Burning Skies (Guardians of Ascension #2)(37)
Author: Caris Roane

“Fucking bad luck,” Crace muttered. He grunted his displeasure at the screen. He thought the height of the flames could be taller but he liked the colors, some pinks and greens, almost glittery, real spectacle-grade shit. But why the f**k hadn’t the warrior died? What was the point of beautiful explosions if someone didn’t get killed?

“There is something, however, I think you might have missed,” Rith said. He gestured with both hands toward the keyboard. “May I?”

“By all means.” Crace scooted away in his rolling desk chair, his hands in the air. He had an instinct about this vampire who pretended to be submissive. He should kill him right now and would have except that Greaves favored the bastard.

A few clicks followed. “There,” Rith said. “A hint of red hair. I was too far away at the time and preparing to leave so I didn’t see the arrival of a third person. I snatched the camera and tripod then folded away. I only saw this later.”

Crace peered close. “Fuck. You think this is ascender Morgan?” He could still taste her exquisite blood on his lips. His heart rate increased, double time.

“Yes. I do.”

“What the hell was she doing there at the scene?” Crace asked.

“The real question is—how did Warrior Thorne know to come to Warrior Luken’s aid?”

Crace frowned. “Are you saying he was warned?”

“I’m not sure. But ascender Morgan has a special relationship with Warrior Luken. I believe she knew he was in trouble.”

“A link?”

“Not necessarily, but I do think it’s possible she had a link with Warrior Medichi and that’s why he arrived at the town house so swiftly last night.”

No shit, Sherlock, he thought. Aloud, he said, “Go on.”

“There is no way Warrior Thorne could have known of the bomb at the Superstitions or that one of his warriors was down. I made certain that the Awatukee Borderland, where he was fighting, had a surplus of death vamps to battle. Even so, Warrior Luken fell hard to earth, and you can see by the footage that he was unable to make a call.”

“But you think ascender Morgan somehow knew that he’d been hurt, then intervened?”

“Yes. I do.”

“If not a telepathic link, then how do you explain it?”

“Do you recall the dispatches of yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“One of the Seers spoke of emergence. There have been at least six more reports from Seers Fortresses about ascender Morgan in the past twenty-four hours. One of them spoke of darkening capabilities.”

At that, Crace frowned. He was just a little skeptical about Seers’ prophecies. “Are you suggesting that she located Warrior Luken through the darkening?”

“I think it possible. It would explain a lot, especially her increased appearance in the future streams.”

Crace shook his head. To his knowledge only Endelle had darkening capabilities, which meant it was a Third Earth power even Greaves didn’t have. Yeah. Skeptical.

“And you’re telling me this because—?”

“Because I know you have an interest in her beyond her emerging powers.”

Crace didn’t trust Rith any farther than he could piss on him. He sensed in the man duplicity and schemes, plans of his own, but it didn’t matter. Right now, for whatever reason, it suited Rith to share information with Crace about Havily Morgan, and that was good enough. Maybe it was simply that Rith wanted her out of the picture the way Greaves did. Making Havily dead would be a feather in his cap where the Commander was concerned.

Crace did indeed have an entirely different interest in Havily Morgan. Truth be known, he didn’t give a damn about her emerging powers. What he wanted was her blood. Permanently.

He had never felt better in his long f**king life.

He flexed his right arm and felt the increased bulk of his bicep. Goddamn if the dispatches weren’t right. Her blood had done exactly what dying blood could do: It had increased his physical strength, lit up his libido, improved some of his normal human abilities. Bottom line? He may have just discovered the mother lode.

Rith stepped away from the computer and rounded the table to stand facing Crace. “There’s just one more thing. We have a convergence in the future streams.”

“Between?”

For the first time since Crace had known Rith, the vampire’s cheeks wore color—very faint, but the flush was there, a pale pink. What the f**k? “Ascender Morgan and the mortal-with-wings, a woman. She finally showed up in the future streams.”

Crace jerked forward in his chair and rose to his feet. “What the f**k?” He moved so fast, however, that his chair skidded backward and slammed into the stone wall. “We’ve heard nothing about the mortal-with-wings in the past four months and suddenly we have a convergence between these two women? Are you f**king sure?”

“Yes.”

Crace knew the bastard was holding something back, something big. “What do you want, Rith? Tell me.”

“I want her, the one purportedly with first-flight capability, the mortal-with-wings.”

“Why?” He knew for certain the next words his enemy spoke would be important.

“Because she is to me what ascender Morgan is to you.”

A blood donor? No, not that. Then what? Shit. Rith would never tell him, and he’d never been able to read his goddamn mind. Well, wasn’t this a day of surprises?

Crace relaxed his shoulders. “So basically, if I should happen to find the women together, as the future streams have suggested, then you want me to deliver the mortal-with-wings to you personally.”

Rith met his gaze with a blank stare, his mental shields practically glowing. “I would be obliged to you for the favor.”

Crace could lie with the best of them. “Then I’ll just have to see what I can do.” There was more than one way to destroy an enemy.

When Rith left, Crace headed to the war room. He scouted the notables present and ignored five of the generals to glare at the sixth, General Leto, former Warrior of the Blood. He disliked Leto immensely and distrusted him even more.

He moved to the surveillance grid and changed the coordinates to reflect the Metro Phoenix area, Mortal Earth. A mortal-with-wings by nature would have a power-signature strong enough to show up on the grid. Once he had her location, he’d go after her.

He glanced at Leto. How he despised the bastard who had fought Alison Wells in the Tolleson Two arena and failed to destroy her. He was tall, taller than Crace by at least an inch, and well muscled. He had intense blue eyes and long black warrior hair, which he kept drawn back in the traditional cadroen, a reminder to his peers that he’d once been a Warrior of the Blood. So f**king what!