Obsidian Flame (50 page)

Marguerite followed suit and within another two seconds, she was dressed in her jeans, a red sweatshirt, and a pair of black flats. She ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times then nodded. “Let’s go.”

He folded her back to the villa, to the foyer.

“Leto,” he called out toward the south rooms, his voice booming the length of the hall.

Leto moved in from another hallway that led to a couple of guest suites. He was showered, shaved, glowing with health, blue eyes crisp, his long black hair secured in the
cadroen.
He also wore jeans and a blue plaid short-sleeved shirt. “What’s the hell’s going on?”

“Marguerite had a vision of Grace in a cage. Where’s my sister?”

But Leto paled and began walking toward them. “What kind of cage? You mean like a circus animal cage?”

“Yes,” Marguerite said. “Black wrought iron. There was straw on the floor.”

“Oh, shit. Greaves has a pair of white tigers in cages for the review. Can’t be a coincidence.”

Thorne felt himself weave on his feet. Oh, God. “Okay, but where is she? I take it she’s not in the house?”

He waved a hand in the direction of the front door. “She went to the formal garden to meditate, I think. Is there something wrong with that? I thought with Endelle’s mist, we were safe here.”

Thorne shook his head. “I don’t know.” He didn’t wait to discuss the matter further; he just wanted to make sure Grace was okay. He folded to the garden entrance near the pool. He felt Leto on his heels, Marguerite as well.

But trouble had already arrived.

The Fourth ascender had made his way through the mist. He had Grace in his arms and she was nestled into his shoulder. Had he put her in thrall?

“She has chosen to come with me,” Casimir called out.

“Grace?” Thorne started to run. Leto blurred past him but by the time he got to her position, she was gone.

Leto tried several times to follow the trace, but was bumped back repeatedly.

Thorne whipped his phone from his pant pocket and called Endelle. If the Fourth ascender was involved, he needed her level of power to help get Grace back.

The phone rang and rang.

*   *   *

Endelle heard her phone ringing as if from a great distance. She pushed up with both hands then fell right back down on her chaise-longue.

At least she knew where the fuck she was. In her meditation room. But why was she here? Shit, she just couldn’t remember.

Her bones were on fire and she had one motherfucker of a headache.

The room was dark. Why was it dark? Why was she here? What time was it? Where the hell was her phone?

She reached for it through nether-space, seeking it out, hearing the annoying ring, though faint, until she located it in her bathroom a couple of rooms away.

With a thought, she brought it to her hand. Alison had reset it to an old-fashioned phone sound. It about burst her head wide open when it rang next to her.

She touched the screen. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded thick, like she hadn’t used it in forever.

“Endelle?”

Thorne. Fuck. She cleared her throat, or tried to. “Well, if it isn’t Your Majesty.”

“What’s wrong? Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.” Had she been drinking? Her mind was fuzzy, like she’d had few shots of some really bad tequila. She rolled onto her back and became aware that she was stark naked. She rubbed a hand down her stomach and felt between her legs. Some moisture, but nothing more, nothing a male would leave in her or even on her. The back of her neck was killing her. She leaned up on her elbows.

Holy hell, why couldn’t she remember what happened?

“We have a sitch, Endelle. You need to get over to Medichi’s villa. Grace is gone.”

“Where’d she go?”

A long pause. “Would I be calling you if I knew?”

That kind of made sense but she really didn’t like his fucking tone. On the other hand, she just wasn’t thinking clearly enough to tell him to go fuck himself. “No, I guess you wouldn’t have called if you knew where she went.” Her mind blanked out.

“Endelle?”

Why did Thorne’s voice sound like it was at the end of a long tunnel? And why was she so tired?

“Okay. Give me five. I’ll get my shit together and meet you over there.”

What was that thumping noise? Oh, her phone just hit the floor. Whatever.

She struggled to her feet and with a wave of her arm folded to her bedroom. She touched down in front of her full-length wardrobe mirrors, but she had no knees to speak of and sort of crumpled until she was lying in front of the mirror staring at herself.

She lifted up on an elbow, a very wobbly elbow.

She had crusted blood in dried rivulets down both sides of her neck, and her hair looked like she’d walked through a wind tunnel.

She touched the back of her neck and winced. She’d been mangled back there. The skin was swollen and when she turned her head left or right, everything hurt.

Who had done this to her?

Part of the memory came back. Braulio.

Braulio.

That goddamn motherfucker, getting his kicks at her expense.

But what exactly did he do?

She couldn’t remember much of anything except his weight on her, a lot of pleasure, then pain, so much pain all throughout her body. Maybe it was some kind of Sixth Earth coupling, which still didn’t make sense.

She lifted her left hand and stared at it. Had he kissed her fingers?

Well, wasn’t this one of the finest days of her life. Thorne took her apart this morning and the same day her former lover, Braulio, rapes her, or whatever the hell it was he did to her, and leaves her with a love-bite the size of the Sonoran Desert on the back of her neck.

And maybe he kissed her fingers. How fucking precious.

But she knew him and rape didn’t quite fit. He was one randy sonofabitch and powerful as hell. If he’d wanted her, he’d have taken her. And he hadn’t. She’d felt his cock rubbing up and down her ass, but nothing more. No, this had been about breaking skin and marking.

Marking.

He’d marked her, but what the hell for?

And she was so tired. She lowered back down to the floor so that her head rested on the cool marble. Yeah, the marble felt cool. Her eyes were so heavy and now she was dizzy.

She made a strong effort to reach for her phone and after a couple of tries brought it into her hand. Another round of serious effort had Thorne barking into her ear. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Sorry, asshole,” she said. “This time you get to clean up the mess. You’re on your own.” She had meant to explain about Braulio and her neck and that something was wrong with her, but she forgot.

She lay there, trying to get her head clear. She had to. She had a sudden deep instinct that she would be needed.

She forced herself to sit up. One by one, she began clearing the cobwebs from her mind.

*   *   *

Thorne stared at his phone and frowned. Great. He was on his own. Well, didn’t this feel familiar?

“What happened?” Marguerite asked.

He stared at his woman who wasn’t really his woman and his irritation mounted. “Endelle’s not coming and don’t ask me why because I don’t know. Guess she’s still mad at me.”

“And I guess you’re still mad at me.”

“Guess I am.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“What I’ve always done. I’m going to take care of business.”

Suddenly Thorne felt Grace close by. He turned in a circle.

“What is it?” Marguerite asked. “Shit, you’re glowing again.”

“It’s Grace. I can feel her.” He opened his obsidian flame power and let it flow. As the power released, Grace appeared in front of him. He could see her in an ethereal form. “Where are you?”

“Greaves has me in a cage, but it’s a trap. Don’t follow after me. Do you understand? I’ll survive this.” Her eyes closed. “I can feel Greaves. He’s blocking my power.” She vanished.

Thorne felt her trace and it was free of the block, but like hell was he not going after her. He had to. She was his sister and if he could get her back now, he could keep her from Casimir as well. Greaves wasn’t her only enemy in this fucked-up situation.

He turned to Marguerite. “I have to go to her.”

“I’ll go with. Grace and I are sisters in obsidian flame. We’ll have power together.”

Thorne hesitated. As he stared into her eyes, he had a sudden sense of foreboding. “Maybe you should try reaching pure vision. We could call for Brynna.”

But Marguerite shook her head. “I don’t think it’s necessary. We’ve already seen proof of the vision. We know where Grace is and we can get to her.”

“Thorne.”

He jerked his head in Leto’s direction. “What?”

“I’m coming. Two swords would be better, much better.”

Thorne shook his head. “I can’t allow it. What if you have a relapse?” It was that simple.

Leto nodded. His shoulders slumped. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Contact Marcus. Fill him in. See if he can get to Endelle. We’re going to need her. That much I do know. She’s in her rooms at the palace, but she didn’t sound right just now.”

“Got it.”

He focused on the trace, but he hesitated a second time. That deep intuitive sense once more reached through his mind, touching him, warning him. He should wait, maybe contact Luken, get backup

He almost reached for his phone, but suddenly Grace appeared once more in her ethereal form. As she did, she started to scream.

That ended all discussion.

He didn’t have fucking time and besides, this was on him, like everything else was. “The hell with it,” he said aloud. He turned to Marguerite. “I need you to stay put. This doesn’t feel right.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She nodded.

But at the last moment, as he began to fold she touched his shoulder.

The ride through nether-space, even with Marguerite attached to him, was swift.

The moment he touched down on the straw of the cage, he didn’t have time to yell at his woman. He took in several details at once: the cage was moving, fireworks boomed on both sides, geese and swans flew overhead, he could hear boots marching like thunder down the avenue, and Greaves held a very limp Grace against his chest.

In the next split second Greaves flung an insanely powerful hand-blast at him. He was shoved hard against the side rails of the cage.

Greaves vanished. In his place an enormous white tiger appeared.

What happened next was a blur of tiger fur, Marguerite’s screams, his sword too long to be of any use, and his dagger struggling to find a vulnerable mortal spot in the tiger’s torso.

He was able to get the tiger away from her, but how do you wrestle with all that muscle? At least he was vampire-strong, but in this Greaves-controlled space, he had no power to finish the beast off with a hand-blast. All he could do, as the claws shredded his arms and legs, was jab the dagger in repeatedly searching for the heart.

*   *   *

Greaves held Grace in his arms. He hovered outside the cage and watched the show. He had cloaked himself and the entire battle in mist.

He felt dizzy with pleasure on so many levels. It was hard to pinpoint which felt the best: that he was watching the formidable Thorne being overcome at last by a creature he couldn’t subdue—or maybe it was the sight of Marguerite lying facedown in the straw, bleeding out.

“And there goes obsidian flame,” he said quietly, smiling.

He heard Thorne’s grunts. He vowed he would savor the sound as long as he lived.

He wanted to wait for the exact moment of death, but he needed to be back on the platform since the cameras were still rolling.

He folded with Thorne’s sister, however, into the bunker below the stage where Casimir waited. His servant deserved his reward.

“I didn’t think you would return her to me.”

“I wasn’t going to, but she’s no threat now. Marguerite is dying. Thorne will not survive this attack, either. You may take your prize back to Paris.”

He held Grace out to him.

Casimir took her. Before Greaves had even blinked, the pair vanished.

But a chill went through Greaves, a prescience that all was not well, and suddenly he wanted his act of generosity undone.

Well, too late for that. He shook off the uneasy sensation, dismissed his concerns, and returned in a swift glide through nether-space to his preeminent throne-like seat on the platform.

As he stared down the long avenue, as his well-trained troops marched in rigid formation, as the handlers drove their squadrons of DNA-altered swans and geese along the route, and as the fireworks boomed, oh, yes, life could be magnificent.

Even as he watched, however, he used his voyeur window to keep tabs on what was going on in the cage. He kept his power-block intact. The tiger was dead now, not unexpected since Thorne had brought his daggers and sword into the cage, but he was near death, as was Marguerite.