Wings of Fire (13 page)

Jeannie gave a cry. “I’ve got the coordinates. But there’s one powerful signature there. Has to be Rith. You boys ready?”

“Shit, yes, Jeannie.”

We’re on our way, Parisa.

I’m outta here,
she sent.

Medichi took a deep breath. “Fold us now, Jeannie.”

The vibration began.

***

Parisa slipped past the three servants outside her room, moving on tiptoes until she was outside on the back lawn of the garden. A gentle rain descended through the air, which meant beyond the domes a real storm could be pounding the land. Oh, shit. Then again, she didn’t really care. The time had come. Rith had it in for her and Fiona needed someone to get her out of her blood-slavery prison.

Her heart beat like a jackhammer, and serious vibrations rocked her chest. She panted and almost couldn’t catch her breath. It occurred to her that if she didn’t calm down she’d never be able to mount her wings—and
up
was the only way out of this prison.

She’d been testing the interior dome of mist for weeks now, rippling her hand as she flew. There was nothing about it that felt impenetrable. She just hoped the second dome was as forgiving.

From what she had experienced with mist, however, its purpose wasn’t so much physical as a mind-bending disguise.

Besides, even if she struck a brick wall traveling at top flying speed, she just didn’t care. She’d made her decision. She was leaving her captivity now.

She closed her eyes and focused on the apertures of her back. She blocked everything else out. She felt the weeping begin, the release of fluid that would allow the feathers and superstructure to emerge. She smiled.

She voyeured Medichi and her heart leaped. He stood on the bank of a rice paddy, the Warriors of the Blood flanking him on either side. A storm raged and as lightning flashed, lighting up the night sky, he suddenly looked like a god, so tall, muscular, his expression fierce.

Antony?
she sent in that new forceful way.

Parisa, are you ready? We’re here, all the brothers. We’re waiting for you. I can see the dome of mist. Are you safe?

Yes. I’ll be flying straight out the top, but you’d better come get me. I’m not wearing anything.

She closed the window and shut her mind down.

“What are you doing, Parisa?” Rith’s voice spoke calmly from the doorway.

“I’m ready to fly.”

“In the nude? This is repulsive behavior. Besides, it’s raining. Put some clothes on first.” His English really was perfect.

“Sure,” she said. She enjoyed speaking the lie. She closed her eyes and willed her wings to come with a single thought.

Out they flew straight from her back, into full-mount in an easy motion she had never known before. Hells, yeah!
She had changed.

She launched and flew straight for the top. She heard growling behind her, and a quick glance showed her that Rith had stripped off his shirt and was even now mounting his wings.

Oh, God.

She smashed through the interior dome of mist. Rain struck her face and dragged at her wings, but she beat them frantically. As she headed toward the second dome, she kept feeling a hand grabbing for her feet.

She plowed through the second barrier and the storm hit her full in the face. Rain and wind caught her wings, sending her spinning. She worked to remember what Havily had taught her. She stretched one wing out, brought in the other and leveled, but the wind caught her again and sent her into a second spin. At the same time, the rain pounded her.

Once she righted herself, she saw Rith heading straight for her.

She began to tumble again back toward the dome of mist. But before she had gotten far, she saw that it wasn’t Rith at all, but Medichi who flew toward her, his wings huge, rain beating on him, his face more determined than she’d ever seen him. She concentrated and pulled one wing in briefly then fluffed them both. The tumbling stopped and she righted herself even though she pitched back and forth in the wind. She shivered.

The next moment Medichi was next to her and took hold of her hand. He became a tremendous anchor. Even though she pitched about wildly, she knew he would hold her steady.

He didn’t say anything. He just started pulling her into the wind very gently, then down slowly toward the earth.

“Bring your wings into close-mount if you can,” he shouted above the noise of the storm. “That’s it. Yes, keep doing that.” She struggled to bring her wings in and not flip over or start to roll to one side or the other. She was soaked head-to-toe, feather-to-feather.

She kept her gaze fixed on him, nothing else. He was so powerful and manipulated his wings with centuries of experience as though each sudden shift of wind, each onslaught of rain were but a bump. The adjustments he made were brisk, small, and kept him floating in the air without the smallest sign of distress.

She, on the other hand, felt like she was in a washing machine on the agitation cycle.

Lightning flashed through the sky above. She gasped and almost lost her equilibrium again—but this time for a different reason. Antony’s cream-colored wings were streaked through with reds and oranges, blues and greens, as though lit on fire. The colors moved, flying from feather to feather in a pattern of ever-changing flames. Strands of his hair had come loose from the ritual
cadroen
and flew about his face. He looked like Zeus half standing and half floating in the air, his hand extended to her.

The closer she drew her wings to her body, the more she started to lose altitude, but he held her aloft. “Now the rest of the way and I’ll catch you.”

She had to trust him but she gave a cry as she drew her wings in to close-mount position and started to fall. Then he caught her very gently around the full circumference of her wings, shifting to cradle her in his arms. His concentration was fierce as he battled the monsoon. He headed toward the earth, diving closer and closer to the ground, toward the rest of the Warriors of the Blood, all in black leather kilts and harnesses.

Closer. Closer. When his feet touched the ground, she closed her eyes and sighed. Tears dribbled from her rain-soaked face.

She watched as Medichi brought his wings into his back, awkwardly at times because of the weather.

Her nakedness was covered by her wings as he set her on the ground. “You have to draw your wings in before we can fold out of here.”

She glanced at all the warriors. “I … I’m not wearing anything.” Then she laughed. Who cared? She was outside the prison she had endured for three months, and she was still alive. Antony was holding her in his arms. What else mattered?

“You’ll be okay,” he said.

She nodded and smiled. Rain ran down his face. She touched his cheek just to make sure he was real. He turned into her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. She felt him sigh.

When he set her on her feet and she begun unfurling her wings, he lowered himself to his knees, still facing her, and put his arms around her in order to shield her chest and support her against the wind and rain. In the glow of each bolt of lightning, the scars of his back were visible, a sheet of silvery lines and ridges.

She put her hands on his back, splaying her fingers. She closed her eyes and with the wind whipping her wings around began what turned out to be a painfully slow process of bringing her wings into her back.

The warriors didn’t pay attention to her. They moved to form a protective circle all around her, facing outward, swords drawn in case the enemy attacked.

At long last, her wings finally retracted. But as the powerful ripples that formed her wings from nothing began to settle into her muscles, Rith appeared at the top of the dome, his wings barely moving. He retreated into the mist when he saw Antony and the other warriors.

“Do I take the bastard?” Santiago cried.

Thorne grunted. “No. We’re here to get Parisa home safe. That’s all that matters right now.”

As Medichi rose and encircled her in his arms, lightning set his face aglow. A long roll of thunder powered over the land.

She looked up into his face as he petted her cheek.

Jean-Pierre shouted into his phone. “We have her, Jeannie. Bring us home. To the front lawn of Medichi’s villa.”

Parisa closed her eyes.

The villa. She had dreamed of Antony’s home for weeks.

The vibration began, followed by the long, swift glide through nether-space.

***

The moment Medichi felt the front patio of his villa beneath his heavy battle sandals, he didn’t wait to speak with any of the warriors materializing around him. His woman was completely nude, soaked, and shivering.

“It’s daytime here,” she murmured through chattering teeth.

“Yes, it is,” he said.

“Of course.”

He moved to the entrance, shoved the massive door aside, and once in the foyer slammed it shut behind him. He took long brisk steps as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom.

He took her straight to the shower, fearing she was cold. He flipped on the row of lights above the broad mirror but turned the dimmer down low. With her still clutched in his arms, he shifted her to one arm with her feet dangling off the floor. She didn’t protest.

He turned the water on and set all eight heads to flowing. Only then did he dare set her on her feet, draw her face away from his chest, and look at her.

She tilted her head back. “Antony,” she whispered. She was soaked and trembling. “We have to go back for them.”

He smiled because it wasn’t what he expected her to say. He expected her to rail against her captivity, maybe even to thank him for showing up. Instead, she was concerned about the fate of other women.

He nodded. “Thorne and I discussed it while we waited for you outside the domes. Jeannie’s doing a satellite feed to see if Rith brought any death vampires in. If not, the warriors are headed back.”

“Oh, good. Good.” Her teeth chattered.

She needed to get warm. Maybe it was shock, or maybe she was just chilled. Maybe both. Didn’t matter.

He still had on his leather battle flight gear. He thought about folding it off, but he didn’t want to scare her by having a suddenly naked man in the shower with her.

“How’s the temp?” he asked as she held out her hand to the water.

“Good.”

Only then did he turn her so that her back could feel the spray. She nodded and put her hands palms-up behind her. She wiggled her fingers. “Oh, that feels good.” She took a step into the spray.

He smiled and stepped away … about three inches. He knew she needed space, probably wanted space, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. He just stood there, his back and kilt getting hit by the spray.

She just looked at him, her amethyst eyes dark in the low-lit room. She moved back another inch and tilted her head so that the water flowed down her hair. She closed her eyes. She looked … dreamy.

He made a big mistake but couldn’t seem to help himself. He took a long journey down her neck, down her chest, and came to a full stop at her breasts. He had forgotten just how, well, stacked she was. And his eyes bulged.

Her breasts were drawn into tight peaks. Kissable peaks. Suckable peaks.

Oh, shit. In his urgency to make her safe, to get her the hell out of Burma, he’d forgotten about this part of the arrangement, the mind-numbing need he had to possess her body.

His gaze fell farther and his lips tingled as he watched rivulets of water circle, run into, then fall away from the most beautiful navel in the world. A shallow lake formed at the base of her belly button; he wanted his tongue right there, sucking the water into his mouth.

His gaze wandered a little more, down and down, landing on the nest of her hair and staying there.

Only then did he realize the steamy room had filled with a delicate tangerine scent. Only then did he remember what his presence did to her. Only then did he nearly double over in agony as a sudden fierce erection fought with his kilt and the snug briefs he wore under it.

Jesus H. Christ.

First love,

Oh, the thrill

But savor what may not last.

Yes, savor.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 7

Parisa was right where she wanted to be, more than any place in the entire world … in two worlds.

She smiled and let the warm water heat up her chilled skin. She took a deep breath and there it was, the one thing she could not experience when she voyeured Antony: his sage scent. The strong masculine smell pierced her brain and sent shivers over her entire body.

Her knees buckled and she would have fallen but he was suddenly there and caught her. He still wore his black leather kilt and battle sandals in the shower, but her hands landed on his bare chest. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. Sort of. He was pressed up against her. She could feel him, all of him. His erection was a hard line up past her belly button. His height and long legs put her at a disadvantage unless she wore heels, stilettos maybe. She’d always felt gangly at five-eleven but his height made her feel petite. “My knees sort of gave out.” She couldn’t tell him why because suddenly her cheeks were on fire.

He had been her fantasy for well over a year now, from the moment she had first voyeured him. She had thought of him as belonging to her, even all those times she’d watched him take women into the red velvet booths at that naughty club, the Blood and Bite. She understood the needs of a man and she felt his need right now.

The only question was, what was she going to do about it?

Three months ago, she had been prepared to leave him behind—the world of ascension had been too brutal for her. She had intended to refuse ascension and return to her quiet, solitary library life.

But three months in captivity, added to her discovery of what Fiona Gaines had endured since the late 1800s, had shifted something inside her.

She couldn’t go back to Mortal Earth, not now, not ever. It wasn’t so much that she believed she belonged on Second Earth; rather, she had a job to do, and she could only do it if she chose this world here and now. Maybe choosing ascension would mean an eternity with Antony, maybe it wouldn’t. But right now she wasn’t choosing Antony, she was choosing a sense of duty and purpose.