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He had dark brown hair, which had changed over the millennia. She’d remembered a time when he’d been a streaky blond. But time changed a lot of things.
Her lips parted and as her gaze moved from all that dark beauty and settled on his pecs and on the light dusting of dark hair between, he shifted to slide one arm above his head. The move flexed so many different parts of his body that she actually stumbled on her stilettos.
He leaned up on an elbow. “Easy there.”
“You … you should leave now.” She hated how vulnerable she felt.
“Why? I’ve still got a couple of minutes left on the clock.”
He began sliding off the lounge, and flexing his powerful thighs, which led her gaze straight to his cock. It was in that beautiful half-erect phase and still hung down but showed off every serious dimension.
The warrior was hung.
Her abs tensed and a long, rolling slide of sensation worked her so hard and fast that her breath caught and dammit, she almost came.
But she still wasn’t in the mood to be humored by a man who was supposed to be f**king dead. She backed away from him and lifted her arm, ready to fold out of there, but he was on her again, from behind and holding her fast. Though she tried, she couldn’t fold.
What the hell?
The next second her heels were gone, then the rest of her clothes. The Sixth ascender had power and lots of it—more than she did.
“What the f**k do you think you’re doing?”
“Something I must do, Endelle, and you’re going to hate me for it.”
In the next instant, he slammed her down onto the chaise, facedown, and all the candles blew out so that the space was in complete darkness.
She heard him breathing, deep chuff-like sounds, strange sounds, animal-like sounds. He pushed against her mind.
But like hell she was going to let him take her.
Hell, no.
She erected her shields, holding them tight, but it was as though she’d constructed them of water and suddenly he was just in her mind, damn Sixth ascender.
Then her mind went loose and all she felt was pleasure, and she knew he was seducing her, stroking her mind. He’d put her in thrall and it felt so good, like she didn’t have goddamn care in the world. Her body felt removed from her and yes, she knew he was doing something to her, but what did it matter? What did anything matter?
She lost herself in the mental thrall and in the way her body was experiencing sexual pleasure, even though he hadn’t penetrated her. She could feel his rigid cock, how big it was, as he slid up and down her ass-crack, and it felt so good. She tried to shift her hips up so that he could find what was right now so wet and swollen for him, she ached up to her navel. But he had her pinned in a strange way, and she really couldn’t move.
He felt bigger somehow, and his skin felt strange. However, given the mental distance, she just couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.
His voice floated through her loose mind. I’m sorry. But one day, you’ll understand.
Then she felt him bite the back of her neck hard, really hard. At first it felt so good then it started to hurt.
She whimpered because of the pain of it, despite the thrall. His breathing became ragged and rough and his teeth, bigger and sharper than usual, pierced her spine deep, penetrating the tissue, working between the vertebrae.
Fire began to flow up and down her spine, and it hurt.
Flames leaped through her, driving down to her tailbone then into her adjoining pelvis and leg bones. Up through her neck and into her skull, wrapping around her brain with fire, looping back to drive through the rest of her bones, her arms, wrists, hands, shoulders, and through her ribs until the deepest part of her, the marrow of her bones, was burning.
He had killed her—that was what she thought as the fire tore through her and completely engulfed her.
He had incinerated her to the core.
His voice floated through her mind. You are more than vampire now, and you are mine. Mine.
Then everything turned black.
* * *
Braulio looked down at the glowing body. He knew what this felt like, the burning agony, the fiery pain. Of all the assignments he’d undertaken, on behalf of the Council of Sixth Earth, this was the one he despised the most, that he’d taken the famous She’when’endel’livelle and done this to her without her permission, the woman destined to save two worlds from a monster, if only he could keep her alive.
He knew she’d reached the lowest point in her life. He could feel her despair as though it rolled in heavy waves off her unconscious body. He wanted to ease her, to comfort her, but her greater trials were in front of her, and yes, he had to somehow keep her alive, keep Greaves from destroying her before her own new powers emerged so that she could battle all the monsters to come.
He knelt beside the chaise-longue and took her limp hand. Bending her elbow carefully, he leaned in to kiss each of her fingers. “I’m so sorry, my faithful one. I’m so sorry. You are beloved in the Upper Dimensions, honored, and revered. They sing songs about you, about your service and suffering. Stay the course, my beloved, and you will win this war, but you must stay the course. Forgive me for this. Forgive me. Oh, God, how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you. Be strong and be brave.”
He felt the pull of Sixth Earth, but he resisted. The Council could go f**k themselves. He needed a minute. He closed his eyes and held the back of her hand to his cheek. He breathed and begged her forgiveness.
His c**k was rigid and weeping. It had been all he could do to keep from piercing her, but he would not rape her, even though his body called to hers like ocean to earth. When he got back to Sixth, he’d give himself some relief, but it wouldn’t be the same. To mark her neck as he had, but not come inside her, had been an agony beyond belief.
Sixth Earth pulled on him again, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, to leave Endelle, to leave her without an understanding of what had transpired, to leave her all but blind for the coming weeks and months.
What he had done to her would change her.
Forever.
When Sixth Earth called a third time, it was with a resonant telepathic chime that about killed him. He released Endelle’s hand and in the swooshing sensation of nether-space, he glided home.
* * *
Owen Stannett drifted a hand over the wave on the side of his head. His fingers trembled, but he couldn’t exactly help that.
He stood in the center of Greaves’s peach orchard on Second Earth, a high-security location, very private, with terra-cotta pavers and stone benches.
Casimir also stood near one of the benches, arms crossed over his chest as though he was embracing himself. No surprise there. That he faced outward, however, as though scrutinizing rows and rows of peach trees wasn’t like him. He stood very still, almost statue-like, also not like him. Apparently, Stannett wasn’t the only one rattled by the failure the night before at the Creator’s Convent in Prescott Two.
