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She had been playing this game for how many f**king centuries? Jesus H. Christ.
She was in the small rotunda off her master bedroom, deep inside her palace, a well-protected and fortified sanctuary where she performed most of her work on Second.
She spent a big part of each twenty-four hours doing voyeuristic surveillance in that mystical point of nether-space called the darkening. So far as she knew, she was the only ascender on Second Earth capable of being in the darkening, where her corporeal body reclined on her chaise longue but her spiritual self with the same external features and abilities as her body could travel through time and space. Capable of being in two places at once, she followed the bastard around the globe. Time and time again she disrupted his attempts to fold death vampire squads to his Estrella Mountain complex.
The problem was that for all her power, she didn’t know how to win this game. Worse, she’d been losing ground for the past fifteen years. Of the 167 Territories of Second Earth, 50 had aligned with the little peach. Of course High Administrators as a lot weren’t always the most ethical of ascenders. Half of them, in her opinion, were out for only one thing—power. Maybe two things—power and … well … more power.
Greaves didn’t help. He’d arrived on Second loaded with persuasive abilities. He had a forked tongue and could out-slime a slug and he looked so pretty doing it. Bastard.
She didn’t have his tact, his refined manners, his patience. She barked and expected everyone to fall in line, an administrative style she freely admitted had numerous flaws.
Okay, so she needed help—only where would it come from? She had a powerful ascendiate aligning with her tonight but what use could she possibly be? A thirty-plus-year-old therapist? She might as well be wearing diapers, for God’s sake. The best Endelle could do was make a Militia Warrior out of her. She had enough natural power that when properly trained she’d be able to take on a squad of death vamps by herself. Big f**king whoopee.
Havily came to mind. She was still pissed about her Liaison Officer. What the hell had Havily been thinking throwing a boat on top of her desk and calling it the future? Havily didn’t understand the gravity of the situation on Second Earth. A new military-admin complex wouldn’t come close to resolving the broader issue, which was Greaves himself. The bastard should have ascended to Third, oh, about twenty-six hundred years ago. Instead he’d found some way to remain on Second.
She knew what she needed—help from the Upper Dimensions to stop Darian Greaves. Unfortunately, she might as well be asking for the moon.
She sighed as she continued plowing through the airwaves. In nine millennia she hadn’t received even a whisper of communication from Third or any of the Upper Earths. All she knew was she was stuck on Second, she’d not been allowed to ascend, and her duty was to keep Greaves in check. But she was failing and when she thought to pray, she begged for help, on her knees, her voice splitting resonance until she sounded like two cats fighting.
At last she found the Commander’s signature.
Hello. She didn’t wait but dove straight at him. What do you know? He was in Kabul Two, preparing right now to fold a squad of death vamps to his compound. Bastard.
Not tonight, ass**le. He stumbled as her greeting pierced his bald skull.
Ah, Endelle. Good evening, or should I say good morning.
Fuck you, little peach. She saw him standing in front of the squad, his claw twitching now. His face flamed at her appellation. She chuckled. You might as well take off. You won’t penetrate the shield I just launched around this bunch of f**king night-feeders.
She could feel his rage as a living, writhing beast moving throughout his body, a deep blinding fury that drove his life, his actions, all those twisted unresolved feelings from his tortured youth. She might even have felt sorry for him except for the number of mortals he had personally dispatched.
As he dematerialized, she heard the faintest word drift through her mind, directed toward her: Bitch.
Endelle’s eyes popped open and she sat up on her couch. In three millennia Darian Greaves had never lost his temper with her. Not once.
But he had called her a bitch and he never said things like that to her.
Holy hell!
She sucked in a deep breath and a new emotion banged around inside her chest, something very close to hope.
Darian Greaves was seriously rattled, which could only mean he knew something she didn’t about, who else, Alison Wells.
Well, well, well, ascendiate Wells. So there was something else going on, something she didn’t know about and Greaves did.
She felt a faint vibration within her mind, Thorne’s signal. He was the only Second ascender who had a direct link to her mind, and his voice suddenly filled her skull. We’ve got a sitch at the Cave. Marcus finally found Kerrick.
Got it, she sent back.
Marcus and Kerrick.
She was only surprised the fight hadn’t gone down sooner.
She shifted her voyeuristic powers to her warriors’ off-hours rec room.
The two men went at it like apes.
Well, thank shit for preternatural voyeurism. She could see everything and how glorious her warriors were.
All of them were present, Thorne and Medichi, Luken placing bets with Santiago, Zacharius, Jean-Pierre wearing a green brocade cadroen, and of course the men of the hour, Kerrick now pummeling the hell out of Marcus’s stomach but look out. Jesus … Marcus pulled away and hit Kerrick’s jaw so hard his head snapped back and he actually stumbled backward.
Not for f**king long. Kerrick gave his head a shake, lowered his jaw, and moved back in. This time an old-fashioned brawl ensued that landed both men on the ground rolling, hitting, punching, grunting. Marcus got hold of Kerrick’s long hair, already released from the cadroen, grabbed handfuls from both sides, tugged hard, and head-butted Kerrick. The crack resounded through the air.
Didn’t slow Kerrick down, not even a jot. He somehow got on top and started swinging. He landed several punches, left, right, left. Endelle leaped to her feet and punched the air along with him.
She loved a good fight. Forget spectacle. Give her a boxing ring and two Neanderthals any day of the week.
Marcus, however, threw his hips forward and caught Kerrick about the waist with his legs. The two beasts flipped over half a dozen times, the other warriors shifting to make room for them.
Thorne shouted at them to stop, but they were two mad dogs going at each other. Only a fire hose was likely to stop the carnage.
Endelle’s fist pumped more air. Her feet moved from side to side. Thorne dove in. He tried to grab Marcus’s arm, which put Kerrick off balance, sending his right hook straight at Thorne’s face. A subsequent crack told her that her second-in-command had just gotten his nose busted … again … well … aw, shit. She’d have to break this up now.
