by Caris Roane
“Are you sure? You said Leto has gone through a change. Could it be Third Earth–related?”
She frowned because certain things started making sense. Was that why Leto could change into something that resembled Greaves’s Third Earth death vampires? Maybe Leto’s ability to shift into an über-warrior wasn’t about his former addiction to dying blood after all.
But if he was ascending to Third, what about Grace? Usually, if an ascender was married, his or her better half emerged with new powers at the same time. Unless of course you counted obsidian flame as a power matching Leto’s ability to morph into Leto-the-Hulk.
A sudden loud thumping drew her attention to the south.
“Fireworks,” Casimir said. “How nice.”
“Sweet Christ, if you intend to start showing some manners, I might just puke.”
Casimir met her gaze and smiled.
At the distant end of the valley, fireworks shot into the air. These were not quite as high or as magnificent as the usual display, probably because they had to be contained within the dome of Diallo’s mist.
However, the effect wasn’t diminished in the slightest. Music blared through a number of loudspeakers, a kind of brisk Sousa march, and sure enough, at least a hundred DNA-altered swans and geese took to the skies in strict formation, guided by their handlers. Instead of flying straight over, however, they flew in spirals, around and around, in order to draw out the moment. At the same time, all those equally well-trained teens began climbing the poles and lighting the massive bowls of wood. Before long, the field was lit in a startling amount of fire-based light.
It might have been home-spun spectacle, but damn, it worked.
She knew Leto and Diallo had cooked something up as a competition for all the hard training the hidden colonies’ warriors had done all around the globe. But she hadn’t expected to find fairly grand spectacle and some goddam righteous oratory at the games as well. Leto had somehow reached into the hearts of every ascended vampire present, caught their souls in his hands, and squeezed hard until cries of near-ecstasy filled the valley.
Even she had been moved by his speech, ready to take up arms, or to do whatever she could against Greaves. Leto had moved her, had made her believe that they would win, somehow, and that it rested not on the might of an army, but on the convictions and lives of the average, everyday ascender.
Leto had spoken the truth as well, more than even he knew.
War was close.
The flying squadrons of geese and swans, and a smaller one of ducks, were opposite her now. The music had changed to something by Debussy so that the flying spirals had taken almost elegant and certainly more complicated patterns. Even the fireworks had slowed to match the music. A series of red whales swam in blue-and-gold fireworks off to the south. Magnificent.
And now Leto. My God, was Casimir right? Was he really ascending to Third?
As she extended her gaze to Grace and the crown of silver stars over her long blond hair, she wondered if obsidian flame would be enough, or Thorne’s army, or the secret colonial militia that Leto had built.
She spun in the air to face Casimir. “So, you’re here to protect Leto until he ascends to Third, have I got that right?”
He nodded.
She looked him up and down. “In a weird-ass, Fourth Earth white robe? You know most of my Guardians know how to use a sword.”
“I have other powers. Hand-blast is my specialty.”
“And you’re going to need it because if you get anywhere near Grace, I have no doubt Leto will aim to kill.”
But Casimir didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he remained silent and turned in his newly acquired serene manner to watch the fireworks.
“You know, you’re kinda freakin’ me out here.” Then it dawned on her. “Holy hell, Caz, did you enter Beatrice’s redemption program?”
“Her lake of fire? Yes, I did. But I didn’t complete it.”
“Then there’s still time for you to become a more normal version of yourself.”
But he merely smiled. “When the hell was I ever normal?”
She exaggerated a big sigh of relief. “That’s more like it. You had me shaking in my stilettos for a minute there.”
At that he turned to her. “Endelle, never have I known you to shake in your stilettos or boots or anything you’ve ever worn in your nine thousand years of vampire life.”
Endelle grinned, “Damn straight. I’m not the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth for nothing.”
“I believe protocol demands that I request permission from you to serve as Leto’s Guardian of Ascension. Do I have that permission?”
Endelle couldn’t help but smile. “Never did I think to see the day that you would either serve as a guardian or ask my permission for anything.”
Casimir chuckled. “Ditto. So, is that a yes?”
“Hells, yeah! Guard away. And if you have a chance to blast Greaves’s testicles off his cock-stalk, don’t debate the issue, just do it.”
Casimir laughed. “Don’t ever change.”
“Don’t plan to.”
He then gestured with a sweep of his hand over the contest grounds. “Are you joining in the fun?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just came to see the kickoff. I’m setting up a command HQ at the palace. I take it I’ll be seeing more of you.”
He nodded.
Endelle couldn’t believe this strange turn of events: Leto ascending to Third and Casimir, of all vampires, serving as his Guardian of Ascension.
Well, she had her own issues to deal with right now, like setting up an HQ for what might just turn out to be one helluva showdown with Greaves.
“Later,” she murmured, then folded back to her palace.
* * *
Grace thought Leto’s speech was absolutely perfect. She was proud to be seated beside him. She had her arm hooked around his and had begun to feel a little more at ease.
He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the runners in the mile-long race that ran in an oval around the entire field. He never let his eyes leave the field as he leaned down and spoke to Grace. “The man in the lead is from the Republic of Chad Two. A powerful Seer. He’s very fast and one of our best swordsmen. Jean-Pierre thinks that with a little work, and some of Jean-Pierre’s power, he could be brought up to WhatBee status.”
So this was the world Leto had built since she’d left. Yes, everything had changed.
All those months ago, he had been near-death because of his refusal to take dying blood anymore. He’d also been severely depressed.
Now he was a different man, a new man.
And at times, a beast-man.
She glanced at Fiona to her right. Jean-Pierre had his long fingers massaging the back of Fiona’s neck and he was kissing her and murmuring things in her ear that sounded like French. They were so in love.
She looked up at Leto again. She knew she loved him, but could they truly have a forever kind of love? He had been through so much, and she could once more sense in him a holding back, even a sense of guilt and unworthiness, that kept him in a tense state. She felt his restraint, even toward her, even as he desired her. Could they build a life together with so much between them?
Grace felt the bench move. She glanced to her left at Marguerite, who bounced next to Thorne. His hands never seemed to leave her, always touching her shoulders, her arms, her hands, and sometimes her belly. And when she asked for popcorn, he leaped up and moved so fast, the vendor at the bottom of the grandstand stumbled and would have fallen backward if Thorne hadn’t caught him.
How much her brother had changed. And he had made her an aunt-to-be. He was in love, too. Breh-hedden love.
She turned back to Leto. She had her arm around his, her hand on his arm. An intense desire to belong washed over her—not just to be Leto’s breh, but to have a place in this community. And yet this group of ascenders disturbed her, because the men were warriors and she had always loathed the war. Patience’s disappear
ance had driven a final wedge between her and a willingness to be involved.
Yet even her former refusal to participate in the war had changed. She had come back, determined to do what she could to bring Greaves’s reign of terror to an end. She wished she was more like Marguerite, however, who rarely flinched at a challenge.
Part of her wanted to rise from the grandstand, walk back to the landing platform, then fold anywhere else, to any other dimension. Another part, however, seemed to be calling to her from the depths of her soul to stay, to see this through, maybe even to become more than she had ever dreamed of becoming.
“Hey.” Leto’s voice was a soft hush as he broke through the overwhelming nature of her thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked up at him and realized that the entire crowd was roaring their cheers as the runner from Chad took a victory lap.
“Oh,” she murmured. The noise was profound, and Marguerite was jumping up and down on the wooden floor support, so Grace slipped into telepathy. Sorry, I was thinking about obsidian flame and the war.
He moved his arm from beneath hers, but slid it instead around her waist and pulled her close. Oh, that’s all … just the war and your emerging powers. Well, as long as it’s nothing serious.
She smiled, and he was so close that it seemed the most natural thing to do to reach up and place her lips on his. He turned into her and kissed her back until his tongue was in her mouth and his forest scent drenched her. In this moment, held within the circle of his powerful arms, savoring his body close to hers, feeling lightning streaks of pleasure penetrating her abdomen, she thought there was no place she would rather be, or even ought to be, than here, with Leto.
He drew back and shuddered. You work me up so fast.
It’s the breh-hedden.
But at that he smiled and pinched her chin. No, Grace, it’s you.
She smiled back. You sure about that? After all, we’ve known each other for centuries. Why now?
His thumb touched her lips. He shook his head. Maybe the breh-hedden brought us together, but it can’t be the whole picture. I value who you are, I always have. But hey. Try not to worry so much.
She smiled. Not sure that’s possible right now.
The noise of the crowd died down and a second race started, this time with massive hurdles that would require some levitation skill added to the running. Grace leaned into Leto and for once just tried to relax and enjoy herself.
* * *
Leto didn’t quite understand what he was feeling, but it was like grabbing at air. He couldn’t pin it down. Happiness? Contentment? A strangling fear that something would happen to Grace? Maybe it was everything: fear, hope, desire, anguish, all combined.
He held Grace against his side, one hand on her bare waist, the long sides of her blouse covering his fingers as he kneaded her skin, thumbing low into her hip then up to rub the underside of her breast. That her meadow scent kept flowing over him in waves sustained the certainty that he was pleasing her as well as forming a most inappropriate erection. He was hard as a rock and was grateful that the light from the torches and the tall, pole bonfires didn’t exactly reach the depths of their grandstand box.
The shadows were covering all sorts of misdeeds. In particular, he was ignoring how Jean-Pierre had been making out off and on with his breh for the last half hour. He and Fiona had been together for over six months, and it was clear the pleasure they took in each other hadn’t dimmed much if at all. He wondered how soon the two of them would take off.
But Leto was enjoying the games, despite the fact that his thoughts were fixed on just how soon he could get Grace back to his house, into his bed, and make love to her again.
Of course, these were unfortunate thoughts because now he was in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed hard through his nose a couple of times. He pulled his hand out from under her blouse and went back to just offering her his arm.
That she chuckled softly told him she understood. He looked down at her. She looked up.
All I can think about is your bed, she sent.
He sighed. Same here. Soon enough.
He forced himself to look away. It helped that Brynna’s event was up next. The woman had powerful thighs and the log climb was one of her favorite exercises while in training, never mind the contest. But she was also competitive by nature.
He said as much to Grace then sent, She took me under her wing when you left. He shared with her their camaraderie and that he considered Brynna his best friend.
The loudspeakers blared as the introductions were made for all the contestants, including a fiery Aussie from the hidden Brisbane One Colony and a Japanese competitor from the hidden colony outside Kyoto One.
As the warriors took up their places, he realized Grace had grown very still next to him. He looked at her, but her head was bent. She held her hands together on her lap, which was a little awkward since her right arm was still wrapped around his.
What is it, Grace?
She shook her head. This is ridiculous. I feel so … angry, but I shouldn’t. I left you, and she obviously took care of you.
She was upset about his relationship with Brynna? Jealous? He tried not to smile but he couldn’t help it. And damn, wasn’t he a bastard for liking it.
He tried to explain Brynna’s value to him. She made sure that I didn’t hurt anyone when I turned beast. She would come into the basement with me.
At that Grace looked up at him, her eyes wide and her expression hard. The starting pistol fired at the exact same moment that she said aloud, “She did what?” The last word held resonance, which brought a sort of yelp from Fiona behind him.
Jean-Pierre leaned around Leto and said, “I am sorry, Grace, but Fiona’s ears are sensitive to resonance. If you would go easy with it?”
Grace nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”
When Jean-Pierre shifted back, Leto stared down at her and again his response was way too male. His eyelids felt heavy as he slid his hands down her arms. “So you’re thinking about the basement, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Oh, I know what you meant. You’re jealous of Brynna, but I love that you’re jealous. I just wish I could get you back there right now, take some of the sting out of the situation.”
When the crowd started shouting, only then did he slide his gaze back to the event, seeking out the nearest screen. Brynna was neck and neck with the Aussie.
He rose from the bench and started cheering her on, punching his fist in the air. Marguerite knew Brynna well, so she joined in. Thorne, too.
* * *
Grace remained seated and frozen in place. She held her arms tight around her chest. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t this woman, but she could feel her fangs in her mouth and a rumbling in her throat. Her legs shook. She felt a profound need to sink her fangs just about anywhere into Leto, to mark him and to let him know that what he was doing was wrong.
She had a rational mind somewhere, but for this moment all she could think was that his focus was on another woman, that he had a great deal of affection for this other woman, and that Grace couldn’t stand it.
She had to leave. She feared what she would start doing if she stayed. And, yes, it involved her fangs, and more resonance in her voice than Fiona could tolerate, and maybe word choices that would more comfortably come out of Endelle’s mouth than her own.
When the cheers became shouts of triumph because Brynna won her event, Grace raced from the box and down the stairs, half levitating the entire distance. She would have folded, but the rules for the event forbade dematerializing of any kind.
She ran past the grandstands, pushed her way through the crowds, and increased her speed, which was significant. She ran straight into the forest. She ran and ran, her mind screaming the whole time, and her fangs protruding unladylike from her mouth.
She could vaguely discern someone running behind her, but her mind was a whirl of angry mush, so she kept pushing on,
heading in the direction of Leto’s cabin, pushing past fir branches, hopping over big stumps and logs, flying over shrubs and ferns.
Suddenly powerful arms clamped around her and carefully brought all her forward momentum to a stop.
“Grace, what the fuck?” Leto was breathing hard as he turned her in his arms.
She didn’t want him to see her like this. She struggled against him, but he was bigger and more powerful so he caught her wrists and held them wide.
Forced to stop fighting, she panted against him, glaring at him from underneath her brows. She could feel her fangs heavy on her lips. His gaze slid to her fangs, and he drew in a sharp hiss.
“Shit,” he murmured. His cadroen had come out, and his long black hair hung around his shoulders, over his arms and chest. He released one wrist; she squirmed trying to wrench herself from his grasp but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled his hair over to one side. When she caught sight of his exposed throat and the vein throbbing there, beckoning to her, she grew very still.
She truly hated that this was who she was in this moment, but Leto didn’t seem to mind. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close. He even lifted her up off her feet so that her mouth was at his chin level. He leaned into her slightly and whispered, “Do it. Take what you need.”
Maybe it was his use of resonance when he spoke, she wasn’t sure, but she leaned back, planted her hands on his shoulders, and drove her fangs hard into the vein waiting for her. She began to suck on his neck, deep pulls, taking his blood into her mouth and down her throat.
He held her in place, her legs dangling as she worked his throat. He adjusted slightly to hold her with one arm around her waist. With his free hand he glided down her back, slipped beneath the low waistband of her skirt, and when his fingers found flesh—because she wore only a thong—he groaned and pressed her against him.
She slowed her drinking, because what she needed now shifted. He was a hard length against her abdomen. With his blood in her belly and firing her veins, desire streaked through her body, pinching at her breasts, teasing between her legs.
