Born of Ashes

His eyes fluttered in his head and she watched him shudder and shiver. His scent didn’t just flow; it pounded over her until she was suddenly in his arms and clawing at his pastel brocade cadroen, trying to release it with one hand, but failing. At the same time, he held her almost cradled in his arms, his mouth on hers, his tongue bruising the inside of her mouth until she whimpered and writhed.

After a moment, she drew back breathless and put a hand on his chest. “I … shouldn’t have said that.”

“Mais non. I think it would be perfect for you to have that kind of power over me.” His voice dropped about a foot as he continued, “And I want to be bound and in your power. I want you to do to me whatever you desire. Anything.”

She may have just passed out. She wasn’t sure. She was very dizzy and now he sucked on the side of her neck. She wanted to leave with him, to go back to his house, to find some new space to explore with him and yes, to find a length of silk or maybe two, or four. Oh, God, four. To have him so bound that he couldn’t move and she could do whatever she wanted.

He was breathing hard as he pulled back and set her in her seat. “I am sorry, chérie, but my phone is buzzing.”

He reached into his pocket and drew out his warrior phone. “Allô, Bev.” He met Fiona’s gaze.

She sat forward, her brows raised, her heart rate climbing even higher than it already was. Because it was daytime at HQ, Bev would be running the grid.

He thumbed his phone and replaced it in his pocket, then smiled. “Another anomaly.”

Fiona couldn’t believe it. “But that makes three in three days. I would be exhilarated but I have to say I’m a little suspicious.”

He leaned back in his chair and worked at his breathing. She was able to stand but she was pretty sure Jean-Pierre still needed another minute. He smiled up at her. “Go ahead, chérie, this will take some time.” But his expression was so warm, so disarming, and she felt such a profound affection for him that she moved between his legs and held his face in her hands. “Thank you. Just … thank you.”

She kissed him.

When his hands found her hips, she knew this would not help his condition at all. Beyond that, she had a sociopath to find.

She pulled away. He let her go.

She ran to the door and then to the grid, a prayer flowing through her mind, Dear Creator, let this be the day that we get that bastard Rith.

The most satisfying deception always includes a surprise.

—Notes on Dark Spectacle, the Amazing Rimizac

Chapter 14

“Where are we? Which country?” Fiona asked, staring down at the anomaly.

Bev spoke from her perch above the grid. “Australia. Brisbane.”

Fiona searched through what looked like a smudge on the electronic field. After a moment the blue-green of Rith’s intricate mist pattern emerged, outlining a very specific area. So in the space of three days, they’d found three blood slave facilities. This had to be a new record, but to say she felt uneasy all over again was to say the least.

Seriffe left his office to stand at the end of the grid. “So we’ve got another one?”

Fiona met his gaze and nodded but he scowled. She didn’t blame him. This was just too good to be true.

“I’ll get Gideon on the com.”

Bev called out in an excited voice, “A powerful signature just arrived, stronger than just a death vampire.”

“No shit,” Seriffe said.

Fiona’s heart began to thrum. Could this be Rith, at long last? Could they have found the moment in time when Rith would be at the facility they currently had on their radar?

Jean-Pierre walked up the hall, having left the room they’d shared, but he’d changed to flight battle gear. He looked very serious, somber-eyed as he moved to stand by the wall nearest the foot of the grid.

He waved her over.

She frowned. Usually he came directly to her. She wondered what was wrong.

Several Militia Warriors also stared down into the grid. Seriffe began issuing orders into his com, ordering Gideon to get his team together for another rescue operation.

Bev called out, “The signature disappeared.”

Fiona looked up at her. Bev shrugged. Maybe Rith had folded in then left. So what did this mean?

Fiona moved in Jean-Pierre’s direction but the hairs on her nape rose. She stopped in her tracks and looked around. Something was really wrong, but what? No one else seemed to be disturbed. She shook her head at Jean-Pierre but he shrugged.

Once more she headed toward him, but the uneasiness remained. Just as she reached him, the door to the room they shared, maybe thirty feet away, opened once more and … Jean-Pierre stepped out, wearing what he’d been wearing earlier.

She didn’t understand.

She looked up at the battle-ready version of Jean-Pierre next to her. He smiled, but his smile was very different. His smile was … familiar and not Rith’s.

Deep sonorous church bells began to sound. Recognition dawned.

The Upper ascender.

She stepped away just as her real boyfriend blurred toward her. At the exact same moment, warning sirens shrieked through the grid room. But before her Jean-Pierre could reach her, time appeared to slow all around her, something that just didn’t make sense. She saw her Jean-Pierre pause as if in mid-run, his expression intense, his eyes pinched, mouth wide as though screaming.

The false Jean-Pierre put a hand on her shoulder and the next moment she was flying through nether-space, a smooth glide, but this time no pleasure accompanied the trip, only a terrible panic at what had just happened to her.

She barely had time to collect her thoughts as she touched down on a solid stone floor. She glanced around. A cavern. She was in some sort of cavern, lit by a few scattered, wall-mounted lanterns. Underground locations made excellent hiding places since the grid could only detect surface activity.

The fake Jean-Pierre stood next to her. She turned toward him and backed up. The image of her warrior, her man, wavered. The Upper ascender shook himself like a dog emerging from water.

“Well, that was fun, but the security alarm was so loud. Ouch. My ears hurt.” He laughed.

She took another step back.

The Upper ascender was exactly as both Jean-Pierre and Marguerite had described him: long curly dark hair, a narrow nose, quite handsome, full, sensual lips, deep brown eyes, almost black. He wore very snug pants and she kept her gaze away from what he must be intent on displaying. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

So how exactly was she supposed to escape a vampire with Third or Fourth powers?

The man’s gaze drifted down her face, her throat, her breasts, all the way down then back up. “I like that you’re tall.”

She swallowed hard and gathered what remained of her courage. She lifted her chin. “I know of you, but we haven’t met. I’m Fiona Gaines, taken from Boston in the late 1800s. And you are?”

“Casimir.” His smile was slow, lascivious. “Eastern Europe, from sometime in the middle of, oh, the third millennium BC, I guess. Yes I think that’s right. Time takes on such a different meaning as the years wear on. They call it ‘millennial adjustment.’” He still smiled and for good measure his tongue made an appearance, rubbing back and forth over his lower lip.

Jean-Pierre would have gone ballistic at the sight of Casimir’s smile alone. His tongue? A declaration of war.

He walked in a circle around her, a very slow circle until he faced her. He hooked his thumb in his pants, which of course drew her gaze right where he wanted it. She looked away. The man was aroused.

“How sweet,” he crooned as he circled once more. “You’re actually blushing. I think that’s adorable.”

When he was behind her, the hairs on the nape of her neck rose once more. She felt the urge to run. She would have bolted but suddenly he took hold of her arms and she couldn’t move. The snakes in the pit of her stomach began to writhe. Her heart pumped hard and she had to part her lips to breathe.

“I would never hurt you, Fiona of Boston. Really.” But he laughed deep into the well of his throat. “I feel you trembling. So frightened. I confess, it’s an elixir.” He breathed in, a slow hissing sound, close to her neck.

She felt his mind against her mind. I have known obsidian flames before. Your kind is rare, very rare, and quite unpredictable. I can feel the power inside you, very deep, and building. I’d like to be inside all that power. Can you feel your power building?

No. And that was the truth.

Interesting. Aloud, he said, “But then, this is all very new to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” So the man liked to chitchat before he slit her throat or whatever it was he had planned for her.

Fiona took deep breaths and tried to still the slamming of her heart. She couldn’t believe this had happened to her again, that she was once more in the power of a man. But no ordinary man. An Upper ascender.

What the hell was she supposed to do now? She didn’t have power like Alison, certainly not like Endelle. She couldn’t throw a hand-blast and hope to drop the man to the floor. Her folding skills were nominal. So exactly how was she supposed to defend herself?

She could channel the powers of others, but whose power in this situation? She needed outside help. She really did, some power she could channel.

“So where exactly is this place?” she asked, thinking she would be wise to gather information.

“Las Vegas Two, beneath one of my favorite theaters. Do you like it? I had it carved out for my own personal use.” She glanced at a long slab of dark granite supported by a massive boulder. An altar? She shivered.

“Come out, Rith.”

Fiona grew very still at the mention of Rith’s name. She glanced around and there he was. The man she had been hunting for so long suddenly emerged from between an almost invisible breach in the cavern wall. He was followed by—oh, God—two pretty-boys, and they were all focused on her.

She had never seen a death vampire this close before.

The two looked almost identical: porcelain skin with a bluish cast, long wavy black hair, dark eyes, and so much beauty. Her heart began to feel tremendous ease and well-being as she looked at them.