Daysider

Michael ceased his struggles and tried to look at Alexia. “You said you weren’t hurt!”

“She was lying,” Damon said. “She was badly wounded in the attack. She recovered from that, but something else is wrong with her. Some kind of illness. You’re going to tell me what it—” Alexia’s legs collapsed beneath her. Damon leaped up and caught her before she hit the ground. Michael was at her side a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded as Damon gently lowered her to the ground. “Alex, what’s going on?”

“My body’s still healing,” she said, her teeth chattering. “That’s all.”

Damon cupped the side of her face, sliding his thumb over her cheekbone.

“Get your hands off her,” Michael said through his teeth, grabbing Damon’s wrist.

With hardly a glance, Damon broke free and pushed Michael back, shoving him onto his knees.

“Stop!” Alexia gasped. “He saved my life, Michael!”

Michael resumed his previous position, carefully avoiding Damon’s eyes. He didn’t try to interfere as Damon unbuttoned Alexia’s jacket and peeled it back behind her shoulders. When it was out of the way, Michael pushed the torn edges of her shirt and undershirt aside and touched the place above her right breast where the bullets had hit.

“It’s already healed,” he said. He lifted one of her eyelids. “Hyperemia,” he said. He took her wrist. “Rapid heartbeat. Has she had a fever?”

“I’m still here,” she said testily. “You can ask me. ”

“Have you?” Michael asked.

“The best thing you can do is leave me alone and let me heal.”

Michael ignored her and pushed her shirt open over her left shoulder. She tried to stop him, but she wasn’t strong enough, and Damon didn’t interfere. Exposing the underside of her upper left arm, Michael cursed.

“Your patch,” he said. “For God’s sake, Alexia, what happened?”

She glanced at Damon. His gaze jerked from the unhealed wound to Michael’s face, and his eyes narrowed.

Don’t say anything, she begged Michael silently. She didn’t want to know if Damon had made it possible for someone to take the patch. If she was going to die anyway...

“What happened?” her partner repeated.

She closed her eyes. “When I was wounded,” she said slowly, “I was out for several hours. Damon was shot after I fell unconscious. He managed to bind my wounds before he went into healing stasis. He was still out when I woke up, and that was when I found out that someone had cut the patch out of my arm.”

“Someone,” Michael spat. He turned on Damon. “Where is it?”

Damon met his accusing stare without reaction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Bunching his fist, Michael swung at Damon. Damon ducked easily and rocked back on his heels.

“That’s enough!” Alexia said. “If you two don’t behave yourselves, I’ll—” A cough rattled in her chest, swallowing the impotent threat. She settled back again, sensing how close she was to sinking into a morass of despair from which she might never emerge.

It was too late now. Too late to pretend. She rolled her head to the side, meeting Damon’s eyes. She glimpsed something in them she hadn’t seen before.

Fear.

“Did you?” she asked hoarsely. “Did you have something to do with this?”

He stared at the exposed wound, his expression gone cold. “No.” His gaze returned to her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this other injury?”

“You knew about it,” Michael said, jumping to his feet. “This is what you were after all along, wasn’t it? You don’t give a damn if she dies.”

Damon rose to face him. “Why should she die?” he asked. “What is a ‘patch’?”

“I’m not dead yet,” Alexia said with asperity. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk over me as if I were.”

Both men looked down at her. Mike had tears in his eyes. He glanced back in the direction of the bushes where Damon had tossed his rifle.

Damon moved before he did. He covered the space in two strides and swept up the gun, aiming it squarely at Michael’s chest.

“Tell me what this is about,” he said, his voice deadly quiet, “and perhaps I won’t kill you.”

“Frickin’ leech,” Michael gasped. “She trusted you.”

Damon stalked toward Michael like the big, tawny cat Alexia had imagined, coming to stand toe-to-toe with his enemy. He jabbed the rifle into Michael’s ribs.

“Take off your pack.”

Michael obeyed with a sneer and tossed the pack, VS120 still attached, toward the bushes.

“Your other weapons,” Damon said.

Her partner removed his pistol and combat knife and threw them after the pack.

“Now,” Damon said, “talk.”

“I’ll tell you,” Alexia said softly. “Look at me.”

He looked, though every muscle in his body was tense with readiness to attack should Michael make the smallest attempt to break away.

Alexia held his gaze. “A percentage of dhampires, like me,” she said, carefully watching his face, “are born without the ability to digest normal food. We wear patches that deliver certain drugs directly into our bloodstream, which allows us to eat like humans. Without it—” She shrugged, though the movement sent needles of pain into her arm.

There was nothing in Damon’s expression to indicate his emotions, but his eyes told a different story. In a human or dhampir, she would have called them stricken. Horrified.

It was possible that he was feigning the reaction. She would be wise to make that assumption. But she could still feel his warm breath on her face, his lips on hers. And though she despised her lack of control and his willingness to take advantage of her body’s mindless urges, she couldn’t make herself believe that he had led her into a trap.

“I didn’t know, Alexia,” he said quietly.

“Liar,” Michael said. “You were with her when you were attacked, and someone who knew what to look for took her patch. Pretty convenient, isn’t it?”

To Alexia’s relief, Damon ignored her partner and addressed Alexia again. “We considered the likelihood that the gunman who attacked us the first time—”

“The first time?” Michael interrupted.

“—after Carter left us,” Damon went on with a severe glance at Michael, “was from the colony, attempting to drive off intruders. That still seems the most likely explanation for the second attack. Though I knew nothing of this patch or its importance, it is quite possible someone in the colony did.”

“And why would they take it?” Michael asked. “I can see why Erebus would want anything that they could turn into a weapon against us, but an illegal settlement wouldn’t have the Citadel’s resources. Were your friends planning to trade it to Erebus in exchange for being left alone?”

“The colonists are not my friends, ” Damon retorted. “I am here to—”

“Do you have any proof that the colonists did this?” Michael asked, thrusting his face closer to Damon’s as if the rifle weren’t jabbing him in the belly. “Or did you make sure there was no evidence to find?”

Damon bared his teeth. “I’ve had enough of your accusations,” he said. “If you say another word, I’ll put a gag in your mouth.”

“He didn’t do it, Michael,” Alexia said, her mind foggy with exhaustion. “They hurt him, too. He could have died.”

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Michael demanded, disbelief in his voice. “What in hell are you thinking, Alexia? Who screwed who?”

With a grunt of rage, Damon hit Michael on the side of the head. Michael staggered and fell to his knees. Alexia rolled onto her stomach and crawled over to him, grabbing his arm as much for support as to protect him.

“Kill me first,” she said, looking up at Damon’s stony face. “I’m going to die, anyway.”

“No,” Damon said. He tossed the gun back into the bushes. “Tell me what must be done.”