stay with only you for a time. It has been known to happen before.»
«I could tell him to find others, however?»
Layla's perfect head tilted to the side. «Verily, my sister, you will like what passes between the
two of you.»
«You know who he is, yes? You know the identity of the Primale?»
«In fact, I have seen him.»
«You have?»
«Indeed.» As Layla's hand went to her chignon of blond hair, which Cormia took the gesture as a
sign the female was choosing her words with care. «He is… as a warrior should be. Strong.
Intelligent.»
Cormia narrowed her eyes. «You withhold to soothe my fears. Do you not?»
Before Layla could respond, the Directrix swept the curtain aside. Without a word to Cormia,
she went to Layla and whispered something.
Layla stood up, a flush blooming on her cheeks. «I shall go right away.» She turned to Cormia,
an odd excitement in her eyes. «Sister, I bid you good leave until my return.»
As was custom, Cormia rose and bowed, relieved that she had a reprieve from the lesson for
whatever reason. «Be well.»
The Directrix, however, did not depart with Layla. «I shall take you to the temple and proceed
with your instruction.»
Cormia wrapped her arms around herself. «Shall I not wait for Layla-«
«Do you question me?» the Directrix said. «Indeed, you do. Perhaps then you shall desire to set
the agenda for the lesson as well, knowing as much as you do about the history and significance
of the position for which you have been chosen. For truth, I should enjoy learning from you.»
«Forgive me, Directrix,» Cormia replied in total shame.
«What is there to forgive? As the Primale's first mate, you shall be free to order me about, so
mayhap I should acquaint myself with your leadership now. Tell me, would you prefer me to
walk steps arrear of you as we go forth unto the temple?»
Tears welled. «Please, no, Directrix.»
«Please, no, what?»
«I would follow you,» Cormia whispered with bent head. «Not lead.»
Ishtar was the perfect choice, V thought. Boring as hell. Long as the year. As visually arresting
as a saltshaker.
«This is the worst load of crap I've ever seen,» Jane said while yawning again.
God, she had a nice throat.
As V's fangs unsheathed and he imagined pulling a classic Dracula and rearing up over her prone
body, he forced himself to look back at Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty trudging through the
sand. He'd picked the POS in hopes of getting her to knock out-so he could tunnel into her
mind and get all over her.
He was jonesing to have her come against his mouth, even if it was only in the ether of a dream.
While he waited for her to be bored into REM sleep, he found himself staring at the desertscape
and perversely thinking of winter … winter and his transition.
It was but a few weeks after the pretrans fell and died in the river that V went through his
change. He had been aware of the differences in his body for quite some time before it hit: He
was plagued by headaches. Constantly hungry yet nauseous if he took food. Unable to sleep
though exhausted. The only thing that remained alike was his aggression. The camp's demands
meant you always had to prepared to fight, so the sharpening in his temper was not marked by
any overt shift in his behavior.
It was in the depths of a cruel early snowstorm that he was born into his male self.
As a result of the plunge in temperature the cave's stone walls were frigid, the floor sufficed to
freeze your feet in fur-lined boots, the air so cold the breath from your mouth was a cloud
without a sky. As the onslaught prevailed, the soldiers and the kitchen's females slept in great
heaps of bodies, not for sex, but for shared warmth.
V knew the change was upon him, for he awoke hot. At first the ease of the heat was a boon, but
then his body raged with fever as an agonizing hunger swept through him. He writhed on the
ground, hoping for relief, finding none.
After forever, the Bloodletter's voice pierced through the pain. «The females will not feed you.»
From amidst his stupor, V opened his eyes.
The Bloodletter knelt down. «Surely you know why.»
V swallowed through the fist that was his throat. «I do not.»
«They say the cave paintings have possessed you. That your hand has been oe'rtaken by the
spirits trapped upon the walls. That your eye is no longer your own.»
When V did not answer, the Bloodletter said, «You do not deny?»
Through the morass in his head, Vishous tried to calculate the effect of his two conceivable
responses. He went