The Darkening (Dawn of Ascension)

by Caris Roane

  Samuel reached down deep and once more let the darkness come. As the bastards landed in the dirt, all fresh and ready to go, he added, “Bring it, assholes.”

  Santiago offered him a smile, full of white teeth. He looked back at the first beautiful death vampire and jerked a thumb in Samuel’s direction. “What mi hermano said.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Vela Stillwell sat straight up in bed and planted a palm between sweat-slickened breasts.

  A nightmare that wasn’t a nightmare.

  She set a stream of curses rippling the air and leaving behind tiny little fireworks—one of her more exalted powers that she kept hidden. Normally, the sparkling lights made her smile, but right now she was pissed as hell.

  She didn’t want this, more power than she’d ever asked to have and a connection to another Militia Warrior.

  She didn’t know the man in her dreams, but he had a darkness about him that both frightened her and left her feeling weak in a womanish way, like she wanted to be with him, wanted to be under him.

  The vision, or whatever it was, had taken place in the desert and the warrior had been battling out at the Superstitions. He’d helped out a Warrior of the Blood, the super-sexy Santiago that had half the women at HQ racing to the workout center whenever it was known he would be running sword drills with the Thunder God Warriors.

  Vela avoided the workout center.

  The last thing she wanted was to hook up with another warrior. She’d loved and lost a man of the sword and she couldn’t go through it again. So, when the women at lunch got to talking about who looked particularly hot in a battle kilt these days, she’d usually make an excuse and head back to her desk early, on the opposite side of the building, where she worked crunching numbers, paying invoices, and reviewing purchase orders.

  She’d been widowed five years now, but it still felt like yesterday since Jeff was killed in the line of duty, while battling death vampires at the Awatukee Borderland.

  Waking up, therefore, with weird dreams about a warrior she didn’t know, but who appealed to her in an erotic, primal way, chapped her hide especially since today would be her last day at HQ.

  She’d finally decided to leave the Apache Junction Two compound so she wouldn’t have to be around the whole Militia Warrior camp. She wanted a fresh start and next week she’d take up her new job as a counselor at the rehab center where she’d be working with Fiona, Warrior Jean-Pierre’s mated breh, helping to rehabilitate former blood slaves.

  She checked her bedroom clock. It was already half past five. She got up and worked out for an hour, something she’d done since Jeff died. The exertion kept her sane.

  She dressed in her usual dark slacks, light blue silk blouse, and low heels. She let her unruly, and very thick, long blond hair flow free, ignoring all the errant curls, letting the uncontrolled mass be a sign of the change to come, that after today she’d begin a new, less restricted life.

  She folded to the HQ landing platforms, on time as usual, and went to work, sitting in her office and processing purchase orders for all kinds of weaponry, uniforms, and electronic equipment. Over the past several weeks, the latter had become an almost constant stream of acquisitions for Warrior Thorne, the Supreme High Commander of the Allied Ascender Forces. He’d set up a working HQ, a Command Center, at Madame Endelle’s palace during the time preceding the battle at White Lake that saw Greaves’s defeat, and he’d continued building up his operations since.

  Now, apparently, he had a new set of problems.

  Vela always got a headache thinking about the turn in the war. What had begun as a great victory and celebrated throughout the world as a resounding defeat had already taken on the shape of a nightmare. Three of Greaves’s generals, as a contingency plan to his failure to win his mano-a-mano battle against Madame Endelle, had essentially taken their master’s army, hiding over three-hundred-thousand troops each, which added up to almost a million warriors, and had subsequently begun launching guerilla-like attacks against Thorne’s AAF.

  The body count among the Thunder God Warriors had hit numbers that forced her to avoid certain websites and newsfeeds.

  She couldn’t get away from all of this chaos soon enough.

  She glanced at her computer and saw that it was now ten-after-five. She was officially done and could say adios to HQ forever.

  Yes, a new life awaited her and she chomped at the bit to get started.

  Of course, she only had three purchase orders left to process, and since she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the task undone, she kept working. What was twenty more minutes?

  But as she prepared to print-out a hard copy of a particularly troublesome document, she heard a familiar group-giggling sound and she smiled.

  Her time was up.

  “Shut it down, Ascender Vela. You no longer work here.”

  She looked up and saw her three closest friends, looking young and chic, grouped in her doorway. She loved her world that at least two of her friends were over a hundred but didn’t look a day past thirty. Sweet.

  As she did a double-take, she realized each wore a silly grin.

  Suspicion set in.

  “All right, what’s going on?” she called out. She closed the last file and signed off. Despite that her friends were clearly up to something, a deep sigh of relief left her. Her tour of duty at Militia Warrior HQ was officially over.

  She stood up and grabbed her purse.

  “Well, we’re definitely taking you out for drinks,” Donna said. “But first, have we got a surprise for you.”

  “Really?” She grinned. “I hope it involves a cake with that really bad-for-you, sugary-white frosting, because I’m in.”

  When she reached the door, Bev and Chris flanked her left side, and Donna, who shared HQ grid-work with Bev, took her right.

  “This has nothing to do with that kind of cake,” Donna said. “But it is cake, if you get my drift.”

  “As in beefcake,” Chris drawled.

  Vela stalled out and couldn’t make her feet move. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to the workout center.” Anything but that.

  “Oh, yes we are,” Bev said. “We’ve heard it on the grapevine that someone special is being brought in, a warrior we’ve been hearing rumors about for the past several months but have never seen. He’s the one Duncan helped rescue from that weird prison cell in Honduras Two, where he’d been tortured.” She lowered her voice. “Apparently, he did something last night out at the Superstition Borderland that has all the What-Bees in an uproar. For one thing, he really pissed off Warrior Luken and you know how good-natured he is.”

  Vela started getting that really bad feeling that Bev’s description matched the man from her nightmare and her heart rate cranked up a notch. What if this was him? What if she walked into the workout center and there he was? Wouldn’t it mean something? Wouldn’t the preternatural nature of the situation demand that she do something?

  Her heart sank. She didn’t want a connection with another warrior, not any kind of connection.

  “Please, can’t we skip this? In fact, why don’t we all go out to dinner? I have a friend who works at the White Lake Resort Colony. I’m sure I can get us into any number of restaurants over there.”

  “Hell, no,” Donna said, as Chris and Bev nudged her along. “Before you leave HQ permanently, we want you to enjoy a bit of eye-candy, because, girl, locked away in the rehab center, you’re going to die of man-starvation. At least here at HQ, you get to see Militia Warriors coming and going, but there? You’ll be lucky to see a man once a decade.”

  Which was exactly what she wanted.

  She took a deep breath. “Fine.” She only had to get through the next half hour or so then she’d never be back here, never be tempted by something she really, really, didn’t want in her life.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Samuel woke up from the night’s battling with an urgent message from Carla, who worked the daytime shift at Central, to get
his ass over to the workout center. Essentially the higher ups had their panties in a wad about what went down at the Superstitions last night and wanted to chat with him.

  And Endelle would be there.

  Which of course meant that Thorne would be on deck as well.

  Yeah, he was pretty much screwed.

  Shit.

  He shaved and showered as fast as he could, but he ached from head-to-foot. Releasing the dark power had forced him to work a whole bunch of muscles he swore he’d never used before. Even his speedy vampire healing had taken its sweet time fixing things up.

  Santiago met him at the landing platforms, a smirk on his lips.

  “Why the workout center?” Samuel knew that crowds often gathered to watch Jean-Pierre train the Militia Warriors who had emerging powers. He so didn’t want to be there, on display. Jesus.

  But Santiago slung his arm around Samuel’s neck, squeezed, then laughed at him. “Thorne wants a demonstration. Besides, that much power, hermano? We need you on board and Thorne will have your cojones if you don’t join up.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Si. Mucho fuck.”

  This time, Samuel laughed. He took long strides and Santiago joined him. They both wore flight battle gear, getting ready to head out for the night. He also knew that Santiago often stopped off at the Blood and Bite first, meeting up with the What-Bees before a night of battle. Hell, he might even head there himself. After facing off with Thorne, he’d probably need a drink afterward and definitely some action in the red velvet booths.

  As he reached the doorway of the workout center, Luken waved him over. The leader of the What-Bees stood with Thorne, Madame Endelle, and Jean-Pierre.

  But if that wasn’t bad enough, a combination of civilians and warriors now packed all four risers that ran the length of the west wall. He’d never been to the center himself during office hours, but he’d heard tales that once Warrior Jean-Pierre had started working with the Militia Warriors, some of the civilian staff at HQ, and an equal number of warriors took time out to watch the training sessions. “Are there usually this many people at the workouts?”

  “No, hermano. This is all for you.”

  “Shit.” So the rumors had been rolling. Great.

  Neither Colonel Seriffe nor Gideon were present since their current joint duties included running mass Militia Warrior training exercises in North Africa. Extensive surveillance had delivered up the strong possibility that one of Greaves’s generals had a base of operations out there.

  Luken’s grim expression didn’t help. The brother generally had a calm disposition. But not right now.

  Thorne glared at Samuel, his arms crossed over his chest. Though he spent most of his time at the palace Command Center, he still wore flight battle gear.

  Jean-Pierre ground his molars and didn’t make eye contact.

  Endelle stared at him with raised brows, clearly more curious than pissed. She wore a typical, off-the-rails outfit, this time with some kind of sheer tunic that hung to her knees, covered on top by a massive necklace around her throat that descended almost to her waist, made up of hundreds of small spiral white seashells. Snug leopard pants showed through the tunic. Her black stiletto boots gave her several inches on Thorne. And to top it off, literally, she wore a crown made up of electric-blue, bird feathers and some kind of fuzzy yellow thing in the middle. Vintage, Endelle. She looked perpetually ready for mardis gras.

  But as he passed by the risers, his steps slowed. A funny kind of scent wafted in his direction, very light and floral, even sweet. Perfume, maybe. And somewhere in the back of his head he knew that scent, as though nothing more important existed. He might even have stopped but the fragrance faded so he continued his march.

  Given the audience, he hoped Luken intended to take the conversation to the conference room, but the moment he drew within fifteen feet, Thorne started in. “What the hell have you got to say for yourself, warrior, that you would hold back this kind of power, when you know how desperately we need Warrior of the Blood capacity right now? Santiago gave a full report before turning in early this morning. What the fuck?”

  “The power I have,” Samuel stated as forcefully as he could, “isn’t stable. When it first emerged, it killed several innocent men, slaves I think. And I only allowed it out last night because it was either that, or watch those pretty-boys swamp Santiago.” He frowned. “And despite the fact that I felt in control, which is something I freely admit, I also know that there’s an uncontrollable side to whatever the hell this is. I don’t want anybody else dead because of it. And that’s the goddamn truth!”

  Thorne rubbed a hand over his brow. “Okay, that’s reasonable answer. But, shit, we need you.”

  “I know that,” he said quietly.

  “When did this power emerge?” Endelle asked.

  His gaze shifted away from her, away from all of them. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember. He took a deep breath. “While I was hanging from ropes in that prison cell in Honduras Two. That’s one reason I’ve never trusted this power. It’s dark, it came from my hatred of my torturers.”

  Endelle shook her head a couple of times. “Listen up, warrior.” She angled her thumb toward Jean-Pierre. “You need to put yourself in JP’s hands, and start trusting some of the What-Bees, that maybe they’d be able to handle this dark-ass power of yours and help you gain control of the rest of it.”

  He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she shushed him. “Ch-ch-ch! Not a word, asshole. You’ve been holding out and we’re all pissed as hell. We’ve got a full-blown war on our hands and the Borderlands have expanded with activity every goddamn night. So, this isn’t a discussion. You will work with Jean-Pierre and you will like it. Do we understand each other?”

  He nodded. “Yes, Madame Endelle.”

  “Good. Now someone tell him about Duncan. I’m outta here.” She lifted her arm, and much to everyone’s dismay she folded straight out of room, which set the alarms shrieking. Luken already had his phone to his ear and a few seconds later, the alarms shut down. No one folded in or out of Militia HQ, without express permission, except by way of the multiple landing platforms.

  Once his ears stopped ringing, he focused his attention on Luken. “What about Duncan?” The warrior was one of Samuel’s few good friends and had helped him to escape his captivity a year ago.

  Luken met his gaze squarely. “Duncan’s missing. We don’t know where he is, or what happened to him. He disappeared while battling at the New River Borderland two nights ago. There’d been so many teams folding in and out of the space that it took almost twenty-four hours before we concluded he’s now MIA.”

  “What?” Samuel’s chest tightened. “But how the fuck is that possible?” Duncan was an extremely powerful Militia Warrior and one of two dozen who had been working with Jean-Pierre to bring his What-Bee powers on line. In recent weeks, Duncan had confided that he’d been having visions, similar to those Elise Jordan experience, but he’d know more in the coming months.

  Samuel hadn’t seen him in over a week since Duncan’s responsibilities as a Section Leader for the Thunder God Warriors kept him damn busy. Samuel had never been much for socializing in any significant way, preferring battle and clubbing, but he considered Duncan a good friend who had helped keep him sane during the past year, as he adjusted to his return to Militia Warrior service.

  He was just about to ask what he could do to help, when that scent came to him again, this time much stronger, a river of fragrance that started wrapping around him. He even turned in the direction of the risers, though uncertain why.

  He sniffed the air, and drew more of the flowery scent into his nostrils, which in turn invaded his brain. A strange dizziness descended.

  What the hell was that?

  Chapter Two

  Vela’s gaze had narrowed to a fine point that encompassed the warrior from her nightmare who had saved Santiago, the one called Samuel, the one now turned in the direction of
the risers, a furrow between his brows as he scanned the crowd.

  From the time he had passed by the risers, some kind of ascended knowing had possessed her, as though she already knew this man. He looked made for war in battle gear, and whether he realized it or not, he had a Warrior of the Blood thing going on with his black hair long and bound in a leather strap. He had moved like war and grace combined, a lethal fluid stride surrounded by a dark aura, and her body had bloomed for him.

  “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Donna whispered.

  Vela couldn’t respond. She wanted to, she wanted to expound on Donna’s theme, but her vocal chords wouldn’t work.

  The strangest part of all, however, was that she swore she could smell him, that a stream of something warm, male, and wonderfully bitter like dark chocolate, emanated from him.

  The scent filtered through her nostrils and began to drift into other parts of her body. Her thoughts funneled down farther to the warrior as though nothing else in this room existed and when his searching gaze found her, something really strange happened: she heard his thoughts like a soft whisper through her mind, She’s the one. She’s mine.

  She felt naked beneath his gaze, and the stream of his scent thickened as he took several steps toward the risers. Her lips parted and she shifted in her seat like she couldn’t get comfortable. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. Her nipples beaded and pleasure descended very low until her breath hitched and the deepest part of her began long hard pulls on something that wasn’t there, but needed to be there, the sooner the better.

  She felt bathed in pleasure and all she’d done was catch Samuel Daman’s scent and meet his gaze.

  * * * * * * * * *

  You’re mine. Samuel sent the thought again, straight at the woman in the risers, the one with a mass of wild, long blond hair, and large blue eyes.