CHAPTER 6
At eight o’clock Alison stared up at the sign hanging from a scrolled wrought-iron standard. The words THE BLOOD AND BITE gleamed in a beautiful red script against a black background just like the card she’d found at her feet earlier.
Beneath the words, like the card, a red rose lay prone.
Why was she here? She pressed a hand to her stomach then took a deep ragged achy breath. She could lie to herself and say she’d come solely to figure out why she had found a business card, bearing the club’s logo, lying at her feet. But the truth went deeper—so deep she trembled.
Oh, God. Was her future inside this club?
Looking up at the sign, however, she shuddered. The name of the club, the Blood and Bite, harked back to vampire lore. What kind of person would name a club something so obvious and so absurd? She could only imagine that those who frequented the establishment sported artificially sharpened incisors, tattoos, a whole lot of piercings.
Though the quite beautiful sign alone offered sufficient warning to make her skitter back into her log, right now she had to at least have a look inside.
Taking another cavernous breath, she put her feet in motion.
When she entered the club, the darkness of the environment as well as the flashing strobes shut her vision down for a few long seconds. As she waited near the entrance, her heart pounding, her fingers touched something soft.
Glancing to her right then squinting, she discovered she was looking at a long length of scarlet velvet. Her fingers glided down the soft fabric. How strange.
As her vision adjusted and she glanced once more around the club, she caught sight of a lot more red velvet covering a host of booths to her right. The choice struck her as bizarre, out of place, yet very sensual, which all added up to purpose. A woman might let down her guard in a place lined with such a sensual fabric. She had an odd impression she’d walked into a velvet trap.
The music pumped through the building. Gwen Stefani’s “The Sweet Escape.”
Her heart rate kicked up another notch.
The club was jammed, a real hot spot. She shifted her gaze in the direction of the dance floor. She could only see the bouncing heads and arms of a whole lot of people. She could barely make out a bar off to the left. To the right were rows of the velvet-clad booths, which, given their tall backs, provided a great deal of privacy. Did she just hear a moan?
Two quite handsome men, at least as tall as she was, even in her heels, moved toward her. They appeared to be dressed in expensive clothes that shouted Armani. Another surprise.
What kind of place was this?
Both men were loaded with confidence. She really hadn’t expected GQ and swagger in a place called the Blood and Bite. Once again she was struck with the sense of everything being not-quite-right.
Their voices jabbed at her in quick alternating blows.
“Are you new here?”
“You’ll like the club.”
“It’s a little loud.”
“But you’ll get used to it.”
Again warning bells sounded because something didn’t feel right about the exchange. Underneath their spoken words, she felt a very specific and heavy mental pressure. When she released her shields, different words, their words, flooded her mind.
You’re so beautiful—and what a body …
You’ve come to the right place.
We’re going to take good care of you.
Yeah, the best kind of care.
She was stunned. They were communicating telepathically. Worse, they were seducing telepathically. Had she been without all her special abilities, she wouldn’t have been able to hear their enthralling words.
Despite the fact that she disapproved of what these men were doing, she couldn’t believe she had actually found two other human beings who could do what she could. Yet somehow the exchange seemed familiar, as though she had recently conversed with another man in just this way—telepathically.
Images started flying through her mind, of a huge gorgeous warrior, a vampire, with white wings, and another vampire with pale translucent skin and black wings. They had been fighting, with swords, in the air.
She gasped at the memory. But the headache that followed these thoughts took her into the stratosphere and she winced until she couldn’t remember what had brought it on. As suddenly as it had come, the pain just floated away.
The Armani duo each took hold of one of her elbows and the nightmare officially started as the one on the left pressed hard with his mind, You’ll enjoy every moment with us. You’ll give your neck freely, your blood, your body. You’ll experience pleasure like you’ve never known before.
The companion added, Open for us, lovely flower.
Her muscles tensed. They wanted to drink her blood? Okay, this was getting way too weird.
She considered dematerializing back to her home. However, given the telepathic abilities of both men, she suspected she’d walked into a den of vipers and needed to pick her way very carefully out of the situation.
She closed her mind as she allowed them to usher her down a crowded row of booths, maneuvering her through a maze of clubbers. She glanced around, looking for an avenue of escape.
Oh, Lord, she shouldn’t have done that. She wished she hadn’t seen the erotic events taking place in some of the velvet-encased booths.
Wait a minute. Some kind of disguise overlaid the couples, like cobwebs, something an average human probably couldn’t detect or even see through, some sort of shield.
Oh, great. Rack up one more supernatural power for Alison Wells—the ability to see through unusual shields. Yet what sort of people could create something so intricate? Once more her heart went into overdrive. Whatever was going on here mirrored her own abilities.
She looked away, ignoring the squeals and moans, the writhing limbs.
Instead she turned her attention to the dance floor, which she could see just above the backs of the booths, but oh-my-God the action out there equaled anything she’d already seen. She drew in a sharp breath. Several fanged men sucked on the necks of the women they danced with. The other half were working up to the same thing and the women … were loving it.
The purpose of the club as well as the nature of those who frequented the establishment became clear.
Her heart pounded all over again and she felt dizzy. One of her admirers flashed a smile and showed off—of course—his fangs.
Vampires?
Vampires.
A deep cold sensation invaded her stomach. She could hardly breathe. Vampires … who made use of telepathy to seduce their victims. Creatures, looking very human, who had fangs and drank blood.
How was this possible?
Since she could read minds, and take herself from one place to another with a mere thought, she supposed she could allow other unusual creatures to exist as well. Why not vampires? Earth had a lot of room, certainly enough for all kinds of freaks—for instance, those who read minds and teleported and served as psychotherapists—why not those who attended hot nightspots and dressed in Armani and drank blood from veins?
When the man, the vampire, on her right once more started in with his mind pressure, she’d had enough.
Reaching the end of the row of booths, she turned to face her way-too-confident squires. She lifted her hands to each and without either knowing, she kept them from assaulting her with steady, quiet blasts from the palms of her hands. Then she went to work on each of their minds.
Turnabout … fair play!
She sent subtle messages about respecting women more and about avoiding this absurd club in the future. She gave each a longing to date intelligent women who would make good wives, then she littered their heads with all the delights of fatherhood. That should keep these two vampires busy for the next several decades.
She only had one problem remaining: how to get the hell out of the club without anyone noticing … or possibly following.
* * *
Kerrick tossed back his third Maker’s and set the empty glass on the bar in front of him. He sniffed the air. He could still smell the lavender scent. Wait a minute. The scent was stronger.
He flared his nostrils and drew in a deep breath.
Yep … stronger.
He rose upright and took a step away from the bar. He breathed in again. His heart set up a sudden furious hammer-like beat inside his chest. His eyesight dimmed while his olfactory system flared into high gear.
The heady lush scent assaulted his nose again, sped into his brain, and this time triggered a host of reactions, each of which splintered one after the other and shot a cascade of fireworks through his central nervous system.
He smelled her. Alison. Alison.
Goddammit. She was in the club right now.
Urgency crowded him.
In a brilliant flash he transformed into a heat-seeking missile. He glanced at the entrance but saw only an array of Militia Warriors ready to pounce on new arrivals. Somehow Alison had come into the club and had already gotten lost in the play.
Holy shit.
He had to find her now.
He penetrated the various mists cloaking the Militia Warriors on the dance floor. She didn’t seem to be there. However, the club was deep and there were many hidden alcoves and way too many booths.
His mind touched female after female. He picked up each woman’s scent and cast it aside again and again, his search specific, his hunger rising, his fangs lengthening. Where was she?
Thorne’s commanding voice thumped the bar. “Leaving in four.”
When Kerrick turned around to face him, Thorne shifted to look up and met his gaze. Kerrick pulled his lips back over distended fangs and growled deep in his throat. His consciousness shuffled off to a distant part of his brain and watched this unheard-of behavior in astonishment.
“What the f*ck?” Thorne muttered, leaning back. He grinned. “No f*cking way. Medichi, Zach, you tracking this?”
Kerrick turned away.
He had to find the woman.
He stepped past the bar. He smelled the trail coming from the direction of the booths straight across from him.
His blood boiled. His shoulders hunched. His muscles flexed and twitched, ready to engage in battle over what he knew in the depths of his being belonged only to him. His wing-locks itched, ready to release full-mount, to catch her if he needed to.
“I’ve got your back.”
Kerrick whirled and glared at Thorne. “Do whatever the f*ck you want. Just keep away from the woman.”
Thorne nodded. “Understood.”
Kerrick wanted to knock him flat … for no reason. He shifted back around, his hands closing into heavy fists. He flexed his wing-locks.
The row of booths was jammed with people, coming and going. The wet sounds of sex slugged at his ears and ratcheted his temper up a notch, and then another. He didn’t know what he would do if he found her engaged in any of these acts.
He sharpened and lengthened his vision.
Halfway down the crowded row, the path cleared and he had a perfect view of a tall woman who faced two Militia Warriors.
Alison.
Alison.
Time froze; his feet as well. He couldn’t move. He could only look, wonder, crave, stunned like a beast caught in the headlights.
She was sexy as hell with soft crimped curls dangling past her shoulders and down her back, so different from the tight, controlled twist at the medical center. She wore a short black skirt, which revealed long legs that kept on going. Her scarlet halter was cut low enough to expose a swell of high firm breasts. God, her beauty lit up his head. His body followed. He craved her.
The trail of her scent reached him and struck hard. Woman and heady lavender formed a cocktail and set off grenades throughout his suddenly starved body.
Breh-hedden ripped through his head.
Bonded-mate.
In a fraction of a second he slid his mind over hers, pressed hard, broke through her shield—damn, what power—and finally read her. She stumbled because of it but at least now he knew what was going on.
She had come to the club because of a series of dreams and because of the card he’d left her. So he was right. She had been in the middle of a call to ascension. She’d also come in hopes of a slow dance against a hard male body. He could give her a slow dance and anything else she wanted.
He also read the lustful state of the warriors who had tried and failed to sink her into a seductive thrall. He had to get her away from them. The muscles in his arms tightened and a maroon haze clouded his vision. His mind shouted to her, Come to me now.
She shifted her gaze to him and looked him up and down. The lights flashed erratically in the dark club, and his vision adjusted for every discrepancy. The sun might as well have illuminated her every feature. Her cheeks turned a dusky rose, her lips parted, and her breathing grew shallow.
Oh, yeah, she liked what she saw.
His mind reached for her again, Come to me, Alison.
Much to his shock, she shot back, And who the hell are you to command me?
Damn, she didn’t remember him. He wished now he hadn’t sliced her memories. Still, he had no intention of arguing with her.
He lowered his chin and moved with preternatural speed. He intended to rescue her from the unwanted attentions of the two males and to claim her for his own. But by the time he reached her she had disappeared. She had folded from the club.
He clenched his fists again, drawing his forearms up at the same time. Sonofabitch. Though he had the capacity to mentally trace her path, he couldn’t give pursuit because he couldn’t fold from location to location. Goddammit. He stood within an arm’s reach of his woman yet because of his folding weakness, she might as well have been in Paris or Beijing rather than f*cking Phoenix One.
Unfulfilled need raged through his body. He lifted his head and roared at the ceiling, the full-throated cry of a male caught in the hard-core grip of breh-hedden and unable to complete the act.
The maroon sheen darkened his eyes further. His neurons scrambled. His thoughts lost all remaining sequence. The two Militia Warriors, smaller in stature than any of the Warriors of the Blood, backed away. Thorne shot in front of them and shouted, “Fold! Now!”
Kerrick slammed into Thorne as he reached for the warriors, but grabbed air. He turned to Thorne and lifted his fists ready to do battle. Thorne caught one of his bunched hands in a powerful grip, held on, then folded them both out of the Blood and Bite.
Kerrick blinked. A new location. He vaguely recognized the Cave, the place where the Warriors of the Blood went just to chill, usually after a night of battling.
There was no lavender here, and in quick stages his consciousness returned.
More figures entered the space. A wall of hard male bodies appeared, some in flight gear, others dressed in cargoes and tees like he was. Some smiled. Others watched, stunned. His mind opened suddenly. He recognized the men, warriors all—Thorne, Medichi, Luken, Santiago, Zacharius, and Jean-Pierre. His Brothers of the Blood. What the hell was he doing here?
“Get him a drink,” Luken called out.
“I’m on it,” Medichi said, heading to the bar opposite the pool table.
* * *
Liaison Officer Havily Morgan knew she could make a difference in the war, if given half a chance. She was sure of it. She felt it to the tips of her fingers, to the ends of her toes.
Central had just called. The Supreme High Administrator had finally summoned her, and though the hour was late, nearly nine o’clock, she didn’t care. At long last her chance had come to begin her campaign.
She stood in the center of her living room, a hand pressed to her chest, her heart ramming out a fast cadence. She was dizzy, excited … and, yes, relieved.
Fifteen years ago her fiancé, a dedicated Militia Warrior, had been taken from her, his body brutalized by a death vamp and drained of his precious blood. Since that time Havily had lived with a fire in her belly, driven to make sure that his death had not been in vain.
She had met him shortly after his transfer from Los Angeles to Phoenix. She had fallen for him so fast, a brilliant tumbling that had led to a betrothal a mere six months into his tour of duty in the Valley of the Sun.
She had waited a long time for love, nearly one full century from the time of her ascension. Losing Eric, after having waited for decades for exactly the right man to come along, had destroyed her heart, her belief that she would ever know love in this ascended world.
Her life had been altered irrevocably when he had failed to come home after his shift, when she’d received the dreaded call, when she’d learned of his horrible fate.
Yet out of her suffering her passion had been born, passion for finding a way to change the course of the war. Above all, she had promised herself that Eric’s death would not be in vain.
Unable to serve on the front lines, since she was in no way suited to wield a sword, she applied herself to figuring out what she could do. The more she researched the difficulties facing Madame Endelle as Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth, especially from the time the first High Administrator defected to the Commander’s side, the more she saw what needed to be done. Call it a vision, but she knew, she knew, that a completely redesigned military-administration complex would go a long way to preventing more defections from the ranks of the High Administrators.
And tonight she would begin the process of making a difference in her world.
She smiled. She looked through the window at the night skyline visible from her Camelback Mountain home. Her town house was situated at the foothills, and the location gave her a stellar view of South Mountain as well as Endelle’s administrative headquarters farther to the east. She had bought this house in order to be close to Madame Endelle’s place of rule.
Still buzzing with excitement, she hurried to her office. Madame Endelle had demanded her immediate presence, so she had only a handful of minutes to make her preparations. Her primary concern was which of her presentations to take with her. She immediately dismissed the idea of PowerPoint since it would involve setting up a screen, running cables, and interfacing with a computer and digital projector. She sighed. Endelle would not have the patience for setup time.
She wished she had the preternatural ability of presenting her vision directly from her mind to the screen. However, to her knowledge no one could stream mental images, at least not on Second Earth. Maybe Third or Fourth, but not Second. There were a great many limitations to personal power on Second.
Okay. No PowerPoint.
Still, she smiled. She could not believe this was happening. Madame Endelle had summoned her. All her e-mails had finally gotten through. Or perhaps her beautifully crafted professional correspondence, for which she used the best letterhead with a watermark depicting a pair of full-mount wings, her own design. In the end, she had only one real choice, a project that had taken a full three years of off-hours to create. On a table tucked into a corner to the right of the door sat a large portable display case, in black leather, which bore a sturdy handle.
The size of the case was deceptive. Once she set the case on the table and unlatched the sides, the cleverly designed multi-layered complex, coupled with her telekinetic powers, rose to a height of five feet, spreading some eight feet in length and another three feet in width. She had worked with an architect for months to get every detail exactly right.
Beyond the excellence of the architectural display, she was ready for this moment. She had practiced her presentation over and over. Fifteen years of hard work and she now had her meeting.
She waved a hand and changed into her best Ralph Lauren jacket, black of course, including a black pleat-front blouse. She wore four-inch heels, putting her at six-two and hopefully somewhere near Madame Endelle’s six-five height depending on the size of heels the Supreme High Administrator wore. Havily intended to leave nothing to chance.
She stepped in front of a full-length mirror. Appearances were important, especially to Her Supremeness. She chided herself for using the slang appellation. Madame Endelle. Madame Endelle. She repeated the words and kept her voice clipped and formal.
She scrutinized her reflection. She didn’t have time to affect a formal chignon so she left her hair loose, a flow of soft peachy-red over her black suit. She nodded. Her makeup was still flawless from the morning’s effort. Thank God for improved cosmetics on Second Earth. She nodded again.
Her eyes, however, were a little bloodshot, not unexpected given the lateness of the hour.
No more stalling. Havily Morgan, get your beautiful self over there … now.
She went back to her office then took the display case in hand. With her briefcase in the other, she thought the thought then folded into the building that housed the administrative offices. She moved quickly to the wide glass entrance of Endelle’s suite. The interior was dark, of course, because the admins had already long since gone home for the night.
She stepped in front of the sliding doors. Nothing happened.
She tried several times.
She drew her phone into her hand and thumbed.
“Central.” She recognized Jeannie’s voice. Something about her tone eased Havily. She had no idea why, although she’d always heard that the women chosen to work at Central—and they were always women—had a calming effect on the warriors.
“Good evening again, Jeannie. I’m outside the offices, but the doors are locked and everything’s dark. Are you sure Madame Endelle is here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jeannie drawled. “Her Supremeness has been holding court and wrecking everyone’s night for the past six hours. She’s there. I’ll give her a holler.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She thumbed her phone and as she waited, her heart once more took to hammering inside her chest. Yes, indeed, there were many changes that needed to be made.
And they began tonight.
* * *
After ten minutes of being back in her home, Alison finally stopped trembling. Yet her mind still spun like a top and couldn’t seem to land.
Her head wagged back and forth. This couldn’t be happening.
Vampires?
She stood bewildered in her family room staring at a wall of books, her favorite books, collected from the time she was a child. She stretched her hand out toward them, toward that which was familiar, trying to find purchase for her spinning thoughts and fears.
Vampires.
My God, they really did have fangs and suck down blood.
They enthralled and used women.
She should never have gone to the Blood and Bite but the dreams had called to her and then the club’s business card had appeared at her feet.
And the longings, oh the longings, which never stopped.
She took deep breaths, one after the next.
A new, horrific thought intruded. She crouched then turned 360, looking around for an intruder, examining every shadowy pocket of the rooms she could see—the front entry, the living room, the open kitchen, the hall leading to the master bedroom suite. What if one of those creatures had followed her here? Could they even do that? Did they know how to dematerialize like she did? What if they now knew where she lived?
She held her breath and waited, listening hard for the smallest movement, the smallest sign she had been followed.
Finally, after several minutes, she took her first deep breath, concluding she was safe, at least for now.
The club had been too much, a radio on full blast in a confined space—the fanged men at the necks of women, the red velvet booths, the Armani twins.
She put a hand to her head and rubbed her temple. The headache had returned, this time deep inside her brain, a throb that made her think of migraines and going to bed for days.
She sank to the green sculpted carpet in front of her coffee table. She slid off her Jimmy Choos and sat with her legs crossed in front of her. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands.
Events at the club once more played over her mind. Despite the actions of the Armani duo, it was the other vampire who claimed her attention right now, the powerful creature who’d gone gorilla, his chin low to his chest, his fangs distended and pressed against his lips, his wild gaze fixed to hers, his powerful body tensed for action, his mind breaking through her shields.
She had been overcome by his presence and even then she had thought, God, he’s gorgeous, thick wavy black hair drawn back from his face, angled stubborn jaw, light-colored eyes, the shade hard to determine in the flashing strobes of the club. He had tried to command her with his mind. So what exactly had his intention been? Had he meant to hurt her? She lifted her head and stared at all the rows of books. No, he wouldn’t have hurt her. He would have done something else. He would have taken her.
She put her fingers to her mouth. A powerful wave of pure desire flowed through her body until her back arched and her mouth opened.
A single thought shook her—she would have let him.
Oh. God.
Once more, as had happened for weeks now, a wave of painful longing swamped her chest. She struggled to breathe, unable to comprehend what she was feeling. Was she merely longing for him, for this oversized vampire, or was this something more?
As she searched her heart, she knew she felt something greater than just a primitive mating urge. Her desire for this man, this vampire, was part of the need she felt, but not the whole.
So what was this yearning that once more possessed her? For what exactly did she long?
Tears burned her eyes. She was frustrated on so many levels. She just didn’t understand what was happening to her.
After a few more minutes she realized her thoughts had begun to travel in an endless loop; nothing would be settled tonight. Suddenly she wanted a shower. She wanted her short skirt and sexy halter off her body.
She rose from the carpet and headed to the master bedroom.
She sighed. She lived alone in a house she had bought two years ago, a lovely piece of property in the north metro Phoenix area, in a community called Carefree.
Carefree. Well, not tonight exactly.
She crossed the living room and entered the hall, which led to the master suite. Once in the bathroom, she met her reflection in the mirror, the beautiful Venetian mirror her mother had bought for her as a housewarming present several years ago, when her practice was thriving and she had officially thought of herself as an adult.
Right now, as she looked at her crimped curls and once more thought about what had happened at the club, she felt bad. Really bad. Why had she been born so different? Why couldn’t she have had even a single day of normal? Why did the one club she had checked out in over three years have to be full of … vampires?
She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. All right, so her life had just gotten a lot weirder, something she had not thought possible.
Once more she recalled the gorgeous vampire who had moved like lightning in her direction. She had a profound feeling she had met him before.
The moment the thought struck, the headache bloomed, only this time she dove deep within her mind, closing her eyes and focusing on the area in her brain that seemed to be causing her so much trouble.
She explored the affected area and suddenly she could smell an intriguing spice, a very familiar spice … like cardamom. As though attempting to pull a sticky portion of adhesive tape from very tender skin, she started mentally plucking at the strange area. She winced. She prodded, poked, and peeled until at last the seal gave way.
The memory beneath exploded and she grabbed the sink in front of her to steady herself.
She saw it all, just as it had happened earlier in the evening while she stood on the catwalk outside her office, Darian beside her—the dead woman on the sidewalk, the police, the EMTs, the pale-skinned death vampire who had decided her blood needed to be down his throat.
And … Kerrick. The warrior vampire with massive white wings. The vampire from the club, one-and-the-same. Warrior Kerrick who had protected her. Her knees buckled yet not in fear. She had been so into him. Desire once more ripped through her, pressing into the well of her abdomen.
She had spoken with him, touched him, looked into his very green eyes. Yes, his eyes were green. She had wanted answers about—what was it he had said? Yes, about ascension. She had begged him not to take her memories. He had held her in his arms. He had nuzzled her neck. She had not wanted him to go.
No wonder she had thought she would have given herself to him. She had met him before and he had saved her life. At that time, however, he’d been sporting wings, the angel-vampire, or whatever Kerrick was, the being that had fought the death vampire at the medical complex.
As she clung to the sink, a familiar desperate sensation returned to her, an intense awareness that she had at long last met a man, a warrior, yes, even a vampire, who could match her in ability, who would not be afraid of knowing she could move from one room to the next with a mere thought, or move objects in a room around in the same way, or communicate telepathically. Kerrick would have no such fear or concern because he could do the same things and he wanted her.
But … he was a vampire, for God’s sake.
A vampire living in a different dimension.
Yes. Same earth, different dimensions.
Vampire.
As the word settled in her mind, another wave of yearning swept over her so powerfully that she gripped the sink once more and hung on. The sensation intensified, gripping her lower back and riding up her spine. She felt her back muscles shift about. She felt strange tingles all along her back in a wide V-pattern. Wings.
What was happening to her? Was she feeling the presence of wings? Wings?
The sensations eased, drifted away, disappeared.
Still she held on to the sink. She forced herself to breathe as tears dropped onto the white porcelain.
Oh, God. Could her night get any stranger?
After a few minutes, when she had absorbed the reality of the renewed memory, when her tears had ceased, when her heart beat in normal thuds within her chest, fatigue hit and she wanted her bed. Now.
She stripped, got in the shower, then washed the crimp from her curls and all her makeup down the drain. As the hot water beat down on her shoulders, exhaustion took a toll.
She had to get some sleep.
Ready for bed at last, she climbed between the covers. She tried at first to force herself to sleep, but for a long time all she could think about was the warrior called Kerrick. How strange to want a man so much, a man she barely knew. Yet he wasn’t a man at all, was he? He was that other thing. She slung her arms over her face and refused to think one more thought on such a hopeless subject.
Somewhere among all her worries, frustrations, and desires, she began drifting off to sleep. She just hoped she didn’t have another dream.
God help her.
* * *
After Kerrick had swallowed at least three tumblers of Maker’s, he sat on one of the leather couches, leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, the cool glass cradled in his hands.
His warrior brothers were close by, waiting, he supposed, until he finally regained his senses and told them why he had just done what he’d done.
The Cave was a men-only club, not because they didn’t allow women but because most women were revolted by the place—beat-up leather sofas, a few stricken end tables, a pool table that took the brunt religiously of all the warriors’ tempers. A huge flat-screen TV hung at an angle off the wall awaiting repair … yeah, for three months now.
Chasing after Alison like a madman, his vampire body raging to protect her, the experience had left him wired, like he’d been up for three nights driving across a couple thousand miles of open land.
“I must have been out of my mind,” he mumbled. He took another swig of Maker’s.
Thorne sat down beside him then grasped the back of his neck. “You lucky sonofabitch! This has to be the breh-hedden. I mean, we all thought it was a myth but this has to be it!”
The other warriors drew close then offered up their congratulations as well, thumping him on the back, calling out the appropriate jibes.
He sat holding the tumbler, unable to respond, his chest in agony.
So the breh-hedden had come to him and the woman meant for him was here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t act on it, couldn’t go to her, couldn’t bring her close. Any degree of proximity to her was a death sentence.
The litany of his failures wasn’t particularly long but it was complete. He’d majored in failure. He’d gotten an A+ in all the big f*ckups of his life. The hell he’d add one more to the list, and this had failure written all over it. If he ever claimed her physically, her death would essentially be guaranteed. “I won’t see it through.”
All the hearty backslaps, the jokes, the good-natured taunts ceased.
“What?” Thorne cried. “You can’t turn it down. She’s here. The woman meant for you, who can engage your mind, an ascendiate who matches you in power and can I just say, holy shit but she’s beautiful.”
Kerrick felt his biceps flinch possessively. His fangs thrummed and started to emerge. He dipped his chin, sucked in a gulp of air, then threw back the last of the Maker’s. He turned to face Thorne, his boss, his best friend, his brother. He shook his head. He tried to swallow but couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat. After a few more breaths he said, “I won’t marry again, not so long as I’m a warrior, no way in hell. And I sure as shit won’t complete the breh-hedden with that woman.”
“How can you even think about turning this down?” Luken asked. “The recorded documents say that completing the breh-hedden is about as close to heaven as you can get.”
Kerrick met his gaze knowing the golden warrior couldn’t possibly understand. “Well, take a wife and lose her because you’re a Warrior of the Blood. Hell, take two. See how that feels. Birth a couple of Twolings and have the Commander blast them into a fine spray of blood and bone just because he wants to hurt you. Believe me, you’d rather cut your own heart out than try again. I shouldn’t have married the second time. I knew it going in and I will always blame myself for Helena’s death and the deaths of our children. Eternity alone? Not such a bad f*cking idea.”
“Aw, hell,” Thorne muttered.
The room writhed with the singular reality of the warrior’s life. They were all goddamn targets, every day and every night, and anyone connected to them.
Curses rent the air, issued from one warrior to the next, passed around like a peace pipe. The air cooled, and his determination shored up.
“Your call,” Thorne said quietly, his gaze shifting to the bar then back to Kerrick. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll all support you. There’s just one thing—I’m not so sure you can refuse the breh-hedden.”
“Well, f*ck that,” Kerrick said, rising to his feet. “I’ll just have to be the first.”
Thorne nodded then turned away. He punched at the air several times. Kerrick watched him cross the room, heading in the direction of the pool table. Once there, he slid his hands beneath the top then lifted. Thorne had heavy broad shoulders and muscles to match. Grunting, he gave one hard jerk, which flipped the damn thing onto its side, breaking two of the four legs supporting the heavy table. One more dip of his knees and Thorne, in his rage, flipped the pool table all the way over. Christ.
Kerrick stared at the massive legs, two leaning and broken, two standing straight up. He started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Others joined him. Somehow this was just perfect. If Thorne lost it, none of them would be far behind.
They were all on edge, riding their nerves like horses whipped to a frenzy.
The war had shifted, ramped up. They all knew it but couldn’t talk about it. What was the point? They were fighters, they had to fight, and they would do what they had to do.
Still, an undercurrent ran through the Warriors of the Blood, a goddamn streak of lightning that never let up, kept them juiced, warning them something big and bad was on the horizon. Thorne’s behavior alone told them what they needed to know.
The simple question rose to his mind: How are we—seven men—supposed to keep on fighting death vamps imported nightly from all over the f*cking globe, one after the other, squad after squad?
His laughter blew out, a candle snuffed in the wind. He crossed to the bar, set his tumbler down, then made his way to the upside-down pool table. He clapped Thorne on the shoulder. Thorne met his gaze, bleary hazel eyes in pain, lots of pain. They all felt it, every damn one of them.
Medichi came forward next and shoved at the back of Thorne’s head then put his hand on his other shoulder. Luken followed, another hand on Thorne. Jean-Pierre’s hand slid around his waist. Santiago let go of a long string in Spanish, but it sounded soft like a prayer. His hand found a place next to Kerrick’s. Zacharius, however, stepped between Thorne and the upside-down table. He smiled a crooked smile, held out his hand, and folded his sword into his palm. “With you to the end, boss,” he said, nodding.
“To the end” slipped from one voice to the next, another kind of prayer, a shared promise among warriors, one that had been spoken from the beginning of time.
“Well, shit,” finally erupted from Thorne’s mouth. Like a signal flare, the warriors moved away from him, except Luken who once more slapped Thorne on the shoulder as he stared at the pool table. Despite Thorne’s mass, the power of Luken’s friendly shove rocked Thorne forward.
“Thanks, boss, you just won me a hundred bucks. I bet Santiago we wouldn’t go another month without having to replace the damn thing.”
Thorne shook his head from side to side, a weary gesture. He turned to face Kerrick looking like ten kinds of ruined.
Kerrick had his own problems, however, and he needed to address them now. “I want out tonight.”
Once more Thorne’s head wagged. “Endelle has already assigned you to guardian duty.” His voice was rough, low, desperate.
“Thorne, you gotta back me on this one.”
Thorne planted his hands on his hips. “F*ck,” he muttered. “You sure you can handle another warrior being so close to her, day and night, for at least three days?”
Kerrick’s jaw hardened. “I’ll have to.”
Thorne held his gaze steadily for a long moment then finally said, “You sure about this?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Head home but keep your phone at the ready.”
Kerrick nodded. “You’ll call if things go south?”
“You know I will.”
Thorne cleared his voice. The gravel deepened as he addressed the warriors. “Endelle will no doubt be on our asses all night. So just be prepared.”
A string of softly muttered obscenities rumbled through the room, every mouth grinding molars. The air smelled burnt.
Shit. This really can’t be good.
Whatever.
He’d be going back to his house. No, not to his house, to his basement, the hole in which he lived, his shrunk-down but oh-so-necessary existence.
At least he wouldn’t be seeing Alison again. Hopefully not for a long, long time.
Dreams create the gateway,
But the feet must cross the threshold.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth