Wings of Fire (Guardians of Ascension #3)(38)
Author: Caris Roane

He’d expected to strike bone and decapitate the bastard so that when he sliced through air, and got caught in the momentum, he ended up whirling Parisa in a circle.

Rith had escaped. Folded. Damn that vampire was fast.

He glanced around, a layer of sweat blooming over his skin, adrenaline singing through his veins, heart pounding. Was another enemy waiting? A death vampire maybe? A dozen? A hundred?

What the hell was this place? It looked like an underground cavern. But some of it was man-made—at least two of the walls were almost flat and the floor was a smooth, polished surface.

He turned in another circle, his sword outstretched. Parisa was limp around his arm. What had Rith done to her? Like he didn’t know. He’d forced his way into her mind trying to break her resistance to his will.

He swung her toward him, flipping her in his arm and gathering her close, his sword still flexing in his right hand. She whimpered against his chest.

He thought the thought, the vibration began, and he was back at the palace right next to Endelle.

“What the f**k happened?” Endelle asked.

He turned to look at her, his gaze shifting about. He was in full warrior mode. Even his sword was still in his hand, something hard to do while dematerializing. Given the dangerous nature of his identified sword, he folded the weapon back to his weapons locker in his villa.

“Rith,” he stated. “Almost had him, but he moved too damn fast. Can you block both our traces? We don’t want that f**ker showing up here.”

“Shit, yeah,” Endelle said. She closed her eyes, put her hand on Medichi. He felt her power, a smooth warm flow through him, through Parisa, and back into nether-space.

Medichi felt their pathways slam shut. At last he could take a breath.

Parisa moved in his arms then started hitting him and screaming. What the hell had that bastard done to her?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered against her ear. But she couldn’t seem to hear him.

“Let me go,” she cried. “You f**king bastard!”

He released her. She flew out of his arms, backward. That she wore heels and didn’t stumble seemed like some kind of miracle. She lowered her knees into a crouch, dropping her shoulders at the same time. She glared at him. She blinked. She glared some more.

“Where is he? I’ll kill him. I swear to God I’ll kill him.” Her cheeks were flushed bright red and her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

The Warriors of the Blood drew closer to her. Only then did Medichi realize each was armed with a sword, each expression wild, ready to protect her.

Medichi crossed to her and stood in front of her. He held his hands out at his sides, intent on keeping her from moving too far away from him. She hadn’t quite returned to herself, and the palace had many open terraces that dropped away to hundreds of feet below.

“Parisa,” he said, trying for a firm voice.

She met his gaze, squinting. “Antony?”

“Yes. I’m right here.”

“Rith. I saw Rith.”

“I know. I followed you. I brought you back.”

“It was some kind of cave. Then I looked into his eyes and I thought, Not again. He tried to fold me away, but I fought him.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But you followed after me? How did you know where to find me?”

“It’s called a trace. When someone dematerializes, they leave a trace of light to their next landing point.”

“Right.” She nodded. “That’s the reason that Thorne thinks Rith first moved the D and R slaves by vehicle—because if he’d folded them straight from his Mandalay home, he could have been followed.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head several times back and forth.

Endelle drew close. “Are you telling me that Rith, who has a shitload of power, tried to fold you with him and you fought him off?”

“Yes. I did.”

“But how could you do that when he folded you out of here, out of the palace?”

Medichi drew close to Parisa. The whole thing had rattled him. The same old questions surfaced: Could he keep her safe? Alive? Sweet Jesus.

Parisa shook her head. “He didn’t fold me out of the palace. I folded to him. You had just completed the fang-face thing and his image took shape in my mind. I think he planted the image. He tricked me into leaving the palace. I had this moment of wanting him dead so badly that I thought the thought and suddenly I was flying through nether-space.”

“Then the fold was all yours,” Endelle said. “Well, shiiiit! That’s f**king beautiful. Well done, ascender.”

Leave it to Endelle to find the silver lining in a second kidnapping attempt.

Medichi tried to take Parisa’s arm but she jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.” She looked wild-eyed as she met his gaze. “I’m just too upset. It’s not personal, Antony. I … goddammit, I want to hit something, I’m so mad.”

“All right,” he said. “All right. You’ve convinced me, or maybe Rith has.”

“Convinced you of what?”

“I need to train you to do battle: swords, knives, guns, hand-to-hand, whatever you f**king need.”

At that she finally grew still and the tension eased out of her. She drew a deep breath. “Good.”

Havily’s voice rose to the rafters. “There, you see, Marcus! They’re not even bonded and he can see reason. Why can’t you?”

Medichi turned to stare at the elegant redhead. Her hands were on her hips as she glared at her breh. Marcus glared back.

“They have an entirely different situation,” Marcus said, his brow low on his forehead, his nostrils flaring. “And I’m not discussing it. That subject is closed.”

“You want to know what else is closed?” Havily lowered her chin, and there was nothing sugary or sweet about her attitude.

Marcus growled low, his eyes glittering.

“Don’t even think it, Warrior. When I say closed, I mean closed.” Split-resonance. Nice.

But again Marcus growled, and his lids fell to half-mast.

Medichi foresaw trouble back at the villa. Havily was damn serious, and Marcus’s testosterone had just leaped off the charts in a really unfortunate direction.

Medichi understood something about Marcus in this moment: The whole situation was arousing as hell to him. Yeah, Medichi so got that. The minute Parisa opposed him, about anything, it awoke some kind of bizarre sexual dominance instinct that sent electricity into his groin.