Awakening

by Caris Roane

  Disaster had struck, however, a millennium past when the one called The Prince had challenged Chustaffus and taken over a third of the world. No one was allowed to speak The Prince’s birth name in Chustaffus’s kingdom. He was referred to only as The Prince.

  Chustaffus’s goal ever since had been to win his world back. And to that end, Yolanthe served her father with every ounce of energy she possessed. She always would. His will was her will.

  She sat very still, observing her three brothers who ignored her as much as Chustaffus did. But the time would come when their attitudes toward her would change. All she had to do was to seize control of Duncan again and bring his phenomenal Seer powers forward. One day, he would have an unusual version of the Seer’s gift and when that day happened, she needed Duncan fully aligned with her.

  She took deep breaths and as the men discussed strategy for their ongoing bid to take over Second Earth, she remained quiet, the image of an obedient daughter.

  “I must have Rapture’s Edge,” Chustaffus said, slamming his hand hard on the dark wood table. All three of his sons jumped and exchanged glances. “Why have none of you boys found it for me yet?”

  Her brothers almost as one leaned away from Chustaffus, which was a smart move since he had a quick hand and didn’t mind cuffing his children. Yolanthe had felt that backhand a thousand times in the course of her years, but usually for infractions that involved not being a statue.

  So she held her pose.

  She also wondered what excuses her brothers would come up with this time.

  “Have any of you even tried? Any of you?”

  The eldest, Hector, set his jaw. “We’ve each had our teams investigating and searching for decades. We’ve concluded that there’s no such place. Our support of the generals on Second and building their individual death vampire armies is far more useful.”

  Chustaffus rose to his feet.

  Rage rolled from him. Why was Hector challenging him so forcefully? When Hector stole a glance at Yolanthe, she understood. Hector was playing the old game of shifting daddy’s ire elsewhere, essentially onto her back. Yet again.

  Yolanthe grew rigid as she waited. Her father never punished his boys, not when something of lesser value was present on which to inflict punishment.

  Every muscle in her body grew tense as she waited.

  He shifted slightly in her direction. He was very tall, almost six-feet-eight-inches. He wore his black, wavy hair long to his shoulders and swept away from his face. A silver streak about an inch wide flowed just off-center, giving him a striking appearance. He was handsome by most accountings, but women avoided him. A great number had spent the night in his chambers never to be seen again.

  She’d grown up in his home, listening to their screams.

  And afterward, the cold silence.

  But for that, she blamed most of these women. They knew his reputation and he never took anyone to bed who didn’t go willingly. In Yolanthe’s opinion, each had chosen her death.

  Chustaffus’s jaw ground a couple of times as he met her gaze.

  She didn’t look away, however. It would go worse for her if she avoided his gaze or showed any other sign of weakness.

  There was nothing she could say, only what she could do for her future. And that involved Duncan Wallace and his aid in helping her to find the mythical Rapture’s Edge.

  “Come here, daughter.”

  She hid the trembling of her legs as she rose to her feet.

  Chustaffus folded a whip into his hand, brought from his weapon’s room. This one was split at the ends into a dozen smaller leather strands, metal shards bound to the end of each.

  She mentally pushed a footstool close to him, something he always required. She eased the floor length overdress down. Her wing-locks had already begun to seal up in preparation and her under-gown was backless as required by her father.

  Facing away from Chustaffus, she knelt in front of the footstool and wrapped her arms tight around the maroon leather.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes.

  The first blow always hurt the worst.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hope begins with the sweet surprise

  Of the unexpected.

  Collected Proverbs – Beatrice of Fourth

  Despite the fact that a healer worked on him, Duncan still felt like he’d been shoved through a keyhole at ninety-miles-an-hour. He hurt from both mind-dives, the one that Yolanthe had perpetrated and his own plunge that had helped him disturb the link well enough to escape the trance. He ached all over as well, probably because he’d been inactive for the past two weeks.

  But Horace was with him now and healing waves poured through Duncan’s head, flowing the entire length of his body.

  His mind had finally started working again, but he struggled to open his eyes. He needed to know where he was and whether or not -- God help him -- Rachel had survived the wrecker attack. He’d been in and out of consciousness so that only snippets of information had reached him.

  As the pain diminished, he was at last able to open his eyes to stare up at a welcome face.

  “Horace.”

  The healer had served the warrior community for a damn long time. He had long, wavy, brown hair and compassionate, brown eyes.

  “You’re safe, Warrior Duncan. Be well.”

  He caught Horace’s wrist. “Rachel?”

  Please, God, let her be all right.

  “She’s fine. Distressed that you were unconscious, but fine. Her brother has been with her while you recovered. And in case you’re wondering, you’re at Militia HQ in the med-bay.”

  Duncan let out a deep sigh of relief. Everything was okay. Rachel was safe and Gideon was with her. He was at Militia Warrior Headquarters in Apache Junction Two and for now he was free of Yolanthe.

  “I thought … ” He was sure when he’d blacked out on the gravel path in Rachel’s garden that Yolanthe had actually found him again, that she’d once more taken control of his mind. But that hadn’t happened.

  “Do you want me to bring Rachel to you?” Horace hovered his hands just an inch or so above Duncan’s head as he continued to work his healing magic.

  “No. That’s okay. As long as … was she injured?”

  “She’s perfectly fine. Untouched. She did say that wreckers had arrived then fired at the same moment she folded you to the landing platforms here at HQ.”

  With those words, he finally allowed himself to relax. Militia HQ was one of the most secure locations on Second Earth, and Rachel was safe.

  He breathed deeply, feeling better and better.

  Horace cleared his throat and for a split-second his healing power faltered, as he said, “I feel I should warn you that She Who Would Live is here.”

  Endelle, the ruler of Second Earth, bitch on wheels, had come to see him.

  Great.

  “And, I feel I should also warn you that she’s in a state.”

  At that, Duncan twisted slightly to meet Horace’s gaze. “More than usual?”

  “Her hair is writhing.”

  Duncan shuddered. No one wanted within throwing distance of Endelle when she was in one of her moods. “What’s that sound, like coins shaken in a can?”

  “Her shoes. She’s wearing her scorpion motif.”

  Duncan shoved Horace’s hand away and sat up, maybe a little too fast since he listed sideways. Horace had to catch him to keep him from toppling over.

  “I’m okay.”

  He wasn’t, but he had to pull himself together.

  He took another deep breath and planted both fists on the bed on either side of his hips, struggling to regain his balance. He wore two hospital gowns, one tied in front and the other in back, but like hell he was going to meet Her Supremeness in anything other than his uniform.

  She might have turned over the army to Thorne, but she was still, in his mind, one of his commanding officers.

  With everything he had, he slid off the bed and fortunat
ely, he was able to stand up. He focused on the closet in his lakeside home in Paradise Valley Two. One more deep breath and he folded on his uniform: black leather kilt, matching weapons harness with daggers in place, battle sandals, shin guards, and studded wrists guards.

  He heard voices at the same time. One of them was Endelle’s.

  He threw back the medical bay curtain. The plastic rings glided back with a sigh.

  And there they were: Luken, Gideon with his blond hair now long enough to wear in the cadroen, Endelle towering above the men because of her ridiculous stilettos, and a warrior-sized male he knew had to be the one called, Merl, a Third Earth ascender.

  His chest hurt in the strangest way as he stared at all of them. He realized in that moment he hadn’t believed he’d ever make it back alive.

  “You broke the trance,” Gideon said, drawing close. He planted a hand on Duncan’s shoulder and squeezed. If he pinched his lips together with emotion, Duncan ignored it. His own throat ached. Gideon had been one of his best friends for a long time.

  Duncan also ignored the dizziness that was never far away. “Looks like it.” He nodded several times. He was about ready to fall over, but like any soldier worth his salt he knew how to front.

  “And you saved my sister,” Gideon added.

  “I think it was the other way around.”

  “But you warned her that the wreckers were headed her way. She’d be dead otherwise.”

  Duncan shook his head. He’d been through too much and had been under Yolanthe’s control far too long, because he was having trouble focusing. “I mean, that’s right, but I blacked out. So the rest, she did.” He glanced around. “She got us both here.”

  Luken came forward and grabbed his hand in one of his beefy paws. “Glad you’re back, Warrior.”

  Once Thorne had been given command of Endelle’s army along with orders to build up the numbers, Luken had taken over as leader of the Warriors of the Blood.

  Luken turned in the Third Ascender’s direction. “I don’t think you’ve met Merl. He helped Samuel and Vela get you out of that torture cell on Third.”

  Duncan jerked his chin. “Thanks.”

  He thought Merl looked something like a lounge-lizard since he wore black leathers, a red silk shirt open at the neck, and a thick gold chain. Despite his clothing, he had warrior written all over him as he inclined his head in response.

  Merl stuck close to Endelle, though, which made Duncan think he might be banging She Who Would Live. Not that Duncan cared how Endelle got her rocks off or Merl. It was just odd.

  He glanced behind them, wondering where Rachel was. He wanted to see her, to see with his own eyes that she was all right.

  Endelle planted her hands on her hips, lifting her chin once as she took him in from head to foot. “Well, don’t you look like ten kinds of shit.” Her long black hair moved around slowly. Something was on the scorpion’s mind.

  He narrowed his gaze slightly. “And you look like you’re about ready to go on tour with a Mortal Earth heavy metal band or turn tricks. Haven’t figured out which.”

  The tension in the room ramped up about twelve degrees. No one talked that way to Her Supremeness.

  But Endelle was capricious and instead of flying into a rage, her lips twisted into a crooked smile. “I’d do both if it meant keeping you and that woman of yours safe. So what the fuck is going on with you?”

  Now wasn’t that the question of the century. “Hell if I know.”

  “That’s not an answer.” The smile left her face and something shifted. The movement of her thick black hair became wild and pronounced. He could almost feel her tension, that something not only had her panties in a wad, but was climbing her butt-crack as well.

  She added, “I’ll want a full report.”

  “Not here, not yet. And if I don’t have a goddam beer sometime soon, I’ll go apeshit.”

  Endelle held out her hand and a dark amber bottle appeared. She handed it to Duncan.

  He twisted the cap off, tilted his head back, and drank deep. This had to be what the gods of Olympus drank. It was ice cold and tasted finer than anything he’d had in about a decade.

  Everyone remained standing where they were as he drained the bottle. When he’d finished the last drop, he aimed at a nearby trash can and launched. He hit it dead on. Looked like his coordination and balance was improving by the second.

  Horace took the opportunity to excuse himself, patting Duncan on the back. He wished him well, but said he was needed in North Africa. Duncan thanked him.

  As the healer headed out, Endelle turned to Luken. “I want the Warriors of the Blood at Medichi’s villa in fifteen. And if I hear one fucking word of complaint or one weak excuse, I’ll burn the Blood and Bite down while I stand here glaring at each of you.” For emphasis, she tapped the toe of her right shoe in a quick drumbeat so that all the metal scorpions made an annoying jangling noise. She then amplified the sound for effect.

  Duncan and all three men drew in distressed streams of air. The Mortal Earth club was a steam-valve for the Thunder God Warriors as well as the What-Bees. Sex, booze, and heavy-petting on a dance floor went a long way to easing back the battle adrenaline. Action in the red velvet booths helped as well.

  Duncan watched Luken whip his thin warrior phone from the pocket of his kilt. Stepping away from the group, he said, “Hey, Jeannie, I want the What-Bees at the villa in ten.” He paused. “No, just those in Arizona Two. Looks like we’ve got some major shit going down.” Another pause, then Luken grinned, showing all his big, fine teeth while his voice was as smooth as honey. “Back atcha. You’re my fav, you know.” He chuckled. “All right, so I said the same thing to Carla. A warrior is allowed two favs. It’s a rule, and a righteous one at that.”

  He hung up and replaced his phone. Everyone stared at him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Endelle said, “You’re as bad as Merl here with the flirting and getting it on with the ladies.”

  Duncan felt the tenor of the room shift as Luken met Merl’s gaze and Merl glared back. Trouble in paradise? Pretty typical, though. Luken was definitely the man. But here was Merl, with all his Third Earth power, buddying up to Endelle.

  Gideon said, “I have to take off, Duncan. I’m training Militia Warriors in the workout center with Jean-Pierre. The Borderlands are besieged these days.”

  Duncan nodded, his throat tightening all over again. Gideon gave him a crooked smile. “Glad you made it,” he murmured, then turned on his heel and headed out.

  He watched Gideon go, wishing he could rejoin the Militia Warrior ranks right now. Instead, he couldn’t deny that he was being pulled a different direction entirely, one that involved Third Earth.

  He was about to offer up information to Endelle straight out, but right then a strange scent wafted in his direction. It smelled like someone had planted a garden and worked the earth right in the middle of HQ, which made no sense. Without understanding why, he had to find out what that scent was.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  He moved past the group, his feet in motion before he’d formed even one rational thought.

  Endelle said, “Where the hell is he going?”

  When he reached the double door to the hall, he pushed both open at the same time and was nearly knocked over by the same scent. And that’s when his mind fumbled all over itself and his groin heated up. He closed his eyes and drank it in, his mind now full of bright, sparkling lights.

  His vampire hunger called out, needing that scent, craving it until he was hard as a rock, making the front of his kilt bulge.

  But what kind of scent would do that to a warrior, except a woman’s sex?

  His fangs thrummed, then descended to sit low on his lips. All that he was as a vampire came forward in that moment, full of need for blood and sex.

  He heard Endelle call to him, but he was in motion once more and his hearing had numbed out. His dick led the way and he was so on board.

  He reached an i
ntersection of another hallway. Turning to the right, he stopped, because the scent emanated from a woman sitting on a bench. She was bent over, her head in her hands.

  Rachel.

  Rachel was the source of the scent?

  But what went through his head overwhelmed him: Rachel hadn’t left. She was still here. She’d waited for him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Rachel had her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands because she couldn’t stop shaking.

  It might have been completely normal because of what she’d just been through, but how would she know? The sudden appearance of the wreckers told her she’d been a hair’s breadth away from being killed then and there.

  If Duncan hadn’t shown up to warn her, or if she hadn’t responded to his suggestion to get them both the hell out of there, yeah, she’d be dead. She wasn’t sure about Duncan, because it seemed to her the wreckers had been looking straight at her, aiming for her.

  When she’d folded him to the HQ landing platform, she’d sat down on the tile and held him in her arms for a long moment. Militia Warriors had come running.

  She’d always had a connection to Duncan, but something was going on with him that she didn’t understand. She knew Warrior Jean-Pierre had been working to bring his emerging powers forward, but what she’d felt from him was more power than she’d ever known him to have.

  What did it mean? And why had the wreckers come to kill her?

  She had so many questions, and no answers. But as soon as Duncan recovered, she planned to have a long talk with him.

  Suddenly, a scent reached her, something she’d never smelled before and which seemed really out of place at Militia HQ. She was smelling some kind of ale, very dark and rich, and brewed with cider and spices.

  With her eyes still closed, she dragged air into her nostrils and got lost in what for her brain became an entire symphony of sensation. All sorts of feel-good began racing through her veins, a combination of euphoria and an intense physical pleasure that caused chills to race down her shoulders and over her breasts, pulling her nipples into tight peaks.