by Caris Roane
Endelle met Marcus’s gaze straight-on. “I thought you hated him, wanted to kill him.”
“Fuck you.”
Endelle smiled. She knew her men well. “You sure you’re ready to go back to work? You sure you’re strong enough after so much soft living on Mortal Earth?”
She watched a red haze slide over his eyes as his chin dipped. “Don’t I look ready to you?” He split his resonance three times.
Nice.
Again she smiled. He was almost as tall as Kerrick and as muscled. Of course he wouldn’t have let his training lapse. “I have to send Kerrick into the Trough and the moment I do, I need you ready to take on the rest of these motherfuckers. Keep as many of them from entering the Trough as you can. Have you got that?”
“Yes,” he growled.
From the vision in her mind, Leto continued to function separately from the battle. He shouted into his phone, once, twice. He made call after call, which all told her that something had gone wrong.
Thank you, Creator!
“On my mark, half a minute from now and not a second before. Do you understand? Will you obey because I’ll have your nuts if you don’t? Nod if you agree.”
She watched him draw a shallow breath. That was good enough for her.
She released his wrist and focused on Alison as well. She wished she could just fold Kerrick directly to her, but she’d be breaking a big rule. No resident of Second Earth could await an ascendiate on Mortal Earth while the mortal answered a call to ascension. If that rule wasn’t upheld, no powerful ascendiate would ever survive even the first three seconds after demonstrating preternatural power.
No. This was the way it was done.
She gave Kerrick a single mental warning then a damn solid shove with the powers the Creator had given her. Down he went through the dimension, flying, his kilt flapping like a black leather wing. At least he wouldn’t be conscious for the trip.
She shifted to the downtown alley, mentally charted his course, and had to laugh. Would you look at where he was going to land? How about that for fucking destiny. But boy, it was gonna hurt.
With the dump well under way, she nodded to Marcus and told him to do his worst.
* * *
Alison now stood beside the Nova, completely still, her hand on the car as an anchor.
Her heart pounded in her ears, the toms still beating out a painful rhythm. She’d heard the voices of several men and she knew for certain one of those voices belonged to the winged vampire warrior she’d come to know as Kerrick.
She had also heard the clanging of metal like swords being struck hard together, which made sense since she’d already witnessed a sword fight. Then suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, the fighting ceased and silence followed.
A third man with a nasally voice gasped, “Where the hell did he go? Fuck. We’ve lost him.”
“He got dumped into the Trough.” She recognized the voice of the man called Leto, the one Kerrick had taunted. “Shit, where the hell is Crace? Goddammit.”
“He’s not answering?” another voice asked.
“No.” A string of obscenities followed, then, “What the hell?”
“Hello, Leto. Wanna stop playing with your phone long enough to show these numbnuts how a real fight is conducted?”
“Well, fuck me,” Leto said, “look what just crawled out of the swamp—Marcus the fucking Coward. You done hiding on Mortal Earth?”
“So you went traitor, you goddamn sonofabitch.”
More steel clanged … then silence, like someone had punched a mute button.
Alison stared hard up at the dark sky. So, Kerrick had gotten dumped. What exactly did that mean?
From out of nowhere, a blast of arctic air descended on her. The temperature had been a little chilly a moment earlier and yet a powerful stream of icy cold air suddenly flowed from nowhere. She started to shake. What on earth was happening?
The airwaves above began to pulse. Her heart thumped all over again. She sensed that something—no, someone—was coming.
Kerrick, her winged vampire warrior?
Her heart beat heavily in her chest all over again. She shouldn’t want to see him so much, but she did.
The air now pounded on her as though the sky expanded and contracted in slow heavy waves. The pressure increased and her head started to hurt. An intake of air rushed from both ends of the alley, sweeping up in a funnel around her then taking her off the ground. She cleared a whole foot of space. Loose papers whirled everywhere.
She thought, Tornado, maybe? However, not even the faintest wisp of a cloud marred the black sky.
Her chest constricted and she couldn’t breathe. She trembled all over. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent a hand-blast into the air after all. Maybe ascension was something she didn’t really want to take on.
A little too late for that.
Suddenly the air collapsed. She fell to her knees and cried out as rough asphalt bit into her skin. She rose up and plucked grit out of the palms of her hands.
What the hell had just happened?
Again she looked up.
Silence followed.
An awful, deafening silence.
She dropped into a protective crouch again, hunching as near to her Nova as she could get. Something bad, really bad, was about to happen.
She heard a fluttering, which got louder in incremental bursts as an object came into view heading straight for her. Not an object, a man in a kilt. Oh, God! He was going to fall hard.
She turned away from the sudden crunch of metal as Kerrick landed on the hood of her car. At nearly the same instant an odd metallic clattering sounded onto the asphalt in front of the vehicle.
The airwaves stopped pulsing.
Silence followed. No breeze, no voices, nothing. Even the chill had disappeared.
She rose up to look at him, her legs locked in place.
Surely he was dead.
Tears stung her eyes.
She blinked several times.
Okay, Alison, get a grip. At least see if he’s still alive.
She rounded the front of the car and looked down at him. He wore his black leather kilt with a harness belted around his waist and covering his chest, shoulders, and back. His arms were muscled and corded just as she remembered. He’d held her in his arms like she’d been a feather.
He lay in a depression in the metal, his legs hanging off the side of the car at an awkward angle. Part of his long thick wavy black hair fanned over his face; the other part was held back by some kind of leather clasp. She wanted to push the strands off his cheek to look at him again but he couldn’t still be alive, not after falling so far. Her heart constricted. She really didn’t like the idea at all that Kerrick might be dead.
Oh, God. Please don’t let it be true.
Something rattled on the asphalt behind her. She turned around. His sword vibrated against the asphalt.
She bent down to pick it up.
“Don’t touch the sword.”
She gasped as she rose, turning to stare at Kerrick. Through the thick strands she caught sight of a glistening eye then he blinked at her.
“Don’t touch it,” he said, more quietly this time. His deep voice drove into her chest, wrapped a couple of times around her heart, then pulled tight. “You’ll die.”
“Kerrick?” she asked, wanting to make certain she had not mistaken his identity.
“So you remember me.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes.”
The eye closed. Come to me whispered through her head, then his body went limp.
She stared at him for a long moment. This really was Kerrick, her warrior-vampire from the medical complex and from the club.
So what had just happened? Had he given her a warning about the sword, spoken tender words over her mind, then dropped dead on the hood of her car?
She settled two fingers on his neck.
Thank God. His pulse be
at steady and strong. She pushed the hair away from his face. How had he survived such a terrible fall? She placed her hand on his cheek.
“You are so beautiful,” she whispered. A new ache settled deep in her chest.
Come to me.
Could he really speak to her while unconscious?
I’m here, she sent.
His chest rose and fell as if on a sigh.
She felt dizzy, her legs weak beneath her. How had they both ended up in the same alley right now, here, tonight? She had never been big on destiny, but given the evidence in front of her she could almost believe.
She stepped forward and couldn’t resist pushing his upper lip back. And there they were, lengthened incisors. She touched the left one at the tip but apparently pressed too hard. Blood pooled instantly and dripped against his lips.
He moaned and sucked at her finger yet didn’t awaken. The feel of his mouth doused her in sharp arousal. As she withdrew her finger, desire sank low. My God, even unconscious this man-vampire-warrior had the power to undo her.
He was as she remembered him, unutterably handsome, even more so up close like this, the planes of his face strong, his lips full and sensual. She felt drawn to him like sun to the desert. The smell of him struck her nostrils and buckled her knees.
She leaned close and drew in a deep breath. His familiar scent assailed her, of cardamom and his tough leathery musk. The combination caused her internal muscles to clench and shivers to fly down her neck and back. She wanted to touch him … everywhere.
Her conscience assaulted her. The warrior was clearly out cold, severely wounded, and all she could think about was putting her hands on him? Where had her professionalism gone? Her humanity? Had she no sense of decency?
Apparently not since she settled her hand on his arm, the swell of his muscles warm and thick beneath her fingers.
Come to me.
She heard his voice again within her head.
Once more she sent, I’m here.
He groaned.
Alison closed her eyes. Winter drifted out of her life and spring emerged, little shoots of bright green rising everywhere. Her lungs opened. For how many years had she been holding her breath, longing to breathe, hoping to have a man in her life who wanted her in this way? How long? Tears bled from her eyes.
The answer was simple.
All her life.
She took in a mainsail full of air. She opened her eyes and looked down at the vampire. She fell into the addiction of him, hard, complete, secure.
She worked her hands down his body. Nothing seemed to be broken, but her fingertips hummed strangely and her attraction to him increased tenfold. Shivers stole up her arms and down her neck. His warrior world had hardened every muscle of his body. The scent of cardamom rose again. She leaned close and inhaled once more.
She wanted him painfully but she worked to get hold of herself. She continued down his legs. All his bones remained intact. She couldn’t find even an abrasion, let alone a deep gash or wound—nothing to indicate serious trauma.
Unfortunately he was still unconscious, so he must at least have a concussion.
It dawned on her that she should call 911.
Could emergency services treat a vampire?
Well, no time like the present to find out.
Maybe the circumstances surrounding his accident were a little bizarre but he obviously required medical attention.
Still, she found it almost impossible to leave his side. It was as though an intangible force bound her to him.
Seriously, she should tear herself away from him long enough to make sure he stayed alive.
She drew in a deep breath and ignored the humming of her fingers as well as the profound need she felt to keep touching him. She took two steps away, took another frayed breath, then hurried around to the driver’s side of the car.
She got in and reached for her purse then withdrew her cell. She had just poised a finger over the number nine when Kerrick started to move. He flexed his right arm like he was simply enjoying the feel of his muscles.
Ascension offers a new life,
But the mortal without understanding repeats the past.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 9
Crace bid good-bye to his heavenly wife, his body sated, sex hormones drifting lazily through his veins. He thought the thought and returned to the bathroom in his new suite next door to the Commander. He washed his hands and smiled.
The planets were most definitely lining up.
His dear Julianna had arrived in Phoenix Two half an hour ago and he’d installed her at the Bredstone at White Lake, the finest hotel in the Western Hemisphere. The Bredstone had every amenity, suitable for visiting dignitaries and especially for his wife, who deserved the best that immortal life had to offer. Tracing to her, thank God, had been but a single thought.
His wife was the most perfect partner a vampire could ever wish for, beautiful and rich, extremely well connected, powerful, and she loved his body.
He checked his Rolex. He’d been gone a bare nine minutes. Excellent.
Now a little cleanup, then back to the war room to see how things were progressing. Leto had been as good as his word. He had been checking in every ten minutes, each time with a text of three zeros to indicate there was still no sign of the ascendiate.
There could be no question—the ascension was happening. He felt it now, in his bones, in his mind, a vibration, which had the entire compound jittery.
He felt wired yet exhausted at the same time. It was after three in the morning, which meant five in his beautiful Chicago. No wonder he felt strung out. He’d been awake for about twenty hard hours.
He had just splashed water on his face when he heard a thumping noise. He toweled off then headed into the living room. For Christ’s sake, who was pounding on the door?
His face flushed red hot. If there was one thing he would not tolerate, it was this sort of disrespect. He reached for his phone, which he had turned off, for nine minutes.
Then he saw the messages.
All of them.
Oh, shit.
No. No. No.
Leto had called. And called then texted. Need a dump to Mortal Earth. Now.
His heart seized.
The window had opened then closed and he’d been gone the exact nine minutes he’d been needed.
How was that for fucking destiny?
He pulled the door open. An administrative assistant stared at him wild-eyed. “General Leto needs a dump through the Trough. You’re the only one with enough power. The Commander can’t be reached.”
If he’d been a woman, he would have fainted.
Nine fucking minutes may have just cost him a seat at the Round Table. There still might be enough time. He folded to the war room.
But when he got there, all six of the Commander’s Phoenix Two generals stared at him with unmitigated hostility and a bounty of rage.
“Where are we?” he shouted.
“Well, you finally made it,” the general sneered, the vampire whose office he had taken. “Let me fill you in. The female ascendiate finally answered her call to ascension, one helluva hand-blast up the Trough, so we were good to go in pursuit.” His sarcasm fired Crace’s temper but the bastard continued, “Naturally, Madame Supreme High Administrator dumped Kerrick into the Trough on the three-minute cycle, you know, because of all the power she has, and if you remember you were supposed to be here to do the same thing for Leto as needed. However, because you weren’t here, I had to glide Leto down on the seven-minute cycle, along with two of his death vamps, since no one here but you has enough power to effect the fucking dump. We won’t know anything for a few more minutes but he’ll be too fucking late since the ascendiate has a car in the alley.
“If Warrior Kerrick recovers fast enough, and why the fuck wouldn’t he, they’ll leave in her car before Leto touches down. And you know what that means.” He got close into Crace’s face. “Once
they’re on the move, we won’t be able to get to them. Remember? No wings on Mortal Earth and no Second ascender I know of has the ability to fold to a moving object. Even if they stop, the grid won’t be able to find either of their signatures for hours. So unless Leto touches down fast enough with the bomb he took, it looks like we’re at square fucking one!”
Crace ignored the general. He took a step back and turned to stare at the grid where not only the ascendiate’s powerful signature pulsed, but Warrior Kerrick’s as well.
Shit.
For the space of about five seconds he thought about cutting his dick off.
* * *
Marcus flew straight up into the cold, dry desert night air, chasing the last of the death vamps. Goddamn he’d forgotten what this was like, the sheer blaze of adrenaline, his wings plowing the air, his sword pressed against his thigh.
Power. That’s what this was. The incomparable sensation of sheer physical and preternatural power combined. What a rush.
The pretty-boy had thought to outfly him, the last of the death vamps left alive after Leto took two others and headed into the Trough.
But this one was flat-out scared. As he ought to be.
Marcus lowered his chin. He focused on the death vamp’s mind and sent, You started drinking people into the grave and now you think to run from me?
In response, he heard a kind of mental shrieking. He laughed and worked his wings in long hard thrusts. With each one, he drew closer to his prey until he reached forward and grabbed the asshole’s ankle. He gave a solid jerk and a twist, which sent the bastard into a wicked spiral, his wings locked in place, his body spinning out of control.
Marcus halted midair and watched. After a few seconds, he drew his wings into close-mount, tight against his body, then headed like a rocket after the bastard. He kept his sword close, caught the pretty-boy’s arm, and unfurled his own wings at the same time. He floated both of them back to earth. At the last moment he flipped his enemy onto hard solid ground.
The death vamp’s spirit was broken as he looked up at Marcus. There was no more fight left in him.