Obsidian Flame (26 page)

He did the same thing to Zach then to Santiago. When all three men were up to speed, he gave his commands in shorthand.

Sister Quena called out, “The monitors. What is happening?”

Thorne turned to glance from screen to screen. It was as though watery waves cloaked half of them. Through the waves, dark figures floated through. “It’s started. Let’s go.”

He turned to Marguerite. “Do what you feel is best from minute to minute. I trust you.”

She was white-faced but she nodded.

*   *   *

Grace turned in a circle. She didn’t understand what had just happened. She was now alone. “Leto?”

But nothing returned to her except the low beautiful sounds of church bells.

“Hello, Grace. Don’t be afraid. This won’t last very long.”

She turned around as a feeling like dread and excitement all jumbled together passed straight through her chest. She could sense the darkness in the stranger, but his voice did something to her, sent a vibration swirling in her lungs. She was so drawn to him she couldn’t breathe.

He was recklessly handsome, with long curly black hair, well past his shoulders, and he had dark glittering eyes. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Leto, closer to her height. He had a narrow attractive nose and full lips. His skin was very pale in contrast with his hair and eyes.

Death vampire? She didn’t think so.

The vibration she had come to know, that was peculiar to her, rumbled beneath her. The stranger looked down at the stone floor and his brows rose.

She drew the power into her and stretched out a hand to him. He looked at her fingers and frowned. When the power reached him, he arched and his lips parted, but then he seemed to settle down even though he appeared to be in pain.

She could see inside him. He was dark and he was light, so very human, so very good and so very bad. He was a being torn apart by the choices of his life, and he had lived a long time, five millennia. She could sense these things but she couldn’t read his memories, only the aftertaste of his decisions, the happiness, the decadence, the bounty of passion, and more often than not the guilt. In this, the stranger seemed very much like Leto.

She had a sense, however, of the man he could be, one full of great acts of kindness and of self-sacrifice. But right now he was a terrible cynic, the worst she had ever known.

“What is your name,” she asked. “And where is Warrior Leto? What have you done with him?”

He approached her and she lowered her hand. She didn’t fear him and yet part of her knew she should because the darkness in him was very dark. He wore very tight black leather pants and a silk shirt that caught the light in muted purples and green. The cuffs and collar were broad and the sleeves almost billowing. “My name is Casimir.”

“I saw you in Moscow Two.” He smelled of something spicy and something more, like mulled wine—like he would taste extraordinary on her tongue and for reasons she couldn’t explain she wanted a taste.

He put his hands on her face and slid them deep into her hair. He didn’t blink. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he said. The heavy bouquet of his wine scent buckled her knees.

She groaned and then his tongue was in her mouth, deep, so deep. He drove into her and then his body was pressed up against hers, moving in a fluid, snake-like motion, utterly sexual, reminiscent of her poetry.

Grace,
he whispered through her mind.
I need you so badly, desperately. I need you to come with me, to come home with me and live with me, to be my wife and a mother to my two small boys. Say you will come.

She wanted to. She felt that everything he had just asked of her was her destiny, her calling.

She drew back ready to tell him yes, but from deep within her mind she heard another voice, a woman’s voice, one that had been as familiar as her own for the past hundred years.

Can you feel my presence, Grace? I’m here in the Convent. Thorne is here, too. You’re in danger. I’m going to fold into your cell right now, so don’t be frightened.

She pulled out of Casimir’s arms.

Danger?

She glanced around her at a strange moving partition in the small cell. The mist that had created a division in the room, separating her from Leto, began to move. Casimir grabbed her and pulled her in the direction of the door.

Still no Leto. And no Marguerite.

Goddammit.
Marguerite’s voice was within her mind, as well as one of her favorite words.
Where are you? Are you still in the room?

Once more, Grace felt the vibration at her feet and the power surged up through her body.
I’m near the door.

But Casimir drew her against him and inhaled at her temple. “You smell of the earth and this power of yours is so erotic. Come with me.”

She felt a movement of air next to her and Marguerite was suddenly there in a blood-red flight suit. She at first didn’t know what to say, but it was Marguerite who turned to Casimir and said, “Why is it I hear church bells when you’re around?”

“You can hear them?” Grace asked.

Marguerite nodded.

Grace glanced at Casimir. “So do I. And you’re the source?”

Casimir shrugged, a slight lifting of his shoulders. “One of ascension’s little jokes.” She felt very confused by what was happening and even though Marguerite spoke of danger, that wasn’t what she felt or intuited. Instead she continued to experience a pressing need to be with the dark vampire in front of her.

Grace shifted her attention to Marguerite. “What did you mean, I’m in danger?”

Marguerite’s large brown eyes opened wide. “This asshole is here to destroy Leto, or didn’t he tell you that? He’s also here to take you away, to take you to Paris One, to live with him, to never see your friends or your brother again, or the Convent.”

Grace turned to him. “Yes, he said as much. I feel drawn to you, a sense that I must be with you, but I can only go on one condition.”

“I’m not fond of conditions. You should know that about me. I prefer to rule in my own small petty way. But tell me your condition.”

“That Leto be allowed to live.”

He laughed. “No. Non-negotiable, as is your coming with me or not. You will come with me and then
you will come with me, repeatedly.
” She’d been married. She didn’t mistake his meaning. He continued, “You will learn to love your life and I already know some of your tenderness. I believe you will come to love my sons. They are very young and miss their mother, who died recently. As for all this repression”—he swept an arm to encompass the cell, most of which was still hidden behind the shifting swirling mist—“today, you will leave that behind as well.”

“I will not go with you.” She backed up. “Not if Leto dies.” She felt torn, ripped apart inside. She felt drawn to this difficult man as much as she was drawn to Leto, as though both men were intended for her, as though somehow their fates were inextricably linked together. To lose one was to lose the other. Here was a great mystery.

He moved into her fast and put his arms around her. But Marguerite did the same thing from behind, her arms wrapped tightly around Grace’s waist.

She felt Casimir’s fourth dimension power. She felt herself begin to leave, to fold, right out of Marguerite’s tight grasp.

But suddenly the vibration beneath her feet, that power that came from the earth, increased, flowing in a new, heavier wave up and up. At the same time, this earth-based power recognized Marguerite. That was the only way Grace could explain the meeting of Marguerite’s power with her power.

When the two touched, Casimir’s attempt to fold her out of the Convent ceased as well. Her feet landed back on the stone and Casimir flew away from her, slamming against the wood door of the cell. He looked down at his arms as though they were burned. He was breathing hard, his dark eyes wide.

Then he stared at Grace and murmured “no” in a long slow sweep of air.

She felt Marguerite shift to stand beside her. She met the woman’s surprised stare. “Did you feel that?”

Grace nodded.

“But what was it?”

Grace shook her head. “I’m not sure yet. It emerged yesterday for the first time and helped me bring Leto out of Moscow. Greaves had discovered that Leto was a spy and meant to have him killed. But … just now, while you were touching me, the power grew stronger, as though it recognized you. Did you feel it?”

“Hell, yes, I did.” She glanced at Casimir. “Surprise, asshole.”

“Grace, you must listen to me,” Casimir cried. She turned to meet his eyes, which were almost wild. “You’re obsidian flame, the third leg of the triad. Now you must come with me. I’m the only one who can protect you.”

Grace shook her head. “Obsidian flame? I don’t think so.” But even as the words left her mouth, from deep within she felt the call, heard the whisper,
obsidian flame.

Now she understood. Over the last few weeks, her wings had changed from a predominantly light blue with a smattering of black dots toward the base of each, to blue with a black flame marking. Obsidian. Flame.

She said as much to Casimir, adding, “But Sister Quena said it was the mark of the devil.”

Casimir drew close once more, although this time he held his hands up as if in surrender. “Grace, please listen to me. Greaves intended for you to die today. He will not let obsidian flame stand. If you want to live, you must come with me.”

In a very swift movement, he lifted his arm and before she could protest, the mist shifted a third time, separating her from Marguerite and forging a new barrier in a diagonal through the room. What choice did Grace have now?

She lifted her chin. “I will not go with you,” she stated.

Casimir smiled. “I’m not exactly giving you a choice.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she half expected to feel herself whisked away from the Convent. Instead he leaned close and sniffed her skin right at her temple.

Shivers chased down her neck and over her shoulders. His spiced wine scent cascaded over her so that she breathed him in deeply. His lips, which were moist, ran in a line of slow kisses over her cheekbone heading toward her lips.

She couldn’t help the desire she felt. Her mind was clogged with a heady aroma of mulled wine and her thoughts dissipated, spreading out and becoming very loose so that all she could think about was how heavenly his lips were. She began to turn her face into him and up so that with two more kisses, his lips were on hers.

Heaven.

Absolute heaven.

There are numerous detailed stories about the occasional, but rare, visitation of Third Earth entities to Second Society. The decoration of hair with long, narrow braids, studded with ceramic and glass beads, is a persistent theme within these anecdotes.

—
Treatise on Ascension,
Philippe Reynard

CHAPTER 12

Thorne rarely fought in such tight spaces, and he’d never fought when the mist could twist and turn so abruptly. He’d had his sword lifted high ready to strike down a pretty-boy; then the mist shifted and suddenly his sword met Luken’s. His arm vibrated from the strike so badly that his bicep cramped.

Luken was one big motherfucker. He grinned as he said, “Sorry, boss, but looks like we’re right on schedule.”

At least it gave them a break, the ability to breathe for a minute, to wait. Thorne bent over at the waist and planted his hands on his knees. Damn, there were a lot of death vampires in this fucking hallway. Sweat poured from him.

But honest to God, the waiting was worse. Or maybe it was the lack of sound from anywhere else in this compacted battleground. Nor could he reach anyone telepathically. The mist had that effect as well.

He’d tried to reach the other warriors but nothing returned to him.

His arms and legs shook. He had so much battle adrenaline in his system that he could have puked. The only thing he knew was that the mist shifted when it shifted, and nothing could happen until it did.

He rose. “I was afraid I’d find death vamps inside the Convent cells, but I haven’t, have you?”

Luken’s mouth was a grim line. “No. I found one pounding on a locked door and laughing. He didn’t giggle for long.”

Thorne smiled. “No fucking doubt.”

“You got that right.” Luken had large light blue eyes, but his somewhat angelic appearance with his mass of long wavy blond hair was completely misguiding. The man was a massive killing machine with heavier, meatier muscle than any of the warriors. Luken had been the one, just a few weeks ago, to knock Thorne unconscious in Endelle’s office when the
breh-hedden
had taken possession of Thorne’s mental faculties. That was the exact moment he’d caught Marguerite’s rose scent for the first time, an event that had coincided with her disappearance from Second Earth and the beginning of her bid for freedom.

Luken glanced up the hall then down. “If I remember the vision correctly, I should be on this side of the mist when it shifts. There will be three death vampires in this location”—he grinned at Thorne—“and two for you. After your little vacay, think you’re up to it?”