Gates of Rapture (The Guardians of Ascension) (7 page)

“I’ll do that.”

Endelle was about to let Alison go, but she had one more person she wanted to alert to these sudden changes. She focused her thoughts on Marcus.
Get your ass in here,
she sent. She’d given up the complete futility of politeness, oh, about three millennia ago.

On my way
. Marcus didn’t complain. He was older than Leto and had a tough hide.

To Alison, she said, “Marcus is coming. I want to let him know what’s doin’.”

“Good idea.”

Within a minute, Marcus appeared at the end of the long, glass-lined hallway. He was one good-looking sonofabitch. He had dark hair, which was now a few good inches down his back and secured in the
cadroen
. Two nights out of seven he battled at the Borderlands alongside his warrior brothers. The rest of the time he had an office down the hall where he worked his PR and administrative magic.

He was the High Administrator of Southwest Desert Two, but that was just a title. He was really in charge of global PR for Endelle’s administration and had effectively staved off the defection of at least a dozen of her territorial High Administrators around the globe. This was no small thing. If Greaves had gotten his hooks into them, Endelle was pretty sure the self-styled Commander would have already taken the war to its inevitable conclusion and bombed the hell out of Metro Phoenix Two.

Marcus had become one of her numerous miracle workers. But whatever happened from this point forward, especially from a PR standpoint, Marcus would need to be included.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked, glancing from Alison to Endelle. But he frowned as he looked back at Alison, his gaze running over her flight suit. “Is that what I think it is?”

Alison smiled and nodded.

“Shit, you got your wings.”

“I did. This morning.”

“Hot damn, that’s good news.”

Endelle told him the rest, about the dreams and about Grace returning. By the time she was finished, Marcus looked like she’d slapped him hard a few times.

“I’m fucking speechless,” he said. “You know what all this means, or could mean, right?”

Endelle was smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. “Damn straight I do.”

Marcus put his hand on the top of his head and turned in a full circle. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“I’m in shock. This is amazing. Okay.”

“You said that.” But Endelle was enjoying herself. These moments that happened so rarely—when she took the time to savor what was a feeling of tremendous hope. She was sure there’d be more assfucking in the days to come, but right now the possibility that the war might just end had her heart still flying about wildly.

Once more, she looked up at Alison. “I want Kerrick off warrior duty. I’ll let Luken know. Your man is now assigned to you indefinitely. Get your flight skills up, and be ready for anything. And in your off-hours, I want you to work with Grace like you did with Fiona. Help her get her obsidian power up to speed.”

Alison tapped her pants pocket and said, “Call me when you need me. As soon as I get back to the house, Kerrick is taking me to White Lake. You’ll find us there for the next several hours.”

“Good. That’s good. And let me know if you see any sign of the vortex.”

Alison left, which meant Endelle was alone with Marcus, but she could do little more than grin, and he kept turning in a circle. She knew his mind. He was no doubt plotting all the ways he could make use of this information to tighten his hold on the High Administrators who’d been making noises about joining Greaves and his bullshit Coming Order.

She was not surprised when he suddenly took off running back down the hall, shouting over his shoulder, “I have calls to make.”

Now that she was alone, Endelle let the moment play itself out. Her heart was on fire, revved up because for the first time in a long time, she had hope—beautiful, wild, shining hope.

Breathe, my beloved,

Take my essence into your soul,

That you might live

Forever in my arms.

—
Collected Poems,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 3

Leto didn’t understand where he was. He opened his eyes slowly and drew in a long breath, which of course brought a powerful memory flooding back, of coupling with Grace, of taking her while in his beast-state.

Oh, God.

He was facedown on some kind of mattress with extremely soft sheets. The light from the window was faint, even dull, very dull. He lifted up, glanced at his wings, and was stunned to see that he was still in full-mount.

He flexed his shoulders slightly and breathed a sigh of relief. He was no longer in his beast-state with his back and shoulders swelled to ridiculous sizes, like he’d been built to swing about five maces at once.

He levitated very carefully to his feet, taking pains not to tweak or bend his wings or feathers. He’d been fortunate that during the unexpected mount he hadn’t broken any of the panels.

He drew in another deep breath, and with the practice of many centuries he began drawing his wings into his back. The feathers narrowed to super-fine points and the superstructure melted into the wing-locks as though being absorbed into his body. The process raked his nerves because it took longer now. Even his wings had changed. At least he could manipulate them whether he was in his regular vampire state or in his larger version.

He glanced at the pile of clothes. He’d had enough sense to disrobe before he transformed.

He looked around then back down at the sheet. There was blood near the head of the mattress. He’d savaged Grace’s neck. That much he could remember.

He shuddered, remembering with pleasure the taste of her blood and the fire it put in his stomach. Her blood had given him stamina, and he had lasted long enough to bring her repeatedly. That she had thoroughly enjoyed herself was clear to him, so he wasn’t too worried.

On the other hand, she’d left the basement.

He put a hand to his forehead. He had no idea how long he’d been out.

The light at the small window had dulled some. The day must have advanced.

More than anything, he wanted a shower. But before he left his basement prison, he sent a telepathic thread in multiple directions, hunting:
Grace, are you there?

A moment later, her soft melodic voice returned within his mind.
I’m walking in the forest. Don’t worry. I’m within the confines of the mist.
Had she sensed how tense he was? Or did she just know intuitively that he would worry?

She added,
I just let Marguerite and Fiona know that I’m back.

We should talk.

I know. There’s a lot of ground to cover. I’m going to swim in the hot spring at the rise above your cabin. Come to me when you’re ready.

For a moment, he grew so still he wasn’t sure he was even breathing. One of the reasons he had built the cabin in this location was because of the spring. He’d carved out a small bathing area, enough for him to relax in if not to swim laps. He often soaked there trying to forget his misdeeds, God help him.

But Grace was there now.

Naked.

Leto?

Yes?

Are you all right
?

Was he all right? Dammit, he could barely breathe or think. The
breh-hedden
had done this to him, rendered him insensible.

I’m fine.

I’ll wait for you here.

Good. Good.
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He felt that she was no longer there, no longer connected telepathically. It was something that he could communicate with her at a distance, but then he was a vampire of power and she was the blue variety of obsidian flame.

His heart sank. What the hell was he supposed to do with all of this?

He lifted his arm, an unconscious gesture, and folded straight to his bathroom two stories up. The cabin had two floors and a basement. The upper floor consisted of a small study, a large bathroom, and a bedroom. He was a big man and he needed room.

Sometimes at night he would pace the length of the upper floor, from window to window, a distance of fifty feet. The bedroom had a fireplace. When he wasn’t pacing, he sat in the nearby large leather chair and stared at the burning logs, at the flames rising, at the latent power of the wood being released in the form of heat.

He tried to spend part of each day chopping wood just to rid himself of some of the deep, unrelenting tension he felt.

With a thought, he turned on the shower. He looked into the mirror. Christ, he had Grace’s blood spread over his lower face, his neck, his chest.

He feared going lower, examining more of his body, afraid of what he’d find.

But he had to know.

He glanced at his cock then drew in a deep shuddering breath. Oh, thank God. He had feared he would find blood, that in his beast-like state he would have hurt her, that he would have made her bleed. But he hadn’t, thank you, Creator.

He turned and moved into the shower, the broad circular head slamming pinpricks of water against his hair and scalp. It felt so good. He wanted to get clean, to be cleansed of all that worried him, troubled him, and guilted him up. He took his time, using a loofah and shower gel. In his ritualistic way, he began at his forehead and scrubbed carefully down his body, one limb at a time, until even his toes were burnished.

He washed his long hair and used a healthy amount of crème rinse after, the only thing that kept his mass of hair in order. He had once told Greaves that his long hair would be a constant reminder to Endelle that Greaves had succeeded in turning a Warrior of the Blood to his cause.

The truth, however, had been very different. His warrior hair was the one thing he had held to symbolically as a hope that he would return to serve Endelle as he had served all the millennia of his life, as a dedicated warrior. Toweling off, he took a shortcut with his hair and modified his hand-blast to dry it out. Sometimes preternatural power could have an in-a-pinch application. Within a minute his hair was dry, if a little bit singed.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed downstairs. He grabbed a beer. Before he went to the hot spring, he needed to gather his thoughts. Mostly, he wondered who the hell he was.

His tribe had come from Eastern Europe. Though his name sounded Greek or even Italian, the root was farther north. At one time, he was called Leotrim d’Istra. Other versions existed as well.

Now he was Leto Distra.

Names morphed, but the old name still meant something to him. His tribe had been known as
the soulful ones,
and the name he’d earned in battle was
one who is brave.

Those days, however, were long past, and the century with Greaves, betraying those he loved, had changed him. He was fractured inside. He didn’t know himself anymore. He didn’t recognize himself. Parts, yes, like his warrior nature on one side, but this other part was big, demanding, even oppressive. Who was this beast?

In his three thousand years of ascended life, he’d never experienced anything like what he was going through. Was he part death vampire now and forever? He didn’t know. But his last thoughts before passing out had been
Grace has come home. I’m safe now. I’ll be okay.
And finally,
Oh, God, I can breathe again.

He went downstairs and sat at the dining table in one of the tall-back chairs. He leaned his elbows on the carved wooden table and put his head in his hands.

The sex.

The sex had been magnificent, like every fantasy he’d had about Grace for the past five months all rolled into one.

But he’d been so damn rough. Had he hurt her? She hadn’t seemed hurt. She’d seemed …
enrapt.
He smiled, just a small quirking up of his left cheek. Grace was such a pure soul; he would never have believed this of her, this complete abandon in her lovemaking.

He glanced at the clock, trying to determine just how long he’d been out.

It was nearly five. The games were due to start in two hours and he had a speech to make.

Duties to attend to.

He stood up. With a wave of his hand, and with long practice, he donned flight gear, all heavy, battle-worthy black leather, a kilt that was as familiar as air, battle sandals, shin guards, silver-studded wrist guards.

Time to speak with Grace.
May I fold to your position
? he sent.

There was a slight pause and his body tensed. Why the silence? Was something wrong? Was she in trouble?

Yes, of course you can come, but … I want to stay in the hot spring. Is that all right with you?

Even thinking about her in the spring to the north of his cabin brought pleasure gripping his cock. The location wasn’t far, just a hundred yards, no more, in a cluster of rocks. And Grace had found it. He sighed. Perfect.

Leto
?

I’m here. Sorry. The images. But I wish to speak with you before I head to the games, and later I’ll want you to have a contingent of Militia Warriors around you while you fold to the landing platforms.

He heard a mental sigh.
As you wish.

Sometimes the way she spoke, her word choices, surprised him.
As you wish,
for instance? But then she’d been convent-trained for a century.

See you in a few,
he sent.

*   *   *

Grace floated in the small, decadent, heavenly pool of steaming water. The mountain air was cool in early September, the water hot and relaxing. Wisps of mist floated and swirled from the water in continuously moving patterns. The forest was beautiful at twilight. She ached in so many wonderful places that all she could do was smile up into the sky. She felt safe and free.

Leto had worked her neck fiercely, taking her blood. She touched her neck and rubbed a finger over the swollen tissue. She didn’t want it to heal too fast. She wanted to savor the memories as long as she could.