Wings of Fire

“Wow,” he muttered.

“Yeah.”

She wasn’t sleepy. Not even a little. Her mind worked over the dream, over Greaves’s mind-link. Because she couldn’t sleep and because she was nestled against Antony, she opened her voyeur’s window. Instead of focusing on Fiona this time, however, she chose a more innocuous object: the White Tank Mountains just beyond the villa. She panned her window back and forth. She wanted to see if and when the pain would come.

After a few more seconds, there it was, a flash of pain, but smaller this time, thank you God.

She shifted her attention to the pain, but it retreated. She relaxed and watched the pain until it faded to nothing. She remained very still within her own mind. She needed to understand, she wanted to understand, exactly what was going on.

She took slow, even breaths and waited. She panned to the north side of the villa property, in the direction of Antony’s olive grove. She began moving the window through the grove as though searching, but the whole time she kept her attention focused on the point where the pain had receded.

She moved to one end of the grove and back. She crossed a dirt lane and moved into the vineyard.

She waited.

After what felt like five minutes, she felt a twinge within her mind—then a distinct absence, much like what she’d felt when she’d pushed Greaves out of her mind in the turret room.

So she was right. Greaves was there. She also thought it was very telling that the level of pain the mind-link usually induced had diminished. If all her suppositions were correct, no doubt Greaves was working his end of the equation as well.

She repeated the process two more times. Each time, the experience was the same.

So it was all true. Greaves had formed a link with her. She knew that telepathic links could be forged between powerful ascenders—Endelle had one with Thorne, her second-in-command. When she needed him, all she had to do was think about him and send a command. He could respond mind-to-mind.

This was similar. But was it telepathic, or was it related strictly to her voyeur’s window?

Only one way to find out. She closed her eyes and, without opening her window, focused all her mental attention on Greaves. Are you there, Commander? she sent.

She waited.

Nothing returned to her. Nothing. Not a flash of pain, not even a twinge.

She made the attempt several times.

Nothing.

If all her musings were correct, then Greaves had apparently formed a link with her voyeurism but not with her telepathy.

A flush started at her forehead and climbed down her face, her neck, her chest, and over her arms. She felt hot and cold at the same time. Her palms were clammy.

Antony’s breathing was now deep and even. The warrior needed a nap.

Slowly, she pulled away from him. She slid off the bed and padded her way to the bathroom. The toilet had its own little room. She grabbed a towel, went inside, and closed the door. She was completely naked so she wrapped the oversized black bath towel around her body and sat down on the lid.

She leaned over and, with her elbows on her thighs, she put her head in her hands. Sweat now dripped down her neck and from beneath her breasts.

She couldn’t breathe very well so she worked at that for a long time until she knew she wouldn’t hyperventilate. She wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with her but of all the things she had experienced in the past three-plus months, the thought that Greaves had a link to her made her nauseous. She felt controlled and put in yet another box. She hated these boxes. She hated that she was living in Antony’s villa again, with another dome of mist over the property, she hated that she’d spent the last few months in Rith’s residence living like some kind of mystical bird that had to be coddled and caged, and she really hated that anyone had access to her mind like this.

But what distressed her most of all was that she was sharing Antony’s bed as though they’d been lovers for years. Where was her choice in any of this? She hadn’t exactly chosen Antony. He’d simply shown up in her voyeur’s window about the same time she’d mounted her wings for the first time.

Her previous life, the one she’d lived as a librarian on Mortal Earth, had been a life of her choosing. No one had forced it on her. No one had come along insisting that she shelve books to assist the war effort. No, she’d become a librarian by choice.

Now she was locked into some kind of übersexual relationship with Antony and as pleasurable as it was, what was it really? Well, if she’d understood everything that had been going on since she’d first been brought to the villa, her entire relationship with Antony was because of the breh-hedden, something she didn’t understand, but which had also locked her down and helped force her into this box.

Right now, she felt no different, well maybe a little different, than when she’d lived in Rith’s house in Burma, like a jewel that was owned by someone else and needed constant guarding and polishing and tending.

Her thoughts weren’t entirely fair, maybe not as rational as she wanted them to be, but something about Greaves having possession of her mind had sunk her, put cement in her spirit and taken her to the bottom of the lake. Maybe she needed to cry. She worked at it, and squeezed out a couple of tears but she just wasn’t in the mood to give vent to her feelings through her tear ducts.

No, that wasn’t what she needed.

She needed the link broken, but how? Maybe Endelle could do it. Everyone kept mentioning how much power she had.

Then again, Endelle certainly couldn’t change the fact that she was sequestered in this villa, unable to even walk about on the grounds without Antony glued to her side.

And now she had a voyeur-link with a monster.

When she left the bathroom, she’d come to at least one decision. She intended to move into one of the guest rooms. Not the original one she’d used—it was across from Marcus and Havily’s room—but one closer to Antony.

With the towel still wrapped around her, she padded through the bathroom. She was surprised to see Antony sitting up in bed, his arms folded across his bare chest, his long hair hanging around his shoulders. He was looking in the direction of the den, through to the windows that opened onto the front lawn. She knew he could hear her, but he didn’t turn in her direction. He just stared across the room.

She rounded the bed and stood a few feet away facing him. His gaze was still fixed in the same direction. She waited.

“You were in the bathroom awhile.”

“I was thinking. And I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. I woke up to an empty bed and I panicked. Then I realized you were probably in the bathroom. I got up and checked. I could hear you breathe and sigh. Your thoughts were very loud, I just couldn’t read them.”

He sort of smiled, a half smile.

“I’ve had a lot to digest.”

“So have I.” His frown deepened. “I think we should complete the breh-hedden.”

Somehow it was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She even moved back a full step. “Why?” she asked. Okay, so she’d almost shouted the question.

Maybe it was the tone of her voice, which she admitted did sound incredulous, even to her, but his brows shot up and his arms unhinged but they didn’t come apart all the way. He looked wound up, braced for anything, tight.

He heaved a sigh. “Because if we complete the breh-hedden, which involves moving into each other’s minds at certain times, then I’m guessing that no one can form this kind of voyeur-link with you ever again. Certainly not without my knowledge.”

“You want to complete the breh-hedden so you can have charge of my mind?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He pushed a hand through his hair on the left side until it hung away from his face. “Not have charge, never that. But maybe I could protect you better.”

“Lots of maybes.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, the very edge, as in she took up three inches of mattress at the most.

Her head wagged back and forth and her gaze fell to the dark planked floor. The villa was beautiful and the wood gleamed, another lovely prison. “I don’t want to complete the breh-hedden, and I don’t want you to move into my head … ever.” She turned to him. “I’m not even sure that I want you, really want you. I feel trapped, Antony. This … this thing grabbed hold of both of us and chained us. That’s why we’re here. Then Madame Endelle assigned you as my Guardian. Well the guard part of that word feels about right.”

He looked appalled, his eyes wide, his brows raised, his lips parted. His cheeks had a drawn look, liked he’d sucked in the shock of her words and couldn’t let it back out.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “I guess you have been thinking.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, I’ve just realized how inaccessible you are.”

She stood up and stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Thoughts of Jason and the way he’d broken up with her shot through her mind. He’d used that word to describe her as well, but this wasn’t fair at all.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? At least be honest with yourself about what it is you’re doing right now, about all the things you just said to me. You just said, I’m not even sure I want you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant this breh thing has charge of us both right now. Maybe you don’t even want me.”

He blinked, a strange slow movement. “Maybe the fuck I don’t.”

She was breathing hard, and panic began to rise. What was she doing? Was she breaking up with him? Had she been cruel? By the look on his face the answer had to be yes.

She felt an urge to apologize, but when she opened her mouth what came out was, “I want to move into one of the guest rooms.”

“Fine. Take any one you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

She felt the bitterness in each word. Fine. This was for the best. She needed space. She’d been needing space for three long months.

She gathered up some of her clothes and left the room.