“This picture was taken in a time of peace,” she said. “Who is the other child?”
“Her name is Alessa. She’s the daughter of my sister Alexia and her husband, Damon.” He tucked the photo back into his pocket. “Alexia is half Opir. A dhampir.”
Artemis stared at him. “Your father was a—”
“We had different fathers. I assure you, I’m fully human.”
“But your sister—”
“Was born in the Enclave of San Francisco, after our mother found refuge there. She married a human in the Enclave, and I was the result.”
Wrapping her arms around her chest, Artemis looked away. “I know...” she began. “I know it is an ugly thing, what our males did to your females during the War.”
“It wasn’t my intention to bring up the time before the Armistice,” Garret said, regretting his slip.
“But surely Alexia was an agent for the Enclave, like all those of mixed blood.”
“She left that life long ago. All I want for Timon is the freedom to live as he chooses, when he’s old enough to make that decision. I’d hoped this would help you to understand.”
“I always understood,” she said in a near whisper.
“Then help me track the rogues who stole my son, and then return to your life. I won’t trouble you again.”
Her mouth tightened. “You will not expect me to fight for him?”
“I won’t ask what you can’t give.”
They both fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Garret knew that it didn’t matter whether or not they talked about what had happened between them. It was there, hanging in the air, haunting them, mocking them. An odd sensation seemed to tickle the surface of his brain, and all at once he was reliving the endless moments of lust and desire, hopelessly entangled with Artemis’s need for blood and the memories of saving each other’s lives.
“Artemis,” he said, desperately resisting the urge to touch her, “I swear on Timon’s life that what happened today won’t be repeated.”
It was clear that she understood him. She felt for the tree trunk at her back, fingers digging into the rough bark. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts.
“No,” she said. “It will not.”
They both looked away at the same time, and Garret released his breath. She said that now, and she must truly believe it.
But the connection between them couldn’t simply be explained by the sharing of blood. He had wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman since Roxana, and she’d wanted him. The blood was only the catalyst.
His mind refused to speculate further.
“I think we should go,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “If we walk slowly for a while, I’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”
“Surely you are not ready,” she said. “It is nearly dark.”
“As long as I stay close enough behind you, we can travel at night. It’ll be harder for you by day, and we need to keep moving as long as we can.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You can hunt along the way, and I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier for you by keeping my distance.”
Easier for both of us, he thought. But Artemis had already turned her back on him and was self-consciously examining her arrows, leaving him to wonder if they could both hold to their promises.
* * *
They started north in silence, setting out along a woodland trail commonly used by both men and Opiri passing through the region once known as the Willamette Valley. Artemis took the lead, casting her senses wide for any trace of Freebloods. The rain had obliterated most animal tracks in the area, and she knew it would perform the same service for any two-legged creatures.
However, she didn’t have to rely only on sight. The scents of the wet forest were almost overwhelming, and she could track the movements of every animal—reptile, bird and mammal—that passed anywhere near them. Ironically, now that she no longer needed to hunt, she could hear tiny feet pattering over the pungent earth, and through the weeds and fallen pine needles, the rustle of wings in the undergrowth and deep among the branches.
But no Freebloods, and no humans.
As good as his word, Garret remained some distance behind. Yet he might as well have been clinging to her back; she could hear his rough breathing, the muffled tread of his boots, even the beat of his heart. And she could smell him, a pleasant scent that seemed to complement the aroma of freshly washed vegetation.
She could also smell his blood. As full darkness fell and he moved closer to take advantage of her night vision, she realized that the situation would not become any easier. One taste of his blood had been enough to make her crave it again. If she didn’t find a way to ignore him, the journey would soon become intolerable.
As intolerable as the memory of other cravings...and the way he had turned her own unwanted emotions against her by asking her about her former life. About children, and loss, and forgetting.
And love.
As she walked, she concentrated on rebuilding the crumbling barriers inside her mind. By dividing her consciousness between observing their surroundings and reconstructing her mental shields bit by bit, she could almost forget Garret for minutes at a time.
After several hours of unceasing rain, stillness fell over the woods. Artemis slowed her pace. She knew this area well; after her expulsion from Oceanus she had lingered here, well outside the borders of the Citadel’s territory, hoping that she might locate other exiled Freebloods and persuade them to accept her philosophy. She’d soon discovered that the outcasts had no interest in anything beyond survival.
She looked over her shoulder as she and Garret passed through a clearing where a cluster of ruined buildings stood, relics dating to sometime before the War. Garret was moving unsteadily, though his pace had never flagged. She came to a halt and waited for him to catch up.
“It’s after midnight,” she said as he drew level with her. “We should stop so that you can rest and eat.”
He met her gaze from underneath his hood. “I’m not tired,” he said.
“Nevertheless, you must have food. Wait here. I will hunt.”
Before he could protest, she slipped away into the darkness where he couldn’t follow. She brought down two rabbits in rapid succession and carried them back to the abandoned buildings.
Garret looked up, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “The goddess of the hunt returns,” he said.
There was a complex note to his statement, not mockery but something more lighthearted. Belatedly, she remembered what it was. Teasing. And there was real admiration behind his words.
Admiration that deeply unsettled her.
She laid the rabbits down on a broken chunk of concrete and crouched beside it. “If I were a goddess,” she said, “I could guarantee that a fire would be safe. As it is, I can only suggest that maintaining your strength is probably worth the risk.”
“My future strength is worth nothing if we attract a pack of Freebloods or militiamen,” he said. “Did you see or hear anything?”
“Freebloods have passed this way, but not in many nights.”
“Then I’ll risk the fire.”
He removed a lighter from his pack and began to gather kindling. She went to look for fallen branches, and by the time she returned he had a small fire going. With quick, efficient movements, he skinned and cleaned the rabbits and suspended them from a long sharpened branch over the fire.