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She panted in agonizing gasps.
Open your mind, he barked within her head.
Won’t that complete the breh-hedden? she sent.
No. You won’t be taking my blood while I take yours. Full communion requires a simultaneous taking of blood.
Alison was relieved. She wanted this moment with Kerrick, but the thought of the breh-hedden still freaked her out.
Despite her nerves, she opened her mind wide. When he plowed through, his hips still pistoning into her, his fangs drawing blood, she came again and again and again, his body absorbing each attending hit of power. He owned her body right now, her mind, her blood, and the orgasm went on and on. She cried out, her back and bu**ocks sliding against the tile, the water spraying his back and her face.
When she clenched around him again, she touched his mind that was still in her mind and whispered, Come for me, Warrior. Give me all you’ve got.
He growled loud and low even through the pulls at her neck. She rippled her fingers over his wing-locks. Oh, God, he cried, his voice pummeling her mind.
His body sped up but time slowed. She was so tight around him that she felt every sensation as he slammed into her core then jettisoned his seed into her. He withdrew his fangs at the same moment and shouted in a new split resonance, which echoed around the bath. Euphoria filled her mind, his and hers combined. How strange to feel his pleasure, yet it amplified her own. She screamed as another orgasm caught her. Another jolt of power. She released a plaintive cry, the high keening of a bird in flight.
This would be the right time to die, caught in such an exquisite tangle of sensation, of feeling him in her mind, of hearing his triumphant cry, of having so much pleasure searing her veins.
The tension in her body lessened as each second passed. The rock of his hips slowed and finally stopped, but he remained within, connected to her.
He withdrew from her mind, a sensation she was getting used to, and settled his head on her shoulder. She gently drifted the tips of her fingers up and down his wing-locks. He released a deep sigh, the rise of his chest lifting her once more up and down the tile.
Something new touched her as he pressed his hips in a slow, soft undulation against her, his c**k still connected deep, though not nearly as hard. He groaned against her neck.
Deep within, her female organs began to contract and release. She felt the path of his seed and now in her mind she could see a golden trail. How was this even possible? Dear God, how was any of it possible?
Now she could see the chrysalis of her genetic material, a bright burning light at the end of a tunnel. The imagery made her smile then laugh. She could see his sperm, like lightning. She leaned against him, her hand stroking his thick pec. It was all too absurd, too wonderful, and why wouldn’t it be like this? Kerrick was known for his preternatural speed. If his DNA wanted to make a child, why wouldn’t it move at an accelerated rate?
She felt the moment when her egg received his sperm and their child began all the fantastic portentous crazy cell replications.
The whole thing couldn’t really be happening. Maybe she was just fertile and her imagination had gone into hyperdrive. But then she could feel Kerrick’s wing-locks beneath her fingers, and hadn’t his fangs just penetrated her throat?
She knew they had just created life. She wanted to tell him, yet somehow this wasn’t the right time. A frightening premonition jolted her mind. In this limited way, she could see the future or at least sense it. There would be a moment, a critical hour when Kerrick would need to know she carried his child. She understood this as surely as a child grew within her.
Did I hurt you? he asked, touching her mind gently.
Of course not, she returned. She wanted to say more, to tell him how wonderful the moment had been, but she just couldn’t find the right words. Splendor seemed shallow and magnificent really inadequate.
Alison? Are you sure you’re okay? I was kind of rough.
She hugged him. She drew back and met his gaze. She spoke quietly, both aloud and in his head at the same time so that he could feel her sincerity. “How about you do that again every day for the next ten thousand years?”
He smiled. He frowned. He grimaced and growled. He kissed her hard, so hard. He took her mouth with his tongue, the way he’d taken her body with his cock, only this time she got to suckle.
Since he was still inside her, he didn’t have far to go at all when he firmed up. He rocked into her again and as though he’d been as starved for the experience as she was he took her in the shower over and over, until the water ran cold and she really was too exhausted to move one more centimeter any direction.
He rinsed off her legs, toweled her dry, and carried her to his bed. He spooned her. He told her about the dinner party Endelle was giving as part of her ascension ceremony. All very private. She smiled, so content. “Good. I want to meet your warrior brothers.”
“And they want to meet you.”
She squeezed his arm as tears tracked down the side of her face and onto the pillow. What had Joy said? Why don’t you find a bodybuilder, someone who could handle all that power? She smiled and wept some more.
She breathed deeply, her heart so very full.
Kerrick and a child. And one more day of her rite of ascension and she would be in the clear, no longer at the mercy of Greaves’s plans to annihilate her.
All her dreams seemed to be coming true. How grateful she was that she had chosen to ascend, despite the battle with Leto.
And how far away all her old fears had drifted. She belonged on Second Earth. Her powers could be used for good in this new world. Hadn’t she proven her worth during the arena battle? She was so happy. To think she had done the impossible and yet her powers had made the impossible possible. She had vanquished Leto without harming him.
This was who she was in the deepest parts of body, mind, spirit. She was a giver of life, not a taker.
Her hand slid over her abdomen.
A giver of life.
* * *
Crace had returned to the Commander’s office. He felt blanked out and empty.
He sat in the laid-back, slanted chair in front of his deity’s battleship desk, his gaze fixed to the bank of Italian cypresses. Another whirring. Another quarter turn. The lights blazed to keep the shrubs healthy.
He reverted his gaze to Greaves.
The Commander sat very quietly, his tall-backed executive chair swiveled away from Crace. Given the position, Crace had a side view of Greaves. He had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands brought together, the fingers of his right hand steepled with the claws of his left.
He had no expectations at this point. He knew the failure of the arena battle was not his fault just as he had known that the failure of the regiment to off Kerrick and Alison in Carefree had not been his fault.
