by Caris Roane
She couldn’t help herself. “In a coffin?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious, ascendiate.”
But Alison laughed.
Okay. So that was something she could work on—Kerrick needed to loosen up.
But even as the thought sped through her brain she stopped herself. What was she thinking? Oh, she knew what she was thinking. The vampire next to her was some really awesome boyfriend material. Given the nature of his life right now, how great would it be to lighten him up a little, give him some ease?
Okay, so she was way ahead of herself.
She decided to switch the subject. “Tell me more about Madame Endelle—a name, by the way, that makes me think of a psychic you’d find working her trade in downtown Phoenix, or Sedona, maybe.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re right.” But then he frowned. “Endelle is complicated. The thing is, she’s a real piece of work but I’d give my life for her. She’s the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth and she’s basically sacrificed everything to keep this world in order. She’s been around a very long time, more than nine millennia.”
She whipped back to stare at him. “Nine thousand years?” Her breath caught in her throat and once more she felt dizzy.
“Why not?” he asked. “If I exist, if you exist with all your unbelievable powers, why not immortality?”
“You’re right. Of course.” But she felt like she’d taken a serious blow to the head.
“Her name is interesting. Endelle. She’s also known as She Who Would Live. Both names reflect her birth name. The only person who can pronounce the original version is Thorne. It involves three clicks or something. Every once in a while I’ll hear him let loose with it and think a cricket climbed into his mouth.”
She just looked at him. She knew he meant to distract her with his innocuous explanation of Endelle’s name, but for some reason nine thousand years had sunk her. Her chest folded up a little more.
“You said a decision is involved. So this means I can still choose not to ascend.”
He kept glancing at her, probably debating just how much he should say. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, “Theoretically, you can decline. With your level of power, however, the Commander won’t let you go very easily, if at all.”
“Oh.”
She felt a sudden pressure on her mind. She glanced at Kerrick and knew he wanted inside her head, not just mere telepathic conversation, but that deep kind of mind-engagement he’d talked about earlier.
She didn’t debate long. After all, he ought to know the level of her confusion. Nine thousand years. Vampires. She suddenly felt like she was swimming underwater. Even her hearing seemed distorted, so she let him in.
When he dipped inside her mind, however, it was the strangest sensation, a powerful connection that made her gasp.
He drew out almost as quickly. “Shit,” he murmured. “I know this has been too much but this isn’t exactly my best skill set, so how about we change the subject. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
She looked at him then blinked.
“Are you okay?”
She blinked again. Finally, she said, “What would you like to know?”
He released a small sigh. “Have you lived in Phoenix long?”
“I was born here.”
“Do you have family?”
“Yes, I have a brother and a sister. My sister is married. She recently had a baby and I just found out she’s pregnant again.” She thought back to her conversation with Joy. Only a few hours had passed, not even twelve, yet she felt as though she had just lived an entire lifetime.
“Parents?”
“They’re both doing well. Dad’s a cop and Mom has worked part-time at the Fry’s deli ever since I can remember.”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
“I love books of all kinds. I can’t get enough. I’m hopeless in a bookstore.”
The fatigue of the night seemed to settle into her bones and right now she wished herself out of the whole situation. Unfortunately, if Kerrick was right, it was way too late for regrets.
He glanced at her again. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you rest for a bit while I drive you home? You must be exhausted.”
“I couldn’t. Not after all this.”
“I can help. First, tell me where we’re going.”
She gave straightforward instructions in a flat voice.
They were well along the 51 now, still heading north, almost to the 101. He mentally sent her a powerful sleep suggestion and she grasped it tightly, like she was drowning and he’d just thrown her a life preserver.
She yawned. I like you in my head.
I like being there.
And he was there as he had been a few minutes ago, more than just telepathy, more like a shared presence, at least for a moment. Then he withdrew, leaving a great deal of peace behind. She closed her eyes.
* * *
Crace was living a nightmare. Still, like any good High Administrator, he had gone on the offensive the moment Leto folded back to the war room. Chaos had reigned for the past forty-five minutes. All the generals shouted, and Crace shouted back. Chairs had been knocked around, phones rang, monitors flickered. If someone had folded a gun into the room, shots would have been fired.
The argument had waged for some time now. Fortunately Crace knew how to do verbal battle, how to spin the spin. “You stand there and blame me, General Leto? I gave you a simple assignment. Wait at the Borderland, take out Kerrick then the ascendiate. How hard could that have been? You had twelve death vampires with you. I only left the command center for nine minutes and”—here he used his most powerful voice with seven-split resonance and added telepathy for the entire room—“you fucked it up.”
Several of the officers fell on their knees, holding their heads in their hands. Telepathy coupled with the spoken word was a powerful weapon against lesser minds. Throw in a little preternatural resonance and just about everyone caved. A few moans went around the room. Hands shook. Not Leto’s, though. Jesus, the vampire had power yet he had still failed to take out Warrior Kerrick and the ascendiate.
Leto narrowed his eyes. “I will say it again: Madame Endelle dumped Warrior Kerrick into the Trough right in the middle of the battle. We lost four fucking minutes since we had to float down in the usual way. By the time we reached the alley, Warrior Kerrick had ascendiate Wells in a car, a goddamn car, and into the street, and you know damn well none of us could have dematerialized to a moving vehicle. And mounting wings is illegal. We couldn’t give pursuit and you know it.”
“You should have anyway!” Crace shouted. “And the fuck if I will listen to any more of your excuses.” Leto was right, of course. Once Kerrick took off in the car, the opportunity vanished. No one he knew could fold to a moving vehicle, and vampires in full-mount and in flight on Mortal Earth were easily detected by Central’s fucking grid. Warrior Thorne would have been called, and the bastard would have been within his fucking rights to send a regiment of Militia Warriors after the offender.
Militia Warriors weren’t anywhere near as powerful as the weakest death vampire, but enough of them could get the job done. On top of that, COPASS would have been required to prosecute the Commander despite how much control Greaves had over the Committee. Given time, he would have more control, but for now, what a shitfest.
Still, Leto pressed his point. “All we needed was the same boost to Mortal Earth and we would have had her.” His face darkened and his voice altered as he employed the same dangerous shouting-combined-with-telepathy Crace had. “And I’ll ask again, where the hell were you?”
Crace’s knees buckled—so, yeah, Leto had power—but he didn’t fall. More groans erupted throughout the war room. The only problem Crace had now was his inability to hear out of his right ear. His head throbbed.
However, this situation, and his nine minutes with his wife, would not sit well with the Commander. He was merely fronting in a room loaded with test
osterone, something he had to do to save his ass. Greaves was a different story. His bowels turned to water at the thought of facing him.
“General Leto,” a familiar velvet-on-steel voice intruded. The Commander was back from wherever the hell he’d been in his ongoing efforts to turn High Administrators. “You are too hard on our visitor. He did his best, I am sure. I beg you will apologize to High Administrator Crace. At once.”
Leto bowed quickly from the waist. “I apologize, Mr. High Administrator.”
“Good. We must all be friends for the Coming Order. Leto, continue if you will to monitor the dispatches from my discretionary network. I will confer with you later.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Crace, come with me.”
Crace squared his shoulders then moved quickly to follow the Commander from the War Room. Thank God his deity didn’t speak because he still wasn’t hearing properly out of his right ear, which was the ear facing the Commander. He reached out with his senses, probing Greaves’s feelings ever so lightly. Nothing returned to him. Usually he could read any individual’s state of being with a mere whisper of a thought, but the man beside him was a walking piece of steel … emotionally.
Once inside the Commander’s office, Crace stood before the desk while Greaves once more took up his seat behind the ebony battleship. He smiled at Crace, his eyes cold. “You have always enjoyed your wife, have you not?”
Crace nodded. So the Commander knew. Jesus, how did he know?
“I do not suffer fools lightly.”
“Of course not.”
“You celebrated a little too early.”
He nodded. “Yes, Commander.”
“I will need you to sign a breach-of-promise form as well as a disclaimer against your life should anything befall you in the next few days. You will remain in Phoenix Two, of course.”
“Of course, Commander.” He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for a second chance. He’d been so foolish, yet his wife had called and said such things to him. She had shared his euphoria over the coming offer of a seat at the Round Table. Perhaps he could explain how his wife had seduced him. He dismissed the idea as ridiculous. He knew the Commander’s temper extremely well. Any passing-of-the-buck would result in his nuts being held in a very tight grasp.
So … he waited.
“You have disappointed me, Crace.”
“Yes, Commander.” The fewer the words spoken, the better.
Greaves nodded. “I want you to contact COPASS. Set up a meeting with Harding. We will have need of the Committee’s support in the coming hours. Harding will be desirous of a mortal female at this time. Provide one for him. Help him to understand our needs.”
“Yes, Commander.” The Committee. Of course. The word among the High Administrators who had joined Greaves’s coalition was that the Commander had taken pains to work his magic with the various Committee members. To his knowledge, almost a third of them were now addicted to dying blood and making use of the antidote, that little concoction of Greaves’s that prevented the acquiring of death vampire traits, especially the faint bluing of the skin. With more and more of the Committee under Greaves’s thumb—including the chair, Daniel Harding—the Commander frequently had Endelle’s legal complaints delayed and at times her court verdicts overturned. Harding’s conversion had been a profound triumph for the Commander and in Crace’s opinion the signal that the war had turned permanently in Greaves’s direction. It wouldn’t be much longer before the balance on all fronts would force Endelle’s administration to collapse.
“As for our little project,” the Commander said, “I want you to send a regiment to Carefree. You are familiar with what is there?”
A test. At least this one he could pass. “The ascendiate’s private residence.” He rattled off all the details he had memorized from the satellite photos until the Commander lifted a hand. Crace shut his vocal cords down with a quick snap of his jaws.
“Good. I have had word from my Seers Fortress in Singapore that the ascendiate will be in Carefree sometime within the next twenty-four hours. Have General Leto monitor the grid in the war room for the ascendiate’s signature. See to the destruction of both Warrior Kerrick and the ascendiate. And remember, we have one significant advantage—Warrior Kerrick cannot dematerialize. Do not hesitate to use the big guns. Get them both this time. Take the house down to rubble if you have to. I need this done. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master.”
Crace admired his deity very much. An entire regiment was forbidden on Mortal Earth, which meant the Commander was relying on present influence with the Committee to get around these details.
His shoulders eased and he no longer felt like puking. A regiment would get the job done, which then explained the need to consult with Harding. The chair ought to be warned about what was going down.
Of course it occurred to him that the Commander, by using Crace, removed himself from any culpability in the matter. He didn’t mind being cast as the fall guy because in this case, he knew he could get out of any situation he desired.
“You may go.”
Crace did not wait. He bowed, turned on his heel, then strode as confidently from the room as he could. Once outside, with the door shut, the shaking started. Yes, the plan was excellent but the other matter! The disclaimer! Shit.
How quietly, how calmly the Commander made his threats. A disclaimer was essentially a suicide note. If anything went wrong, and Crace got offed, the Commander would simply offer the signed disclaimer to the Committee and the matter would be dropped.
Struggling to even breathe, he folded to his suite. The honor of being situated so close to Greaves’s quarters now took on an entirely different meaning.
Okay. Get a grip. All is not lost.
He would set his strategy then return to the war room to deliver his next set of orders to the generals. Afterward, he would tend to the chairman of COPASS.
He and Harding had always gotten along, quite well. Although he confessed he’d been shocked when he’d learned that Harding had for at least a year been in the habit of drinking dying blood. But he was also intrigued. As a hedonist, Crace had always wondered what the experience would feel like.
As he considered the Commander’s new plan, hope resurfaced. Even a Warrior of the Blood was no match for a regiment and a rocket launcher. This he could do and no screwups. He no longer worried about a seat at the Round Table. How inconsequential that seemed compared with the preservation of his own sweet neck.
The odd thought rippled through his head, How many times has a man fucked up his life because of a need to ejaculate?
Surrender requires trust,
Then more trust.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 11
Kerrick gripped the steering wheel hard and focused on the freeway. He drew a deep breath and tried to calm the hell down. The sloth inherent in Alison’s Nova wasn’t helping at all.
He had effected a very superficial pathway to sleep. He would need to use his hand in order to take Alison the rest of the way, but so help him if he made skin-to-skin contact one more time he didn’t think he could be responsible for the outcome.
Despite the fact he’d controlled himself, his body roared with need for her, to make her his own, to stake his claim so thoroughly that every other immortal on Second would know she was off limits. Thank God it was dark. He was hard as a rock and had been since she’d parted her lips and he’d pushed his tongue into her mouth.
He cursed the breh-hedden then shifted his focus back to what she needed. He breathed again.
With one eye on the freeway, he overlaid her forehead with his hand. He sent the image of sleep past the first layer of her mind. Once again the power of her shields stunned him, but he kept working her mind until all resistance faltered. He pressed deeper and deeper until she released a heavy sigh and her head rolled to one side.
This was surely one of the most difficult experiences he’
d ever known, wanting to touch this woman yet holding back, sort of like trying not to sneeze while inhaling black pepper. She was so beautiful and he could still taste the kiss and feel her body pressed up against his, the pleasure of suckling her breast. His veins hummed with the memory.
And her scent. The car smelled as if the lavender she shed had become locked onto every surface of the vehicle.
Of course, it wasn’t helping to relive what had just happened, so he focused on just breathing, air in, air out.
Once in Carefree and parked on her crushed-granite driveway, he carried her into her house, past the living room and kitchen, all the way to the back of the house to what he supposed was the family room. He stretched her out on the couch then flipped on the lamp near the bookshelves. He stared at hundreds of books and yet again time stopped. Hemingway, Kingsolver, García Márquez. She had said she loved books. So she did and he had a library most mortals could only dream about, so many first editions because, well, he’d been collecting over a long period of time.
Great. Something in common. A shared passion.
He looked down at her. The breh pressured him, spikes in his chest. This woman was meant for him, designed for him, and he for her. She wouldn’t hurt him with the power she released when she became aroused. He knew it in his bones.
The thought of her power coming at him while fully engaged … he weaved on his feet.
Shit.
He so didn’t need this.
He turned his attention to the rest of the house. He walked through each room, created a mist around the outside of the house.
Christ. If the Commander wanted her, what could stop him?
He doubled the mist.
He continued patrolling. He wasn’t sure he’d done the wisest thing bringing her to Carefree. But then where exactly would she be safe given that her signature was strong enough to appear on the grid? Greaves could easily assign one of his minions to search localities until either of their signatures was located.
He felt confident, however, that he could handle any number of death vamp squads that showed up and he could always call his brothers for backup.
