The Children of the Sun (8 page)

“We don’t know anything,” Two said. “It’s been two and a half years, and we don’t know anything. This sucks!”

“I was speaking with Jakob a few minutes ago,” Theroen said. “He assured me that he is going to double the number of men working on this. Lewis and Richard are terrified that the Children are going to attack the Burilgi again, and without any real base of power in that community, they won’t be able to come together for self-defense.”

“If they would just embrace the council, we could help them,” Naomi muttered.

“We have treated them very poorly for centuries,” Theroen said. “Not just this council, but the entire vampire world. It will take them some time, I think, to embrace us.”

Naomi sighed. “I know, Theroen.”

“You have seemed tense lately, Naomi. Are you unwell?” Theroen asked. Two gave a slight shake of her head, but Naomi opted to answer the question.

“I’m fine, though I could use a drink,” she said. “I think I’ll take my leave.”

“Going to
L’Obscurité
?” Theroen asked, and Naomi gave him a grim smile.

“No,” she said. “Not tonight. I think it may be time to find a new bar.”

* * *

“We are coming toward a dangerous time,” Theroen said, and Two glanced over at him, trying to identify the tone she was hearing in is voice.

“Story of my life,” she said. “At least we had a couple of years to relax.”

Theroen did not immediately respond to this, and Two let the conversation drop. They were walking down Seventh Avenue, returning from the cathedral on 53
rd
Street where the American council met. It was a long walk, but Two didn’t mind; neither she nor Theroen would have any trouble with the exertion. It was early June and the nights had grown warm, but Two found she barely noticed the weather anymore. Her internal temperature was much more affected by how recently she had fed than by any exterior conditions.

They had just passed 22
nd
Street when Theroen spoke again. “If I thought there was even the slightest possibility you would acquiesce, I would strongly consider asking you to come with me to Europe.”

So that’s what I was hearing,
Two thought. Out loud, she said, “No … not a chance. Sorry.”

“We are too enmeshed in the council at this point.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why. It’s
Tori,
Theroen. We can’t just turn our backs on her. It’s my fault that this is happening.”

“I don’t agree with that.”

“I know, but—”

“When you left Tori, she was safe at home with her parents and happy to be there. You had no way of knowing that she was in any danger, let alone that a deranged cult of vampire killers were going to find her, kidnap her, and brainwash her.”

“No, but I knew – both of us knew – that there might come a time when someone tracked one of us down. We thought it would be someone who was pissed about what we did to Abraham, but it doesn’t really matter. We knew someone might come. I knew it, and I left her alone anyway because I was desperate to get back to New York and start looking for vampires.”

They crossed 16
th
Street, moving effortlessly through the crowd, a pair of sharks among schools of fish. Theroen looked up at the moon.

“I understand,” he said. “I don’t agree, but … nonetheless, the council had ample opportunity to shield her from this, and they chose not to act. They sat by and did nothing even after her parents were murdered. They could have contacted her, explained that they were not dangerous, offered protection. Instead they voted to sit and wait. Now they are reaping what they’ve sown.”

“So you think they deserve this? When Tori comes to kill Naomi or Jakob, you’re just going to sit back and watch?”

“No, of course n—”

“What about that guy Matthias? What did he do to deserve this?”

“It is because of Matthias that I would take you away if you would let me. I have no desire to watch Tori decapitate you.”

Two made a noise of derision. “There is no way she would do something like that to me.”

“You do not know what she has become. None of us do. Matthias spoke of a ruthless soldier who did not hesitate for a moment to kill two Eresh vampires and order the murder of two human beings.”

“I was there … I heard the story. She’s confused and angry, maybe, and they’ve convinced her to direct that anger at us, but I don’t believe that she would kill me. I’m probably the best shot she has at staying alive now. Who else is going to argue for her against the council?”

“I doubt she cares,” Theroen said, and Two came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk, earning a disapproving squawk from a woman who had been walking behind her. She ignored this and turned to Theroen, who had stopped as well and was regarding her with calm curiosity.

“I don’t give a shit if she cares or not,” Two said. “I care about her, and there’s no way you’re convincing me to just … fuck off to Europe while she’s running around with the Children, OK?”

“Very well, Two—”

“If we leave and the council catches her, they’re going to put her down like some kind of rabid dog. She’s
not
a dog. She never was, and she deserves better than that. After everything she’s been through she sure as fuck deserves better, and I’m going to make sure she gets the chance. I’m not abandoning her again. I’m not leaving!”

“I was not asking you to leave.”

“Yes, you were. You were doing it in a roundabout way, testing the waters, but that’s exactly what you were doing. I know you’ve got about four hundred years on me, but I’m not a kid. Don’t treat me like one.”

Theroen paused for a moment, looking taken aback. Then he smiled, chuckled, and shook his head.

“What?” Two asked.

“Caught red handed. You’re correct, and I am sorry, Two.”

“It’s OK. I understand you’re worried. Sorry for yelling.”

They began to walk again, heading toward their home in SoHo. After a few blocks, Two spoke again.

“No more, though, all right? We had to have this fight, and now it’s done. No more talk about going to Europe. We’re staying here, and we’re going to find Tori, and we’re going to talk her out of this shit. If the council tries to kill her, then we’re going to fight for her. That’s how it’s going to be. OK?”

Theroen sighed, took her hand, and nodded. “Yes, Two.”

Two looked up at him, saw that his eyes were dark and far away, and frowned. “Do you still love me?”

“Very much.”

“Even when I’m a pain in the ass?”

Theroen smiled at this, and he seemed to return somewhat from wherever it was that he had gone. He looked down at her, met her gaze, and smiled.

“You’re always a pain in the ass.”

* * *

Two lay on her belly against her soft sheets, warm and relaxed, head turned to the side and resting on her crossed arms, eyes closed. Theroen lay above her, atop her, carrying half of his weight on his elbows, the rest of it pressing down on her. He was biting gently at her neck, teasing with his teeth, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. She could feel the hard part of him pressing between her legs, seeking entry, and she smiled.

“Slow,” she said, and Theroen made a noise of acquiescence. She felt his lips tug at her earlobe, and when he pressed again she shifted, opened her legs just slightly, and felt him enter her. She made a low noise of enjoyment as he put a hand in her hair, gripping tight, and began to thrust. Slow, like she had asked.

Of the many ways that she and Theroen made love, Two thought that this might be her favorite. Lying on her stomach, the sex soft, the weight of him making her feel protected and secure. Two felt the skin of Theroen’s chest moving against her back, the warmth of his breath at her ear. He snaked his free left hand around and underneath her, cupping her mons and holding her against him as he pushed into her, deliberately gradual. His right hand remained tangled in her hair.

Two pushed up with her knees, bracing against the bed, gasping, the soft fabric now twisted tight in her hands. It felt as if there was nothing left in the world but her, and Theroen, and this thing they were building together inside of her. At some point she became aware of her own gasps, her voice bent and twisted so that it seemed almost to come from someone else, begging for release from the excruciating pleasure.

Theroen was losing himself in her, no longer moving slowly. He pulled her hair, pressed against her clitoris, and Two felt her body clench. She took in air to cry out, but before she could, she felt Theroen strain against her. He made a snarling, groaning noise and bit her as her climax rolled through her, the force of it locking her limbs tight, freezing the breath in her throat.

Just as it became too much, more than she could possibly bear, the feeling began to subside. Her lungs began to work again, and Two let that trapped air out in a long sigh. Theroen drank for some time more. Two lay with her head on her arms, breathing, enjoying the waves of pleasure that accompanied the gentle draining sensation.

What if she tries to take him from me?
she thought.

She knew the answer, of course – knew it in the very depths of her soul. If that happened, she would kill Tori and anyone else who stood between her and this man she loved. If it became necessary, Two would burn the whole world and everyone in it to keep from losing him again.

They lay like that, still pressed against each other and joined at the hips, not speaking. Theroen’s fingers moved gently in her hair, and he brought his other hand up away from her waist. Two took it in hers and held it against herself. Lying like that, together, they slept.

Part II

Chapter 5
Amun Sa and the Girl from the Desert

The girl knelt over the grinding wheel, preparing the flour that would become the morning’s bread, and stared out over the vast floodplain that lay between her and the great river to the east. Her hands moved unconsciously, trained by years of repetition, and this allowed her mind to wander free. She contemplated the ecstasies of the previous evening and those that might come that night. The sun had not yet come up over the hills beyond the river and already she was anxious for it to set.

She was not from this place, though she had lived here now for more than ten years, ever since Nubian warriors from the south had come to her tribe to loot and rape and murder. If there had been any other survivors they had been scattered to the winds, and so she had begun the journey north alone. A girl of only nine years, she had by guile and luck and effort survived where most others would have perished, avoiding the teeth and claws of beasts, the swords of man, and the shackles of the slave caravans. She had left her home in the desert and traveled along the great river until she came to the outskirts of the capital city Ineb-Hedg, the seat of power where Kings had dwelt for centuries.

She arrived there with only the name her mother had given her, Ashayt, and the skills needed to make the firm, brown bread that everyone ate with every meal and fermented to make their beer. She was of a proud people and the hardships she had so far borne had not stripped her of this pride, and so she refused to join the legions of beggars that could be found throughout the city. She instead went door to door, first inside the city’s walls and then out of them, until at last she found a family who could make use of her skills and would agree to take her in.

A childless couple with a meager few acres of land and only a handful of slaves, her benefactors would never be wealthy, but they were free and owed nothing to any man. They traded their grain and, soon, her bread at the markets, and while Ashayt knew they would never be able to provide her with a suitable dowry for marriage, she was nonetheless happy to become something like their daughter. She was from the desert, marked by her dark skin and many tattoos, and no man from this civilized world would want her anyway. Or so, at least, she had thought.

The flour milled, Ashayt set out to mix it with water in several large clay bowls. After this, she would leave the mixture in the fresh air for a time, so that the spirits would bless it and allow it to finish its transformation into dough. She would build up the fire under their stone oven and, when it was good and hot, she would take the dough, and knead it, and form it into loaves. This she did every morning, and when the bread had cooked and cooled, she would put aside loaves for her family and for the slaves, and put the rest into her basket, and take the bread to market.