Ascension (Guardians of Ascension #1)(109)
Author: Caris Roane

“Yes.” Like rain to earth.

“But she will find someone else, non?”

“She should.”

“Somone to raise your daughter, yes?”

“Again, f**k off, Jean-Pierre. You think I haven’t had these thoughts?”

“I think you have not accepted your death, or hers. We all die, even in these ascended worlds. You have a chance to be happy. You should take it.”

Kerrick turned toward him. “So why the f**k haven’t you taken a wife, O wise French ass**le?”

He shrugged. “I love all women. I could never love just one. I am not like you.” He tossed a negligent arm as though that finished the discussion.

“You’re so full of shit. You just wait, J.P. She’ll come along and then you’ll discover for yourself exactly what kind of hell this is and why you won’t be able to be with her.”

He braced his feet apart and started to walk. He pushed the door to his room open and ventured into the hall. The more steps he took, the stronger he felt. A squadron of nurses came running at him, squawking the whole time, but he moved past them. He had to get out of the hospital.

Jean-Pierre caught up with the gaggle of women in scrubs and before he knew it, the Gallic warrior had enthralled them all and led them away. He might in this moment hate J.P., but his brother still had his back.

He left by the front sliders and located his phone, then brought it without a thought into his hand. He called Central. “Hey, Jeannie.”

“There’s my man,” she cried. “How the hell are you, duhuro?”

He smiled and his chest eased a little. “Couldn’t be f**king better. Give me a lift to my house in Scottsdale Two.”

“You got it. How’s your spaghetti stomach?”

He looked down at his abdomen and patted the achy flesh, crisscrossed with fading scars. “More like lasagna now.”

She laughed, which made him laugh, which made him grimace.

“Here ya go, Warrior Kerrick. Feel better.”

He felt the vibration, that brief winking out then flashing back in, and he stood in the entry of his home gasping in pain.

Oh, f**k. He shouldn’t have dematerialized so soon. Holy mother of God. He struggled to breathe as his cells settled back down, but again it was like someone was holding a blowtorch to the inside of his body. Shit. Only after several minutes did he dare move, and he still hadn’t taken a deep breath.

He remained in place and looked around, at the expansive living room off to the right, full of oversized furniture, the kind meant to fit warrior bodies. He glanced to his left, to the massive library he’d built book by book for centuries. In front of him the formal, curved, wood-paneled staircase, which led to his bedroom, the one he hadn’t used in two centuries.

He glanced at the door leading to his basement. He repressed a sigh.

Without thinking too much, he moved forward and one step at a time, climbed the stairs, his abdomen screaming by the time he reached the landing at the top. He turned to the right, moved down the hall to the double doors, left wide. Beyond was the master suite where he had lived with Helena all those years ago.

Once in the bedroom, everything was as he remembered: the enormous, four-poster bed, also built for his supersized body and meant for maneuverability. He’d maneuvered over Helena’s body and she’d loved it. His heart ached now, as much for her as for the absence of Alison at his side.

He passed by the bed, moving to the tall arched window at least fifteen feet in height. The rolling mansion grounds stretched a good quarter mile beyond. He looked down. Lawn traveled forever, trees brought in from all over the world, and flowers everywhere. Toward the back, mounds of honeysuckle covered a ten-foot wall, both sides. He could hear the chattering of the shrub birds from where he stood.

Helena had insisted on a garden. If we must live in the desert, we will transform the desert. She had been a trouper, a real warrior’s wife. But then her brother was a warrior, so she understood their world well, she knew the dangers, she had accepted them, she had laughed at Kerrick’s concerns.

Then she had died.

He drew in a deep breath, one hand planted on his abdomen to keep things from moving while he breathed. Helena had never made promises, had she? She’d never spoken in terms of years. She had adhered to what became AA’s watchphrase, One day at a time. She had asked for nothing more.

But he had never believed her. Yet now, as he thought of her, he knew she truly hadn’t asked more than one day of him, ever, that she’d understood from the beginning the risk, accepted the risk, and lived full-throttle despite the terrible reality of his job.

And she’d paid for it. So had his children.

Now he had another child on the way, a daughter this time. What would Alison name her? he wondered. Would he ever get to see her? Would she have Alison’s blue eyes? Her soft blond hair? Her deep empathy? Her ability to throw a hand-blast that could cross dimensions, or shred a warrior’s abdomen?

He wanted to know. He needed to know.

His chest felt crushed now as he stared out at the quiet property.

A singular question surfaced. He hadn’t been in this bedroom for almost two centuries. Now he was here.

Why?

* * *

Two weeks into her training program, Alison entered the showers at her barracks. She rinsed off the two inches of dust she’d accumulated in the course of the day’s field training. Her lungs felt clogged. She blew her nose a dozen times trying to get rid of all the powdery dirt lodged in her sinuses.

She wished more than anything she could call her sister and talk everything over with her. Joy had been her friend, her confidante, yes, even her counselor, for well over a decade despite the fact that six years separated them. However, phone calls to Mortal Earth weren’t allowed without special permission and right now her CO wouldn’t see her. For some reason the woman was tense, even anxious about her presence at the camps, but she didn’t know why. In time Alison was certain she could work everything out, but right now that meant she couldn’t talk to Joy and get the comfort and relief she really needed. Besides, if much more time passed, her sister would start to get worried that maybe she’d gotten kidnapped during her made-up trip to Mexico.

Whatever.

At least the shower eased her. Though she had entered the program physically fit, the rigors of the military training left her muscles on fire at the end of each day.

She had stayed on the field an hour past the time the last trainee headed to the showers. She needed some alone time, away from the jockeying-for-toughest-bitch-position that went on constantly. She hated the strife, and her nerves had reached a snapping point. She feared she’d end up on overload, release too much of her power, and send one of these macho females to perdition.