by Laura Hall
“No fucking way, Fiona,” he snapped. “We’ll go in full-strength, with the whole pack, Connor’s nest, and an army of mages.”
I laughed shrilly. “They’re ciphers.”
“Just because we can’t turn them doesn’t mean our claws can’t eviscerate them,” he countered darkly. “Or that vampires can’t rip their throats out. Or that gun-toting mages can’t blow holes in their heads.”
My hysteria calmed a little. “Good point.”
Declan’s expression froze, gaze going distant. Then he gave himself a shake and said, “That was Connor. You have a phone call in the library.”
His tone lifted the fine hairs on my neck.
“Who?” I asked.
“Delilah.”
I made it to the familiar hallway in half the time it had taken me to get outside. In the library, Adam and Mal stood near the blazing fireplace. Connor stood before the windows, his back to me. The mages turned as I crossed the threshold, but the Prime maintained his vigil.
“Where’s the phone?” I asked shortly.
Connor held out a hand, displaying a slim black cell phone. I hobbled across the room, grounding my charge as I went, but as I reached for the phone his cool fingers gripped my wrist. Glimmering green eyes met mine, his aura flashing behind him like shadowy wings.
Evidently, my power-promotion had negated any further need to shield me from his true presence. For a few moments, I just stared, struck dumb by his power.
“Your suspicions are correct,” he said severely, jolting me from my daze. “Your father discovered evidence that the Liberati know of your talent.”
I swallowed. “How did they find out?”
“It could have happened anytime. An accidental spark in public witnessed by the wrong person. Since we found out, you’ve had a protective detail in Los Angeles. And when your father didn’t arrive at the compound as planned, we came immediately to retrieve you.”
I didn’t react to the bodyguard statement, either beyond denial or numb from too much input. “And the electric chair? Was I right about that, too?”
He nodded shortly. “The photograph you saw was from a Liberati lab the FBI raided in Arizona, some six months ago. It seems they’re using the fundamentals of the electric chair to develop a method of extracting power. Ether, they call it. The ultimate catalyst, the unseen force that fuels all supernatural ability. Experts have determined that, yes, it’s plausible that if you were to channel lightning while strapped to such a device, you could charge highly advanced alchemical weapons.”
I glanced across the room at Mal, Adam, and Declan, taking in their dark expressions. I tried to think of a joke, but my usual defense mechanism was broken. The weight of everything I’d learned pressed heavily on my shoulders, shortening my breath.
“I won’t let them have you,” said Connor with quiet intensity.
I looked at his strong fingers, encompassing the whole of my wrist and impervious to the buzz of electricity at the connection. Then I met his heated gaze. He wasn’t even attempting propriety—the message in the green depths was deeply possessive, carnally charged, and damningly dominant.
The world tilted a little.
“Connor,” said Adam softly.
The grip on my wrist vanished, leaving an echo of emptiness and a waiting cell phone. My hand shook as I lifted the phone to my ear.
Then I remembered who was on the line, and anger stilled my quaking.
“Hello?” I snapped.
“Fiona,” said the woman who’d given birth to me. “I know you likely want nothing to do with me—”
“Exactly right. Get to the point.”
A sigh passed through the line. “Every action has a result, and each result catalyzes new actions. Choices. I don’t expect you to understand.”
I saw red. “You have five seconds before I hang up.”
“You can’t sense your father because I’m withholding him from you.”
My winter coat began smoking. The phone hissed ominously as it, too, heated. “Where is he?” I snarled. “Tell me right now, or so help me God, I will hunt you down. Can you survive a lightning bolt, Delilah?”
There was a beat of silence, then, “He’s hurt. In incredible pain. He wouldn’t want you to see him—feel him—that way.”
I totally fucking lost it.
“How do you know the first thing about what he wants!” I hollered. “You selfish, conniving, heartless bitch! Tell me where he is!”
“No!” she yelled in anguish. “You will not sacrifice yourself. I won’t allow it. Please, Fiona, just listen! There are forces at work you don’t understand. There’s a war going on. Listen to Connor, let him protect you.”
Something inside me snapped. Literally.
My vision whitened as a wave of glistening power unfolded from the epicenter of my body. The phone short-circuited.
Voices cried out.
Mal shouted my name.
Arms wrapped around me and everything blurred. Glass shattered. The sky loomed, then streaked into an amorphous white sea.
Connor finally stopped, deep in the forest. He released me, stumbling back and falling to one knee. His shirt was a scorched mess, blistered skin visible on his exposed chest. Black eyes met mine, fangs glistening mutedly behind his lips.
“Let it out, Fiona. Let it go.”
My clothing hung in ragged, steaming strips from my body, but I didn’t feel the cold. I didn’t feel anything but chaos, sharp-clawed and raging. My spine bowed as the charge inside me built, and built, brighter and stronger than ever before.
Alisande had been right. My powers were linked. One had crippled the other. Now one freed the other.
“Give it to the sky, Fiona!”
I threw my arms up, but it wasn’t lightning that erupted, nor did it come solely from my hands. It was more, tearing from every cell, emulsifying my body until I lost all sense of physical space. There was only searing heat. Blinding light. A deafening roar.
I became plasma. Primordial elixir. Universal catalyst of molecular change.
Then it stopped.
Overhead, the sky boiled with black clouds and flickers of electricity. I saw it for a moment only before I collapsed, naked and sobbing, to the forest floor.
He was there—I knew, somehow, he would always be there—and he murmured, “Hush, it’s all right.”
I wavered on the edge of consciousness. “Did I hurt anyone?” I whispered.
His hand stroked the hair from my face; cool lips pressed to my brow. “No, mo spréach. And I’m certain that won’t happen again. Your Ascension is complete.”
“Worth the risk?” I breathed.
“Always.”
As I dreamed, I knew it was my own.
I knew the hard body pressed to mine was a figment. That his touch wasn’t real. His tongue in my greedy mouth, tracing my breasts and dipping lower, wasn’t real. His strong fingers on my hips, his head between my legs.
Not real.
His supple skin beneath my questing hands, the ridges and plains of his abdomen, his heavy arousal. The clean, cool scent of him imprinting me. My name, whispered against my ear.
Not real.
The blinding pleasure of penetration. His guttural cry and my answering one. The ecstasy of being claimed. Marked. Treasured.
None of it was real.
But damn, it was a good dream.
Nineteen
I was on the cover of The Seattle Times. It wasn’t the greatest picture, but at least I hadn’t been caught picking my nose. In fact, I barely recognized myself as the glamorous creature in couture. Next to me stood Declan, looking dapper in his tux, his piercing, pale eyes fixed on some distant point.
My own expression couldn’t be mistaken for anything as collected. I was staring right at the camera looking terrified.
“It’s not that bad,” said Tabby.
I grunted, scanning the headline again. New Supernatural Species! The article went on to discuss eyewitness reports
of my arms lighting up. Being a newspaper, they did a shameless background check and poured out my personal details to the public. My bartending job, family situation, even my long ago degree from UC Berkeley.
Wrapping up the article was a brief paragraph speculating on the Prime’s and my relationship and a potential love triangle with Samantha as the third spoke.
The gossip rags weren’t nearly as tasteful.
Seated next to me on the couch in the library, a pile of trashy magazines in her lap, Tabby made a choking noise and quickly shuffled her stack.
“Give it here,” I said grimly.
“It’s stupid,” she said quickly. “You don’t—”
I let sparks dance between my outstretched fingers. She rolled her eyes and tossed me the magazine. Samantha was on the cover, looking gorgeous in a cream gown, an emblazoned title above her: Former Lover of Prime Tells All.
My mouth dropped open as I glanced at Tabby. “Former?”
She nodded, grinning broadly. “Yesterday morning. It was glorious. Well, the aftermath was. Samantha stormed through the hall like a weretiger on a rampage, complete with snarling and hissing. She broke the front doors on her way out. I’ll say this for the bitch, she packs a wallop.”
My stomach was doing backflips. I rubbed it as I opened the magazine to the center spread. As I read, the flips evolved into nosedives.
“She . . .” I shook my head, looking up at the halfway point in the article. “She’s so full of shit. I’ve never even seen her shoe collection. And I do not walk around in my underwear!”
Tabby smirked. “It’s all bullshit. She probably did it for the money. Women like Samantha, they’re never heartbroken, just ego-bruised.” She inspected the hot pink manicure on her left hand. “You know, she never actually stayed the night at the compound. She was just a pressure-reliever for Connor, one in a line of many.”
I scrunched my nose. “Ew. Why are you telling me this?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb.”
“There’s nothing going on between us.”
If Tabby’s eyes narrowed any further, they’d be crossed. I sighed. “Okay, there’s chemistry, and the fact he’s the only person who can touch me. But I’m not about to throw myself on the tracks before that train.”
“Why the hell not?” she cried, blue eyes going comically round. “Are you blind or something? Good Lord, I’d jump Connor Thorne in a hot second!”
I grimaced. “It’s not that simple. I know it’s a dying ideal, but I’d rather not sleep with someone I don’t have feelings for.”
Or someone who was waiting for the return of his one true love, but I figured that information wasn’t for public consumption.
“You’re nuts,” she countered firmly.
I smiled. “That about sums it up.”
She grumbled something under her breath about delusions, which I ignored, and we spent another twenty minutes reading outrageous lies and conjecture about who I was, what I could and couldn’t do, and whether or not I had home-wrecked Connor and Samantha.
After tossing her final magazine to the floor, Tabby stretched and yawned. “What’s Declan doing?”
I glared, but she just smiled sweetly. Sighing in defeat, I closed my eyes and focused on the Alpha. “Working on the training room wall.”
Tabby whistled as she stood. “Remind me to stay on your good side. Same time and place tomorrow? You should ask Connor to put a television in here. We can watch movies. I’ll bring nail polish. Can you wear nail polish?”
As I was quickly learning, the best response to Tabby’s monologues was smiling and nodding. I did both and she grinned.
“Great. See you tomorrow, sparky.”
When the library door closed behind her, I dropped my magazine and stretched out on the couch. Late afternoon shadows danced on the ceiling as clouds ran from the winter sun.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my dad.
Nothing.
With the exceptions of my dad and Delilah—who, after our heart-to-heart, had blocked her location as well—I’d discovered that all I had to do was think of someone to know where they were and what they were doing. Mostly it was like flipping television channels from one boring reality show to the next.
The minimal, voyeuristic enjoyment of spying on people faded quickly, then died a fiery death when I saw something I couldn’t unsee. I’d never look at Adam or the Sapphire Mage named Molly the same way again.
My range, I’d learned, was also limited by memory. I couldn’t find Liberati-Bald-Guy because a certain level of physical detail was required. No doubt I’d recognize him if I saw him again, but I couldn’t recall enough specifics to get a read on his location. My only lead was Rosie, who I checked in on every few hours. She was still driving.
Where are you going, Rosie?
As much as I wanted to believe she was innocent, I was beginning to see her in a new light. For one, she’d dyed her brown hair blond, and instead of her usual pants and blouses, was now rocking flirty skirts and tank tops. If she was working for the Liberati, I hoped she was driving straight to Bald Guy. Or straight off a cliff.
I had yet to revisit the future. Given my apparent proclivity for thrashing and screaming, I wasn’t looking forward to another episode. Moreover, when I’d read the transcripts from my ravings, none of them had made a lick of sense.
My favorite Cassandra-moment of the bunch was, “Watch clock ticking time, four pulses mine.” I’d repeated that delightful phrase thirty-seven times.
The rest of it was like that, too. Gibberish.
My dreams, on the other hand, were unusually vivid. I rarely recalled details upon waking, except for the strange sensation of having experienced something that hadn’t happened yet. Only one dream stayed with me—the only one I was positive was of my own making.
And speaking of the devil . . .
Dark, radiant power grazed my senses, vibrating against my skin and quickening my pulse. I wondered, not for the first time, if he knew his power manifested visibly as wings, black and embellished with winking starlight. I didn’t think so.
Nor was there anyone who could corroborate my story, as I was the only one who could see the effect. His was the first visible vampiric aura I’d encountered; like shifters, until now I’d based a vampire’s strength on how hard of a punch their presence landed on my senses.
Connor Thorne was clearly in his own weight class.
Twenty
“May I join you?”
I kept my eyes closed. “It’s your library.”
I heard him pour a drink and carry it to the newly repaired windows. When I’d seen the damage this morning, and the three-story drop he’d made with me in his arms, the shadow-wings of his aura had made a lot more sense.
“How was your day?” he asked mildly.
Opening my eyes a sliver, I stared at his back, straight as a rod and just as stiff. Though I’d seen him several times today, neither of us had mentioned yesterday’s incident. On my end, I was avoiding thinking about how he’d held me, naked and semi-conscious, until Declan had brought out a blanket.
“Informative,” I said. “Apparently, a source close to the Western Prime told the press I’m a new breed of supernatural. They’re calling me an Elemental.”
“Hmm.”
I propped myself on my elbows. “Your doing?”
He turned his head, presenting his profile and a slight smile. “Maybe. Do you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
He lifted his glass in a mock-salute before draining its contents. I watched him stride across the room and refill it and wondered idly how much he would have to drink to get drunk.
“I can’t become inebriated.”
“I was really hoping my leap up the power scale would fix that.” When he said nothing, I added, “Is there a way to block you out?”
He turned with an eyebrow raised. “I assure you, since you told me so pointedly to ‘get out of your head,’ I haven’t been anywh
ere near it. Perhaps if you stop thinking so loudly.”
I settled back into a supine position, elevating my healing ankle on the arm of the couch. Eyeing him, I thought about Samantha.
“What am I thinking right now?”
His eyes narrowed. “Nothing that bears mention.”
“Right, sorry.”
Feeling duly chastised, I played with the hem of my sweater. Connor settled in an armchair, his head dropping back wearily. The glass of brandy rested precariously atop one knee. He looked defeated, which sent all thoughts of Samantha flying.
Sitting upright, I asked carefully, “Has something happened?”
He spoke with his eyes still closed, “The FBI found another lab, this time in Oklahoma. They managed to capture one of the Liberati, but he committed suicide before he could be questioned. Cyanide capsule.”
“Dammit.”
His eyes opened to half-mast. “Did you know that in spite of popular opinion, as a Prime I’m not allowed to directly interfere with FBI investigations?” I processed that, and finally shook my head. “It’s true. Yet if I had been there, I could have dissected that man’s memories in moments. No need for questioning.”
“What about his cipher defenses?”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “I have my ways.”
I had a feeling his ways included draining the man of blood. To confirm, I asked, “What would the process have done to him?”
His eyes opened fully, chilling in their blankness. “Killed him, of course. Which is what happened anyway. Only without my interference, he gave us nothing but a corpse.”
“You should have done it,” I said without hesitation.
His lips twitched. “Anarchistic tendencies, Fiona? I never would have guessed.”
I shook my head in confusion. “I don’t get it. How do you—a being with unfathomable power—subject yourself to stupid rules like that?”
“I don’t believe you think laws are stupid, or shouldn’t apply to me. What I think you’re asking me is how, after so many years of life, I have retained my humanity.”
