by Caris Roane
Those facing the wall had identical black tattoos running down the center of their spines, indicating a shared purpose. Instinctively, he knew he was looking at Third Earth Warriors of the Blood. Despite their stature, he knew he wasn’t there for them.
Instead, he felt a powerful pull from the very last cell and he sped up until he reached the barred space.
A woman sat on a cot, wearing a long, white linen gown and a strange, semi-sheer lavender veil over her head. The veil had small metal weights around the bottom, keeping it in place. Her hands were free so she could have removed the veil, yet she didn’t.
He tried to speak to her, but no sound would leave his throat. She turned toward him anyway, then rose to her feet. “Is someone there? Tell me, please.”
He wanted to answer her, but couldn’t.
He felt desperate to communicate, and within the vision he tried to reach her telepathically. I’m Duncan of Second Earth. Who are you?
Thank the Creator your telepathic powers are so strong. She moved toward him. But you’re not really there. You feel like a ghost.
I’m not a ghost.
Duncan, you must help me if you can. I’m in danger. Yolanthe intends to destroy all of us within the next few days. I’ve seen it in the future streams.
What’s your name?
But before she could answer, he heard shouting at a distance. He looked back up the long hall. The warriors in the cells had started calling to each other at the same time. From the stone staircase, he heard running footsteps and the next moment, Third Earth Militia Warriors swarmed the space.
He felt jerked backward through the vision and kept flying back and back as through a long tunnel. I’ll do what I can, he sent, though he had no idea if the woman could hear him.
Reconnecting with his body on Second Earth, it took a moment for him to even open his eyes. When he did, Rachel was there with her back to him. She was guarding him just as he knew she would be. She even held a wrecker shotgun in her hand.
He felt as he often did when he woke up from a nightmare — the urgency of the dream clinging to him like a second skin.
The woman in the vision was critical to the war on Third. He felt it in his bones. He had no idea who she was except that she had Seer ability and Yolanthe held her captive and veiled.
He glanced down at his fist, still holding the grip of his sword. He knew only one thing; the black ops team had to rescue the woman, whose name he still didn’t know, within the next few days.
“Rachel?”
She turned around, her large blue eyes wide. “You’re back.”
“How long was I gone?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes. Don’t worry; I shielded you.”
He nodded. “I know.” He glanced at the shotgun she held in her hands.
She drew close and laid her hand on his left arm. She searched his eyes. “A vision?”
As though his brain still worked to catch up, words didn’t come right away. He inclined his head as portions of the vision replayed through his mind. He folded his sword to his weapons locker and slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She sent the shotgun away at the same time.
Everything was changing, including his relationship with Rachel, whether he could handle it or not. He felt her sigh as she slid both arms around his waist and hugged him. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
“Something has changed, though, hasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m not going to pull away from you this time, but I’ll need your help. Something inside me is tearing me apart and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Duncan. You’re worth the effort, do you understand?”
He nodded, knowing she’d touched the heart of the issue. “I love you,” he whispered.
She lay her head against his shoulder and sighed once more. “Are you okay?”
“I am.”
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
With his arms holding her tight he shared the vision, beginning to end.
~
As Duncan spoke, Rachel could feel his heart beating and the sound mesmerized her. His whole body was warm, no doubt from the energy flowing through him which had produced the glow. She wanted to stay with her arms around him forever, just like this, skin-to-skin, resting against him, hearing the steady beat of his heart.
He spoke of a prison, of Third Earth What-Bees and Militia Warriors aligned with Yolanthe, and of a veiled woman desperate to get out of her cell. He also believed the vision had led him to Yolanthe’s prison because of Rapture’s Edge.
As his description ended, he made no move to let her go so she stayed and held him. Suddenly, the vision began to roll through her mind as well. I’m seeing the vision, Duncan.
You are?
Yes. As the vision played through, she described it to him telepathically, moment by moment, including the numbered sequence at the portal. He was astonished by her descriptions.
That was amazing, she sent, as the veiled woman disappeared from sight. Aloud, she said, “And I can feel her connection to Rapture’s Edge. We’re meant to rescue her, aren’t we?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what we’re supposed to do.”
She drew away from him slightly. “How?”
At that, he smiled and seemed more like himself. “I have no idea.”
“Then we’d better get the team together.”
As he moved away from her, his gaze drifted down her body and his lids fell low.
She nodded, licking her lips. If he offered to take her to bed right now, she wouldn’t say no despite the need to get going.
“Your scent,” he whispered, drawing close once more and kissing the top of her head.
“Can’t help it.”
He shifted as she lifted her face to his. He kissed her, a deep, warm kiss that made her heart pound with hope and desire.
“The bed is right here.” She drew back just enough to hold his gaze. She kissed him again so he didn’t really have sufficient time to answer.
She could feel his cock growing firm against her abdomen. She rubbed back and forth.
He quickly drew away from her, however, then caught her chin with his hand. “I’d want nothing more than to make love to you again, but there’s an urgency about this vision. And you’re right, we need to inform the team.”
“I know.”
He kissed her once more, then turned and headed to the guest room.
She put a hand to her chest, breathing hard, and all he’d done was kiss her. She didn’t mind that he’d left because the view of his tight ass, broad shoulders, and warrior’s gate would keep her revved up until the time was right.
She wasn’t a fool; nothing had been resolved. Whatever had burrowed into Duncan’s psyche and held him captive, wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.
But God help her, she would do everything she could to encourage his steps in her direction.
The fact that a vision had followed after they’d been together for the first time in a month, she took as a powerful sign to stay the course.
~
With a wave of his hand, Duncan folded on his battle uniform. Renewed energy flowed through him in a vibrating wave of power. He knew how much his vision would intensify the team’s purpose and immediate direction, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he also sensed the content would cause Merl a profound degree of distress.
He was about to contact Luken, when Merl became fixed in Duncan’s mind not as an obstacle, but as something else, something more. He’d been so enraged by the Third ascender’s shitty attitude, he hadn’t stopped to consider the man who had once served as a Warrior of the Blood on Third.
Questions rose to mind, mostly why Merl had lived his life as an exile on Second. He’d always bought Merl’s story that he’d pissed off a few powerful entities and had gotten cast out as a result. It wasn’t hard to believe; Merl could rub anyone the wrong way.
But what if it
was something else, something much more significant which had sent Merl to Second?
As he reached for his cell, one more issue surfaced. If the team was going to have the smallest chance of battling on Third, they had to have a boost in power. Now.
The team needed Warrior Jean-Pierre, the Frenchman who’d folded straight off the guillotine during the harshest part of the French Revolution. He was breh-bonded to Fiona and had gained a phenomenal ability to help others gain power. Before Duncan’s abduction, Jean-Pierre had been working with him to bring his visions forward.
Right now, however, they’d need him round the clock until the team was brought up to speed.
Duncan made his call to Luken, who in turn didn’t hesitate to contact Jeannie at Central Command to get the meeting set up. Luken felt confident Jean-Pierre would be willing to devote all his time to the black ops team. He was in high demand since Endelle had ordered him to bring as many Militia Warriors as possible into their emerging powers for the critical war effort on Second.
With the plan in motion, Duncan crossed to the master bedroom and found Rachel drying her hair. She wore a turquoise silk robe that clung to her curves.
“We’re a go,” he said. “Luken worked his magic.”
Rachel shut off her hair dryer and began brushing out her hair. “Jeannie?”
Duncan smiled. “Who else? She adores him.” Jeannie and Carla kept communication moving strong among all the warriors.
“When do we leave?” Rachel pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured the cadroen, a dark brown leather clasp with a bone pin that all the Warriors of the Blood used.
“We can leave whenever you’re ready. We’ll be heading to Jean-Pierre’s home in Sedona.”
At that, she turned to him. “Really? I’ve never been there.” She shook her head. “Any particular reason?”
“Jean-Pierre said he’s had recent success using the central room in his house. Not sure why. But I think you’ll like his home. It’s set in a grove of Arizona sycamores and he built the entire structure himself using hand tools.”
She shifted her gaze away from him and nodded slowly, but he couldn’t mistake the sadness in her eyes.
He understood. “I’m sorry about your home, Rachel.”
She huffed a sigh, waved a hand, and switched out her robe for her black leather flight suit. The male warriors had adopted kilts a long time ago. But the female warriors preferred a flight suit with snug leather pants and a weapons harness. All battle harnesses had a strip of leather down the spine to allow for wing-mount.
With her small waist and full hips, Rachel looked especially good in her suit. Sudden desire flowed and without thinking, he put his feet in motion, intending to haul her into his arms.
By the time he reached her, however, she’d bent over at the waist and was wincing.
“What’s the matter?”
She flipped the side tabs on the harness. “I’m still chafing and it’s really bugging me. Can you help me adjust the harness? I’ve let it out twice now, but it’s still not right.”
“Of course.” He stepped close and according to her instructions, loosened the side straps so that when the closing mechanisms were snapped shut, she’d have more room.
It took a few minutes, but when he was done, she released a huge sigh. “Oh, thank God. That feels a thousand times better.”
“Didn’t you have this adjusted when you first put it on?”
“Yes. And it fit well at first, but lately—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “Never mind. It’s not important.” She put the hair dryer away and turned off the bathroom light. After testing the daggers in her harness twice, she asked, “Are you ready?”
He smiled, thinking how much she’d changed. But the real question hit him all over again. With the viper filling him with poison, could he really be part of her life?
He ground his jaw. Somehow he had to make this work.
“Let’s go.”
~
Yolanthe paced the south terrace of her Mexico City Three home. She felt uneasy as she rubbed the back of her neck, then stroked the three thin braids hanging to her shoulder. She had a comfortable microclimate established over her property, so nothing but a lovely, balmy breeze blew through the villa palace.
Yet, she could not be content. Something nagged at her and with a sudden swamp of intuition, she knew she had to pay one of her permanent guests a visit.
She was about to head down to her prison, when she heard footsteps. Turning in the direction of the south terrace, she saw her brother walking in her direction, his usual quirky smile on his lips.
She adored Zander, both as her brother and in many ways as though she’d given birth to him herself. The twisted hump of his wings gave him an awkward gait, but he was no less beloved in her eyes.
Her heart warmed as she moved toward him, her arms held out. Her silks rustled softly about her legs. She wore a lavender underdress because Zander had complimented her on the color the last time she’d worn it. The fabric had a soft shimmer of gold embroidered throughout.
Her sleeveless over-gown was of deep purple, though lighter than her dark lipstick.
He took her arms, gripping her to the elbow, then leaned in to kiss her on each cheek. His silvery-blue eyes twinkled with good humor. Though she’d known him all but ten of her nine-hundred-years, it still surprised her how much he resembled their father, Chustaffus. He had the same aquiline nose and broad cheeks, even a sweet dimple in his chin. He could do no wrong in her eyes, and it was for him she’d settled on acquiring Rapture’s Edge. If she could offer the property to her father, and share how Zander had been instrumental in helping her obtain it, then Chustaffus might accept and embrace his deformed son.
More than anything, she wanted Zander brought into the warlike bosom of her family.
In the same way he held her elbows, she gripped his forearms. “So, tell me, brother, do you have word from the future streams about our miscreant?”
“You mean Duncan?” His eyes twinkled a little more.
“Of course I mean Duncan.” She sighed.
“You’ve been crushing on him, sister.”
“I will not deny I’d been looking forward to taking him into my baths and making ample use of his warrior body. For that reason alone, I’m hoping you have word of him.”
At that, he released her arms and led her back to her chaise. “Ah, I see you’ve ordered my favorite wine.” Zander loved a sweet Elderberry wine spiced with cinnamon and cloves.
She knew him well and by his demeanor and tone of voice, she also knew he didn’t have good news for her. When he sat in the chair she’d had made to accommodate his wing-humps, she poured him a glass and handed it to him.
She preferred a chocolate wine herself and taking her already prepared glass with her, she sat down on her cream chaise-longue. “Are you still unable to find Duncan in the streams?”
He held the stemmed glass by the base and slowly swirled his wine. “I’m afraid not.” He shook his head, frowning. “I spent six hours hunting through the future streams this morning. Once in a while, I could feel myself drawing close to Duncan, especially when I focused on some of the warriors with whom he has served in recent decades, all Militia Warriors: Owen, Joshua and Alex. But just as I was making progress and could sense Duncan wasn’t far away, I lost all of them. And not one of my substantial powers could summon them back.”
Yolanthe leaned forward, frowning. “This is very odd.”
Zander nodded. “I can only draw one conclusion: I’m being blocked by another powerful Seer.”
“But how would that be possible? Our father has the most powerful Seers on Third Earth bound in his Seers Fortress in Chicago Three.”
“I had the same thought. But I’m reporting what I’ve experienced and I’m telling you a Third Earth Seer is blocking access to your man.”
Her man. Duncan and those green eyes. His hair was thick and to his shoulders. How many times had she imagined sliding her fing
ers through his hair, drifting down to his neck and sinking her nails. With just a few thoughts of him, she felt a profound need to head to her baths, which she would do once she visited her prisoner.
She sipped her chocolate wine and repressed a heavy sigh. She could only conclude her brother had it right for no other reason than Duncan existed. She couldn’t be the only one seeking Rapture’s Edge, so others would know of Duncan as well. But who would this entity possibly be? She wondered if The Prince, who ruled a third of the planet, was also after Rapture’s Edge, but she doubted it. He was far too busy holding off an infinite number of rebellions to be hunting for either Duncan or Rapture’s Edge.
Sipping her wine, she added, “Keep trying, my love.”
“I will. You may trust me in that.”
“I do. All we need is one small opening and I will set my Mexican Three army after him.”
“Even the death vampires?”
“Of course. I will not rest until I have Duncan back under my control.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Change can kiss my ass.
Favorite Sayings – Madame Endelle, Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth Luken smiled as Rachel took tentative steps across the thick glass floor of Jean-Pierre’s ‘sycamore’ room. The glass allowed a view of Oak Creek below, though the room was open to the night sky above.
The forty-foot space was a perfect circle with no windows on the paneled redwood walls. The central tree had an odd horizontal and very low branch jutting from the main trunk, something Jean-Pierre must have trained early on in the tree’s life. A certain amount of gossip had made the rounds about the branch. By the height of it, Luken knew the gossip was probably true.
Poor Fiona. She would blush scarlet for a year if she knew how much their community of warriors and their breh had actually discussed the tree in this room.
Yet something about the space, and the potential use for the branch between a man and his woman, made Luken’s heart tighten. His lips parted and he drew a breath that felt centuries old. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a serious relationship. Maybe never. Havily had been the closest thing in recent centuries. But even then, she’d never truly belonged to him. Long before her breh, Marcus, had come along, he’d asked Havily out repeatedly. But she’d always refused for the simple reason she knew she could never reciprocate his feelings.
