CHAPTER 10
Thorne whipped his phone from the pocket of his kilt, ran his thumb over the strip, then wiped his forehead with his arm. The sweat ran. As it should. He’d been battling on and off for hours. His muscles twitched, a couple of them screaming for relief.
“Central.”
“Hey, Jeannie. We’ve got a mess for you to clean up at the Superstitions.” He stood with his back to a wall of cliffs. The land in front of him was lit by starlight and strewn with unfriendly cacti and the bodies and feathered debris of slain enemy … the usual.
Luken sat nearby, his hands planted in the dirt behind him, which enabled him to lean back. Horace tended a deep sword cut on his thigh. The warrior didn’t flinch as the healer held the wound closed and murmured soft prayer-like intonations. Jesus, that had to hurt.
“How many, duhuro?” Jeannie asked.
“Hey, what’s with you and the duhuro shit?” His hands shook and he felt like his entire chest cavity was on fire.
Jeannie chuckled. “Just showin’ the love, boss.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t used that expression in, what, the last how many years? What gives?”
“Thought it needed a comeback.”
“You know what Medichi says, don’t you?”
“About duhuro? Yeah. He says it means ‘slave’ but we know different.”
“Whatever.” But he laughed.
Jeannie’s throaty chuckle rippled through the line as well. What would they do without the women at Central?
“By the way, why are you still working?” He glanced down and kicked at a small rock.
“Carla had a date.”
“That Militia Warrior again?” His gaze scanned the horizon, ever-seeking. Dawn, unfortunately, was still a couple of hours away, and since death vamps preferred to hunt at night he’d be stuck out here for a while.
“Yeah. She’s really into him. He’s six-four, two sixty, all muscle, just like you warriors.”
“Well, you just make sure he treats her right. If he doesn’t, you know where to find me.”
He heard a very deep sigh. “Aye-aye, duhuro. So, what kind of numbers are we talkin’ about at the Superstitions right now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Holy shit. At least you got ’em all.”
“Amen to that.” Sweat once more rolled down his face, dribbled off his nose. He folded a washcloth from his house in Sedona Two and scrubbed his face. “Luken got sliced across his left quad. I had to bring Horace in to do his healing magic.”
“Ouch. Tell him to feel better.”
Thorne just grunted. He heard a series of taps on the screen, then Jeannie came back on line. “Cover your peepers.”
Thorne called out to Luken and Horace, who both closed their eyes. A flash of light and this time a faint rumbling. Twenty-three was a big number.
When the light disappeared, Thorne looked around. All the carnage had vanished. Thank God for technology. It wasn’t so long ago he and Luken would have spent part of each night doing the large folding work themselves, which wasn’t too bad. But on-the-ground debris work was one helluva job: dropped weapons, body parts, feathers, you name it.
For some reason his knees went watery and he sat down on the ground. “Thanks, Jeannie.”
“You headed over to the Convent later?”
“What do you mean?” How does she know?
“You always do about dawn.”
“I do?” Jesus. Had he been so obvious? He needed to break up his routine, although the thought of anything preventing him from going where he needed to go tied his stomach into a double knot. A visit to the Convent had become part of his survival strategy.
“Hey. Everyone knows you’re worried about your sister. How’s she doin’?”
Oh, yeah. His sister. “She’s the same. Excessively devoted.”
“Convent,” Jeannie murmured. He could feel her shudder.
“I hear ya. Horace is just about finished. Holler if you need me.”
“Always do.”
Thorne thumbed his phone and remained sitting on the ground, his forearms resting on bent knees, his leather kilt hanging low. He reached out with his senses, but didn’t detect any shift in the airwaves or cooling of temps. He sniffed the air. Only the sharp smell of the desert returned.
He glanced at the tall, thin healer, his head bent over Luken’s thigh, his hand on the wound, his brow furrowed. A faint glow emanated from the area he worked. Luken leaned back on his palms, his expression disinterested. After a few centuries, what was one deep cut? After all, the artery hadn’t been hit.
“How you doin’, Luken?”
“What? Oh, fine. I was just thinking how beautiful the desert is at night. Just listen to the quiet, and shit, those stars are something else. You don’t see them like that near the city. And I love the smell. Like sage, I guess.”
Leave it Luken to marvel at the work of the Creator after having been flayed like a fish.
A few seconds more and Horace drew upright. Luken rose to his feet as well, shook out both legs, then stomped around. “Horace, you are a f*cking genius.” He faced the healer then clamped his hands on both shoulders. “As always, thank you, my man.”
Horace looked up at him and smiled. “My pleasure.” When Luken’s arms returned to his sides, Horace bowed, an absurd sign of respect, which the warriors couldn’t seem to train him out of. He bowed to Thorne as well, lifted an arm, then vanished.
Luken moved to stand in front of Thorne. “Jefe?”
“Yeah?” Thorne looked up. Luken’s legs and shin guards were spattered with blood. He rubbed his hand along the scar by his thumb, savoring the feel of the ridges, thankful he still had all five digits intact.
Luken shook his head. “Twenty-three of those bastards and I almost bought it.”
Thorne’s throat tightened. “I know.”
“Thanks for having my back.”
Thorne just shook his head. The interior of his chest still burned like a sonofabitch. He wanted his Ketel. Now.
* * *
Kerrick looked into blue eyes, which were little more than a soft glitter in the darkened car. The smell of lavender rushed at him, bathed him, worked his senses into a frenzy.
So she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to open that door.
Goddamn breh-hedden.
His vows rushed at him and his heart pitched south. Memories ripped through him, of a lost village twelve hundred years ago, of Marta, his first wife, and her torn-up, drained body. Fast-forward several centuries—Helena and their two children vaporized in an explosion. And during all those twelve hundred years, he had battled with a sword every day and every day he took life again and again. Christ. Before the sun had even set this evening he’d battled four death vamps and sent them to perdition.
“I kill, Alison. That’s what I do.”
He heard her heart rate increase. She couldn’t disguise such a reaction, and still she said, “You are a warrior.”
He nodded. “I am a warrior. I’ve also taken vows. I will not marry again.”
He heard a slight intake of breath then a slow release of air. “I never thought to marry in the course of my life.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
He turned toward her, shifting in the too small seat. “Why not?”
“I hurt a man once. I…” She lifted her chin. “I almost killed him.”
He checked the growl forming in his throat. “Did he hurt you? Was that why?”
She shook her head then winced. “He got hurt because of who I am. When I asked you to kiss me, I wanted to know if—” She looked away.
“You’re worried you’ll hurt me.”
She nodded and her gaze fell to her lap. “I know what it is to take a vow. It’s just that it would be really nice … once … to know I could kiss a man, be with a man without hurting him.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he stated.
“So you say.”
He really shouldn’t open this door. His vows spun around in his head, slamming against the inside of his skull, but she was next to him and she had said words he said to himself. They get hurt because of who I am.
Jesus. He knew exactly how she felt.
He struggled to remember all the reasons to refuse her. He knew the right reasons were there, he just couldn’t find his rational thoughts, not one of them. Besides, he wanted to do this for her. He wanted her to know that although many things had been impossible for her here on Mortal Earth, it was only because she needed to ascend, to be with a man on Second Earth, someone like him, a powerful vampire who could take all she had to give.
The thought of all her power did him in, what it would be like to have her under him, to be connected to her, his cock buried deep, his fangs in her neck, his mind drifting through hers. He wanted it all.
He sent the question softly into her mind, You sure about this?
Uh-huh, she responded, her telepathic abilities just about perfect. “We could start with one kiss,” she suggested, “and if it doesn’t work out…”
Like hell it won’t work out.
She sighed. That’s what I’m hoping.
He turned toward her. His rib cage hit the steering wheel. He could hardly move his knees, the car was so damn small.
He tried to relax but his body was a cauldron. He gripped her arms and hauled her against his chest. He kissed her fiercely, claiming at least her lips, imprinting that much of his body onto her memory.
Oh, God, she parted her lips.
He drove his tongue hard, taking possession of her mouth, maybe too hard because she pulled back then twisted sideways out of his arms. He was about ready to apologize, but she shifted a little then tucked herself against him so that her head now rested in the well of his shoulder. Oh, she was just getting more comfortable. She even slung an arm around his neck. Yeah, the car was small and they both had to adjust.
He slid his palm over the back of her head, caressing. The silky strands drifted over his fingers.
“Kiss me again,” she murmured.
He bent over her and kissed her as though he’d never had his tongue in a woman’s mouth before. He searched every crevice, rimmed her teeth, her lips, and battled her tongue. He couldn’t get enough.
Desire roared through him.
God help him.
Little moans escaped her as she trembled in his arms.
Was he hurting her? “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trimmed with rough bark.
She moaned softly. “Yes, yes. God, yes. I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“Not even a little. I promise you, I can take whatever you’ve got.”
She whimpered then lowered her head back to his shoulder and once more he took her mouth. Her hand slid over his shoulder and down his arm, squeezing, gripping, savoring his muscles. He loved it but man …
He pulled back in utter agony.
“Do more of that,” she whispered. She slid her fingers lightly over the back of his hand. Damn, he was pawing her breast through the soft cotton T-shirt. He glanced around at the neighborhood. The hour was late, the night dark, but just in case, he created a complex mist around the car. Any mortal looking in their direction would experience confusion and it would be as though the car didn’t even exist.
Was he really going to do this? He should stop now, so help him. However, his willpower had vanished. It had been too long. Too f*cking long.
He pushed her sweater aside, pulled her top up then her bra down. Her soft warm flesh felt like heaven against his hand. She had an idea of her own as she rose up then arched over him, her breast pressed to his cheek.
Oh, yeah.
He turned, settled his mouth on her lavender-drenched breast, and suckled until her body undulated against his. He wanted to use his fangs. Oh, God, how he wanted to use his fangs. He wanted to sink them deep and make her come. He growled heavily, which caused her to throw a leg in his direction. Unfortunately, she hit her knee on the dashboard and cried out.
He drew back and looked at her. “This car is too damn small,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded until her gaze fell to his lips. She gasped. His fangs had emerged. Dammit.
She drew back. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she whispered, leaning back into her seat, her gaze fixed to his mouth. The waves of lavender receded.
He winced and closed his eyes. He had no choice. Had to rein himself in but the dam had broken. He ached in his groin like he’d just gotten kicked.
He took deep breaths, a lot of them, until his fangs retreated. “You’re right. This wasn’t such a good idea. Let’s get you home. Where to?”
“I live in Carefree.”
He nodded several more times. “On the way you can ask me more questions.” He met her gaze.
She finally looked into his eyes. “This is real, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Vampire.”
“Yes.”
She shifted her gaze to the windshield. “Oh. What am I looking at? I saw it earlier at the club.”
He touched the ignition and started the engine. He growled his frustration. He was a starving vampire sitting next to a nine-course meal and forbidden to eat. He waved a hand and dispelled his creation. “We call it mist.”
“How does it work?”
He glanced at her. “Well, for ordinary mortals and most Second ascenders, mist is designed to confuse the mind. For instance, if a mortal walked by right now, his mind would simply glance past the car as though the vehicle wasn’t even there. But I take it you can see it.”
She nodded.
“What do you see?”
“Like cobwebs sort of, but more like a really beautiful intricate yet loose mesh. And white. It’s white.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “That’s amazing. That’s what I see as well, and my warrior brothers see the same. But up until this moment, I’ve never had an ascendiate capable of detecting the physical composition of mist.”
She put her seat belt back on. She fell silent. No doubt she was feeling overwhelmed—and why wouldn’t she? This was a lot of information to take in.
He turned the car around and headed in the direction of I-10.
Silence reigned for a good long while. He gave her time. Finally, she asked, “So what prompted you to leave the little black-and-red invitation at my feet?”
He shook his head. “I hated leaving you in such despair. I thought, maybe, if you were in the middle of your call, it would help.”
“I guess it did because here I am.”
“Here you are.”
“So why the Blood and Bite? Couldn’t you have just invited me to a Starbucks or something?”
He chuckled. Oh, God help him if she made him laugh. He tended to fall hard for a woman who had a sense of humor.
“You know that club is really sexist.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “Tell me honestly, down the road, if you and I had never met, do you think you might have gone back?”
He sensed her sudden discomfort, but when a rush of lavender wafted beneath his nose he had his answer.
She shrugged. “Well, okay, maybe. Once. Just to see what it was like.”
“The women who go there enjoy themselves.”
“And those warriors enthrall the women.”
“In part. Try to think of it as a shortcut to the usual seduction. It’s really not much different.”
“We’re talking levels of power. It is different.”
“Except for one small thing. A woman has to be willing to be enthralled. Period.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a moment then asked, “And have you found most women willing?”
He glanced at her. He saw the challenge in her eye. Honesty might serve him in more ways than one, and he saw no reason to yield to a lie. “Yes.”
She looked away from him. He could guess her thoughts, especially since he couldn’t detect even the smallest trace of lavender shedding from her body right now. Good. If she found him disgusting, like maybe she thought of him as a sexist pig, then she’d leave him alone.
“Are any of the warriors married?”
“None of the Warriors of the Blood but a high percentage of Militia Warriors take wives … or husbands. We do have women who serve as Militia Warriors.”
“So there’s a difference between the two groups?”
“Unfortunately there’s a big difference. There are only seven Warriors of the Blood, but across the world there are hundreds of thousands of Militia Warriors. The militia serves as a peacekeeping force, sort of like your National Guard, but with many of the same duties as regular police officers, you know, handling disturbances, theft, home invasion, domestic disputes, homicides, the usual.”
“And the Warriors of the Blood?”
“We mostly serve Endelle fighting death vampires as a unit here in this part of the world.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Death vampires only reside in the Phoenix area? No other place in the world?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. There are death vampires in every territory, every country on Second Earth. Militia Warriors all around the world battle death vampires but only in large units, since it takes at least four Militia Warriors to bring down one death vamp. As for the Warriors of the Blood, we’re here as a layer of protection for Endelle, which tells you why the Commander keeps rounding up death vamps from other continents and shipping them to battle us. If he can break our ranks, put us in our graves, then he can break Endelle and her administration.”
“Seven men against one man who appears to command an army of death vampires? How does that work?”
“It didn’t used to be so bad but with the explosion of the population of Mortal Earth and the increased number of ascensions that occur on all seven continents of the world, the number of conscienceless ascendiates, ready and willing to drink dying blood, has increased as well. We’re a little overworked at present, and the number of Militia Warriors who die each year is heartbreaking.”
She shook her head. “Which leads me back to my original question—the Warriors of the Blood don’t marry?”
“I guess we got off topic but the answer is, rarely.”
“Why?”
The question pierced him straight through the heart. His memories of Helena and his children surfaced yet again. “It’s just too damn dangerous. Not for the warrior, but for those he loves.”
* * *
Alison held her arms around her sides like a vise. Her fingers plucked at her sweater. Chills kept running through her even though she wasn’t cold.
She fixed her gaze out the window and watched a blur of streetlights and old worn-out houses go by. How long since she had spoken? She glanced around. They were approaching I-10. That long, then.
Her thoughts had become a stormy sea, the waves high, a lot of crashing surf. She couldn’t seem to make sense of what was happening to her, the mind being a limited thing and only able to absorb so much.
Then there was the continued onslaught of Kerrick’s massive presence in her car, the lingering erotic male scent of him, his nearness, and the temptation of touching him at will …
She drew in a long shaky breath.
“You’ve grown quiet.” His deep voice filled the car and once more battered her senses.
“A lot to think about.” She shifted toward him. “What was your rite of ascension like?”
Did he just shudder? Great.
“Every ascension is different. You can’t compare the two.”
“Try me.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah. I do. I need answers, Warrior.”
His gaze snapped to hers then back to the on-ramp. When he’d merged into the light early-morning traffic, he said, “Well, I was a wild beast, full of rage. I still am when I think about what happened. The death vamps raped and drained my wife, Marta, my mortal wife, my first wife. She was dead before I found her. My son Evan, not a month old, was fussing in his cradle but alive.
“My ascension involved abandoning my son that same day. Once I completed the ceremony, I went on a rampage, killing and then more killing until I’d found every last one of those bastards who had essentially destroyed my family.”
Alison felt the depth of his pain. He remembered those days or weeks as though they were yesterday. A wife raped, a son abandoned. Jesus. “You ever wish it undone? Your ascension?”
He nodded. “I would undo it for Evan’s sake. I hate that I left him. I still think about him, hurt for him, wish I’d thought of him instead of my need for vengeance. I think abandonment is one of the worst things you can do to a child. You don’t have children, do you?”
Alison shook her head, even laughed. “Not possible.”
“You mean you can’t have children?”
She glanced at him. “As far as I know I can. I was referring to the power thing I was talking about earlier. Every year, my power kept getting stronger, and by the time I was in my late twenties, well, I couldn’t be with a man anymore, not without … causing damage.”
“I’m not surprised,” he murmured.
Alison needed to change the subject … fast. “If I ascend, do I have to leave my family behind? Is that one of the rules?”
“Every ascender’s situation is different. Some are happy to leave Mortal Earth and never look back. Those who want to sustain the connection to loved ones face a variety of dilemmas. For one thing, every visit requires a pass, as well as counseling.
“The greater dilemma becomes the nature of immortality. Once ascended, you have the potential of living forever. Each day that passes in which you do not age creates a problem for your family, your friends on Mortal Earth. As the decades wear on eventually a separation becomes not just necessary but sensible. And of course, there’s always the matter that we keep our world hidden from mortals, hence the counseling.”
Alison couldn’t imagine saying good-bye forever to her parents, to her brother, to Joy, to little T. J., even to Joy’s husband, Ryan. Her heart ached just thinking about it.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “The best thing to do is to take this one step at a time. Let’s get you ascended first.”
She nodded, staring straight ahead. “Good idea.”
After a few minutes, as he merged onto the 51 now heading north, the more pressing aspects of her current predicament shook the foundations of her mind all over again. A shiver rolled through her. “So,” she ventured into the stillness, “what are the odds I’m even going to make it through the night?”
“I’m right here,” Kerrick said. “It’s my job to see you through this. The warriors will help. And Endelle.”
She thought of Darian, of having counseled him for the past year. What had he meant by it, by being in such close proximity to her all that time but not lifting a finger against her? It didn’t make sense.
“Why didn’t Darian—the Commander—take my life when he had the chance? I saw him every week for a year.”
His thumbs once more drummed the steering wheel. “Again, we have certain rules we have to abide by. An ascender isn’t fair game until he or she has answered the call to ascension. Endelle would have had the right to demand a trial to prosecute Greaves if he’d harmed you. But that law works both ways. Endelle, all of us, have to be careful how we do our jobs.”
He scowled. “But I’ll tell you what I really don’t get. Do you see that car in front of us? That’s a BMW M3 with a four-liter, V-8 engine, some of the best handling in the world, and the driver is going fifty-two f*cking miles an hour!”
The warrior next to her was irritated at how a mortal drove a car?
Alison jerked forward and laughed, which helped a lot. In this moment, the vampire next to her seemed so, well, normal.
Warrior Kerrick, however, was not amused. “You think that’s funny?” He changed lanes, sped by the BMW as fast as he could in a car that started to shake. He eased back to fifty-five so that her Nova could relax.
“I take it you’re not the patient type, are you?”
“I have no patience for someone driving a car that could easily fly at a hundred miles an hour.”
Alison shrugged. “Think about it, Warrior. At this hour of the morning, the driver could easily be drugged out or drunk off his ass. Slower would be better.”
He grunted but still wore his scowl.
“Okay. You’ve told me a lot of bad stuff about Second Earth. So now tell me what’s so great about ascension? I’m not exactly feeling the love.”
When he didn’t speak right away, she shifted to look at him. “Having a hard time answering the question?”
Once more his head wagged and his thumb tapped the steering wheel. “It’s just been so long since I’ve stopped to think about it. Well, you’ll never have to worry about gum disease.”
“What?” She barked her laughter.
“Hey. It can be a real issue.” But a smile played at the edges of his mouth. “We don’t have diseases on Second. It’s awesome. No tooth decay or hangnails or goddamn cancer. You can smoke ’til you puke and you’ll never get sick. We don’t age. When we get a cut or a bruise, we heal fast. We’re not completely immortal, though. Decapitations will end a life, strangulation, explosions.”
“Terrific.”
He shrugged, as in, Get used to it. But he continued, “And you’ll never see more beautiful gardens than on Second. Horticulture is the highest form of art.”
“Huh. Sort of like the Garden of Eden.”
“Pretty close, but with paled-out, blue-tinged death vampires just to keep things interesting.”
Her turn to shrug. “There’s always a stinger on one of the insects.”
He glanced at her then looked away. “What else? Oh … God … spectacle. If you like a good fireworks display, or flags, or squadrons of DNA-altered geese or swans, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. If there’s a chance to celebrate in an open-air arena or outdoor amphitheater, Second will proclaim a goddamn holiday. Think Cirque du Soleil meets Beijing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So when was the last time you attended a spectacle?”
Once more his eyes stared out unblinking.
“That’s what I thought. You need to have more fun, Warrior.”
Apparently this was not the right thing to say. His jaw worked back and forth like he intended to pulverize his molars. “I’m usually a little busy at night…” The air in the car cooled about twenty degrees. “And I sleep during the day.”
She couldn’t help herself. “In a coffin?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious, ascendiate.”
But Alison laughed.
Okay. So that was something she could work on—Kerrick needed to loosen up.
But even as the thought sped through her brain she stopped herself. What was she thinking? Oh, she knew what she was thinking. The vampire next to her was some really awesome boyfriend material. Given the nature of his life right now, how great would it be to lighten him up a little, give him some ease?
Okay, so she was way ahead of herself.
She decided to switch the subject. “Tell me more about Madame Endelle—a name, by the way, that makes me think of a psychic you’d find working her trade in downtown Phoenix, or Sedona, maybe.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re right.” But then he frowned. “Endelle is complicated. The thing is, she’s a real piece of work but I’d give my life for her. She’s the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth and she’s basically sacrificed everything to keep this world in order. She’s been around a very long time, more than nine millennia.”
She whipped back to stare at him. “Nine thousand years?” Her breath caught in her throat and once more she felt dizzy.
“Why not?” he asked. “If I exist, if you exist with all your unbelievable powers, why not immortality?”
“You’re right. Of course.” But she felt like she’d taken a serious blow to the head.
“Her name is interesting. Endelle. She’s also known as She Who Would Live. Both names reflect her birth name. The only person who can pronounce the original version is Thorne. It involves three clicks or something. Every once in a while I’ll hear him let loose with it and think a cricket climbed into his mouth.”
She just looked at him. She knew he meant to distract her with his innocuous explanation of Endelle’s name, but for some reason nine thousand years had sunk her. Her chest folded up a little more.
“You said a decision is involved. So this means I can still choose not to ascend.”
He kept glancing at her, probably debating just how much he should say. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, “Theoretically, you can decline. With your level of power, however, the Commander won’t let you go very easily, if at all.”
“Oh.”
She felt a sudden pressure on her mind. She glanced at Kerrick and knew he wanted inside her head, not just mere telepathic conversation, but that deep kind of mind-engagement he’d talked about earlier.
She didn’t debate long. After all, he ought to know the level of her confusion. Nine thousand years. Vampires. She suddenly felt like she was swimming underwater. Even her hearing seemed distorted, so she let him in.
When he dipped inside her mind, however, it was the strangest sensation, a powerful connection that made her gasp.
He drew out almost as quickly. “Shit,” he murmured. “I know this has been too much but this isn’t exactly my best skill set, so how about we change the subject. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
She looked at him then blinked.
“Are you okay?”
She blinked again. Finally, she said, “What would you like to know?”
He released a small sigh. “Have you lived in Phoenix long?”
“I was born here.”
“Do you have family?”
“Yes, I have a brother and a sister. My sister is married. She recently had a baby and I just found out she’s pregnant again.” She thought back to her conversation with Joy. Only a few hours had passed, not even twelve, yet she felt as though she had just lived an entire lifetime.
“Parents?”
“They’re both doing well. Dad’s a cop and Mom has worked part-time at the Fry’s deli ever since I can remember.”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
“I love books of all kinds. I can’t get enough. I’m hopeless in a bookstore.”
The fatigue of the night seemed to settle into her bones and right now she wished herself out of the whole situation. Unfortunately, if Kerrick was right, it was way too late for regrets.
He glanced at her again. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you rest for a bit while I drive you home? You must be exhausted.”
“I couldn’t. Not after all this.”
“I can help. First, tell me where we’re going.”
She gave straightforward instructions in a flat voice.
They were well along the 51 now, still heading north, almost to the 101. He mentally sent her a powerful sleep suggestion and she grasped it tightly, like she was drowning and he’d just thrown her a life preserver.
She yawned. I like you in my head.
I like being there.
And he was there as he had been a few minutes ago, more than just telepathy, more like a shared presence, at least for a moment. Then he withdrew, leaving a great deal of peace behind. She closed her eyes.
* * *
Crace was living a nightmare. Still, like any good High Administrator, he had gone on the offensive the moment Leto folded back to the war room. Chaos had reigned for the past forty-five minutes. All the generals shouted, and Crace shouted back. Chairs had been knocked around, phones rang, monitors flickered. If someone had folded a gun into the room, shots would have been fired.
The argument had waged for some time now. Fortunately Crace knew how to do verbal battle, how to spin the spin. “You stand there and blame me, General Leto? I gave you a simple assignment. Wait at the Borderland, take out Kerrick then the ascendiate. How hard could that have been? You had twelve death vampires with you. I only left the command center for nine minutes and”—here he used his most powerful voice with seven-split resonance and added telepathy for the entire room—“you f*cked it up.”
Several of the officers fell on their knees, holding their heads in their hands. Telepathy coupled with the spoken word was a powerful weapon against lesser minds. Throw in a little preternatural resonance and just about everyone caved. A few moans went around the room. Hands shook. Not Leto’s, though. Jesus, the vampire had power yet he had still failed to take out Warrior Kerrick and the ascendiate.
Leto narrowed his eyes. “I will say it again: Madame Endelle dumped Warrior Kerrick into the Trough right in the middle of the battle. We lost four f*cking minutes since we had to float down in the usual way. By the time we reached the alley, Warrior Kerrick had ascendiate Wells in a car, a goddamn car, and into the street, and you know damn well none of us could have dematerialized to a moving vehicle. And mounting wings is illegal. We couldn’t give pursuit and you know it.”
“You should have anyway!” Crace shouted. “And the f*ck if I will listen to any more of your excuses.” Leto was right, of course. Once Kerrick took off in the car, the opportunity vanished. No one he knew could fold to a moving vehicle, and vampires in full-mount and in flight on Mortal Earth were easily detected by Central’s f*cking grid. Warrior Thorne would have been called, and the bastard would have been within his f*cking rights to send a regiment of Militia Warriors after the offender.
Militia Warriors weren’t anywhere near as powerful as the weakest death vampire, but enough of them could get the job done. On top of that, COPASS would have been required to prosecute the Commander despite how much control Greaves had over the Committee. Given time, he would have more control, but for now, what a shitfest.
Still, Leto pressed his point. “All we needed was the same boost to Mortal Earth and we would have had her.” His face darkened and his voice altered as he employed the same dangerous shouting-combined-with-telepathy Crace had. “And I’ll ask again, where the hell were you?”
Crace’s knees buckled—so, yeah, Leto had power—but he didn’t fall. More groans erupted throughout the war room. The only problem Crace had now was his inability to hear out of his right ear. His head throbbed.
However, this situation, and his nine minutes with his wife, would not sit well with the Commander. He was merely fronting in a room loaded with testosterone, something he had to do to save his ass. Greaves was a different story. His bowels turned to water at the thought of facing him.
“General Leto,” a familiar velvet-on-steel voice intruded. The Commander was back from wherever the hell he’d been in his ongoing efforts to turn High Administrators. “You are too hard on our visitor. He did his best, I am sure. I beg you will apologize to High Administrator Crace. At once.”
Leto bowed quickly from the waist. “I apologize, Mr. High Administrator.”
“Good. We must all be friends for the Coming Order. Leto, continue if you will to monitor the dispatches from my discretionary network. I will confer with you later.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Crace, come with me.”
Crace squared his shoulders then moved quickly to follow the Commander from the War Room. Thank God his deity didn’t speak because he still wasn’t hearing properly out of his right ear, which was the ear facing the Commander. He reached out with his senses, probing Greaves’s feelings ever so lightly. Nothing returned to him. Usually he could read any individual’s state of being with a mere whisper of a thought, but the man beside him was a walking piece of steel … emotionally.
Once inside the Commander’s office, Crace stood before the desk while Greaves once more took up his seat behind the ebony battleship. He smiled at Crace, his eyes cold. “You have always enjoyed your wife, have you not?”
Crace nodded. So the Commander knew. Jesus, how did he know?
“I do not suffer fools lightly.”
“Of course not.”
“You celebrated a little too early.”
He nodded. “Yes, Commander.”
“I will need you to sign a breach-of-promise form as well as a disclaimer against your life should anything befall you in the next few days. You will remain in Phoenix Two, of course.”
“Of course, Commander.” He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for a second chance. He’d been so foolish, yet his wife had called and said such things to him. She had shared his euphoria over the coming offer of a seat at the Round Table. Perhaps he could explain how his wife had seduced him. He dismissed the idea as ridiculous. He knew the Commander’s temper extremely well. Any passing-of-the-buck would result in his nuts being held in a very tight grasp.
So … he waited.
“You have disappointed me, Crace.”
“Yes, Commander.” The fewer the words spoken, the better.
Greaves nodded. “I want you to contact COPASS. Set up a meeting with Harding. We will have need of the Committee’s support in the coming hours. Harding will be desirous of a mortal female at this time. Provide one for him. Help him to understand our needs.”
“Yes, Commander.” The Committee. Of course. The word among the High Administrators who had joined Greaves’s coalition was that the Commander had taken pains to work his magic with the various Committee members. To his knowledge, almost a third of them were now addicted to dying blood and making use of the antidote, that little concoction of Greaves’s that prevented the acquiring of death vampire traits, especially the faint bluing of the skin. With more and more of the Committee under Greaves’s thumb—including the chair, Daniel Harding—the Commander frequently had Endelle’s legal complaints delayed and at times her court verdicts overturned. Harding’s conversion had been a profound triumph for the Commander and in Crace’s opinion the signal that the war had turned permanently in Greaves’s direction. It wouldn’t be much longer before the balance on all fronts would force Endelle’s administration to collapse.
“As for our little project,” the Commander said, “I want you to send a regiment to Carefree. You are familiar with what is there?”
A test. At least this one he could pass. “The ascendiate’s private residence.” He rattled off all the details he had memorized from the satellite photos until the Commander lifted a hand. Crace shut his vocal cords down with a quick snap of his jaws.
“Good. I have had word from my Seers Fortress in Singapore that the ascendiate will be in Carefree sometime within the next twenty-four hours. Have General Leto monitor the grid in the war room for the ascendiate’s signature. See to the destruction of both Warrior Kerrick and the ascendiate. And remember, we have one significant advantage—Warrior Kerrick cannot dematerialize. Do not hesitate to use the big guns. Get them both this time. Take the house down to rubble if you have to. I need this done. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master.”
Crace admired his deity very much. An entire regiment was forbidden on Mortal Earth, which meant the Commander was relying on present influence with the Committee to get around these details.
His shoulders eased and he no longer felt like puking. A regiment would get the job done, which then explained the need to consult with Harding. The chair ought to be warned about what was going down.
Of course it occurred to him that the Commander, by using Crace, removed himself from any culpability in the matter. He didn’t mind being cast as the fall guy because in this case, he knew he could get out of any situation he desired.
“You may go.”
Crace did not wait. He bowed, turned on his heel, then strode as confidently from the room as he could. Once outside, with the door shut, the shaking started. Yes, the plan was excellent but the other matter! The disclaimer! Shit.
How quietly, how calmly the Commander made his threats. A disclaimer was essentially a suicide note. If anything went wrong, and Crace got offed, the Commander would simply offer the signed disclaimer to the Committee and the matter would be dropped.
Struggling to even breathe, he folded to his suite. The honor of being situated so close to Greaves’s quarters now took on an entirely different meaning.
Okay. Get a grip. All is not lost.
He would set his strategy then return to the war room to deliver his next set of orders to the generals. Afterward, he would tend to the chairman of COPASS.
He and Harding had always gotten along, quite well. Although he confessed he’d been shocked when he’d learned that Harding had for at least a year been in the habit of drinking dying blood. But he was also intrigued. As a hedonist, Crace had always wondered what the experience would feel like.
As he considered the Commander’s new plan, hope resurfaced. Even a Warrior of the Blood was no match for a regiment and a rocket launcher. This he could do and no screwups. He no longer worried about a seat at the Round Table. How inconsequential that seemed compared with the preservation of his own sweet neck.
The odd thought rippled through his head, How many times has a man f*cked up his life because of a need to ejaculate?
Surrender requires trust,
Then more trust.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth