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The more alert crewmen leapt to their feet, immediately resuming their primary compulsion—to serve and protect Apokryphos. They collected the weapons without a word. The others got up more slowly. As one, they turned their empty faces toward him, awaiting his command.
“Wait here,” he snapped.
He found twelve more intruders in various locations on the ship. On the bridge, checking navigation computers. In the cabins, splitting open mattresses. In the galley, emptying cabinets. With each assault he saw, his blood seethed hotter. When he caught the last two rooting through the mini-sub in the engine room, he came closer to losing control than he had in a thousand years. The only thing that stayed his impulse to tear them limb from limb was the certain knowledge that these men—and a woman!—could not be working in isolation. Others would know where they were and why, and one—or all—going missing would be associated with Apokryphos. If not for that, he would drain them all and drop their bodies overboard into the darkest depths of the sea.
Instead, he corralled everyone in the salon.
The hurried compulsions he had placed were minimal and fading. Some of the soldiers looked around, questions in their eyes. Others appeared conflicted as they received hails on their communications devices that the compulsion to keep silent prevented them from acknowledging. Two of the crew, programmed as diligent servants, circulated with trays of refreshments.
Everyone focused on him when he followed the final two offenders as they and their gear clattered into the spacious room like cattle going to slaughter.
“Who are you?” Kambyses growled in Spanish.
No one answered.
“Who is your commander?”
A sharp-eyed man of medium build raised his hand. Kambyses was at his throat before he could utter a sound.
Hot and creamy, the blood slid through Kambyses’s mouth, delivering knowledge along with sustenance. Within seconds, the commander’s thoughts burst open in Kambyses’s awareness. He rummaged through them as though they were a pile of scrolls, unfurling one memory after another, casting them aside until he found the thread he was searching for. These were members of Puerto Rico’s elite narcotics division, and they were acting on a lead they had received this very night from a nameless, faceless informant. They believed Apokryphos to be filled with contraband, and had expected to be met by fierce resistance.
He let his saliva seal the wound he’d made before letting go, leaving the commander to sway on his feet. Kambyses’s hand no longer trembled as he pulled the back of it across his mouth, but his belly contracted into a hard knot. It was rare to know a mind and end up with more questions than answers. But that wasn’t his only concern right now.
The sun, due to rise soon from where it lay just beneath the eastern horizon, thrummed against his bones. Consciousness was a limited commodity, and his lair was infested with hostile mortals. He had to act fast.
His silent commands were simple and temporary, allowing him to hide in plain sight and alter impulses on a small scale. Spoken compulsion was deeper and lasted longer. But to seize permanent control, something more was needed. In this situation, nothing less would do.
Seventeen and a half interminable minutes later, the deed was done. Kambyses had tasted the blood and bent the minds of all twenty assailants, including the four on the dock. They each recalled the same non-event now—a false lead with no contraband found, no resistance encountered.
All had dutifully wiped their personal recording devices as well.
None would remember him.
His awareness of their buzzing minds faded as they marched away, the first rays of sunlight glinting off their gear. The familiar sluggishness crowded into his skull. Every fiber in his eternal body screamed to retreat into the darkness, to close his eyes, and to let go.
But where was Nico? Kambyses reached out for his cherished youngling. He sensed his presence nearby, but not on board where he should have been. Newborn and fragile, Nico would have succumbed to the day many minutes ago. If he had seen the chaos aboard Apokryphos, he might well have sought shelter elsewhere. It would be easy to retrieve him, return him to the safety of their lair, and Kambyses staggered into the morning brilliance, intending to do just that.
Daylight found his eyes with the intensity of red-hot daggers. Painful tears streamed down his face as he held up a hand to ward off the harsh rays. Heat seared against his palm and fingertips and the top of his head when he doubled over in agony, his long hair dragging on the concrete pavement. The world turned into a blazing white blur in which he spun wildly as his most basic survival instincts took hold and redirected his steps.
It was too late. Oblivion was coming for him. Nico would have to stay where he was.
After Kambyses slipped into the mini-sub, he slammed the hatch shut and secured it. Burrowing into his nest of velvet pillows and blankets, he slid into unconsciousness, his last thoughts of Nico. Wherever he sheltered for this day, Kambyses beseeched the fates that the youngling had chosen wisely.
2
The sun’s howling presence had barely faded to tolerable levels the following evening when Kambyses left Apokryphos. With the coming of night, his own strength and power regenerated. He could feel it radiate from his bones outward to his skin—and beyond.
His will alone rendered him invisible as he moved through San Juan, part of the wind, the shadows, and the cacophony of pounding life in the streets. A sprawling shipyard lay before him, piled with neat rows of stacked metal boxes. Along the waterfront, several freighters lay tethered as cranes like spindly giants moved the transport containers between their crowded decks and the jam-packed dock.
It was here he had last sensed Nico. Of this, Kambyses was certain.
Also certain was that he sensed nothing of the youngling now.
He pivoted slowly, expanding his senses. It was still too early for Nico to be conscious. He could not have woken up and moved beyond Kambyses’s reach in the past few minutes. But moved he had. Somehow. Because Kambyses could not detect him anywhere. He didn’t even sense any other blood-drinkers. For a hundred miles around, Kambyses was the only one.
Had Nico been discovered? Exposed to the sun? He sniffed the air, seeking any hint of the cold ash that would have remained. Diesel, rot, and the lingering briny heat of day filled his nostrils. No ash. Which meant nothing, really. Too much time might have passed. The spot might not be here exactly.
Unease stole over him. He was alone. Only him and countless fleeting mortal nothings. And the eternity that stretched before him was far greater than the past stretching behind him.
