LITMIR.BIZ

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target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_2834ba31-41d2-5a5e-861e-13cc9414636b">Chapter 3

      At first light, Timon and his Riders gathered their charges and started south on the well-worn track parallel to old Route 101. The highway itself was buckled and pierced by shrubs and small trees, making travel over the old asphalt difficult.

      The pace was slow, as Timon had expected. The horses drawing the three wagons moved at a deliberate pace, since the delegation had only one set of replacement animals for each, and the people walking their mounts beside the wagons were just as slow. It was better that way; Timon wanted them fit for the entire journey, not worn at the end of it.

      He had been riding beside Councilman Parks for some distance, learning all he could about the delegation and the San Francisco Enclave. In all his time as a Rider, he’d never been part of an escort for the coastal Enclave, perhaps because the humans there kept largely to themselves.

      Like Jamie McCullough.

      Timon fell back, reining his horse toward the rear of the caravan. She rode quietly beside one of the middle wagons, constantly scanning the low, oak-studded hills and the marshes alongside the southern stretch of San Francisco Bay, occasionally jotting in her small notebook.

      Keeping his distance, Timon considered what was wrong with him. From the moment he and Jamie had met beneath the oak, when he had helped her to her feet and looked into her wide blue eyes, he had felt a shock of attraction. It hadn’t seemed to be such an odd reaction at the time; she was stunningly lovely in spite of her seeming lack of awareness of her own attractiveness. Her dark, wavy hair hung past her shoulders, though she had worn it in a severe ponytail or braid since their first encounter; her face was a near-perfect oval, with full lips and slightly arched brows that ideally suited the shape of her eyes. She was petite, but her body was curved in all the right places, and she moved with a natural grace.

      A scientist, he thought as he maneuvered his mount to the other side of the wagon. Officially, Parks had told him, she was both his aide and one of the medics accompanying the equipment that was to be the core of a human infirmary at the Conclave. The Councilman spoke with pride of her work in the laboratory, searching for cures for human diseases.

      But she obviously was naive. She had no skill at hiding her feelings or guarding her words, and the way she’d behaved with Timon hinted at something more than mere inexperience with half-bloods. Her outburst about donating blood told him that either she’d been more deeply affected by her brush with the “raiders” than even he had guessed...or something else had happened to make her fear the act.

      Many humans did, associating the giving of blood with slavery and compulsion. But it seemed personal with her, and he had no desire to make her more afraid of him.

      There was no reason he should be riding so near her now, studying her profile and the way she frowned slightly when she made a notation. Especially when he considered the other women he’d known, in the settlements or among the Wanderers he and other Riders often met in their travels. The experienced, worldly women who were all too happy to accommodate his needs while he happily accommodated theirs.

      If Jamie had been different, if she’d been anything like those other women...

      But then there was Cahill.

      Timon looked forward to where the Senator was riding near the head of the column as if he himself were leading it. He hadn’t quite figured out the Senator’s relationship with Jamie. Most of the time Cahill left her alone, but every so often he would ride back and lecture her as if she was obligated to listen to and obey every word he spoke. Cahill told her, wrongly, that she held the reins incorrectly; he chastised her for falling behind when she dropped back to the middle of the column. And there was an air of possessiveness about him that had aroused Timon’s immediate dislike, though he shouldn’t care one way or another what the humans did among themselves as long as it didn’t endanger the party.

      Realizing that he’d been glaring at Cahill’s erect back, he looked toward Jamie again. The horse was still there, walking placidly beside the wagon, but the rider had vanished.

      Timon reined Lazarus behind the wagon and rode around it, coming up beside Jamie’s mount. She wasn’t with the animal. He continued toward the rear of the column and Ajax, the Brother riding drag, searching for Jamie with a vague sense of alarm.

      He found her crouched at the side of the track, her fingers picking through the green spring grass. She plucked a golden poppy and examined it with great concentration, then set it aside and made a quick sketch of it in her notebook.

      With a whispered command to his horse, Timon slid out of the saddle. Jamie looked up as his shadow fell over her, scrambled backward and landed squarely on her rump. A deep red flush tinted her creamy skin.

      “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

      It took a moment for Timon to realize that he had been frowning. “It isn’t wise for you to fall behind the column,” he said, offering his hand.

      She stared at it as if it were a striking rattlesnake. “I haven’t fallen behind,” she said. “I was only—” Her bright gaze flashed toward the last wagon, pulling away at a steady pace. “Oh.”

      He relaxed. “Being absentminded is an indulgence you can’t afford,” he said. “No matter how fascinating you find the local flora.”

      Ignoring his offer of help, she jumped to her feet. “I didn’t intend to be so long.”

      “Are you always so caught up in your work?”

      “I’m not really a botanist,” she said, her voice rising with enthusiasm, “but there are only two in the entire Enclave, and they’ll want to know—” She bit her lip and scooped up her notebook. “I won’t let it happen again.”

      He wanted to laugh at her grave pronouncement, but he knew it would sound too much like mockery. “The only way we can protect you is if you stay together,” he said.

      “I understand.” She brushed off her pants. “I tied my horse to the wagon. It won’t take me long to catch up.”

      “Let’s walk,” Timon said. He gave a short whistle through his teeth, and Lazarus stepped up to thrust his head between Timon and Jamie. He nibbled on Jamie’s hair, and she made a little sound of surprise.

      “Lazarus likes you,” Timon said. “That’s quite a compliment.”

      “Oh?” she asked with a smile that caught him utterly off guard. “Is he so fearsome, then?”

      “Only to enemies.”

      She cupped her hand over the horse’s nose. “He’s a very fine horse.”

      “Is that your vast experience talking?”

      Her smile faded. “Are you teasing me again?”

      “I know that you’ve spent your entire life in the Enclave, curing human diseases.”

      “Looking for cures, yes.” She began to walk after the last wagon. “It’s a very slow process.”

      “And you’ve been happy inside your laboratory?” Timon asked, falling in behind her with Lazarus in tow.

      She stopped abruptly and met his gaze. “We don’t know each other very well, Mr. Timon, but I don’t imagine that my happiness can be of much concern to you.”

      “You value learning for its own sake.”

      She pushed her hair away from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt across her temple. It only enhanced her beauty. “You speak as if the desire to learn is a freakish aberration,” she said.

      He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Easy,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

      “You didn’t,” she said in an offhand manner that was far from convincing.

      He brought Lazarus to stand beside her. “We’re falling farther behind.” He stretched out

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