Ascension

He rinsed off her legs, toweled her dry, and carried her to his bed. He spooned her. He told her about the dinner party Endelle was giving as part of her ascension ceremony. All very private. She smiled, so content. “Good. I want to meet your warrior brothers.”

“And they want to meet you.”

She squeezed his arm as tears tracked down the side of her face and onto the pillow. What had Joy said? Why don’t you find a bodybuilder, someone who could handle all that power? She smiled and wept some more.

She breathed deeply, her heart so very full.

Kerrick and a child. And one more day of her rite of ascension and she would be in the clear, no longer at the mercy of Greaves’s plans to annihilate her.

All her dreams seemed to be coming true. How grateful she was that she had chosen to ascend, despite the battle with Leto.

And how far away all her old fears had drifted. She belonged on Second Earth. Her powers could be used for good in this new world. Hadn’t she proven her worth during the arena battle? She was so happy. To think she had done the impossible and yet her powers had made the impossible possible. She had vanquished Leto without harming him.

This was who she was in the deepest parts of body, mind, spirit. She was a giver of life, not a taker.

Her hand slid over her abdomen.

A giver of life.

* * *

Crace had returned to the Commander’s office. He felt blanked out and empty.

He sat in the laid-back, slanted chair in front of his deity’s battleship desk, his gaze fixed to the bank of Italian cypresses. Another whirring. Another quarter turn. The lights blazed to keep the shrubs healthy.

He reverted his gaze to Greaves.

The Commander sat very quietly, his tall-backed executive chair swiveled away from Crace. Given the position, Crace had a side view of Greaves. He had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands brought together, the fingers of his right hand steepled with the claws of his left.

He had no expectations at this point. He knew the failure of the arena battle was not his fault just as he had known that the failure of the regiment to off Kerrick and Alison in Carefree had not been his fault.

But what the hell did that matter? Alison still lived and there didn’t seem to be any way around so critical a point. Jesus. Reversal of time. Re-identification of hard metals. Impenetrable shields.

His mind swam. Crace was very powerful, but he couldn’t do these things. These were not even powers typical of Second. These were Third abilities.

An ascendiate with Third abilities.

Geneva seemed as remote as the moon right now. Lake Michigan would dry up before he ever won a seat at the Round Table.

“You despair too easily, my friend,” came the silky voice.

“I failed you, master. Why would I not despair? I came to Phoenix with such hope of truly being of use to you.”

The Commander turned in his direction, leaning his bald head against the cushioned high back of his leather chair. He had the cleanest nails, at least on his right hand, and the onyx ring winked beneath the recessed lights. “What makes you think you have not been of use to me?”

Crace shrugged. He had no fear in this moment. How could he, when he was a dead man? “Alison lives.”

The Commander held his gaze, his dark eyes unreadable as he nodded faintly. “Yes, she does. But have you no other suggestions for me?”

Crace blinked. The Commander wanted a suggestion?

“We have one more day,” Greaves said. “Surely we can accomplish something in a day.”

Crace drew in a sharp breath. “And you wish me to continue on?”

Greaves nodded. “Of course. However, I do have a requirement at this juncture in our intimate association, a gesture I’d like you to make as a symbol of your fealty and devotion to the Coming Order.”

Greaves held out his palm and a flagon appeared, an ornate ceramic goblet with purple grapes clinging to the sides, a green vine forming the stem and base. He set the flagon on the dark wood of the desk.

Crace could hear his heart thrumming in his ears. He stretched his nostrils and smelled the most delicious bouquet of human blood, laced with something so fine, a delicate flower-like fragrance, a hint of gardenia perhaps. His heart rate increased. The scent aroused him. He needed the contents of the flagon. Whatever it was, he had to have it. Now.

Then he knew.

“Why?” he asked, his heart thudding heavily, a cross between absolute panic and intense desire.

“I must be assured of your loyalties at every step of the way from this point forward.” He held out his right hand again, and a small crystal goblet appeared bearing a swirl of gold liquid.

The antidote.

Crace had heard rumors for decades. He thought of Harding, who had trimmed down in the past ten years and whose face had grown more pleasing. Even his heavy jowls had shrunk. Harding. The Commander’s devoted pawn.

He stared at the flagon. Of course. He was not being given a choice. He was not so stupid as to think otherwise. He hoisted himself from the chair and rose unsteadily. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach. He’d heard accounts over the years from death vampires about the unimaginable thrill of taking dying blood for the first time.

So this was to be his life, his future.

He confessed he had always wanted to try …

He didn’t look at the Commander. There was no point.

He put a shaking hand about the bowl of the goblet, drawing it close. He swirled the blood, which moved sluggishly. The movement once more released the faint flowery bouquet. He closed his eyes. He had fantasized about doing this. What man hadn’t since the erotic properties of such blood was widely known?

He put the flagon to his lips.

“Yes,” the Commander whispered, the thinnest hiss across the desk.

Crace breathed and tipped the flagon. A flow of blood hit his lips, his tongue, the sensitive pockets of his mouth. He groaned. Gardenia, spice, blood flowed into his throat and ran in a river down, down, down. He had never tasted anything so divine. He grew hard as a rock, throbbed now and wept. The small of his back tightened and without warning an orgasm surged through him, powerful, direct, a stunning surprise. He resisted the urge to pump with his hand. However, touching wasn’t at all necessary as the climax rolled through him and filled his briefs.

Euphoria hit, a sense that all was right with the world and would be forevermore. He had never known such peace, such well-being, such pleasure still riding his cock, racing through his veins, invading his mind. He loved the universe and the universe loved him back. Life would never be more perfect.

Without warning his mind speckled black and white until he found himself stretched out on the carpet, flat on his back, the flagon gone.

He had only one thought. He should have done this a long, long time ago and couldn’t think why he had ever resisted the best experience of his life.

“Feeling better?” Greaves had moved to stand over him.

Crace looked up at his master. Yes, he felt better, stronger, more powerful than ever. Unbelievably. He rose to his feet with ease. He stared at the Commander and understood. This was the source of Greaves’s advanced power. He knew it without having to be told.

The Commander merely laughed. “Now let us discuss what we can accomplish where our troublesome ascendiate is concerned.”

Crace’s mind had never been so clear, his energy so strong, his abilities so at the fore. “I recommend subterfuge, something unexpected.”

At that, the Commander’s left brow rose. “An idea so soon?”

“Tell me what you know of ascendiate Wells. Tell me what she fears.”

Greaves told Crace and Crace smiled. “Then we will use her power against her chosen clan. Many will die and she will be broken … forever.”

The Commander smiled, a warm easy curve of his lips. “Now you have shown me something.”

“The only difficulty I foresee is Madame Endelle.”

“I will manage the Supreme High Administrator at the time of the attack.” He cast his arm in the direction of the massive ebony desk. “When you are ready, make use of the antidote. Just don’t wait too long. Waiting allows dying blood to act on the features, to create excessive beauty as well as the paling and bluing of the skin. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.” He nodded.

“I have matters to attend to. Once again, put your plans together. When I return, we’ll march through the details.”

“Very good, master.”

The Commander lifted an arm and vanished.

Crace remained in the same position for a long time, staring at nothing, savoring the bliss in his stomach, his veins, his head. He had never felt so alive, but he wanted to hold to this exhilarating sense of power as long as he could. The antidote could wait a little while longer, maybe long enough to get to his wife and make use of her exquisite body.

Arousal returned in a flame of sensation. He thought the thought and returned to the Bredstone, to his wife. He folded the antidote to him as well. Still, he didn’t want to mar this first experience. Yes, the antidote could wait.

Leaving a world behind,

Slays the heart.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 20

Alison awoke naked and on her side, a heavy, muscled arm draped over her. She had never experienced this in the course of her life. She had never dared to. Yet here she was waking up with a man wrapped around her. He was fully erect, his hard length pressed against her buttocks, not a surprise since he’d been asleep for some time.

The room, his bedroom, was full of morning light. The dark wood blinds were open, a blue sky visible beyond, as well as desert for miles. Mist covered and protected the Queen Creek home and, oh, Medichi strolled by, his sword balanced on his shoulder, weapons harness beneath. The warriors had guarded the property through the night and would continue to do so, taking turns the rest of the day. Nothing was being left to chance.

She sighed, savoring, working hard not to take anything for granted in this moment. She was with her man, her vampire, in bed, waking up with him, both naked. Her skin tingled all over and tears started to her eyes. She had never thought to experience this kind of connection with a man … ever.