Maggie said. But that wasn't the real reason,
of course. The truth was that she needed to get
temptation out of the way. She was so thirsty that
it was a kind of madness, and she was afraid of
what she would do if
she
held onto this cool, sloshing water bag much longer.
He was staring at her with those startling eyes,
as if he were trying to pry
his way into her brain.
And Maggie had the odd feeling that he'd suc
ceeded, at least far enough that he knew the real reason she was doing this.
"You are an idiot," he said slowly, with cold wonder. "You should listen to your body; it's telling you
what it needs. You can't ignore thirst. You can't
deny it."
"Yes, you can," Maggie said flatly. Her wrist was
going numb. If this went on, she was going to drop
the bag involuntarily, and in the wrong place.
"You can't," he said, somehow making the words
into an angry hiss. "I should know."
Then he showed her his teeth.
Maggie should have been prepared.
Jeanne had told her. Vampires and witches and
shapeshifters
, she'd said. And Sylvia was a witch,
and
shapeshifter
.
This boy was a vampire.
The strange thing was that, unlike
get uglier when he changed. His face seemed paler
and finer, like something chiseled in ice. His golden
eyes burned brighter, framed by lashes that looked
even blacker in contrast. His pupils opened and
seemed to hold a darkness that could swallow a
person up.
But it was the mouth that had changed the most.
It looked even more willful, disdainful, and sul
len-and it was drawn up into a sneer to display
the fangs.
Impressive fangs.
Long, translucent white, taper
ing into delicate points.
Shaped like a cat's canines,
with
a sheen
on them like jewels. Not yellowing tusks like
What amazed Maggie was that although he
looked completely different from anything she'd seen before, completely abnormal, he also looked
completely natural. This was another kind of crea
ture, just like a human or a bear, with as much
right to live as either of them.
Which didn't mean she wasn't scared.
But she
was frightened in a new way, a way ready for
action.
She was ready to fight, if fighting became neces
sary. She'd already changed that much since enter
ing this valley: fear now made her not panicked but
hyper alert.
If I have to defend myself I need both hands.
And it's better not to let him see I'm scared.
"Maybe you can't ignore your kind of thirst," she
said, and was pleased that her voice didn't wobble.
"But I'm fine. Except that you're hurting my wrist. Can you please let go?"
For just an instant, the brilliant yellow eyes
flared even brighter, and she wondered if he was
going to attack her.
But then his eyelids lowered,
black lashes veiling the brightness.
He let go of
her wrist.
Maggie's arm sagged,
and the leather bag
dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. It
landed safely at her feet. She rubbed her hand.
And didn't look up a moment later, when he said
with a kind of quiet hostility, "Aren't you afraid
of me?"
"Yes." It was true. And it wasn't just because he
was a vampire or because he had a power that
could send blue death twenty feet away. It was be
cause of
him,
of the way he was. He was scary enough in and of himself.
"But what good is it, being afraid?" Maggie said,
still rubbing her hand. "If you're going to try to
hurt me,
IT
fight
back. And so far, you haven't tried
to hurt me. You've only helped me."
"I told you, I didn't do it for
you.
And you'll never
survive if you keep on being insane like this."
"Insane like what?"
Now she did look up, to see
that his eyes were burning dark gold and his fangs
were gone. His mouth simply looked scornful and aristocratic.
"Trusting people," he said, as if it should have
been obvious.
"Taking care of people.
Don't you
know that only the strong ones make it? Weak peo
ple are deadweight
and if you try to help them,
they'll drag you down with them."
Maggie had an answer for that. "Cady isn't
weak," she said flatly. "She's
sick
She'll get
better
if
she gets the chance. And if we don't take care of
each other, what's going to happen to all of us?"
He looked exasperated, and for a few minutes
they stared at each other in mutual frustration.
Then Maggie bent and picked up the bag again.
"I'd better give it to her now. I'll bring your can
teen back."
"Wait." His voice was abrupt and cold, un
friendly. But this time he didn't grab her.
"What?"
"Follow me." He gave the order briefly and
turned without pausing to see if she obeyed. It was
clear that he
expected
people to obey him, without
questions. "Bring the bag," he said, without looking
over his shoulder.
Maggie
hesitated
an instant, glancing down at
Cady. But the hollow was protected by the over
hanging boulders; Cady would be all right there for
a few minutes.
She followed the boy. The narrow path that wound around the mountain was rough and primi
tive, interrupted by bands of broken, razor-sharp
slate. She had to pick her way carefully around
them.
In front of her, the boy turned toward the rock
suddenly and disappeared. When Maggie caught
up, she saw the cave.
The entrance was small, hardly more than a
crack, and even Maggie had to stoop and go in
sideways.
But inside it opened into a snug little
enclosure that smelled of dampness and cool rock.
Almost no light filtered in from the outside
world. Maggie blinked, trying to adjust to the
near
darkness
, when there was a sound like a match strike and a smell of
sulphur
. A tiny flame was born, and Maggie saw the boy lighting some kind
of crude stone lamp that had been carved out of
the cave wall itself. He glanced back at her and his
eyes flashed gold.
But Maggie was gasping, looking around her.
The light of the little flame threw a mass of shift
ing, confusing shadows everywhere, but it also
picked out threads of sparkling quartz in the rock.
The small cave had become a place of enchantment.
And
at
the boy's feet was something that glittered
silver. In the hush of the still air, Maggie could
hear the liquid, bell-like sound of water dripping.
"It's
a pool," the boy said. "Spring fed. The
wa
tees
cold, but it's good.
Water .
Something like pure lust overcame Mag
gie. She took three steps forward, ignoring the boy
completely, and then her legs collapsed.
She
cupped a hand in the pool, felt the coolness encom
pass it to the wrist, and brought it out as
if she
were holding liquid diamond in her palm.