Wings of Fire (18 page)

“We’ll give this some time,” she said. “I won’t leave your home, not now, not yet. We’ll take this one step at a time. I can feel your distress and I can see your need. I won’t go.”

“You’ll share my bed?”

“I’ll share your bed.” She paused. “For a few days, maybe a week. Okay? Until we get everything figured out.”

He moaned and dragged her into his arms. He held her close. She wiggled against him, straining. At first he thought she wanted him to release her, but when he gave her a little room she threw her arms around his neck and held on.

Christ. This was too much emotion for people who knew so little about each other. He closed his eyes. He could feel her heart beating in her throat, dull heavy thuds. His neck was getting wet. What a mess. Goddamn the
breh-hedden.

The one taken suffers the most,

But do not forget the warrior left in the breach.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 9

That evening, Parisa stood in the center of the rotunda floor, Havily behind her and to her left, Antony back and to her right. The rest of the Warriors of the Blood were ranged another ten feet behind her, standing tall and straight, sentinels of Second Earth. Each, like Antony, wore a black leather tunic and a brass breastplate with a silver sword emblazoned down the front, point down, with a green laurel wreath around the hilt.

Endelle’s palace was a collection of white marble rotundas, hanging off the west face of the McDowell Mountains as though suspended in the air. Most of the rotundas had open walls and large terraces with a stone balustrade serving as the only separation from hundreds of feet of airspace.

She had spent the day sleeping, something she’d desperately needed. Antony had kept his distance, giving her some space by stretching out on the couch in the den of his bedroom suite. She had told him it was okay if he shared the bed with her, but he’d only lifted a brow, pulled a pillow off the bed, and headed for the couch. He’d been right, of course. If they’d shared a bed, how much sleeping would they have actually done?

So here she was, somewhat rested and ready to ascend, at last, to Second Earth.

She stood in front of Endelle listening to the careful words she read from a large ceremonial book that she held open in both hands. It detailed the terms of ascension: the necessity of service, the nature of which would be dictated by the Supreme High Administrator; the careful standards of Second Society; and the vows to abstain from committing the most heinous act of partaking of dying blood.

Was she really going to do this? Was she really leaving her old world on Mortal Earth behind?

She watched Endelle’s lips move but she really couldn’t hear her. Her fingers shook so badly, she had to ball her hands into fists. She hadn’t thought she would be nervous, but somewhere between committing her life in service to Madame Endelle and the promise not to drink someone to death, the reality that she was ascending suddenly got to her.

“Ascendiate,” Endelle cried, her voice a hard bite.

Parisa’s hearing cleared. “Yes, Madame Endelle?” Just above the neckline of Endelle’s black ceremonial robes, Parisa could see a line of leopard fur. The Supreme High Administrator had a predilection for animal skins and hides, for bird feathers, and even on occasion for the skins of reptiles. Havily called her fashion-challenged … to say the least.

Endelle rolled her eyes. “Do you agree to serve Second Earth with a mind and heart dedicated to service?”

Parisa nodded. “I do.”

“Do you agree to abide by the laws of Second Earth, especially as they apply to the limitations of involvement with Mortal Earth?”

“I do.”

“And do you solemnly pledge your loyalty to me, as Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth?”

“I do.”

“Then I proclaim to this gathered assembly, who stand as witnesses to your ascension, that you are hereby granted ascender status. Come forth and allow me to imbue you with all the blessings of the vampire nature.” She folded the ceremonial book away.

Parisa couldn’t make her feet move. She felt dizzy and strange as she stared at Madame Endelle’s outstretched hands. Was she really going to do this? She had forgotten that part of the ceremony would involve the acceptance of near-immortality and vampire fangs for the taking of human blood and the releasing of potent chemicals.

Oh. God.

“Parisa, don’t flake out on me now,” Endelle cried. “Get your ass over here.”

Endelle’s sharp tone and irreverent words knocked some of the fear out of Parisa. She moved forward, although unsteadily in her four-inch heels. When she stood in front of Endelle, the disparity in height set Parisa at eye level with the leopard fur.

With warm hands Endelle touched Parisa’s cheeks oh-so-lightly. A tingling began to build between her hands and Parisa’s jaw. She looked up into Endelle’s eyes, but they were closed.

Dizziness once more assailed her.

Endelle’s eyes popped open. “What the hell is with you women? You’re as bad as Alison was during her ascension. Goddammit, release your fucking shields!”

Parisa gasped. She closed her eyes this time, dove inside her mind, and let loose what she perceived to be those shields. Even Greaves had marveled at her shields, calling them magnificent.

“Finally,” Endelle snapped.

Power flowed, a torrent through Parisa’s body, of warmth and light, of a tremendous sensation of well-being. Her upper gums began to tingle at the base of each incisor. At the same time, she felt tendrils touching her mind, trying to reach within. She knew that sensation, and it had nothing to do with the ruler of Second Earth.

“Something’s happening,” she whispered.

“You’re getting your fangs, just relax, vampire.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Rith. She knew it was Rith. She recognized his touch, although this one was a gentler version of all that she’d experienced while under his control.

An image of him, his Asian features, his broad forehead and wide nose, his black hair, flowed through her mind.

She closed her eyes and focused on him. Oh, how she wanted him dead. She had never thought she would say that about anyone, but Rith’s heinous blood-slavery operation had changed that. What if she could reach the monster and be rid of him permanently?

His smiling face taunted her. Without thinking, she thought the thought, and the vibration began. The next moment she was drifting, flying, moving.

Oh, God, she was folding!

And somewhere in her consciousness, she knew she was folding straight to Rith. Somehow, the vampire had tricked her.

***

Medichi had remained as close to Parisa during the ceremony as he could manage without doing anything improper. The palace had open walls through many of the connected rotundas, and it wasn’t so long ago that Greaves had organized an attack here following Alison’s ascension ceremony. He had a right to be nervous despite the state-of-the-art security system Endelle had in place. It couldn’t guard against every preternatural contingency.

Like this one.

He had watched Parisa weave on her feet more than once during the ceremony. But just as Endelle had empowered her with ascended life and with her vampire fangs, she disappeared. How? Why? Worse, was she in danger?

He rushed forward and met Endelle’s surprised gaze.

Her Supremeness blinked and said, “Well, that’s never happened before.”

No shit.

Parisa had dematerialized. She had folded for the first time, but where had she gone?

As far as Medichi knew, she hadn’t manifested that power yet or she would have left her captivity long before this. Had the ceremony brought on a new power? Probably.

He didn’t wait for permission or direction. With a thought, he folded off the cape and breastplate that would hinder him if he had to do battle. He closed his eyes and found her trace, which was made up of beautiful amethyst trails of light. The color was not a surprise.

He followed the elegant pathway, his hand itching as he traveled through nether-space, ready to fold his sword into his hand the moment his feet touched solid ground.

He materialized and at the same moment swept his sword into his waiting fist. Rith stood eight feet away, both hands on Parisa’s arms, his expression intense, forceful. He was working hard, his concentration focused. Whatever he was trying to do, it was taking every ounce of his energy and his awareness. Her body shimmered with energy. She was battling to keep him from folding her with him. If he succeeded, he’d lose her again, because Rith could block his trace.

“Hell the fuck no!” he shouted. He raced toward her, his preternatural speed shrinking time to a nanosecond. He slid his left arm around her waist, pulled her back into him, then swept the sword through the air at the level of Rith’s waiting neck.

He’d expected to strike bone and decapitate the bastard so that when he sliced through air, and got caught in the momentum, he ended up whirling Parisa in a circle.

Rith had escaped. Folded. Damn that vampire was fast.

He glanced around, a layer of sweat blooming over his skin, adrenaline singing through his veins, heart pounding. Was another enemy waiting? A death vampire maybe? A dozen? A hundred?

What the hell was this place? It looked like an underground cavern. But some of it was man-made—at least two of the walls were almost flat and the floor was a smooth, polished surface.

He turned in another circle, his sword outstretched. Parisa was limp around his arm. What had Rith done to her? Like he didn’t know. He’d forced his way into her mind trying to break her resistance to his will.

He swung her toward him, flipping her in his arm and gathering her close, his sword still flexing in his right hand. She whimpered against his chest.

He thought the thought, the vibration began, and he was back at the palace right next to Endelle.

“What the fuck happened?” Endelle asked.

He turned to look at her, his gaze shifting about. He was in full warrior mode. Even his sword was still in his hand, something hard to do while dematerializing. Given the dangerous nature of his identified sword, he folded the weapon back to his weapons locker in his villa.

“Rith,” he stated. “Almost had him, but he moved too damn fast. Can you block both our traces? We don’t want that fucker showing up here.”

“Shit, yeah,” Endelle said. She closed her eyes, put her hand on Medichi. He felt her power, a smooth warm flow through him, through Parisa, and back into nether-space.

Medichi felt their pathways slam shut. At last he could take a breath.

Parisa moved in his arms then started hitting him and screaming. What the hell had that bastard done to her?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered against her ear. But she couldn’t seem to hear him.

“Let me go,” she cried. “You fucking bastard!”

He released her. She flew out of his arms, backward. That she wore heels and didn’t stumble seemed like some kind of miracle. She lowered her knees into a crouch, dropping her shoulders at the same time. She glared at him. She blinked. She glared some more.

“Where is he? I’ll kill him. I swear to God I’ll kill him.” Her cheeks were flushed bright red and her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

The Warriors of the Blood drew closer to her. Only then did Medichi realize each was armed with a sword, each expression wild, ready to protect her.

Medichi crossed to her and stood in front of her. He held his hands out at his sides, intent on keeping her from moving too far away from him. She hadn’t quite returned to herself, and the palace had many open terraces that dropped away to hundreds of feet below.

“Parisa,” he said, trying for a firm voice.

She met his gaze, squinting. “Antony?”

“Yes. I’m right here.”

“Rith. I saw Rith.”

“I know. I followed you. I brought you back.”

“It was some kind of cave. Then I looked into his eyes and I thought,
Not again.
He tried to fold me away, but I fought him.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But you followed after me? How did you know where to find me?”

“It’s called a trace. When someone dematerializes, they leave a trace of light to their next landing point.”

“Right.” She nodded. “That’s the reason that Thorne thinks Rith first moved the D and R slaves by vehicle—because if he’d folded them straight from his Mandalay home, he could have been followed.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head several times back and forth.

Endelle drew close. “Are you telling me that Rith, who has a shitload of power, tried to fold you with him and you fought him off?”

“Yes. I did.”

“But how could you do that when he folded you out of here, out of the palace?”

Medichi drew close to Parisa. The whole thing had rattled him. The same old questions surfaced: Could he keep her safe? Alive? Sweet Jesus.

Parisa shook her head. “He didn’t fold me out of the palace. I folded to him. You had just completed the fang-face thing and his image took shape in my mind. I think he planted the image. He tricked me into leaving the palace. I had this moment of wanting him dead so badly that I thought the thought and suddenly I was flying through nether-space.”

“Then the fold was all yours,” Endelle said. “Well, shiiiit! That’s fucking beautiful. Well done, ascender.”

Leave it to Endelle to find the silver lining in a second kidnapping attempt.

Medichi tried to take Parisa’s arm but she jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.” She looked wild-eyed as she met his gaze. “I’m just too upset. It’s not personal, Antony. I … goddammit, I want to hit something, I’m so mad.”

“All right,” he said. “All right. You’ve convinced me, or maybe Rith has.”

“Convinced you of what?”

“I need to train you to do battle: swords, knives, guns, hand-to-hand, whatever you fucking need.”

At that she finally grew still and the tension eased out of her. She drew a deep breath. “Good.”

Havily’s voice rose to the rafters. “There, you see, Marcus! They’re not even bonded and he can see reason. Why can’t you?”