Obsidian Flame (10 page)

“I have eight bodies, Jeannie. I need them disposed of but we’ve got a protective shield overhead. I’m not sure you can find us.”

“What part of the world are you in? That would help narrow the search.”

Thorne glanced at Arthur. “Where is this place?”

Even though the night was dark, Thorne expanded his vision, and it was as though a light shone on Arthur’s sudden mulish expression. He shook his head and clamped his lips shut.

Great. He had eight dead death vampires, one stubborn teen, and no way to dispose of them. Shit.

“We’ll cremate them.” Diallo’s voice reached through the dark night. “On a pyre.”

Thorne turned to his left. Diallo drew near, his braids heavy on his shoulders.

Thorne nodded. He brought his phone back up to his ear. “Belay that order, Jeannie. We’re making other arrangements.”

Her voice dropped. “When are you coming home?”

He stared at the ground. Well, that was the big question, wasn’t it: When was he coming home? He wished he could fold back to Second Earth right now and get back to his real job, to leading the Warriors of the Blood, to serving Endelle. But he couldn’t and something deep in his chest told him it wasn’t just that Marguerite was vulnerable, or that he’d just discovered a secret colony, or even that the colony had been attacked by death vampires and needed his protection. No, the real reason went deeper and had something to do with Endelle herself, but like hell he was going to grapple with those issues right now. “I don’t know. Gotta go. Take care.”

He didn’t wait to hear a good-bye or anything else she might want to say to him. He was torn and didn’t want to feel any more guilt about his desertion than he already did.

He slid his thumb across the card’s strip, ending the call, and returned it to his pocket.

Arthur gained his feet and walked around kicking his leg out, testing the recently healed cut.

“This is a terrible night,” Diallo said. He had a very deep rich voice, a voice people would listen to.

He closed his eyes and within less than a minute several men began running in Diallo’s direction. Apparently, he’d just sent out a telepathic summons to several people at once.

Interesting.

Who the hell was this man?

He looked past Diallo then looked around. “Where’s Marguerite?”

Diallo met his gaze squarely. “I’ve given her a cabin, the one over there.” He turned slightly and gestured with an elegant sweep of his arm. “The one with the planter by the front post, with the arched lattice frame over the walkway.” It was about thirty yards from the battle site.

“Thank you.” Jesus, he had so many questions, but the most critical one rose to the surface. “Through Marguerite, I saw the vision of this event and also the sense that this colony is a refuge for Seers. Is this true?”

Diallo nodded. “Yes, we have Seers here from all over Second Earth. And yes, we protect them.”

“But you understand the larger implication?”

Diallo drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His expression grew thoughtful as though he was searching to find exactly what he either could say or needed to say. “Yes. That a very powerful entity has discovered our location with the intention of securing some of our Seers.” He lifted his chin slightly. “With the exception of your woman, there is only one Seer powerful enough to disrupt the mist that protects this colony, or to overcome the blocks that we’ve had in place for centuries in the future streams.”

“Owen Stannett,” Thorne murmured.

He was the monster who had, up until three weeks ago, been the High Administrator of the Superstition Mountain Seers Fortress. He’d tried to rape Marguerite for the purpose of impregnating her. The bastard was intent on creating a super-race of Seers. He’d already raped a number of the Superstition Seers and fathered children by them. Looked like he was still intent on collecting Seers even though he’d gone rogue on Mortal Earth.

“Precisely.”

Thorne held his gaze. “Then you’re familiar with recent events on Second, in particular with regard to the Superstition Seers Fortress?”

Diallo offered a faint smile. “We know all that happens, Warrior Thorne. We’re a hidden colony, not an ignorant one.”

“I meant no offense.”

A number of men drew near.

“Warrior Thorne,” Diallo began in his most carrying voice, which resulted in a shocked murmur among the approaching villagers. “I wish to thank you for this service tonight and to welcome you to our colony. We’ll talk tomorrow and I will answer all of your questions then. Arthur and I will tend to the dead. For now, you may have use of the cabin for as long as you wish.
Y pro nai-y-stae.
”

Thorne smiled. It was an old expression that essentially meant “You may stay for eternity.” “That’s very kind of you.”

As he started to move in the direction of the cabin, the hairs on his nape moved ever so slightly. He turned back to the forest. Arthur did as well.

But his senses settled down almost as quickly. Whatever had been there was gone now.

Arthur met his gaze. “Stannett?”

“Maybe. Wish the bastard would show his face.”

“Heard he got a bunch of his Seers pregnant.”

“All part of his plan to create a super-race.”

“Prick,” Arthur muttered.

“Couldn’t have said it better.”

“Arthur,” Diallo called out, waving him forward.

Arthur turned toward Thorne and held out his hand. “I’m glad to have met you. If you have some time tomorrow, maybe you could show me a couple of your moves.”

“You got it. Just hunt me down.”

Arthur turned abruptly and joined the work detail. When the villagers headed in a westerly direction, Thorne finally made his way across the lane.

Vegetable gardens grew at either the side or the back of every house, lush gardens that shouldn’t have been growing like this in late March, so high in the mountains. But these were ascenders, and no doubt a few weather modifications had been put in place to keep the colonists well fed and self-reliant.

A light glowed from within the cabin. Thorne’s heart began doing its jackhammer routine because he was going to see Marguerite again, the woman he’d begun to crave like wildfire.

She stood leaning against the doorjamb behind a screen door, her arms folded across her chest. “So how many were there?”

“Eight.”

“You kill them all yourself?”

He glanced back. If she had tried to watch the battle, her view across the street was blocked by a thriving garden. The one up the street would have required she step out on the porch. Marguerite was many things, but she wasn’t foolish.

He shook his head in response to her question. “I took three. Arthur handled five.”

“That kid?” she cried.

He smiled. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Diallo gave this place
to me
for the night. I don’t recall him saying anything about you.”

His smile broadened. Was she starting
that
game? It was one of his favorites, and she had a look on her face that said maybe she was.

“Let me in, Marguerite.” He used his resonance, a low number, only three.

He heard her soft intake of breath but still wasn’t surprised that she replied, “Not gonna happen.”

He split his resonance five times. “I said let me in.” He wanted in, all the way in, and not in the form of José or anyone else.

The rest of the night was his.

*   *   *

Marguerite held her ground because the longer she did, the more Thorne would get worked up—and she loved seeing him get worked up. She was in the right mood, as well, though she wasn’t certain why. She’d already been with a man, but this was different. This was Thorne, and she knew him really well. And she’d always loved the way he’d taken care of her when she had need of him. Besides, he wouldn’t kick her out of bed when he was through. He’d hold her, and tonight she might even like that.

Ever since they’d touched down in this strange secret ascender colony, she’d felt as though something called to her, something deep within, tugging at places in her heart she’d never quite known before. She felt unsettled, knocked out of stride, and she was never knocked out of stride. Pissed off, maybe, but she always knew what she wanted, where she wanted to go, and who she wanted between her legs.

“I can’t let you in tonight, Thorne, you know that,” she teased. “We’re done, remember? You got me out of the Superstition Fortress then I left Endelle’s office and now I’m here but only because of a stupid Seer’s vision. But you can sleep on the porch if you want.”

The scent of cherry tobacco sifted through the screen mesh. Her nostrils flared, intent apparently on catching every last bit. Sweet Lord in heaven, but that smell he gave off when he was thinking impure thoughts about her sure worked some magic down low. She started feeling tight and achy.

A faint growl sounded and Thorne caught the small handle and started to pull. Fortunately, there was a handle on the inside so she pulled back. The nice thing about being an ascended vampire was the simple fact that you got some overall strength without having to weight-lift. So she held tight.

Of course, it was only an illusion. The man could incinerate the screen with a lift of his palm. He had serious hand-blast capacity. He was also built as hell so that the whole time she’d been looking at the side mounds of his pecs that weren’t covered by his weapons harness. She wanted her hands on him, then her lips.

Thorne tugged on the door again.
“Let me in, Marguerite.”
More resonance. She felt light-headed and couldn’t quite breathe. That had to be seven resonances. The man had a gift. When he worked up to fifteen and spoke straight into her ear, he could make her come so fast. He was some kind of magician, real Merlinesque, the bastard.

The thing was, of all the men she’d ever known in her life, she trusted Thorne, even when he slipped into caveman mode.

He tugged harder on the door. She had a slight advantage because of the doorjamb so she held on to the handle and leaned back, letting her weight work for her.

Then he began to pull in earnest. Even in the faint glow of the oil lamp she’d lit, she could see his biceps tightening up and swelling into the most gorgeous heap of man-muscle. She wanted to bite down on that hard, feel him jerk underneath her.

He kept pulling and he pulled her with him. She just held on to the handle as her feet slid onto the porch. The whole time, her gaze stayed fixed like an idiot straight on that muscle.

She was such a basic female. She loved a man’s body, as in
loved
it, every facet and bulge and dip and firm jut. This was her weakness, all Thorne’s physical strength, and the fact that he made war. What did it say about her that even though he was grimy with sweat and blood from the recent battle, she didn’t care? She never had. Not once in the last hundred years. From the first she’d been able to accept who and what he was, a Warrior of the Blood, a protector of Second Society, a destroyer of death vampires.

And right now, God forgive her, he was hers and she was going to take him.

“Looks like I’m coming in.”

She smiled. His voice was a damn gravel pit. Still, she said, “Forget it, Warrior. Not a chance.” But his arm was around her waist and now he dragged her against him. He’d have to repair the screen tomorrow because it hung off its leather-strap hinges.

His mouth was as familiar to her as her reflection in the mirror. She knew his lips, every millimeter. His tongue was thick and he worked it now, in and out of her mouth, making beautiful promises of everything he would do to her … as long as she didn’t have another one of those stupid visions.

The memory of the vision, of how it had crashed down on her, rendering her blind and mute while it held her captive, caused her to stiffen, even to ignore that beautiful tongue.

Thorne drew back, slid his hand to the nape of her neck, and caressed her gently. “Hey,” he whispered. “What gives? You just became an ironing board in my arms.”

She pulled away from him and went into the house. Sweet Christ, she never pulled away like that.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why did I have that vision? I don’t get it.” An oil lamp on the narrow wooden table by the wall lit the room in a soft glow. She crossed to the brown leather couch and curled up. She hadn’t mean to end the moment, but she needed some answers.

He followed her into the cabin and closed the door. He pulled the surprisingly nice linen over the wide bank of windows that faced the street.

He remained by the window, popped his
cadroen,
and took a few deep breaths. His kilt was lumpish. She’d kind of stalled out at the wrong time.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said.

He shrugged but smiled and bent over. “Damn, you work me up.”

She heard him chuckling and watched all that thick hair fall forward.

After a moment, he lifted back up and met her gaze, but he was somber this time. “I think it’s simple. You have emerging powers and it’s no fucking picnic. But there’s something else I need to tell you. Diallo and I believe that Stannett is behind this attack. He’s powerful enough to disrupt the colony’s mist.”