by Caris Roane
Endelle’s voice broke through Alison’s thoughts. “Do you agree to serve Second Earth with a mind and heart dedicated to service?”
Alison nodded. “I do.”
“Do you agree to abide by the laws of Second Earth, especially as they apply to the limitations of involvement with Mortal Earth?”
“I do.”
“And do you solemnly pledge your loyalty to me, as Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth?”
“I do.”
“You may approach.”
Alison moved forward to stand three feet in front of her.
“Closer,” Endelle commanded.
Alison took two steps to position herself within a foot of her. Endelle folded the large ceremonial book away. She placed her hands on Alison’s face over both cheeks, her fingers spreading to cup her jaws as well. Endelle’s skin felt warm against hers and soon grew warmer.
“I hereby imbue you with Second immortality, all the qualities that will allow for long life and the sharing of blood and potions. May you bring peace to our world.”
As power flowed from Endelle, Alison closed her eyes and parted her lips. She took deep breaths, absorbing the sensations with some difficulty though she wasn’t certain why.
“Dammit, Alison,” Endelle cried. “Release your shields! So damn stubborn. So ridiculously powerful!”
She let go and a warm wave flowed through her body. The sensation was like swimming in tropical waters. She felt covered, surrounded, filled, oddly complete, as though until this moment something unknown had been missing from her life. Her eyes filled with tears.
So this was ascension, the true gift of ascended life, a wonderful ease, a sense of belonging and oneness. Was this what everyone felt?
Every ascension is different. Kerrick had told her that.
She opened her eyes and met Endelle’s gaze. For once, the leader of Second didn’t seem so hardened. Even the wooded appearance of her eyes had softened and she actually smiled. “Congratulations. You have completed your rite of ascension. From this moment forward, should Commander Greaves or any of his minions have the temerity to attack you, any or all will be held accountable under the full weight of the law. I say this to assure you that none of us expect further aggression. With that said, welcome, vampire ascender Wells.”
“Thank you,” Alison responded. She nodded several times. “Thank you.” Her mouth felt strange, her gums achy. Huh. The presence of fangs? Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of what she might do with her fangs and how Kerrick had used his when pleasuring her. Her body responded improperly and she took more deep breaths to compose herself.
“Turn around, ascender Wells, and greet your fellow countrymen.”
She turned slowly, her heart so full she couldn’t speak. The warriors set up a loud applause coupled with whistles and shouts. Havily grinned.
Kerrick smiled his crooked, off-center smile. He nodded and a blast of cardamom hit her square in the chest.
She staggered beneath the blow, but she smiled. She was like him now, truly his equal, and she couldn’t wait to be with him again.
He crossed to her quickly then gathered her into his arms and embraced her. “I didn’t know,” she murmured into his neck. “To think, I might have refused this.” He held her for a good long moment. She could feel the tension in every limb, in the way he held her so tight, a combination of fear and love.
He caught her chin with his fingers and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Welcome to Second.”
When she met his gaze, she got lost, thinking of all they’d been through and all the ways he had made love to her, and should life be even a little fair, all the beautiful centuries they would have together. God willing.
But even then, as the warriors congratulated her, she watched them always checking over their shoulders, gazes shifting about, prowling, always on guard, fists bunching as though preparing any moment to bring swords into their hands.
Doubt ripped through her suddenly.
Would Kerrick and she truly have a life together or were they kidding themselves?
A servant arrived in the doorway and announced that dinner was served. Endelle’s stilettos clicked across the marble as she led the way into the dining hall.
Kerrick offered his arm, and together they fell in behind Her Supremeness.
Alison glanced behind her. Havily had taken Luken’s arm. The rest of the warriors also followed, except two. As she crossed the threshold she had a final glimpse of both Marcus and Santiago standing near the open wall, staring deep into the landscape beyond, hunting, searching. Santiago lifted his gaze to the skies.
She knew what they were searching for—death vamps.
A chill traveled down her spine, gripping her skin in a tight ripple of fear. No matter the assurances, this was her life now that she had ascended.
* * *
Marcus took up last place in line to go into dinner, waiting until Santiago completed his visual sweep of the exterior. His hand itched for his sword. He didn’t like the setup even though Thorne insisted the palace had a state-of-the-art security system. He hated the open walls.
What the hell was Endelle thinking? An attack could come from so many directions, through the various connected rotundas, all of which, by the way, were large enough for death vamps to take to the air.
As the party moved into the dining room, once more he looked up. The ceilings were tall motherfuckers and would allow for anything in flight to climb high then descend at will like a rocket.
The dining room was vast and would no doubt accommodate more than a dozen large round tables for a sit-down dinner of a hundred. So yeah, the space could easily shelter a small war. Especially tonight, with only one table set for the celebration dinner.
In the round. Fuck. He’d be able to see Kerrick easily and the sonofabitch could see him.
He shouldn’t even be here and resented the hell out of the fact that Endelle had insisted. What was the point? Alison had just completed her ascension ceremony. She was safe now—or at least as safe as she would ever be—and he could go back to his life on Mortal Earth, his real life. He ought to just leave but taking off would only piss Her Supremeness off, which was never a good thing. He wasn’t dismissed until she let him go. No questions or complaints allowed.
He avoided eye contact with Kerrick. Ever since they’d gone head-to-head, a silent truce had characterized their subsequent interactions. Of course he had one major distraction on hand, which kept him occupied most of the time anyway … Havily.
She looked incredibly tempting in a simple black dress and somewhat boxy black shoes. All that black coupled with her peachy-red hair, which hung in glossy waves to the center of her back, made him ache.
Thank God she’d gone in just after Alison and Kerrick. Luken had offered his arm and she’d taken it. Night had fallen and somehow her honeysuckle scent had gotten heavier and thicker as the hours wore on. He had a hard-on he just couldn’t seem to get rid of.
As he strolled behind Medichi, he had to admit one damn thing—Havily was his fucking breh. Four thousand years, one wife divorced, two wives buried, and at the dawn of all-hell-is-about-to-break-loose the woman meant for him shows up in the Sonoran Desert Two, looking like heaven and smelling like sin. Never had he been so drawn to a woman, so enthralled by her presence and by her scent. And he knew, he knew, she was equally attracted to him. She was also pissed off about it, since the disdain in her expression when she glanced his way was full of fire and brimstone.
He was a deserter and she despised him.
EOS.
So what the hell did any of it matter? He could give an armadillo’s spleen what she thought of him and the hell he would ever take a breh, a real breh.
Goddammit. He just wished to hell she wasn’t touching Luken. Her hand on his arm made him want to mount his wings, draw his sword, then slice the bastard all to hell.
Shit, he needed to get back to his life, to his numerous corporations, to his empire bu
ilding. He could forget all about the woman if he no longer had to be around sniffing her and throwing wood one minute out of every two. Jesus. Four millennia and he might as well have been sixteen years old again.
As he took a seat two away from Kerrick so he wouldn’t be opposite him, he glanced at Endelle. She sat in a throne-like chair to emphasize her rank. He narrowed his eyes. Had she orchestrated this? All the centuries he’d been battling death vamps on her behalf, since the year 1997 BC, only one other warrior had ever found a true breh. Even Kerrick had admitted Helena hadn’t fallen into that category. Helena hadn’t been powerful enough, which had been one half of the problem, one half of the reason she had died. She hadn’t been able to sense the future, to get herself or her children out of harm’s way.
But those thoughts were a black hole and he wouldn’t go there. Otherwise he’d find some excuse to provoke Kerrick and once more beat the shit out of him, or at least try to.
He sucked in a breath. He just had to wait this evening out, maybe make war tonight if the pretty-boys showed up, then get permission to get the fuck out. He settled his shoulders back and as soon as the wait staff started pouring wine, he started drinking.
After two full glasses, he looked up to find Alison’s gaze on his. Compassion rested in those blue eyes of hers. Jesus H. Christ. So the bastard had told her what happened to Helena. Fuck. She inclined her head then looked away, thank God.
He caught a waiter’s eye, lifted his glass, and watched the white wine climb up the bowl.
He still couldn’t believe the Third Earth powers she’d demonstrated while fighting Leto. Jesus, talk about power. She had all of Second’s abilities, like Endelle on her ascension, plus a few of Third’s. That was one boatload of ability. Hell, maybe she’d stay alive for the bastard.
A nerve on his cheek twitched. He sucked back more of the white wine. So Alison Wells was Kerrick’s breh, when Helena hadn’t been. A flood of expletives sloshed through his head all over again. And Alison was here and now, which meant Kerrick got to be happy, that goddamn motherfucker.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down all over again.
The salad arrived, which he ignored.
He kept drinking, wishing like hell he had Scotch to the rim instead of Sauvignon Blanc.
He felt a bump on his arm. Medichi lowered his head, “Hey. Pass the rolls, asshole.”
Marcus took the damn basket then shoved it at Zach to his left. Unfortunately, somewhere in that movement, his gaze landed on Havily. He would have looked away but she met his gaze head-on. Her cheeks turned pink and a sudden wave of honeysuckle had him swallowing the white wine like he was dying of thirst.
* * *
Havily wished herself gone, long gone.
Being in the same room with Warrior Marcus had become a physical torture, the kind she craved and despised all at the same time.
The lovely beet and walnut salad, which she had been unable to touch, was removed and a savory entrée placed in front of her. But all she could do was pick at the sage and rosemary chicken breast, sautéed green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes. The tastes might have pleased her enormously had it not been for one thing—all she could smell was that ridiculous fennel scent, which now puffed at her in great clouds from across the table. She wished Warrior Marcus would stop doing whatever it was he was doing. Her nose was clogged with his smell, which in turn kept her achy deep into her abdomen.
She stretched her back.
She felt like she was ovulating and now she struggled to breathe. Her breasts were swollen and her bra was way too tight. Luken, who towered over her, could see down the bodice of her dress and his gaze fell there often. He’d had a thing for her over the past few decades, since he’d served as her guardian. She wished she hadn’t sat beside him. He kept leaning close and asking her tender questions. Of course they were tender, he was Luken, the giant with the beautiful heart.
She just wasn’t interested in him, not romantically. She ought to be, though. He was sweet and kind and honorable. But that was always the difficulty with attraction, with love—the choice was not always the most sensible, rational, or realistic.
Not that she was choosing anyone! She wasn’t. She would never choose Warrior Marcus.
She was, however, grateful that after tonight, she wouldn’t be seeing any of the warriors for a good long while. They’d go back to making war, Marcus would undoubtedly return to Mortal Earth, and she would begin rebuilding her architectural rendering of the new military-admin complex.
She cut a slice of chicken, stacked it with a cut green bean, and bathed it in mashed potatoes—the perfect bite. She opened her mouth but all she could smell was fennel. Oh, for God’s sake. She glared at Marcus. Why wouldn’t he stop doing whatever it was he was doing? And why didn’t anyone else complain of the smell, the luscious, erotic fennel he kept casting at her as though he wanted her buried in the stuff.
His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze but he looked away then picked up his wineglass … again.
She had to do something to get her mind off of his absurd scent. She glanced at Santiago, who sat between Jean-Pierre and Medichi. “Anything new on the weapons front?” she asked. He was incredibly handsome in a Latin way, sensual lips, an interesting nose with a few traceable curves. Even his nose was sexy.
He nodded. “A woman after my own corazón. Now, why can’t I meet a woman who will talk metals with me?”
Jean-Pierre elbowed him. “You always bite first and never ask questions later, that’s why.”
“Fuck you, amigo,” Santiago responded.
Jean-Pierre laughed, his long elegant fingers pulling meat off a bone. Jean-Pierre had a faint French accent and very sexy, really beautiful hands.
Havily just shook her head and laughed. How would she ever get a straight answer when the warriors were in a group like this? They always cut one another down, in a friendly way, of course, like brothers.
She gave up on enjoying her dinner, picked up her wineglass, and leaned back in her seat. “Well, what are you working on right now? You always have something on the design table.”
He leaned forward, his brows together. He chewed in his slow measured way. He never seemed to do anything in haste. He showed care and thoroughness, even while eating. “Zach and I keep talking about how we want a weapon halfway between a sword and a dagger. Daggers are good. But I’d like something that throws like a dagger but is more effective, does more damage in a combat situation, something bigger.”
Havily nodded. “What length would work the best, do you think?” It was so the wrong question to ask. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth and she could feel the heat rise on her cheeks even before he answered.
Santiago chuckled, leaned back, then with just a hint of fangs offered his sexiest vampire grin, an easy thing to do with all his beauty. “I have a way to measure that would be perfection,” he said, casting his arms on the back of Jean-Pierre’s chair and Medichi’s to his left. She had no doubt exactly what he was referring to.
She might have drowned in embarrassment if she hadn’t at one time been engaged to a Militia Warrior. Instead she rolled her eyes.
The men guffawed.
“You’re dreaming again,” Jean-Pierre said.
“You’re jealous.”
“Of that?” He glanced at Santiago’s lap. “Bah.”
Havily sipped her wine then shook her head.
Men.
Warriors.
Whatever.
Death comes.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 21
A little after ten o’clock Kerrick held Alison in his arms and moved in a slow circle on one of the smaller rotunda floors in Endelle’s palace. “As Time Goes By” played on a top-of-the-line audio system, a classic song from an old movie he’d seen when it first came out, Casablanca, during Hollywood’s heyday.
He wished he had known Alison then. He would have taken her on a date to a theate
r, maybe even to Mortal Earth for the premiere. He knew she loved old movies. He’d been inside her head.
Endelle had provided a perfect dinner, an excellent celebration for Alison’s ascension, although Her Supremeness had not stayed long. After the dessert course, she had excused herself.
“All right, lame-asses,” she had said. “I’m back to work.”
She had withdrawn to her meditation room, where she mentally followed Greaves all over the planet preventing him from sending death vamps back to his Estrella Mountain compound. Word had it she did this by way of the darkening, that region of nether-space that allowed a person to be two places at once. Kerrick couldn’t begin to imagine either the power or the mental energy required to police the sonofabitch the way she did.
The rest of the warriors, with the exception of Marcus and Luken, were not far, just a few yards away, sitting on the terrace, smoking cigars, laughing, drinking. Marcus sulked by the bar. Luken danced with Havily. He had such a crush on her, poor bastard, but she wasn’t the least bit interested.
As he danced Alison in a slow circle, his gaze fell once more on Thorne. He sat turned away from the others, his phone to his ear—probably talking to Central. He swirled a glass of Ketel in his left hand.
Thorne, the one they all relied on.
Kerrick looked away. No doubt Central had just called. Of course. The warriors would have to go out anytime now. These were stolen hours, the hours of Alison’s ascension. Kerrick frowned. Usually the Commander would have sent squadrons to every Borderland long before this.
As far as that went, why hadn’t he made another attempt on Alison’s life? Well, too late now. Where Alison was concerned, the Commander was out of time. She’d completed her rite of ascension, which meant she had the same protection under the law as all Second Earth ascenders. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attack the palace just as a general fuck you to Endelle and the Warriors of the Blood. Still, Alison was off limits now, unless Greaves wanted to face the courts again as well as the wrath of the warriors.
He glanced at all the open walls and doorways. The palace had a kick-ass security system that would scorch anything trying to fly in. As for materializing, he wasn’t so sure, but he knew Central kept a tight watch on the place.
