Born of Ashes (Guardians of Ascension #4)(34)
Author: Caris Roane

Darian smiled. “No, not at all. Women are necessary in so many ways. You and I would not be here otherwise. They are often very powerful, and have control over men in ways I daresay they truly do not understand, thank the Creator. But when all is said and done, only men know how to create the highest and finest achievements in life.”

“I believe that might be the longest speech you’ve ever made.”

Darian shrugged, then asked, “What do you intend to do?”

“The process will not be simple. I’ll need to test the woman first, try to understand the direction of her power. Killing her sooner rather than later would be the wisest course, but as you know I am not allowed to do the deed directly.” All Upper ascender exiles were monitored for killing behavior, and such behavior meant instant assassination. Another profound annoyance. “I think, though, that given her current obsession with finding our little friend Rith, as well as her intention to destroy as many of your blood slave facilities as she can, my plans will probably flow in the direction of something like a bait-and-switch. How does that sound?”

At that, Darian actually chuckled. “Like perfection.” He rose to his feet. “Just get her for me before the other two obsidians emerge and forge the triad.”

“You do understand the difficulty.”

Greaves nodded. “Her power will be unpredictable.”

“And deadly.”

“But in the early stages, as now, the power is emerging and at its weakest. If you can arrange it, kill her.”

“That’s the plan.” Caz slid his thumb into the waistband of his white pants and let his fingers rest low on what was now very firm. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you into my chambers for a minute or two. I’m very good, better than a peach blow any day.”

Only then did Darian slide his gaze lower and lower. “Almost, you tempt me. But not quite, my friend.” He lifted his arm and vanished.

O, Beloved,

Take me with your lips,

Take me a thousand times

And I will prepare you a feast.

O, Beloved,

Take me with your arms,

Take me a thousand times

And I will inhabit your bed.

O, Beloved,

Take me with your body,

Take me a thousand times,

And I will build you a house.

—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 8

Fiona heard a buzzing sound at a great distance, very annoying. She burrowed her head deeper into the pillow and into the mountain of heat that radiated in front of her. She was toasty warm and something more, something that felt like peace.

She fell back into her dreams, of mounting her wings and flying over White Lake, the beautiful narrow man-made lake on the west side of the White Tanks. She flew behind Alison but with two women off to her right, also in flight, which meant that she formed the left flank of the trio.

However, she couldn’t see the other women clearly, as though they were blurred through the distance of what she could feel was simply the future.

Her heart swelled. As one, all four of them drew their wings into what was called parachute-mount, cupped at the top. In increments, she drew her wings in closer so that she eased downward through the air in the direction of the lake.

Her bare toes touched the cool water.

She looked up.

A rush of gold power flew through her up and up, joining with the women to her right. Euphoria flowed as well, such happiness, such fulfillment.

Her power joined the powers of the other women, and what had been three individual obsidian flames became one massive joining of gold, of red, and of cerulean blue, a twist of individual colors and power that blended just at the edges to forge a massive, rainbow-colored beam of light.

With her toes still grounded by the lake, and her wings supporting her, she looked up. There, in a beautiful swirl of blue, the color of Alison’s eyes, was what she knew to be the portal to Third Earth. A resounding yes flew through her mind. She was ready to help Alison open the gateway to the third dimension.

The dream vanished, like a giant whirlwind being dragged up into the sky higher and higher, growing smaller to the eye as each millisecond passed, then simply disappearing.

The mountain of heat beside her moved, pushing her and rolling her onto her back. The buzzing sound returned. So annoying. She felt groggy and couldn’t quite open her eyes. She didn’t know where she was.

All she could think about was White Lake, White Lake, White Lake, until the mountain spoke in a whisper next to her ear. “Fiona, your phone is buzzing.”

Something mumbled came out of her mouth.

She turned over on her other side and folded her hands prayer-like then placed them beneath her cheek.

A large warm hand found her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Fiona. It is grown late. Alison is probably trying to call you.”

Alison had been so beautiful in her dream. She didn’t wear a flight suit, but rather the most beautiful ethereal gown all in white and flowing around her as though made up of thousands of sheer long silk scarves, hanging several yards past her feet.

She looked almost angelic, a very strange state for a vampire woman.

The shaking recommenced. She opened her eyes this time and tried to focus. She had fallen asleep. When? Where?

Curved wooden shingles made up the wall opposite her. Why were there shingles in a bedroom?

The memory of being in Jean-Pierre’s wood shop, and lying on her back on his table, flowed through her like a wildfire on a dry grassy hillside.

Desire ignited. Her back arched.

She finally started to wake up.

A roll of Jean-Pierre’s café-au-lait scent battered her and she heard him groan. His hand was still on her shoulder.

She shifted to look at him and met eyes the color of the ocean, blue, gray, and green, eyes at half-mast. His nostrils flared and his hair hung over her arm and touched her breast, teasing her bare nipple.

His chin trembled. His lips parted. He leaned lower and lower. She rose up and just as his lips would have touched hers, the phone buzzed again.

Alison.

“Oh, shit, Alison! Jean-Pierre, what time is it? How long did I, we, sleep? Oh, my God.”

But even though the phone buzzed, he put a hand on her right shoulder and pressed her back down into the mattress. She let him. When she was flat on her back, he planted a hand on either side of her. She thought he meant to kiss her and then do more than that.

Instead, he held her gaze for a long moment, his expression solemn. “I slept, chérie. I have not slept like that in decades.”

She blinked up at him and drew a deep breath. She nodded, her head sliding up and down on the pillow. “I did, too.”