Ascension

by Caris Roane

Page 41

  “You may congratulate me, master, when the ascendiate breathes her last. ”

  * * *

  The lake.

  Alison floated inside a familiar dream high in the air. She looked down at a very long, somewhat narrow lake, perhaps only half a mile across in the widest place. However, the body of water extended several miles in a north–south direction, making up in length what it lacked in width.

  The floating was pleasurable.

  Wait. She wasn’t floating at all. She was flying and she had wings, beautiful pearlescent light blue wings edged with gold at every tip, a shimmering gold. She felt euphoric and deeply content. She flapped her wings, which had mounted from within her back, like Warrior Kerrick’s wings.

  What a strange sensation to feel the presence of wing-locks as well as the thickened muscles of her back and the heavy dose of hormones gliding through her veins. She had a sudden and tremendous sensation of power. She stretched out her arms and felt within her mind the key to movement—the wing-locks combined with thought.

  Her wings were an amazing part of her, both mind and body. When she envisioned a downward thrust, her wings responded almost magically. Flight was therefore a learned skill, the way an infant would learn to bring his fists together and feel the clasp of his hands for the first time. Wings were another set of muscles to learn to manipulate.

  Exhilaration. She envisioned a spin and her wing-locks responded until she was twirling oh so high in the air. On instinct, she spread her wings wide and the spiral stopped. She laughed.

  Looking down, she spun in another circle, much slower this time, and discovered that the lake was at the foot of the range of mountains she knew well—the White Tanks. She also, for some reason, knew the name of the lake—White Lake. Yet how strange to see a body of water here. On Mortal Earth nothing much existed on the west side of the White Tanks except a small development of homes and the occasional lone house or trailer. Certainly not a lake.

  As she glided over the water, she experienced a sense of destiny, of the future, that her future was here, with this lake. A strong yearning took hold of her chest, the same profound longing that had prompted her to answer her call to ascension. She felt protective of the lake, almost painfully so, as though the fate of the world depended on her ability to keep White Lake secure.

  The word guardian slid through her head, the same word Warrior Kerrick had used to describe his relationship to her, that he was her guardian. And she was the guardian of this lake. Only what could it possibly mean?

  As she drifted toward consciousness, the dream formed the backdrop of her mind. She awoke on her back in an unfamiliar bed staring up at a tall vaulted ceiling painted a beautiful burnt orange and overlaid with dark stripped branches. She had never seen a ceiling like this, a real work of art. So where was she?

  The last ceiling she’d awakened to had been her own and … Kerrick’s arm had been slung over her chest. He had burrowed into her neck, teasing her awake with erotic movements of the duller parts of his fangs nudging her throat just above the vein.

  Potent desire whipped through her at the remembered sensations, and she arched on the bed. Recalling the powerful orgasm brought her legs pressing together, trying to find some relief. Oh, what Kerrick had done to her. She slid her hand over her neck. She groaned at the memory of coming apart while he took her blood and tormented her with his fingers. She couldn’t begin to imagine what full-on sex would be like with him.

  Once more her back arched off the bed.

  Okay. She had to stop thinking about him, or at least about having sex with him. She had to dwell instead on exactly where she was and how she’d gotten here and why on earth she had been dreaming about a lake.

  She sat up and looked around. Near an open doorway, leading to a bathroom, stood a rack hanging with clothes, women’s clothes. She looked down at the very soft, white nightie she wore, more like a tunic, she supposed. Where had this come from? She frowned as she thought about the blast, which had no doubt destroyed her home. Did she even have any clothes left? She mentally reached out to her house, but found her mind blocked very strangely. She couldn’t reach farther than twenty or thirty yards from her present position.

  Some kind of shield was in place, a very powerful shield, one she knew instinctively had been put there to keep her safe.

  She flopped back down on the bed. She was right back to the very bizarre world she’d entered, from death vampires and warriors with rasping tongues and erotic fangs, to inexplicable mind-shields and dreams about a lake and being a guardian.

  Ascension. Her ascension.

  She closed her eyes and for a long moment took deep breaths. She let the reality of her present circumstances drift through her head. Last night, twice, she’d barely escaped with her life, once from the alley, once from the attack of death vamps at her home in Carefree.

  And then there was Kerrick, her guardian, the one assigned to protect her, the one she felt drawn to like cactus to the desert. Her heart raced when she thought of him and of the wonderful musky cardamom smell of him, the one that made her think of exotic marketplaces in Morocco.

  She had come to a new world, engaged a new life full of danger yet also of possibility.

  An odd question surfaced. Just how was she going to explain to Joy, or to the rest of her family, her new life?

  * * *

  Kerrick sat in his kitchen at a stool drawn up to the large square granite island. He sipped his coffee.

  Coffee was good.

  God, he loved this era—plug it in, turn it on, cook, fry, bake, and boil. Centuries ago he would have spent a part of every summer day chopping wood in order to keep the home fires burning through the cold season.

  He’d made a pot of coffee and set out a cup for Alison. He wondered if she drank coffee. He wondered about a lot of things where she was concerned—which authors got her going, why she owned a Hummer, and whether or not he could keep her alive, goddammit.

  He exhaled on a heavy sigh.

  Whatever.

  The Queen Creek house had no close neighbors and plenty of windows. Afternoon light brightened all the west-facing rooms. As homes went, this one was … comfortable.

  He sipped again. He liked his coffee like mud. Did Alison prefer hers weak?

  He shook his head. His thoughts had been full of her from the time he’d awakened, of wanting to hold her in his arms, take her to bed, bury himself in her body for maybe a year. Two. Three. A thousand.

  In Carefree the power she had released when she orgasmed had been as erotic as hell. Shivers slid down his back just thinking about it. He shifted to make room for an erection that never seemed very far away.

  He was driven to distraction by his need to commune with this woman, to be inside her mind, to take more of her blood—rich heady wine laced with erotic lavender—to be physically joined with her. He throbbed for her, at his neck and in his groin. He had to set his coffee cup down since his hands started to shake.

  Christ.

  And he was only thinking about her. What would happen if … when … he made love to her? He shook his head and picked up his cup once more. He drank this time then breathed. So how the hell was he supposed to keep his vows when the breh-hedden had fucked up his head so completely?

  Damn breh-hedden.

  A roll of lavender reached him and he leaned forward on the stool sucking in his breath. He’d already been hard as a rock. Now? He could have pounded nails. Okay, time to work up his resolve, to shape it into a mountain and hold steady.

  Breathe, dammit—suck one in, shove one out.

  So his woman was awake and thinking about him. Great. How was he supposed to keep away from her if she got worked up as badly as he did? He muttered a string of curses as he stared at the green-black granite. What was it going to take to get rid of this absurd drive?

  He sat back up as Alison appeared in the kitchen doorway straight a
cross from him. The mere sight of her, however, fresh as she was from a deep sleep and so beautiful, brought an entire brigade of heavy equipment scooping away at the mountainside of his resolve. Diesel engines chugged along, tires the size of SUVs rolled everywhere, and trucks the length of football stadiums hauled away rock and dirt in droves.

  She looked beautiful in a pair of simple black pants and a light green tank top—thank God Endelle’s assistant had provided something more than just that short white tunic. And yeah, thank God she’d changed. One sight of her long legs and he was sure he would have lost it.

  Unfortunately, the top fit her really well and had a small glittery firework in the center just below her cleavage and yeah, she had some awesome cleavage showing. He’d like his tongue running up and down …

  He drew in a rough breath.

  He took a sip of coffee then let his thoughts drift toward her. He gave shape to one potent idea and sent it straight to her mind, the one he just couldn’t contain any longer: Naked and on your back …

  She smiled. “Anything particular on your mind, Warrior?”

  Warrior. Oh, shit. Calling him by his vocation made her more real in his life. He sent her a string of powerful images, all of which involved him doing things to various parts of her anatomy.

  Her lips parted and a fresh wave of lavender returned, which nearly knocked him off his stool.

  The air grew charged though she remained where she was. She rubbed her arms and drew in a long raspy breath. How much do you want me? she sent. The voice in his head floated and writhed. She could seduce him even with her thoughts.

  Like dry earth begging for rain, he responded.

  He was so screwed.

  * * *

  Alison couldn’t move. She wanted to. She wanted to run to Kerrick, throw her arms around him, and hold him tight.

  Dry earth begging for rain, she sent.

  He nodded.

  She wanted to be the rain, to cover him with moisture, to bring life to his seed.

  As she met his gaze, looked at his long wavy black hair hanging loose past his shoulders, at the size of those shoulders, her body thrummed, wept, cried out for him. This was what she had longed for ever since she was a goofy teen getting crushes on boys. This was what Joy had. Could this truly be hers?

  She reached out with her mind. She touched gently not to enter, but to be close for just this moment. He closed his eyes in understanding. She let her mind rest next to his and at least a dozen tender fantasies rolled through her.