Ascension (Guardians of Ascension #1)(30)
Author: Caris Roane

But … he was a vampire, for God’s sake.

A vampire living in a different dimension.

Yes. Same earth, different dimensions.

Vampire.

As the word settled in her mind, another wave of yearning swept over her so powerfully that she gripped the sink once more and hung on. The sensation intensified, gripping her lower back and riding up her spine. She felt her back muscles shift about. She felt strange tingles all along her back in a wide V-pattern. Wings.

What was happening to her? Was she feeling the presence of wings? Wings?

The sensations eased, drifted away, disappeared.

Still she held on to the sink. She forced herself to breathe as tears dropped onto the white porcelain.

Oh, God. Could her night get any stranger?

After a few minutes, when she had absorbed the reality of the renewed memory, when her tears had ceased, when her heart beat in normal thuds within her chest, fatigue hit and she wanted her bed. Now.

She stripped, got in the shower, then washed the crimp from her curls and all her makeup down the drain. As the hot water beat down on her shoulders, exhaustion took a toll.

She had to get some sleep.

Ready for bed at last, she climbed between the covers. She tried at first to force herself to sleep, but for a long time all she could think about was the warrior called Kerrick. How strange to want a man so much, a man she barely knew. Yet he wasn’t a man at all, was he? He was that other thing. She slung her arms over her face and refused to think one more thought on such a hopeless subject.

Somewhere among all her worries, frustrations, and desires, she began drifting off to sleep. She just hoped she didn’t have another dream.

God help her.

* * *

After Kerrick had swallowed at least three tumblers of Maker’s, he sat on one of the leather couches, leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, the cool glass cradled in his hands.

His warrior brothers were close by, waiting, he supposed, until he finally regained his senses and told them why he had just done what he’d done.

The Cave was a men-only club, not because they didn’t allow women but because most women were revolted by the place—beat-up leather sofas, a few stricken end tables, a pool table that took the brunt religiously of all the warriors’ tempers. A huge flat-screen TV hung at an angle off the wall awaiting repair … yeah, for three months now.

Chasing after Alison like a madman, his vampire body raging to protect her, the experience had left him wired, like he’d been up for three nights driving across a couple thousand miles of open land.

“I must have been out of my mind,” he mumbled. He took another swig of Maker’s.

Thorne sat down beside him then grasped the back of his neck. “You lucky sonofabitch! This has to be the breh-hedden. I mean, we all thought it was a myth but this has to be it!”

The other warriors drew close then offered up their congratulations as well, thumping him on the back, calling out the appropriate jibes.

He sat holding the tumbler, unable to respond, his chest in agony.

So the breh-hedden had come to him and the woman meant for him was here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t act on it, couldn’t go to her, couldn’t bring her close. Any degree of proximity to her was a death sentence.

The litany of his failures wasn’t particularly long but it was complete. He’d majored in failure. He’d gotten an A+ in all the big f**kups of his life. The hell he’d add one more to the list, and this had failure written all over it. If he ever claimed her physically, her death would essentially be guaranteed. “I won’t see it through.”

All the hearty backslaps, the jokes, the good-natured taunts ceased.

“What?” Thorne cried. “You can’t turn it down. She’s here. The woman meant for you, who can engage your mind, an ascendiate who matches you in power and can I just say, holy shit but she’s beautiful.”

Kerrick felt his biceps flinch possessively. His fangs thrummed and started to emerge. He dipped his chin, sucked in a gulp of air, then threw back the last of the Maker’s. He turned to face Thorne, his boss, his best friend, his brother. He shook his head. He tried to swallow but couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat. After a few more breaths he said, “I won’t marry again, not so long as I’m a warrior, no way in hell. And I sure as shit won’t complete the breh-hedden with that woman.”

“How can you even think about turning this down?” Luken asked. “The recorded documents say that completing the breh-hedden is about as close to heaven as you can get.”

Kerrick met his gaze knowing the golden warrior couldn’t possibly understand. “Well, take a wife and lose her because you’re a Warrior of the Blood. Hell, take two. See how that feels. Birth a couple of Twolings and have the Commander blast them into a fine spray of blood and bone just because he wants to hurt you. Believe me, you’d rather cut your own heart out than try again. I shouldn’t have married the second time. I knew it going in and I will always blame myself for Helena’s death and the deaths of our children. Eternity alone? Not such a bad f**king idea.”

“Aw, hell,” Thorne muttered.

The room writhed with the singular reality of the warrior’s life. They were all goddamn targets, every day and every night, and anyone connected to them.

Curses rent the air, issued from one warrior to the next, passed around like a peace pipe. The air cooled, and his determination shored up.

“Your call,” Thorne said quietly, his gaze shifting to the bar then back to Kerrick. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll all support you. There’s just one thing—I’m not so sure you can refuse the breh-hedden.”

“Well, f**k that,” Kerrick said, rising to his feet. “I’ll just have to be the first.”

Thorne nodded then turned away. He punched at the air several times. Kerrick watched him cross the room, heading in the direction of the pool table. Once there, he slid his hands beneath the top then lifted. Thorne had heavy broad shoulders and muscles to match. Grunting, he gave one hard jerk, which flipped the damn thing onto its side, breaking two of the four legs supporting the heavy table. One more dip of his knees and Thorne, in his rage, flipped the pool table all the way over. Christ.

Kerrick stared at the massive legs, two leaning and broken, two standing straight up. He started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Others joined him. Somehow this was just perfect. If Thorne lost it, none of them would be far behind.

They were all on edge, riding their nerves like horses whipped to a frenzy.