Wolrd of Ascension 01 - Ascension

  But Endelle could rattle on. “I want all the warriors present and whether you like it or not, I want Marcus there as well as Havily and no, you don’t need to know the fuck why. Beyond that, it’ll be a closed ceremony.”

  He really didn’t give a good goddamn about Marcus. Especially since his mind was full of Alison, water streaming down her hair, over the curves of her body. He wanted to lick those dimples just above her buttocks.

  “I’ve told Thorne to put a twenty-four-hour guard on the Queen Creek house. The warriors will work a rotation through the rest of tonight and all day tomorrow.”

  Images of having an entire night with Alison and maybe an entire day did little to calm him down. He nodded once more. “Good. That’s good.”

  “All right, horn-dog. Get going.” Endelle lifted her arm and the next moment Kerrick landed ass-first on the granite island in the kitchen.

  He didn’t care. His thoughts were all for Alison and her trip inside Leto’s head. He slid off the island, clenched his fists then lowered his chin. He really needed to give her a lesson about inappropriate mind-diving.

  He growled low.

  His fangs emerged and lengthened.

  He listened. He heard the shower running, not in the guest bath but in the master bath.

  Oh, yeah. She’d gone to his bedroom this time.

  His body shuddered. He got very firm, possessively hard. He needed to make sure she understood that her mind, her body, her blood were not to be shared with anyone except him.

  The breh-hedden had returned with a howling vengeance.

  He sent her a little message. You are to stay the hell out of Leto’s mind or any other man so long as we’re joined.

  * * *

  Alison nearly fell on the wet tile as Kerrick’s words punched into her head. She caught herself with one hand by gripping the showerhead just above her. She returned the soap to the inset in the wall behind her then rinsed.

  Her heart banged around in her chest, although it wasn’t fear beating at her this time. Kerrick’s voice in her head, laced with jealousy and possessiveness, drove through her body like a fast car on a salt flat and nothing but air in the way.

  She knew what was coming and her body screamed for it—full-on sex with her warrior vampire. She pressed her back up against the tile, hardly able to breathe, her hands to either side of her.

  Water flowed on her from several different directions, from several different heads.

  There would be no preamble this time, or soft touching of her breasts or feathery wet kisses over her abdomen or between her thighs, no teasing sensual fangs probing gently or releasing a seductive potion into her skin.

  When he appeared, stripped naked, chin dipped low, fangs distended, expression determined, she was ready. His thick sex was hard as a missile and her knees struggled to work at all. However, she knew in about a nanosecond that would so not be a problem.

  He entered the shower growling, his shoulders hunched, his thighs tensed. He slid one arm around her waist, pulled one of her legs up, angled his hips, and drove into her. She threw her head back and cried out, the pleasure so intense she was already close to orgasm. He pounded into her and with just a handful of strokes sent her over the edge. She came so fast and so hard that she doubled over him and bit his shoulder. At the same time, the resulting wave of power struck him and he grunted his pleasure. How much she loved that she couldn’t hurt him.

  He kept growling and driving. The man had a point he intended to make and he took his time. She came again, clenching around his rock-hard cock. Each time, waves of her power hit him, and each time he grunted in response. So sexy, he whispered in her mind. All that power. Now tell me you’ll keep clear of other men.

  I’ll keep clear.

  When she returned to earth, he still drove hard.

  “Give me your neck,” he commanded. His split resonance nearly caused her to come again. She tilted her head back and to the side. She would deny him nothing right now. She closed her eyes. He sank his fangs in a quick thrust that stung like hell at first. As soon as he took heavy pulls, desire flared over her neck, over her breasts, and down her abdomen to once again tighten her internal muscles.

  She panted in agonizing gasps.

  Open your mind, he barked within her head.

  Won’t that complete the breh-hedden? she sent.

  No. You won’t be taking my blood while I take yours. Full communion requires a simultaneous taking of blood.

  Alison was relieved. She wanted this moment with Kerrick, but the thought of the breh-hedden still freaked her out.

  Despite her nerves, she opened her mind wide. When he plowed through, his hips still pistoning into her, his fangs drawing blood, she came again and again and again, his body absorbing each attending hit of power. He owned her body right now, her mind, her blood, and the orgasm went on and on. She cried out, her back and buttocks sliding against the tile, the water spraying his back and her face.

  When she clenched around him again, she touched his mind that was still in her mind and whispered, Come for me, Warrior. Give me all you’ve got.

  He growled loud and low even through the pulls at her neck. She rippled her fingers over his wing-locks. Oh, God, he cried, his voice pummeling her mind.

  His body sped up but time slowed. She was so tight around him that she felt every sensation as he slammed into her core then jettisoned his seed into her. He withdrew his fangs at the same moment and shouted in a new split resonance, which echoed around the bath. Euphoria filled her mind, his and hers combined. How strange to feel his pleasure, yet it amplified her own. She screamed as another orgasm caught her. Another jolt of power. She released a plaintive cry, the high keening of a bird in flight.

  This would be the right time to die, caught in such an exquisite tangle of sensation, of feeling him in her mind, of hearing his triumphant cry, of having so much pleasure searing her veins.

  The tension in her body lessened as each second passed. The rock of his hips slowed and finally stopped, but he remained within, connected to her.

  He withdrew from her mind, a sensation she was getting used to, and settled his head on her shoulder. She gently drifted the tips of her fingers up and down his wing-locks. He released a deep sigh, the rise of his chest lifting her once more up and down the tile.

  Something new touched her as he pressed his hips in a slow, soft undulation against her, his cock still connected deep, though not nearly as hard. He groaned against her neck.

  Deep within, her female organs began to contract and release. She felt the path of his seed and now in her mind she could see a golden trail. How was this even possible? Dear God, how was any of it possible?

  Now she could see the chrysalis of her genetic material, a bright burning light at the end of a tunnel. The imagery made her smile then laugh. She could see his sperm, like lightning. She leaned against him, her hand stroking his thick pec. It was all too absurd, too wonderful, and why wouldn’t it be like this? Kerrick was known for his preternatural speed. If his DNA wanted to make a child, why wouldn’t it move at an accelerated rate?

  She felt the moment when her egg received his sperm and their child began all the fantastic portentous crazy cell replications.

  The whole thing couldn’t really be happening. Maybe she was just fertile and her imagination had gone into hyperdrive. But then she could feel Kerrick’s wing-locks beneath her fingers, and hadn’t his fangs just penetrated her throat?

  She knew they had just created life. She wanted to tell him, yet somehow this wasn’t the right time. A frightening premonition jolted her mind. In this limited way, she could see the future or at least sense it. There would be a moment, a critical hour when Kerrick would need to know she carried his child. She understood this as surely as a child grew within her.

  Did I hurt you? he asked, touching her mind gently.

  Of course not, she returned. She wanted to say more, to tell him how wonderful the moment had been, but she just couldn’t fi
nd the right words. Splendor seemed shallow and magnificent really inadequate.

  Alison? Are you sure you’re okay? I was kind of rough.

  She hugged him. She drew back and met his gaze. She spoke quietly, both aloud and in his head at the same time so that he could feel her sincerity. “How about you do that again every day for the next ten thousand years?”

  He smiled. He frowned. He grimaced and growled. He kissed her hard, so hard. He took her mouth with his tongue, the way he’d taken her body with his cock, only this time she got to suckle.

  Since he was still inside her, he didn’t have far to go at all when he firmed up. He rocked into her again and as though he’d been as starved for the experience as she was he took her in the shower over and over, until the water ran cold and she really was too exhausted to move one more centimeter any direction.

  He rinsed off her legs, toweled her dry, and carried her to his bed. He spooned her. He told her about the dinner party Endelle was giving as part of her ascension ceremony. All very private. She smiled, so content. “Good. I want to meet your warrior brothers.”

  “And they want to meet you.”

  She squeezed his arm as tears tracked down the side of her face and onto the pillow. What had Joy said? Why don’t you find a bodybuilder, someone who could handle all that power? She smiled and wept some more.

  She breathed deeply, her heart so very full.

  Kerrick and a child. And one more day of her rite of ascension and she would be in the clear, no longer at the mercy of Greaves’s plans to annihilate her.

  All her dreams seemed to be coming true. How grateful she was that she had chosen to ascend, despite the battle with Leto.

  And how far away all her old fears had drifted. She belonged on Second Earth. Her powers could be used for good in this new world. Hadn’t she proven her worth during the arena battle? She was so happy. To think she had done the impossible and yet her powers had made the impossible possible. She had vanquished Leto without harming him.

  This was who she was in the deepest parts of body, mind, spirit. She was a giver of life, not a taker.

  Her hand slid over her abdomen.

  A giver of life.

  * * *

  Crace had returned to the Commander’s office. He felt blanked out and empty.

  He sat in the laid-back, slanted chair in front of his deity’s battleship desk, his gaze fixed to the bank of Italian cypresses. Another whirring. Another quarter turn. The lights blazed to keep the shrubs healthy.

  He reverted his gaze to Greaves.

  The Commander sat very quietly, his tall-backed executive chair swiveled away from Crace. Given the position, Crace had a side view of Greaves. He had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands brought together, the fingers of his right hand steepled with the claws of his left.

  He had no expectations at this point. He knew the failure of the arena battle was not his fault just as he had known that the failure of the regiment to off Kerrick and Alison in Carefree had not been his fault.

  But what the hell did that matter? Alison still lived and there didn’t seem to be any way around so critical a point. Jesus. Reversal of time. Re-identification of hard metals. Impenetrable shields.

  His mind swam. Crace was very powerful, but he couldn’t do these things. These were not even powers typical of Second. These were Third abilities.

  An ascendiate with Third abilities.

  Geneva seemed as remote as the moon right now. Lake Michigan would dry up before he ever won a seat at the Round Table.

  “You despair too easily, my friend,” came the silky voice.

  “I failed you, master. Why would I not despair? I came to Phoenix with such hope of truly being of use to you.”

  The Commander turned in his direction, leaning his bald head against the cushioned high back of his leather chair. He had the cleanest nails, at least on his right hand, and the onyx ring winked beneath the recessed lights. “What makes you think you have not been of use to me?”

  Crace shrugged. He had no fear in this moment. How could he, when he was a dead man? “Alison lives.”

  The Commander held his gaze, his dark eyes unreadable as he nodded faintly. “Yes, she does. But have you no other suggestions for me?”

  Crace blinked. The Commander wanted a suggestion?

  “We have one more day,” Greaves said. “Surely we can accomplish something in a day.”

  Crace drew in a sharp breath. “And you wish me to continue on?”

  Greaves nodded. “Of course. However, I do have a requirement at this juncture in our intimate association, a gesture I’d like you to make as a symbol of your fealty and devotion to the Coming Order.”

  Greaves held out his palm and a flagon appeared, an ornate ceramic goblet with purple grapes clinging to the sides, a green vine forming the stem and base. He set the flagon on the dark wood of the desk.

  Crace could hear his heart thrumming in his ears. He stretched his nostrils and smelled the most delicious bouquet of human blood, laced with something so fine, a delicate flower-like fragrance, a hint of gardenia perhaps. His heart rate increased. The scent aroused him. He needed the contents of the flagon. Whatever it was, he had to have it. Now.

  Then he knew.

  “Why?” he asked, his heart thudding heavily, a cross between absolute panic and intense desire.

  “I must be assured of your loyalties at every step of the way from this point forward.” He held out his right hand again, and a small crystal goblet appeared bearing a swirl of gold liquid.

  The antidote.

  Crace had heard rumors for decades. He thought of Harding, who had trimmed down in the past ten years and whose face had grown more pleasing. Even his heavy jowls had shrunk. Harding. The Commander’s devoted pawn.

  He stared at the flagon. Of course. He was not being given a choice. He was not so stupid as to think otherwise. He hoisted himself from the chair and rose unsteadily. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach. He’d heard accounts over the years from death vampires about the unimaginable thrill of taking dying blood for the first time.

  So this was to be his life, his future.

  He confessed he had always wanted to try …

  He didn’t look at the Commander. There was no point.

  He put a shaking hand about the bowl of the goblet, drawing it close. He swirled the blood, which moved sluggishly. The movement once more released the faint flowery bouquet. He closed his eyes. He had fantasized about doing this. What man hadn’t since the erotic properties of such blood was widely known?

  He put the flagon to his lips.

  “Yes,” the Commander whispered, the thinnest hiss across the desk.

  Crace breathed and tipped the flagon. A flow of blood hit his lips, his tongue, the sensitive pockets of his mouth. He groaned. Gardenia, spice, blood flowed into his throat and ran in a river down, down, down. He had never tasted anything so divine. He grew hard as a rock, throbbed now and wept. The small of his back tightened and without warning an orgasm surged through him, powerful, direct, a stunning surprise. He resisted the urge to pump with his hand. However, touching wasn’t at all necessary as the climax rolled through him and filled his briefs.

  Euphoria hit, a sense that all was right with the world and would be forevermore. He had never known such peace, such well-being, such pleasure still riding his cock, racing through his veins, invading his mind. He loved the universe and the universe loved him back. Life would never be more perfect.

  Without warning his mind speckled black and white until he found himself stretched out on the carpet, flat on his back, the flagon gone.

  He had only one thought. He should have done this a long, long time ago and couldn’t think why he had ever resisted the best experience of his life.

  “Feeling better?” Greaves had moved to stand over him.

  Crace looked up at his master. Yes, he felt better, stronger, more powerful than ever. Unbelievably. He rose to his feet with ease. He stared at the
Commander and understood. This was the source of Greaves’s advanced power. He knew it without having to be told.

  The Commander merely laughed. “Now let us discuss what we can accomplish where our troublesome ascendiate is concerned.”

  Crace’s mind had never been so clear, his energy so strong, his abilities so at the fore. “I recommend subterfuge, something unexpected.”

  At that, the Commander’s left brow rose. “An idea so soon?”

  “Tell me what you know of ascendiate Wells. Tell me what she fears.”

  Greaves told Crace and Crace smiled. “Then we will use her power against her chosen clan. Many will die and she will be broken … forever.”

  The Commander smiled, a warm easy curve of his lips. “Now you have shown me something.”

  “The only difficulty I foresee is Madame Endelle.”

  “I will manage the Supreme High Administrator at the time of the attack.” He cast his arm in the direction of the massive ebony desk. “When you are ready, make use of the antidote. Just don’t wait too long. Waiting allows dying blood to act on the features, to create excessive beauty as well as the paling and bluing of the skin. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, master.” He nodded.

  “I have matters to attend to. Once again, put your plans together. When I return, we’ll march through the details.”

  “Very good, master.”

  The Commander lifted an arm and vanished.

  Crace remained in the same position for a long time, staring at nothing, savoring the bliss in his stomach, his veins, his head. He had never felt so alive, but he wanted to hold to this exhilarating sense of power as long as he could. The antidote could wait a little while longer, maybe long enough to get to his wife and make use of her exquisite body.

  Arousal returned in a flame of sensation. He thought the thought and returned to the Bredstone, to his wife. He folded the antidote to him as well. Still, he didn’t want to mar this first experience. Yes, the antidote could wait.

  Leaving a world behind,

  Slays the heart.

  —Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth