Come to Me (8 page)

"Samira."

Samira flinched, startled from her reverie by Theron saying her name. She had been thinking of Nicolae, alone in his dark tower with his scars and his books, and those gruesome memories of battle and torture that filled his thoughts—and that
filled hers now, too, in bright flashes she seemed unable to shake. That magic book he'd been reading must be responsible for this imprint he had left on her mind.

It wasn't the imprint of his memories that had her thoughts dwelling upon him, though. She couldn't fool herself there. It was that he had seen her, and said her name, making her briefly feel that she was a being worthy of notice. She was still stinging from the harsh rejection that had come so soon after. If she'd had a heart to break, hers would be in a thousand glittering crystal shards.

She wanted to go back and have Nicolae see her again. Speak to her again. She wanted him to ask her where she came from, and who—not what—she was. She wanted him to find her fascinating, and to want to talk to her.

Impossible, of course. Not only was it forbidden for a succubus to revisit the same man, but the last thing Nicolae wanted was so much as a hint of her presence. He'd rather converse with a cranky three-year-old than with her. He'd find a gassy old man with long toenails a preferable bed partner; a hungry cannibal a better guest at his dinner table.

"Have you been hiding from me?" Theron said, sitting down next to her. They were on a dreamscape bluff, looking out over a nighttime ocean. Dark evergreen trees towered behind them, swaying in the dream winds half a world away from Nicolae. The beings of the Night World moved with the darkness, following the shadow of night around the earth. Samira could not be in Nicolae's land when it was daylight there.

"Not hiding," Samira said, unconsciously drawing her wings closer around her body, as if to shield herself from Theron. "I'm watching, is all, and wondering at the minds of men."

Stars shimmered above the dream ocean, reflecting their light upon the waves. Strange leviathans glowed and then disappeared just beneath the surface. Samira almost wished that she was one of them, living a simple, thoughtless life.

"Have mortals finally become as much an obsession for you as they have been for me?" Theron asked.

Samira kept her eyes fixed on the dark ocean. She didn't want to admit any such truth to him. She didn't want to explain to Theron what had happened with Nicolae, both the humiliation she felt and the inexplicable yearning to go back and have him see her again. She didn't want Theron to look at her with smug comprehension, as if she had finally proven him right about his own hopes and plans to step into the mortal realm. "Understanding humans helps me to do my work," she said instead.

He snorted, letting her know he was not convinced by such a pat answer. "I would think you'd learned all there was to know by now. Humans don't vary that much."

"Then why are you so anxious to become one?" she shot back.

"Because I won't be like all the others, of course! With my knowledge, after all these centuries of watching them play their war games, I'll be a king among them. No one will have learning that compares to mine. No one will understand how to lead men, how to rule, better than I."

"Nor will anyone think as highly of himself as you do," she said dryly.

He slanted her a look of annoyance, eyes fiery blue between his narrowed lids. "You feel the same way; your knowledge is as vast as this ocean, compared to the welter of a human mind. Haven't you ever imagined what type of human you would make?"

She hadn't thought to imagine such a thing—wouldn't she just be herself? But no, of course not. Humans did not have wings, for one thing. She shook her head, and then immediately saw herself standing barefoot upon the cold, muddy ground in the weak sunlight, a peasant's homespun clothing covering her wingless body, a kerchief on her head concealing unwashed hair full of lice. She shuddered. She had seen enough to know that the average human life was full of misery.

"I don't think I would enjoy it," she said.

"If I were king, you could be my queen."

She looked at him, a small frown between her brows, but he was staring out at the ocean now, not meeting her gaze. She had always thought of Theron as a friend but had never wanted anything more. There was nothing more
to
want: The incubi and succubi could not feel love, and their only sexual pleasure came from mortals. While she could feel shadows of female desire through Theron's touch, she could not see that as real. The secondhand nature of it bothered her.

"How much longer until your bargain is fulfilled?" she asked, instead of commenting on his puzzling statement.

Theron shrugged his shoulders, his wings fluttering in an echoing shrug. "Vlad says it should be no more than a month or two now."

"That's what he's been saying for years."

"I have only to visit the battlefields to see the truth. Vlad does not lie."

Samira had her doubts. The bargain Theron had struck with the mortal—Vlad of Wallachia—had been deceptively simple: Theron would send the dream to Dragosh, and in return Theron would be allowed to inhabit Vlad's body for the space of three days. Vlad's one condition had been that this possession of his body must wait until he had triumphed over his enemies, and his position as ruler of Wallachia was secure.

Possessing a human body was forbidden for the demons. They weren't even capable of it, unless the human gave his permission. Trying to enter a human body against the human's will meant spontaneous death for both the human and the demon. Samira wondered if Vlad knew that and would put Theron off forever. What could Theron do to force the issue, after all?

She also wondered if Vlad suspected what Theron's true intentions were, if allowed into human form. Theron wasn't planning on returning Vlad's body to him. He wanted to keep it for himself. His talk of being a king was based upon a real plan, not just dreams.

"We'll have to find a human body for you, too," Theron said.

Samira grimaced. "No, thank you."

"There's a very pretty one I know of."

She glared at him.

"What?" Theron asked.

"What human woman could be more beautiful than a succubus?"

He laughed. "Lucia. Dragosh's sister. You wouldn't mind being her, would you?"

"Yes, I
would
," Samira said, distressed by the very idea. She did not know what had happened to Lucia since that night, but the last thing she wanted was to
be
her, after her brother Dragosh had undergone such a turn of heart against her. "
I
don't want to be human, Theron. I don't think mortality is at all what you are expecting. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that the lives they live while awake might be completely different from what we see in their dreams?"

"We won't know until we step into the daylight, will we? And what does it matter if it is different? I'd rather have a chance to live as a mortal man, ruling my own life, than to spend the next ten centuries under the thumb of Sleep. I'm tired of sending dream warriors to lick at the loins of frustrated women."

"But you want more than just a chance at independence. You want to be a king. You reach too high."

"You never told anyone about that night with Dragosh, did you?" Theron asked abruptly.

She shook her head. "No, of course not. I promised."

"I didn't think you would. You're a rare one, Samira, and a good friend. You keep secrets."

Nicolae came immediately to mind, with his book of spells and the power they held. A more open and honest friend would have told Theron about such things. Samira had not. She would not. Did Theron realize that he might not be the only one for whom she held her tongue, that other secrets than his were within her mind?

Likely not. He looked lost in his thoughts, his schemes. Gods help him if he truly thought he could get away with snatching a mortal life for himself. Nyx, the Queen of the Night, would never stand for it. "You won't get away with it," she warned softly.

"Won't I?" he asked, all arrogance.

She wondered at his easy confidence. He must have his own doubts that he refused to admit to her. Perhaps they were not such friends as she had thought. Both seemed to be lying to the other, even more than they tried to lie to themselves. Was it the same with humans? "I tell you this only as your friend: Nyx will know," she warned again. She owed him at least that.

"Are you going to break your word
to
remain silent?"

Samira shook her head. "You know I won't. I would save you from your own folly if I could. That is all."

"Folly! You think I'm a fool."

"I didn't say that."

"You're the fool, Samira. Discontented with what you have but afraid to reach for anything more."

His words stung her, coming too close to her own truth. "I'm not afraid. I'm cautious."

"You're a coward."

Angry and hurt, Samira spoke without thinking. "You say that because I don't want to be your precious Lucia, and share your bed as a human."

"Is that what you thought I wanted, you in my bed?" he asked, his voice full of too much disbelief.

"Isn't it?"

"I asked that of you as a friend. I thought you'd see it as the gift it was, to take over the body of a beautiful human woman."

"Do you want me to grovel at your feet in thanks? You're no god, to give such gifts."

"And you'll never be anything more than a succubus."

She sucked in a breath of pain. "So
you
loathe me, too. A succubus isn't good enough for anyone."

But then, in the midst of her hurt and anger, a male voice suddenly spoke inside her head.
Samira
, it said.
Samira
.

Her words froze in her throat, and she felt a pull, as if a string were gently tugging her from halfway around the world.
Samira
, the voice said again.

"… never said that I hated"—Theron was saying, but she was only half-listening.

Was it Nicolae's voice calling her? It couldn't be. But the timbre was his.

"… twisting my words"—Theron was going on.

Nicolae? Is that you
? she asked silently, ignoring Theron.

Samira. Come to me
, the soft voice inside her head said, and the pull on her was stronger now. She shook out her wings and stood before she quite knew what she was doing.

Theron, finding himself sitting below her, looked startled for a moment and then got to his own feet. "You don't have the courage to face the truth," he said, almost shouting now. "Go ahead, run away."

Samira glanced at him, a half-smile on her lips, but she could barely hear what he was saying. All her attention was on the voice speaking inside her, as if she could focus on nothing else. Was it really Nicolae's voice? Why would he call her? She didn't know. She was finding it impossible to resist going to him, though.

"Dreams to send?" he asked sarcastically, his jaw tight.

She nodded absently, then gestured to the east. "And dawn is coming to this place."

He looked about to say something more but then shook his head. His lips narrowed; then the corner of his mouth pulled back in what might have been a hint of bitter humor. "Maybe I was deluding myself all along," he said quietly.

Samira crooked a brow, not at all certain of what he was referring to, and not interested at the moment in figuring it out.

"Go then," he said. "We'll talk again."

Goddess of the Night, she hoped not. But she smiled, because it meant this conversation was over and she'd be free to slip away. "Good."

He lifted off from the cliff but before leaving touched his fingertips to her hair. There was something frustrated in his eyes, as if he hadn't been able to express to her something important. She didn't care. All that mattered was the voice.

Samira
. She felt the pull, a power greater than her own will. Had Nicolae opened the magic book again? Her whole body ached with the need to answer the call.

She didn't know if it was magic that drew her, or her own need to see Nicolae again. Did it even matter which it was?

Theron gazed at her for a long moment, his expression now unreadable as he hovered over the edge of the cliff, and then in an instant he was gone.

Relieved to be alone at last, Samira opened her wings and set out across the globe, to where Nicolae's land had once again fallen under the spell of night.