CHAPTER 21
A little after ten o’clock Kerrick held Alison in his arms and moved in a slow circle on one of the smaller rotunda floors in Endelle’s palace. “As Time Goes By” played on a top-of-the-line audio system, a classic song from an old movie he’d seen when it first came out, Casablanca, during Hollywood’s heyday.
He wished he had known Alison then. He would have taken her on a date to a theater, maybe even to Mortal Earth for the premiere. He knew she loved old movies. He’d been inside her head.
Endelle had provided a perfect dinner, an excellent celebration for Alison’s ascension, although Her Supremeness had not stayed long. After the dessert course, she had excused herself.
“All right, lame-asses,” she had said. “I’m back to work.”
She had withdrawn to her meditation room, where she mentally followed Greaves all over the planet preventing him from sending death vamps back to his Estrella Mountain compound. Word had it she did this by way of the darkening, that region of nether-space that allowed a person to be two places at once. Kerrick couldn’t begin to imagine either the power or the mental energy required to police the sonofabitch the way she did.
The rest of the warriors, with the exception of Marcus and Luken, were not far, just a few yards away, sitting on the terrace, smoking cigars, laughing, drinking. Marcus sulked by the bar. Luken danced with Havily. He had such a crush on her, poor bastard, but she wasn’t the least bit interested.
As he danced Alison in a slow circle, his gaze fell once more on Thorne. He sat turned away from the others, his phone to his ear—probably talking to Central. He swirled a glass of Ketel in his left hand.
Thorne, the one they all relied on.
Kerrick looked away. No doubt Central had just called. Of course. The warriors would have to go out anytime now. These were stolen hours, the hours of Alison’s ascension. Kerrick frowned. Usually the Commander would have sent squadrons to every Borderland long before this.
As far as that went, why hadn’t he made another attempt on Alison’s life? Well, too late now. Where Alison was concerned, the Commander was out of time. She’d completed her rite of ascension, which meant she had the same protection under the law as all Second Earth ascenders. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attack the palace just as a general f*ck you to Endelle and the Warriors of the Blood. Still, Alison was off limits now, unless Greaves wanted to face the courts again as well as the wrath of the warriors.
He glanced at all the open walls and doorways. The palace had a kick-ass security system that would scorch anything trying to fly in. As for materializing, he wasn’t so sure, but he knew Central kept a tight watch on the place.
“Something wrong?” Alison asked. “You just tensed up.”
He forced himself to relax. “By now I’d usually be out fighting. I’m not used to the quiet.” He released a sigh. “I’ll adjust.”
He slid his arms even tighter around Alison. She gave a murmur of approval. God, she felt so good against him, her arms around his waist, her head tilted against his shoulder, her lips lifted to him, teasing his neck. He loved that she was tall. She really did fit him, in every possible way.
And she had fangs now. He shuddered, anticipation sending little fireworks through his veins.
What? she sent.
You can take my blood now.
He felt a similar tremor pass through her. A resulting whorl of lavender rose up to torment him.
He would leave the basement now and she would share his bed. He’d even begun to think that maybe they should talk about completing the breh-hedden. She was powerful and her abilities could make a difference. Maybe.
She was pressed up flush against him and he was sure she could feel just how much he enjoyed this dance. When she shifted just a little so that her abdomen glided over his erection then at the same time she kissed his neck, yeah, she knew exactly where he wanted to be right now.
At the same time, he didn’t want the dance to end.
Was this really happening? He hadn’t had a woman in his life in so long, in two centuries. Would he be able to keep her safe? Would her proximity to him make her a new kind of target? Of course, the rules were different now and Greaves couldn’t go after her, not without repercussions. But would that stop Greaves at this point? What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was just how much of a threat the Commander believed Alison to be. After all, he hadn’t made another attempt on her life within the allotted three days. He drew in a deep breath, his throat closing up. “Alison,” he whispered.
She drew back and looked up at him. His chest rose and fell. Her fingers worked the hair at his nape.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered.
She smiled. “So how soon can we leave?”
His answer reached the tip of his tongue until an unexpected frown entered her eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
“Not sure. I just feel … uneasy.” She stopped moving.
“Oh, shit. This cannot be good.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He looked around but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“Would the Commander attack me now?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Kerrick shook his head. “He would be a fool to try it. You’ve completed your rite of ascension. If an attack were aimed at you, he’d be held accountable.”
“So he won’t attack?”
Kerrick looked down at her and an old fear hit him like a blast to the chest. When he considered the present gathering, he had a sudden awareness that this would be a perfect time for an attack, with all the warriors gathered under the same roof. “It wouldn’t be aimed at you,” he said, more to himself than to her. “We would be the target, the Warriors of the Blood.” He remembered the why of Helena’s death. She’d been married to a warrior. A chill went through him.
* * *
Marcus sipped a fine brandy, one of his favorite drinks, more than even Scotch. He sat alone not far from the bar. The warriors were out on the patio, smoking, telling jokes, the usual male-bonding bullshit. He didn’t belong with them. Besides, sitting by himself and sipping the rich fortified wine suited his current temper.
He watched the Liaison Officer dancing with Luken. The warrior was really into her, the bastard.
Marcus uncurled his fingers for the hundredth time from around the glass. He had a habit of crushing tumblers, among other glass things.
He should have left the same time Endelle retreated to her cave. Instead he hung around. His instincts were firing off missiles right now and he couldn’t ignore them. His need to protect Havily kept him pinned to the bar stool, watching her in her short dress, which grew even shorter with Luken’s arm around her waist as he moved her into a couple of turns.
He was still hard as a rock and he couldn’t tear his gaze from the back of her legs, the tops of her thighs, hoping for a glimpse of her ass, the thought of which forced him to sit well forward. And all he could smell was a powerful drift of honeysuckle. Goddammit.
He took another sip. He forced himself to look away. His gaze landed on Alison and Kerrick. They’d stopped dancing and she was looking around the rotunda with a frown between her brows.
A frisson traveled down his spine. He didn’t wait to second-guess what he felt. With a wave of his hand, he changed from tunic to flight gear. He drew his sword into his hand.
He wasn’t alone.
The blur around each of the warriors indicated the same call to arms had been registered in lifted hairs on neck and arms.
“Central just called,” Thorne shouted. “We’ve got incoming.”
Marcus crossed to Havily in a few brisk strides. With Luken on the other side, they’d work to keep her safe.
“Oh, shit,” squeaked from her usually prim mouth.
“Don’t move away from either of us,” he cried.
“How are they going to get through Endelle’s security?”
“There’s only one way. Greaves must be here.”
“An attack on the palace?” Luken shouted. “This is so f*cking illegal.”
“When did the Commander ever give a shit about that?” Marcus gripped his sword in both hands, his instincts clanging like a fire alarm. His back muscles thickened, his wing-locks hummed.
Death vamps shimmered into the rotunda, directly to the space in which the warriors had just geared up. Marcus swept his gaze over the group. Goddammit, there were too f*cking many. Twenty, twenty-one. He stopped counting.
“Mounting,” he cried. His wings flew through his wing-locks, as did Luken’s, one more layer of protection for Havily.
The first attack came as three launched near him, rocketing high into the air, flying into the enormous height of the rotunda, trying to draw him away. He had never felt so focused in his life with his woman at his back and her existence depending on how deftly he and Luken maneuvered through the next few minutes.
“How we doin’?” he cried.
Luken responded, “I got four and they’re goin’ down.”
“Good. Keep Havily between us. Havily, don’t even think of folding. They’ll follow you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. That’s good.” He heard Luken grunt and his sword ring as he engaged his pretty-boys.
Marcus’s own trio gave up the airspace but drew their wings back to close-mount and fired toward him like missiles. He took a deep breath, lowered his shoulders, dipped his chin. “Here they come.”
He plucked the dagger from his breastpiece and let it fly. It struck home, straight into the heart of the vamp to the left. At almost the same time, his sword met metal and he moved at preternatural speed to fend off each pair of thrusts again and again. The whole time he could sense Havily moving with him, completely in sync. He knew exactly where she was and only as he severed a head, leaving him but one death vamp to contend with, did he realize she was in his mind delivering a warning, very quietly.
Three on your left, she sent as a new wave of enemies flew in through the open walls. So yeah, the security system was down and there was only one ascender who could have done it. Greaves. Shit.
He also heard Havily on the phone. “Jeannie, we need cleanup. Is there anything you can do?” Pause. “There have to be at least two dozen bad guys here. But there’s … blood and other things all over the floor.”
In small increments, lights flashed and death vamp debris got cleaned up, thank you, God.
Havily, Marcus sent, you’ve got one helluva cool head on your shoulders.
Just keep fighting, Warrior.
More death vamps flew in, so this was a full-blown attack. Fortunately, Greaves couldn’t enter the battle himself. From what Medichi had told him, COPASS had only a handful of rules that they enforced the hell out of. Endelle and Greaves staying out of the fray happened to be, thank God, one of those rules.
* * *
Alison couldn’t believe her ascension celebration had turned into a full-on battle. She was tempted to bring her sword into her hand and engage but the combat was ridiculously close and there were so many death vamps. She didn’t have this kind of experience at all. It would be far too easy to accidentally wound one of the warriors.
She stuck close to Kerrick. He’d told her to stay at his back and had called Medichi over to guard her on the other side. Her heart beat heavily. She had never seen such a flurry of wings, and every kill meant that a terrible spray of blood landed … everywhere.
Havily’s voice rang out. “Major cleanup coming.”
A light flashed bright, like the one at the medical complex, blinding her for a second. Her stomach boiled as bodies, feathers, and body parts disappeared. She felt light-headed, especially since the clash of metal sounded in her ears. Between Medichi and Kerrick, the fighting was fast, furious, and deadly.
She measured the movements of both warriors and stayed within a couple of yards of each of them. Medichi didn’t mount his wings, but Kerrick’s white feathers flurried around her, sometimes stinging, sometimes soft flutters.
Over the next few minutes the death vamps kept coming. But eventually the numbers began to diminish and it seemed clear to Alison that the attack would soon be over—until she saw blurred movement near Luken, Havily, and Marcus.
A different kind of attack.
The blur solidified. Darian the Commander stood near them. He didn’t engage but watched her, a satisfied smile curving his lips. He must have created an intricate powerful mist to disguise his arrival, which prevented those nearest him from detecting his presence. However, she had no problem seeing through all the cobweb-like filaments that crisscrossed his face and body
What do you intend to do, ascender? Darian’s voice was in her head!
She fortified her shields and effectively pushed him out.
The Commander, she whispered into Kerrick’s mind.
Where?
By Marcus.
I don’t see him. Kerrick wielded his sword against two opponents now. Sweat dripped from his body.
I see him, Alison sent. I can kill him. I know it.
I still don’t see him. Are you sure?
There. By Marcus. This will be simple. Move to the left, Kerrick. I can end all of this, right now, here, tonight. Adrenaline flooded her. One powerful hand-blast and she could take him out, forever. Maybe this was her purpose, the reason Darian had so feared her ascension. Maybe she was destined to end the war by taking his life.
He moved closer to Marcus but he began to fade. He must have been shoring up his mist. She wouldn’t have much time at this rate. She had to make a decision and she had to make it quick.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She had been unable to take Leto’s life even before she learned he was working as a double agent. She was a therapist and believed in the redemption of the soul. However, Darian Greaves fell into an entirely different category, and though taking life was repugnant to her, if she had the chance to stop him, to destroy the greatest force of evil on Second Earth, shouldn’t she do it? Her conscience spoke for her: The monster across the room had to be stopped.
Darian’s arms vanished from view, then his legs. Kerrick, I’m going to take him out.
Wait. Just wait. I don’t see him. I’m almost finished here. One last pretty-boy to go.
Alison held back a few moments more, but Darian’s head and most of his shoulders were no longer visible; she had barely a torso to aim at.
As Kerrick finished off the last death vamp and moved to the left, she saw her opening. She lifted her hand and gathered power into her palm. A blast that could pass through a dimension could also dispatch an enemy of Second Earth.
Good-bye, Darian, she sent. Just as she fired, Kerrick’s voice rang out, “No!”
What happened next occurred in slow motion. The blast left her hand and she stumbled backward. At the same moment Darian’s image disappeared as well as all the cobweb-like signatures of his mist. Beyond, Marcus, Luken, and Havily all stared in horror, facing certain death from her hand. Then, in preternatural speed and at the very last split second, Kerrick moved in front of them and took the full force of the blast in his abdomen and chest.
He kept flying at the same angle he’d been moving. He glanced off Luken to land another twenty feet away into an adjoining rotunda.
Alison stood transfixed at what had just happened, at what she had just done. So Darian hadn’t been there at all—or had he moved at the last second? Oh, God, had she just killed the man she loved?
The Commander stood beside her now and murmured, “Oh, how unfortunate. I had meant for the other three to die, but well done, my dear. You’ve taken out a warrior I’ve been wanting to be rid of for, oh, twelve hundred years.”
Alison lowered her arm and turned to her right to look into the Commander’s eyes. Comprehension struck. “You tricked me?”
He shrugged, stroked her cheek with his finger. “This is war, my dear. Welcome to Second.” He lifted an arm then vanished.
Alison folded straight to Kerrick and dropped down beside him. Swords still clanged, the occasional bright flash of light blinded her, voices called across the rotunda floor. What did any of it matter when her beloved lay on the floor, his eyes rolling in his head, his body shaking, and the black leather of his weapons harness peeled back from his abdomen? She couldn’t look at the destruction of his flesh.
She had to do something, fast. Surely, she could change what had just happened, what she had just done.
Pocket of time reversal!
Yes, of course.
She thought the thought but nothing happened. She stood up and reached out with her hands but nothing happened. She tried to latch onto the sequence, tried to find a rope of time, but couldn’t. Why? Why? Why not this time, when she really needed it? But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t find the key.
When she suddenly heard the Commander’s laughter, however, she knew exactly why.
“Someone get the healer,” she cried.
More blinding flashes of light, but metal no longer clashed against metal. Large bodies gathered around her. She clasped Kerrick’s hand and begged him to hold on.
“Get Horace,” she cried.
She glanced at Thorne, who dropped down beside Kerrick’s head. He slid his arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him to rest on his lap. He kept a hand pressed to Kerrick’s forehead.
“Too late,” he whispered. Tears shed from his eyes.
Alison shook her head. No. No! No! This couldn’t be happening.
“Why did you fire at us?” Luken asked.
“I was deceived. I thought I saw the Commander in front of you. He tricked me.”
Kerrick could not die. She would not let him die.
* * *
Kerrick stared up and watched as the painted ceiling of the rotunda melted away and the black night sky appeared, a death vision. He lay on his back, life draining from him. He saw the drift of galaxies as his dying brain reached up and out.
He had less than a minute now. He could no longer feel what had a moment earlier been his ice-cold limbs. He barely had an awareness of his body—only a deep sense of regret.
Alison, he called again.
Kerrick?
Relief flooded what was left of his conscious mind. He shifted his gaze and there she was.
Drink from me, my love. You must take my blood. Now.
Too late. Love you so much. He closed his eyes. He faded into a very dark place.
* * *
“Thorne,” Alison cried. “Get Endelle back here. She can heal him.”
“I’ve tried. She doesn’t respond.”
Darian had thought of everything. Of course. No wonder she couldn’t use her powers.
“Then you must hold him to my throat. He’s got to have my blood.”
Thorne didn’t move. “He’s gone.”
“No.” She saw the despair in Thorne’s face. “Listen to me, Thorne. You must help me. He’s not gone yet. I would know. Please. Trust me.”
Thorne finally met her gaze. His eyes cleared. He nodded. “Medichi! Get Horace here. Now!”
“On it.”
Thorne pinned Kerrick in his arms, lifted him high onto his lap, and supported his chin. Alison took him to her neck, positioning his fangs. His face was slack but she had new ascended physical power now. She drove his fangs into her vein and because he was completely powerless, she directed her blood into his mouth. She used her hand on his neck to direct the flow down his throat.
Horace appeared a moment later. “Oh, dear merciful Creator,” he cried. Despite the severity of the wounds, he settled in immediately and laid his hands over the shredded abdomen. “He’ll need surgery as well … if we can bring him back.”
Alison merely nodded then closed her eyes.
Kerrick, she whispered over his mind. Come back to me. Do you feel my blood within you now? The power singing through your veins? Come back to me. I need you. Please, Kerrick. You must try. Horace is here tending you.
She eased the flow. Talk to me, Kerrick.
Silence returned.
She entered his mind and traveled very deep but found only darkness.
Panic seized her.
You must try, my darling, she sent deep into his mind, into his soul, into the remnant of his consciousness.
Then she knew what she had to do and the timing now made complete sense. There’s something you must know. We’re having a daughter, you and I. She will have such power but she will need her father to help order her mind and to train her. You must come back to me, to us. We can do this … together … you and I … for our daughter.
She drew out of his mind. She pressed her hand to his chest and sent gentle pulses into his lifeless heart.
She couldn’t lose him.
“Darling,” she said aloud and in his mind, quietly so she wouldn’t hurt the men around her. “You must return to me. Please, Kerrick, come back to me. Can you feel my blood in you now, making you strong, renewing your life?”
She could sense the Warriors of the Blood weighing in, Thorne, Medichi and Luken, Santiago and Zacharius, Jean-Pierre. “Your brothers are here. We’re with you, Kerrick. Thorne holds you against me.” She smiled suddenly. “How powerful Thorne is and so incredibly handsome. He has a real aura of command. He would make a terrific breh for me, don’t you think?”
The gasp all around her could no doubt be heard a mile away.
But from a great distance, from so deep within her own mind that she doubted what she was hearing, she heard him. Thorne? Never. You’re mine. Mine. Suddenly she felt a deep draw at her neck, and then another and another.
Joy rose up, a fountain within her heart, higher and higher. Tears flowed, her hands shook.
“He lives,” Thorne cried, still holding him firmly against Alison. “He lives.” Tears now fell from Thorne’s eyes. “Jean-Pierre. Get an ambulance. He won’t survive dematerialization, not in this state.”
“Oui, boss.”
The warriors gave a shout. After several minutes, Kerrick’s eyes opened and he pulled away from Alison’s vein. He looked at her. I love you, he sent then winced.
She could barely see him for the tears that swam over her eyes. She nodded, smiled, and found his lips. She tasted her blood on him and kissed him hard.
“Welcome back,” she whispered.
Another shout rang out.
Horace kept his hands above the wounds, the powerful glow from his efforts spreading light over Kerrick’s face.
Alison could see the pain in his eyes as he struggled to breathe. “We’re … having a daughter?” he whispered.
She nodded as she wiped the tears from her face. “How’s that for ascension?”
He held her hand but suddenly his face twisted in pain.
Thorne cried, “How we doin’ on the ambulance, Jean-Pierre?”
“Five minutes.”
“Hold on, brother,” Thorne said, his hand on Kerrick’s shoulder.
Kerrick nodded, but his breaths were shallow, his skin clammy, so very pale.
Alison glanced at Horace. The healer’s face dripped with perspiration.
The sound of a distant siren allowed Alison to take her first real breath.
* * *
Marcus still held his bloodied sword at the ready. His gaze swept the rotunda, back and forth, back and forth. If a new attack came, he would be prepared and he could alert the others. His free arm was flexed, tight, tense, and he held it in back of Havily, protectively. Luken had long since joined the mass around Kerrick.
He glanced down at Havily, who stood next to him, one arm wrapped around her stomach. She held her fingers against her mouth as she looked at Kerrick. Tears drenched her eyes. “He saved us,” she said, her voice trembling. “All three of us.”
“Yes, he did.” Bastard. Now he owed him one.
Emergency techs entered the building on a run, a gurney with them, even a doctor in tow who shot orders left and right. Kerrick’s arms were hooked up in lightning speed to bags of blood and clear bags that contained who the hell knew what. Again with preternatural speed the team streaked in the direction of the ramps leading outside. Alison and Thorne both went with them.
Havily turned toward him. “I wanted to thank you, Warrior Marcus. I would have died here tonight without your protection. I am … most grateful.”
Marcus looked into light green eyes and felt his soul drift into dangerous territory. He had been avoiding this moment from the first time he arrived on Second and caught her honeysuckle scent in Endelle’s office. He had never wanted to be this close to her but here she was addressing him, her lips parted, her eyes shimmering with tears. She shook and he did the only thing that made sense—he folded his sword to the bedroom he used in Thorne’s house then slid an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her against him, letting the warmth of his large male body comfort her.
He had kept her safe. Just as Luken had, but she hadn’t turned to Luken. She had turned to him.
Oh, shit, she felt incredibly right in his arms. His bold vampire nature lit up, like a switch thrown at a baseball stadium. This was his breh. She belonged to him, to no one else.
No one else.
He felt her fingers slide just beneath the front of his weapons harness, curling around the leather, holding on. She trembled. She drew back and looked into his eyes. His gaze fell to her lips and a completely improper idea took shape, one he couldn’t seem to resist.
He leaned closer to her until his lips found her mouth. When she didn’t retreat, he pressed and licked, he pushed seeking possession, demanding admittance.
He pushed again.
Her lips parted. He thrust his tongue deep, staking out the territory of her mouth.
His arm snaked farther around her waist and conscious thought, choices, decisions began to disappear. His ascended nature and his vampire aggression took over. The beast in him awoke, slowly at first but gaining speed in quick measures.
Growls poured from his throat. Soft moans returned from the woman, hungry sounds that cranked him up. He started forcing her back, through a doorway leading to another rotunda, this one dark and private.
Back and back he pushed her. A soft mewling sound bled from her throat. Deeper into the room he shoved her. With his right thigh between her legs, he lifted her up with each step he took until at last her back hit a solid surface, a wall.
Once he pressed his body up against hers, a wild frenzy took hold of him with only one thought in his brain—he had to get inside her, push his cock in deep, make her his.
She panted against his neck, willing, so willing. Her fingers tore at his harness. His hands tugged at her dress. He caught the fabric up around her waist. He ripped her thong to pieces. He reached for her leg. Oh, God, he was almost there.
Suddenly he flew away from her and fists pummeled him. She screamed. Oh, God, his woman must be in trouble. He had to get to her, to protect her.
He fought hard, punching at whatever body got close and he had just enough awareness to know that more than one warrior pulled at him and hit him.
“No, Luken, don’t!” she shouted. “Medichi, stop!”
Luken must be hurting her and what the hell was Medichi doing? Growls erupted from his throat. He saw only red.
Distant phrases flew over his hearing: What the hell happened? Keep him away from her! He’s out of his mind.
He pushed at the arms and legs now pinning him. He had to get to Havily, to keep her safe, to take her back to his home, to Bainbridge, to his bedroom. He had to keep her there, with him, guard her, protect her.
He shoved a body off him. He caught sight of her, a wildness in her eyes as Jean-Pierre held her back. He would kill Jean-Pierre for touching her. He had to get to her. He crawled toward her now, dragging a massive body along with him. The creature on his back was so heavy. He tried to push him off but couldn’t. He crawled a little more, his knees scraping over the marble, probably bleeding by now.
Something flipped him over then the last thing he saw was Luken’s ham-like fist flying at his face. The last thing he heard was Medichi’s voice crying out, “It must be the goddamn breh-hedden. Again. Holy shit! It’s a f*cking epidemic!”
* * *
Crace stood in the center of the Commander’s peach orchard, his heart shriveled in his chest. Small moon-like lamps floated in the air, illuminating the freestanding patio. What had begun as a great adventure upon his initial arrival in Phoenix Two—indeed, what he had believed would be the most significant moment of his life—had essentially turned into a f*cking nightmare, one that seemingly would never end … except perhaps now.
As he met his deity’s gaze, he felt nothing, just a vast cold emptiness in his chest. He didn’t even sweat.
“Why so despondent, brother ascender?” the Commander asked, a faint smile on his lips.
Yes, he supposed despondency had layered ice over his sweat glands and emptied his heart and lungs of all sensation. So why the f*ck did the Commander smile?
“Warrior Kerrick lives,” he stated, reminding his deity why it was that a smile made no sense right now.
“Damn shame, of course. But look how close we got. I haven’t been able to get that close … ever. Just once successfully, to Kerrick’s wife and children, but that hardly counts.”
Crace sighed. He knew he was going to die. He’d failed his deity time after time over the past three days. His execution stood in the wings, waiting for the Commander’s pleasure.
“I must say,” the Commander said, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed. “I believe this experience has been very good for you. I think you’ve grown. When you arrived, you were so glib, so sure the task would be simple. Frankly, I thought you a fool. But right now your mind has a proper attitude. Yes, I believe you’ve grown.”
Crace held back another weighty sigh. “These are very kind words, master.”
The Commander released his hands, turned, then sat down on one of the stone benches. “You must learn patience, my dear Crace, as I told you from the beginning. You must learn to take the long view of such things. I strive to remind myself that you are not even two centuries on Second Earth yet. A few more centuries, given the level of your powers, will do much to sharpen your abilities and give you a sense of peace within your life.”
Much chance of a long view of anything.
“You are not sweating as you usually do.”
“A man does not sweat when he’s certain of death.”
“Then you should always remain certain of death, my friend.”
Crace now stood dead center of the orchard and of the patio. Commander Greaves was a man of subtlety and not easily read. However, Crace understood something right now. “You mean to keep me alive.” He was absolutely shocked.
“You are still of much use to me. I would be foolish to dispense with so much acquired knowledge.” He narrowed his eyes. “I had intended to end your service to me but I was and still am rather impressed with this last scheme you concocted. It should have worked. I believed it would. We were neither of us prepared for Kerrick’s ability to survive. He shouldn’t have but then Alison was involved and she is far too powerful.” He shook his head. “You see, even I am surprised. And I am never surprised.”
Hope floated to the surface of Crace’s heart and eased the tight knot in his chest. He drew a real breath, the first since the ambulance had departed from Madame Endelle’s palace. He’d been in the wings, waiting and watching, protected by the Commander’s superior mist as he observed the work of the death vampires. When the most insidious part of his plan unfolded, when the newly created ascender actually fired on Warriors Luken and Marcus, he couldn’t believe his luck. Even when Warrior Kerrick intervened and took the blast instead of the other three, he’d nearly revealed his position by shouting with triumph and joy. Then the worst had happened. Alison had brought Warrior Kerrick back to life. He still couldn’t believe the bastard lived. The blast should have taken out all four ascenders. So much power among the warriors. No wonder the Commander aimed most of his effort at trying to bring down the Warriors of the Blood.
He offered a simple bow. “I am yours to command, my master, now and forever.”
The Commander rose. “Ah, I simply adore your manners, quite perfection. I believe Julianna has taught you well.” He took Crace’s arm and wrapped it about his own. “But come, we have plans to make. Unfortunately, it would seem the gods have for the moment favored the Guardians of Ascension—but the tide always turns, and that, my dear Crace, is the real nature of life—the tide always turns. We just need to give it a loving nudge. In the meantime, I fear we have another ascension to prepare for. My Seers have been very busy. This time a mortal with wings.”
Crace stopped walking. “A mortal with wings? But … that’s impossible.”
Greaves fell still. “The very same thing I said about Alison when I learned of the extent of her abilities. But come, let us see Harding. He will desire sustenance by now as well as a reason to overlook our little invasion of Endelle’s palace. And if you like, you shall have sustenance as well.”
Crace shuddered.
Yes, he would like sustenance.
Yes, indeed.
A good friend speaks what no one dares to say.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth