Obsidian Flame (28 page)

She was damn frustrated.

But even as she paced her small quadrant, jumping up on Grace’s bed then hopping down, Fiona’s familiar telepathic voice showed up deep within her mind.
Hey, sister, how’s tricks?

Something inside Marguerite relaxed.
It’s great to hear your voice but what’s going on?

I just helped your man out and wondered if you were okay?

Sort of. I … we’re at the Convent in the middle of a shitstorm.
She explained everything in a few short sentences including the fact that Grace was their third leg of the triad.

Wow, but then she’s Thorne’s sister. In a way it kind of makes sense. That’s one powerful gene pool.

The blah-blah was great but Marguerite’s nerves were on fire.
I need to get to Grace but even though she’s just a few feet away, I can’t seem to fold to her. I think it might have something to do with this crazy-ass mist. Can you help me out?

What if I tried to enhance your folding skills? Do you think that would do the trick?

Only one way to find out. Do it, obsiddy-sister.

She felt Fiona’s presence first, matching up next to her shoulder then her hip. The channeling power just flowed. She felt it as the vibration that occurred right before doing a fold from one location to the next.

Fiona sent,
Just picture where you want to be.

Grace came to mind. She focused. The vibration began and after a tiny blanking-out, she touched down behind Grace by barely a foot. But holy shit, Grace was in Casimir’s arms and pressed so tightly against the Fourth ascender that the molecules between them had to be getting crushed.

Her mouth fell to the floor.

Fiona’s voice intruded.
Everything okay? You went really still. What’s going on?

If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. Hell, I don’t believe it. But listen, I’d better go. I’ll fill you in later, okay?

Just tell me if Grace is okay?

She’s fine. Really. I mean, she’s definitely not in
mortal
danger.

Marguerite, I’d better go. Jean-Pierre just walked in and he looks as mad as fire. Oh, damn, I forgot. He’s just experienced everything I just experienced.

Why would he be mad that you helped me out?

Not you. Thorne.

Oh, shit. No, your man’s not gonna like that … at all.

Bye.

The separation from Fiona was brisk and caused Marguerite to list sideways before she caught herself.

But as she stared at the subtle erotic sways and moves of Grace’s body, she wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.

Then the mist shifted. And though it didn’t separate her from Grace again, it did bring a new problem.

*   *   *

It had taken another shift of mist before Leto finally had access to the space Grace inhabited.

But holy shit, the bastard had his arms around her, his tongue deep in her mouth, and dammit
his woman
was in a full state of arousal, her meadow scent flooding the room. He could hear each breath the Fourth ascender took, deep breaths through his nose as he kissed Grace, inhaling what belonged to Leto.

Without even being aware that he was thinking the thought, he found his sword suddenly in his hand.

The cramping was forgotten. The sweating. The nausea.

He saw crimson, a sheen of color over his eyes that pulsed with each rapid beat of his heart.

He lost his sense of hearing, but he could see. Everything began to move in slow motion as Grace turned toward him and mouthed something—something she must have said aloud but that still didn’t reach his ears.

His gaze was fixed now on Casimir. The bastard turned slowly to meet his gaze, a smile slithering over his face.

Time resumed.

Casimir released Grace but he lifted his arm and threw a hand-blast that knocked Leto into the wall of mist.

Leto fell to the floor, his sword flying from his hand, bouncing off the mist and landing next to his foot. But he lifted his hand at the same moment and returned the hand-blast in full force.

Casimir looked surprised as he flew backward into the far stone wall of the cell. However, just as Leto gained his feet, Casimir righted himself.

“So the traitor has become a traitor,” Casimir called out.

“Fuck you.”

“Is that an offer? You’re quite beautiful, Leto. I’d accept it wholeheartedly.”

Leto began to sweat as the initial surge of adrenaline subsided. With a quick piece of levitation, he drew his sword into his hand and began moving slowly across the stone floor. Though some of his initial strength had waned, he still had enough juice to match Casimir. He lifted his left hand upright, palm-out, ready to fire off another blast.

“I don’t want to fight you, Leto. You’re weak. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’m not so weak that I couldn’t take you right now.”

“Oh, the words you speak to me.” He put a melodramatic hand to his chest. “Yes, take me, please.”

“Again, fuck you.”

“Again, I’d be delighted.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Leto moved fast.

Casimir moved forward, closing the distance in three strides. He shoved his power straight at Leto’s chest and blasted away. But Leto brought his sword down, which deflected the hand-blast energy. At the same time, he caught the tip of the blade against Casimir’s arm, just a bite, but he sliced through the billowy sleeve and the blood flowed.

Casimir dropped to the stone floor, holding his arm. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Leto moved in for the kill and lifted his sword high. Casimir lifted his hand once more, lowered his chin, and sneered. He wouldn’t hold back this time and Leto was pretty sure this one would hurt, but like hell he was backing down.

However, a hand-blast from the side, from Marguerite, knocked the downward aim of Leto’s sword, forcing the blade to fall harmlessly aside. Her second hand-blast, issued within a fraction of a second of the first, deflected Casimir’s flow of power and shoved it in the direction of the bed Leto had been using. The blast hit the wall overhead and showered the bed and floor with a number of harmless silver sparks.

But the soldier in Leto went back to Casimir and lifted his sword once more.

Grace stepped in between and shook her head. “No, Leto. You must listen to Marguerite. She says he is not to die, that he has great purpose in the coming weeks.”

Leto lowered his sword. He was breathing hard and his chest hurt. He blinked. Sweat stung his eyes. He shifted his gaze to Marguerite, who drew close to Grace. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s something I’ve intuited for several weeks now. Strongly intuited. He must live.”

But Leto shifted his gaze to Casimir, who still sat on the floor, holding his loose sliced-up sleeve over the wound. Blood pooled on the floor. Good, he’d cut him fairly deep.

Leto shook his head and addressed Marguerite once more. “He can’t be trusted. He belongs to Greaves. He’s allied with him.”

Marguerite shrugged. “What can I say? I saw him in a vision—not the particulars, just the sense that he plays a role on behalf of Endelle’s faction in the coming months.”

The nausea returned. Shit, he was dizzy all over again. But he glanced at Casimir and was appalled that the bastard was actually lifting the hem of Grace’s gown. He heard him sniff.

Rage brought his strength returning and he lifted his sword once more, moving away from Grace. “What the fuck, Casimir? Both of these women are begging me to spare your life and you’re deliberately taunting me? Come out from behind Grace’s skirts and face me.”

But Casimir leaned back so that now he sprawled on the dark stone floor, supporting himself on his elbows. His tight pants as well as his position left nothing to the imagination. “It doesn’t matter to me whether I face you or face away from you. Both positions are equally pleasurable.”

“You sonofabitch.” He made a move toward Casimir, but Grace caught his free arm and her touch stilled him. He looked down at her, trembling all over again at her scent, her nearness.

“Enough, Leto. He must live.”

“Yes, I must,” Casimir said. “I scent her, Leto. You know what that means? I’m her
breh.
”

“You fucking liar.”

“But I scent her and if I’ve read Grace accurately, she scents me as well.”

He glanced at Grace, ready to have her refute Casimir, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she stared at his chin, two spots of color on her cheeks. This couldn’t be possible.

He turned to Casimir and narrowed his eyes. “You can’t scent her.
I
scent her.”

“Wildflowers and earth. A sweet spring meadow after a light rain.”

Leto took a step backward. “This is not possible. She can’t have two
brehs.
”

Casimir grinned then looked Leto up and down. He even offered a sigh. “Looks like a ménage à trois made in heaven to me. I’m game and you’ve already offered to fuck me.”

If Leto hadn’t been feeling so damn weak, he would have jumped on the Fourth ascender and beaten him until that arrogant smirk could never return to his face, ascended healing or not.

But Grace suddenly left Leto’s side. She dropped down beside Casimir and without a moment’s hesitation folded a strip of clean fabric into her hand and began bandaging his arm.

Leto shook, not just with rage but with despair. What the hell did it mean that the woman meant for him was also scenting the bastard-from-hell?

Casimir didn’t deserve Grace.

But that thought brought him up short since neither did he.

Neither did he.

Christ, what a fucking mess.

*   *   *

Casimir looked at the small white hands that bound his arm. He was charmed. Mesmerized and charmed. Her scent flowed into his nostrils and up into his brain until he was dizzy. He was aroused all over again as though he’d never understood arousal before. His desire for her trebled and he once more leaned close and sniffed. He couldn’t get enough of her meadow, earth, and wildflower scent.

She tied the knot of the bandage and backed away from him. But he followed, caught her arm, and drew her wrist beneath his nose. He shuddered as he took in the fragrance of her skin.

“Stop it,” she said, trying to pull away from him, but he held her fast. He pushed his own wrist beneath her nose. “Tell me what you smell so that I know I’m not imagining this.”

He expected her to turn away, but instead she sniffed. He heard her sigh. “Like spicy mulled wine.” She met his gaze, her beautiful gold-green eyes and pale lashes.

He nodded and smiled. “Intoxicating, isn’t it?” He was pleased. Beyond words.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Leto dropped down behind Grace and put his arms around her. She seemed to freeze at the intimacy. “You may not have her, Casimir. She is mine.
Mine.
” The last word held such reverence that Grace gasped and leaned into him, reaching up to touch his cheek.

The woman was torn. This was not going to be simple.

Casimir’s head spun, a dizzying sensation, like he was on a carnival ride that was moving too fast. He wanted to draw a sword into his own hand and take Leto’s head here and now, but he had never learned the art and now regretted it. He wanted to do battle, but he’d never been a soldier. He made love, not war.

He heard a soft growling sound and realized it was coming from Leto and that Grace was leaning harder against him, her shoulder turned into his chest, her nose searching along his skin, her arm up around his neck. “You are the forest,” she whispered.

Leto began to drag her backward across the cell.

Casimir started to follow and a new growling sound emerged, one that came from him this time. He couldn’t allow this.

But a pair of legs covered in blood-red flight pants barred his way. He looked up, ready to sneer, but Marguerite held a wooden stool in her hand and it caught him on the forehead, spinning him to the side. He felt the cold stone floor as his face smacked against it.

Then nothing.

*   *   *

Marguerite turned toward Leto and Grace, who were now sitting against the far wall near Marguerite’s old cot. She glanced left then right. The mist had disappeared. For the first time, she heard the sounds of battle outside in the hall, the grunts of men doing the work of war, the sliding rasp of steel against steel and the occasional cry or shriek when a blade found purchase.

But as her gaze returned to Grace and Leto, never would she have thought that her pious cellmate would have engaged with two men in the space of minutes. Perhaps there was more to Grace than she had ever imagined.