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The vibration began.
***
Parisa slipped past the three servants outside her room, moving on tiptoes until she was outside on the back lawn of the garden. A gentle rain descended through the air, which meant beyond the domes a real storm could be pounding the land. Oh, shit. Then again, she didn’t really care. The time had come. Rith had it in for her and Fiona needed someone to get her out of her blood-slavery prison.
Her heart beat like a jackhammer, and serious vibrations rocked her chest. She panted and almost couldn’t catch her breath. It occurred to her that if she didn’t calm down she’d never be able to mount her wings—and up was the only way out of this prison.
She’d been testing the interior dome of mist for weeks now, rippling her hand as she flew. There was nothing about it that felt impenetrable. She just hoped the second dome was as forgiving.
From what she had experienced with mist, however, its purpose wasn’t so much physical as a mind-bending disguise.
Besides, even if she struck a brick wall traveling at top flying speed, she just didn’t care. She’d made her decision. She was leaving her captivity now.
She closed her eyes and focused on the apertures of her back. She blocked everything else out. She felt the weeping begin, the release of fluid that would allow the feathers and superstructure to emerge. She smiled.
She voyeured Medichi and her heart leaped. He stood on the bank of a rice paddy, the Warriors of the Blood flanking him on either side. A storm raged and as lightning flashed, lighting up the night sky, he suddenly looked like a god, so tall, muscular, his expression fierce.
Antony? she sent in that new forceful way.
Parisa, are you ready? We’re here, all the brothers. We’re waiting for you. I can see the dome of mist. Are you safe?
Yes. I’ll be flying straight out the top, but you’d better come get me. I’m not wearing anything.
She closed the window and shut her mind down.
“What are you doing, Parisa?” Rith’s voice spoke calmly from the doorway.
“I’m ready to fly.”
“In the nude? This is repulsive behavior. Besides, it’s raining. Put some clothes on first.” His English really was perfect.
“Sure,” she said. She enjoyed speaking the lie. She closed her eyes and willed her wings to come with a single thought.
Out they flew straight from her back, into full-mount in an easy motion she had never known before. Hells, yeah! She had changed.
She launched and flew straight for the top. She heard growling behind her, and a quick glance showed her that Rith had stripped off his shirt and was even now mounting his wings.
Oh, God.
She smashed through the interior dome of mist. Rain struck her face and dragged at her wings, but she beat them frantically. As she headed toward the second dome, she kept feeling a hand grabbing for her feet.
She plowed through the second barrier and the storm hit her full in the face. Rain and wind caught her wings, sending her spinning. She worked to remember what Havily had taught her. She stretched one wing out, brought in the other and leveled, but the wind caught her again and sent her into a second spin. At the same time, the rain pounded her.
Once she righted herself, she saw Rith heading straight for her.
She began to tumble again back toward the dome of mist. But before she had gotten far, she saw that it wasn’t Rith at all, but Medichi who flew toward her, his wings huge, rain beating on him, his face more determined than she’d ever seen him. She concentrated and pulled one wing in briefly then fluffed them both. The tumbling stopped and she righted herself even though she pitched back and forth in the wind. She shivered.
The next moment Medichi was next to her and took hold of her hand. He became a tremendous anchor. Even though she pitched about wildly, she knew he would hold her steady.
He didn’t say anything. He just started pulling her into the wind very gently, then down slowly toward the earth.
“Bring your wings into close-mount if you can,” he shouted above the noise of the storm. “That’s it. Yes, keep doing that.” She struggled to bring her wings in and not flip over or start to roll to one side or the other. She was soaked head-to-toe, feather-to-feather.
She kept her gaze fixed on him, nothing else. He was so powerful and manipulated his wings with centuries of experience as though each sudden shift of wind, each onslaught of rain were but a bump. The adjustments he made were brisk, small, and kept him floating in the air without the smallest sign of distress.
She, on the other hand, felt like she was in a washing machine on the agitation cycle.
Lightning flashed through the sky above. She gasped and almost lost her equilibrium again—but this time for a different reason. Antony’s cream-colored wings were streaked through with reds and oranges, blues and greens, as though lit on fire. The colors moved, flying from feather to feather in a pattern of ever-changing flames. Strands of his hair had come loose from the ritual cadroen and flew about his face. He looked like Zeus half standing and half floating in the air, his hand extended to her.
The closer she drew her wings to her body, the more she started to lose altitude, but he held her aloft. “Now the rest of the way and I’ll catch you.”
She had to trust him but she gave a cry as she drew her wings in to close-mount position and started to fall. Then he caught her very gently around the full circumference of her wings, shifting to cradle her in his arms. His concentration was fierce as he battled the monsoon. He headed toward the earth, diving closer and closer to the ground, toward the rest of the Warriors of the Blood, all in black leather kilts and harnesses.
Closer. Closer. When his feet touched the ground, she closed her eyes and sighed. Tears dribbled from her rain-soaked face.
She watched as Medichi brought his wings into his back, awkwardly at times because of the weather.
Her nakedness was covered by her wings as he set her on the ground. “You have to draw your wings in before we can fold out of here.”
She glanced at all the warriors. “I … I’m not wearing anything.” Then she laughed. Who cared? She was outside the prison she had endured for three months, and she was still alive. Antony was holding her in his arms. What else mattered?
“You’ll be okay,” he said.
She nodded and smiled. Rain ran down his face. She touched his cheek just to make sure he was real. He turned into her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. She felt him sigh.
When he set her on her feet and she begun unfurling her wings, he lowered himself to his knees, still facing her, and put his arms around her in order to shield her chest and support her against the wind and rain. In the glow of each bolt of lightning, the scars of his back were visible, a sheet of silvery lines and ridges.
