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Back and back he pushed her. A soft mewling sound bled from her throat. Deeper into the room he shoved her. With his right thigh between her legs, he lifted her up with each step he took until at last her back hit a solid surface, a wall.
Once he pressed his body up against hers, a wild frenzy took hold of him with only one thought in his brain—he had to get inside her, push his c**k in deep, make her his.
She panted against his neck, willing, so willing. Her fingers tore at his harness. His hands tugged at her dress. He caught the fabric up around her waist. He ripped her thong to pieces. He reached for her leg. Oh, God, he was almost there.
Suddenly he flew away from her and fists pummeled him. She screamed. Oh, God, his woman must be in trouble. He had to get to her, to protect her.
He fought hard, punching at whatever body got close and he had just enough awareness to know that more than one warrior pulled at him and hit him.
“No, Luken, don’t!” she shouted. “Medichi, stop!”
Luken must be hurting her and what the hell was Medichi doing? Growls erupted from his throat. He saw only red.
Distant phrases flew over his hearing: What the hell happened? Keep him away from her! He’s out of his mind.
He pushed at the arms and legs now pinning him. He had to get to Havily, to keep her safe, to take her back to his home, to Bainbridge, to his bedroom. He had to keep her there, with him, guard her, protect her.
He shoved a body off him. He caught sight of her, a wildness in her eyes as Jean-Pierre held her back. He would kill Jean-Pierre for touching her. He had to get to her. He crawled toward her now, dragging a massive body along with him. The creature on his back was so heavy. He tried to push him off but couldn’t. He crawled a little more, his knees scraping over the marble, probably bleeding by now.
Something flipped him over then the last thing he saw was Luken’s ham-like fist flying at his face. The last thing he heard was Medichi’s voice crying out, “It must be the goddamn breh-hedden. Again. Holy shit! It’s a f**king epidemic!”
* * *
Crace stood in the center of the Commander’s peach orchard, his heart shriveled in his chest. Small moon-like lamps floated in the air, illuminating the freestanding patio. What had begun as a great adventure upon his initial arrival in Phoenix Two—indeed, what he had believed would be the most significant moment of his life—had essentially turned into a f**king nightmare, one that seemingly would never end … except perhaps now.
As he met his deity’s gaze, he felt nothing, just a vast cold emptiness in his chest. He didn’t even sweat.
“Why so despondent, brother ascender?” the Commander asked, a faint smile on his lips.
Yes, he supposed despondency had layered ice over his sweat glands and emptied his heart and lungs of all sensation. So why the f**k did the Commander smile?
“Warrior Kerrick lives,” he stated, reminding his deity why it was that a smile made no sense right now.
“Damn shame, of course. But look how close we got. I haven’t been able to get that close … ever. Just once successfully, to Kerrick’s wife and children, but that hardly counts.”
Crace sighed. He knew he was going to die. He’d failed his deity time after time over the past three days. His execution stood in the wings, waiting for the Commander’s pleasure.
“I must say,” the Commander said, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed. “I believe this experience has been very good for you. I think you’ve grown. When you arrived, you were so glib, so sure the task would be simple. Frankly, I thought you a fool. But right now your mind has a proper attitude. Yes, I believe you’ve grown.”
Crace held back another weighty sigh. “These are very kind words, master.”
The Commander released his hands, turned, then sat down on one of the stone benches. “You must learn patience, my dear Crace, as I told you from the beginning. You must learn to take the long view of such things. I strive to remind myself that you are not even two centuries on Second Earth yet. A few more centuries, given the level of your powers, will do much to sharpen your abilities and give you a sense of peace within your life.”
Much chance of a long view of anything.
“You are not sweating as you usually do.”
“A man does not sweat when he’s certain of death.”
“Then you should always remain certain of death, my friend.”
Crace now stood dead center of the orchard and of the patio. Commander Greaves was a man of subtlety and not easily read. However, Crace understood something right now. “You mean to keep me alive.” He was absolutely shocked.
“You are still of much use to me. I would be foolish to dispense with so much acquired knowledge.” He narrowed his eyes. “I had intended to end your service to me but I was and still am rather impressed with this last scheme you concocted. It should have worked. I believed it would. We were neither of us prepared for Kerrick’s ability to survive. He shouldn’t have but then Alison was involved and she is far too powerful.” He shook his head. “You see, even I am surprised. And I am never surprised.”
Hope floated to the surface of Crace’s heart and eased the tight knot in his chest. He drew a real breath, the first since the ambulance had departed from Madame Endelle’s palace. He’d been in the wings, waiting and watching, protected by the Commander’s superior mist as he observed the work of the death vampires. When the most insidious part of his plan unfolded, when the newly created ascender actually fired on Warriors Luken and Marcus, he couldn’t believe his luck. Even when Warrior Kerrick intervened and took the blast instead of the other three, he’d nearly revealed his position by shouting with triumph and joy. Then the worst had happened. Alison had brought Warrior Kerrick back to life. He still couldn’t believe the bastard lived. The blast should have taken out all four ascenders. So much power among the warriors. No wonder the Commander aimed most of his effort at trying to bring down the Warriors of the Blood.
He offered a simple bow. “I am yours to command, my master, now and forever.”
The Commander rose. “Ah, I simply adore your manners, quite perfection. I believe Julianna has taught you well.” He took Crace’s arm and wrapped it about his own. “But come, we have plans to make. Unfortunately, it would seem the gods have for the moment favored the Guardians of Ascension—but the tide always turns, and that, my dear Crace, is the real nature of life—the tide always turns. We just need to give it a loving nudge. In the meantime, I fear we have another ascension to prepare for. My Seers have been very busy. This time a mortal with wings.”
