Burning Skies (41 page)

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Authors: Caris Roane

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #Contemporary, #General

BOOK: Burning Skies
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“No, she’s not all right. She’s really upset.” He flung a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s in there!”

Alison held his gaze as she moved past him in the direction of the archway that led to the kitchen.

He continued to glare, letting her feel just how much he disapproved that she hadn’t arrived exactly when she said she would. She should have been here three minutes ago. Okay, two. No, three now. Three lousy minutes.

But Alison stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.

“Go,” he cried, his arm still pointing the way.

She shook her head. “Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re about an inch away from striking me with a bolt of lightning.”

His nostrils flared. “Because she needed you here sooner.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen, still standing out of range.

“Havily? Havily needed me here?” Her eyes had narrowed, those blue eyes that always searched to understand. He felt her empathy surrounding him, reading him, wanting to be of use to him.

“Would you stop that?
I
don’t have need of your services. And no, I’m not concerned about Havily … it’s her, the ascendiate …
Parisa.
” The last word came out, much to his horror, like a caress.

Alison’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes glittered. “Oh, Antony, are you kidding? Are there to be more of us?”

Medichi took a step back. He sucked in a tight breath. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Just take care of her.”

He lifted his arm and dematerialized the hell out of there.

*   *   *

 

Crace sat in the low chair in his deity’s office. Even with his increase in sheer muscle bulk, the chair barely put him at neck level with the edge of Greaves’s enormous black desk. He understood the purpose of the relationship of the low chair to the big desk, a symbol of power and submission that he used to admire as very clever. Now he was just plain pissed off.

Was it only a few months ago that he had sat in this exact chair, in this spot, leaking sweat like lemon juice squeezed through a strainer? He had a hard time remembering the why of all that sweat.

Of course part of the reason had to do with his current state of mind. He wasn’t exactly
present
in this room. He was back in Medichi’s villa with his blood donor. Dammit, he’d been so close to achieving his goal. Right now all he could smell was Havily Morgan’s blood in his nose and feel his desire to have her blood down his throat. But where had she gone?

He watched the Commander’s mouth move. Half of what he said, he spoke in the direction of Rith, who stood a few feet back and off to the left side of Crace. The vampire brown-noser was dressed in a suit and looked like a cheaper version of Greaves.

Crace was pissed off. He’d been within a pig’s snout of snatching his prize and somehow she’d gotten away from him, but how? If she hadn’t folded somewhere, then where the hell had she gone?

His attention was drawn quite suddenly away from his concerns by a paper flying off the desk and floating toward him. Crace plucked it from the air. He stared at it frowning. Shit, he needed to get his act together and afford this meeting at least some attention. He scanned the document. “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “Why do I need to know the details about the warrior Thorne’s movements?”

“My dear Crace, you weary me with your inattention. I have been speaking of this for the past ten minutes. Do I need to take your forge from you?”

Crace felt his temper spike but clamped his lips shut. He’d always hated being talked to as though he were a child.

Greaves narrowed his eyes at him, something he’d been doing a lot lately. Crace lowered his gaze and took deep breaths. “My apologies, Commander. I have a lot on my mind. The mortal-with-wings…” A fucking lie, but
whatever.

He felt a sudden pressure on his mind, but his shields had gained strength. Though he couldn’t prevent Greaves from entering his head, he could still bury certain memories very deep and overlay them with impenetrable mini shields.

The pressure increased. He began to perspire, and his head felt as though Greaves had just stuffed a watermelon between his ears. Now he remembered the cause of all that former sweat. Jesus. H. Christ.

“What are you hiding from me, I wonder?”

Crace didn’t relent. He wouldn’t release the mini shields even when stars danced in front of his eyes.

The pressure stopped and only with a profound act of will did he keep from vomiting. Sweet motherfucker, that hurt.

“The whole point, my dear Crace, is that you aren’t yourself these days and I am … disturbed. However, if you will look the document over, these are the essential details you’ll need for the assassination of Thorne and no, I do not expect you to do it yourself. But I want you to arrange it. Can you do that for me? The assassin will of course be executed immediately by COPASS, which cannot be helped, but I feel a very powerful need for a demonstration at the Reception to be held in honor of the ambassadors. The Reception, Crace. Not the Festival. Are you hearing me?”

Crace shifted to stare at Greaves. “Yes,” he stated. But he was now in shock. Greaves meant to take out the leader of the Warriors of the Blood? This was one helluva bold step. He approved. He even sat up a little straighter, or as much as he could in this fucking chair that angled back like he’d be getting his teeth cleaned next. “I’ll see to it. You can rely on me.”

Greaves smiled. “There is one more thing, which ought to please you. I want you to know that I very much approve of the incendiary bomb you used at the Superstitions. I regret that Warrior Luken did not die, but the attempt was quite lovely. Rith provided a DVD of the event. Very well done.”

“Thank you.” He was startled by the praise.

“Yes, the bomb was quite effective, and I understand you have a little demonstration planned for the spectacle over White Lake.”

Crace couldn’t withhold his smile. “Yes, master, I do.”

“More firebombs?”

“Combined with fireworks.”

Both of Greaves’s manicured brows lifted in approval. “I look forward to the event with great interest. In the meantime, tell me what happened at the villa.”

Crace drew in a deep breath. He spoke of the breach in the mist by the mortal-with-wings, which seemed to interest Greaves very much. He detailed the loss of the three squads to the Warriors of the Blood and ended with the inexplicable disappearance of the women.

“They vanished
without a trace
?” Greaves asked.

Crace stared at his master. Had he just made a joke? “Yes, master, without a trace, without a single trail of light to follow, and you know I have power in that area.”

Greaves leaned forward slightly and his eyes flared. “You know what I think this means?”

Crace shook his head, but his heart rate had started to climb and a shiver slid down his neck and arms. He was about to receive a revelation.

“One or both of these ladies have darkening capabilities.”

The moment the word was spoken, Crace knew it to be true. Shit. The darkening. Of course. Rith had even told him of the Seers’ prophecies. “Yes,” he said. “That fits the situation exactly. I should have thought of it.”

“Well, what do you know. No wonder the future streams have been all lit up about these women. Very, very interesting.” He nodded then said, “I expect you to continue your vigilant efforts to find the mortal-with-wings, but I think I want her alive in case she is the one with darkening abilities. Are we in agreement?”

Before Crace could reply, Greaves once more dove within his head, a torpedo of sensation that hurt like a bitch. The sweating started all over again. “Yes, master,” he cried. “I will see to everything.”

As quickly as it had begun the pressure released. He was left with a fucking migraine.

The Commander rose from his chair. “Excellent. Then I’ll leave you to it. Rith, you will come with me.” He lifted an arm and both men vanished, Rith folding away while in the middle of his most obsequious bow.

Darkening capabilities.

Coordinate Thorne’s assassination.

Shit.

Crace leaned over the side of the chair he hated so much and threw up.

 

The teacher sometimes needs the lesson.


Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

 

CHAPTER 17

 

Havily always felt like she was facing a firing squad whenever she approached Endelle’s office. After Thorne had reported to Endelle on the attack at the villa, Her Supremeness had summoned her to the administrative offices even though the hour was now past nine o’clock.

Marcus had insisted on accompanying her while Alison remained with Parisa, to continue to counsel her. Havily knew Marcus didn’t like leaving the women alone, but Endelle had repaired the breach in the mist so they were once more under a cloak of safety. Also, because of Alison’s bond with Kerrick, the warrior would know instantly if the women were in trouble and could fold directly to his
breh,
without the assistance of Central or anyone else. In that way, both Parisa’s and Alison’s safety were ensured.

Havily knocked on the door, her heart an annoying thump in her chest. Endelle’s answering bark, “Come,” didn’t help.

She straightened her shoulders and gave the door a shove. She walked in with Marcus right at her back as he had been since the attack. She could even feel his breath on her neck, his left hand a light touch against her waist.

The attack had nerved up his warrior instincts, and he’d become a second skin. Damn her for liking it as much as she did. And seeing him in battle gear?
Whoa.
She was a sucker for a man in a kilt, always had been. Besides, the wing-serving weapons harness displayed his muscles
to perfection.

She was still distressed by the whole thing, by having watched Parisa lose herself in the thrill of flight only to fly straight through the mist barrier and initiate a crisis. Dammit.

Now she was here, facing her personal firing squad, yet again.

She’d exchanged her flight suit for jeans and a light blue silk tank top. She wore lime-green heels as well for the simple reason that if she didn’t add the inches to her height, Endelle would tower over her. The last thing she needed with any interview in this office was an extreme disparity in height. It was really hard to stand up to someone who was a foot taller by means of
her
stilettos and
your
flats. So, yes, she wore heels.

She folded her arms over her chest and met Endelle’s gaze squarely. The woman wore the same outfit as earlier and scratched at the fur halter. She couldn’t figure out what kind of fur it was, only that it seemed to irritate Her Supremeness. Her suede pants were spotted like leopard.

She had no idea what fault Endelle intended to find with her tonight, but the bitch could kiss her ass on this one.

However, the wooded appearance of the Supreme High Administrator’s eyes somehow knocked sideways what little confidence she possessed. Havily couldn’t imagine having lived on Second Earth for nine thousand years. What had Endelle seen during that time? What had she been forced to endure as Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth?

Endelle said, “I wanted to let you both know that tomorrow I have a meeting with COPASS so we can figure out what to do with Parisa. I will insist on a ruling before I’ll ever allow her to return to Mortal Earth or whatever the hell she’s supposed to do next. I know those assholes won’t have the sense to discipline Greaves as he should be disciplined, like put his ass in a sling and keep it there. However, I intend to make public that some of Greaves’s high command have been after Parisa without cause.”

“Well,” Marcus said, nodding, “it’s at least a place to start.”

Havily frowned as she looked up at Marcus. He was being reasonable … again. She wished everything was different. This situation had started wearing on her, the powerful sexual nature of their current entanglement as well as all the ways this kind of intimacy reminded her of how much she’d loved being married and how much she’d lost.

And now here she was with Endelle and waiting for the other shoe to drop. She repressed a sigh.

Her Supremeness folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. She held Havily’s gaze and didn’t hold back her sigh. “Alison tells me you pulled Parisa into the darkening and saved her life.”

“Yes,” she responded, but she felt uneasy. “Crace was ready to … break her neck.” She described the event in detail. The whole time Endelle kept her eyes narrowed and nodded several times.

Endelle surprised her, however, because an odd expression overtook her face and she smiled. She smiled and nodded. “Well, ascender. This is a big fucking deal, you know. Darkening abilities are considered Third abilities. Even Alison can’t go into the darkening. Aren’t you just a little impressed with yourself? I know I am.”

Havily couldn’t have heard right. Endelle was impressed with her? Impossible. But even if she was, Havily didn’t exactly feel grateful. Instead, she lifted her chin and let a fair dose of sarcasm flavor her words. “Well, how nice that you actually think I might be worth something.”

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