But Grace was there now.
Naked.
Leto?
Yes?
Are you all right?
Was he all right? Dammit, he could barely breathe or think. The breh-hedden had done this to him, rendered him insensible.
I’m fine.
I’ll wait for you here.
Good. Good. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He felt that she was no longer there, no longer connected telepathically. It was something that he could communicate with her at a distance, but then he was a vampire of power and she was the blue variety of obsidian flame.
His heart sank. What the hell was he supposed to do with all of this?
He lifted his arm, an unconscious gesture, and folded straight to his bathroom two stories up. The cabin had two floors and a basement. The upper floor consisted of a small study, a large bathroom, and a bedroom. He was a big man and he needed room.
Sometimes at night he would pace the length of the upper floor, from window to window, a distance of fifty feet. The bedroom had a fireplace. When he wasn’t pacing, he sat in the nearby large leather chair and stared at the burning logs, at the flames rising, at the latent power of the wood being released in the form of heat.
He tried to spend part of each day chopping wood just to rid himself of some of the deep, unrelenting tension he felt.
With a thought, he turned on the shower. He looked into the mirror. Christ, he had Grace’s blood spread over his lower face, his neck, his chest.
He feared going lower, examining more of his body, afraid of what he’d find.
But he had to know.
He glanced at his c**k then drew in a deep shuddering breath. Oh, thank God. He had feared he would find blood, that in his beast-like state he would have hurt her, that he would have made her bleed. But he hadn’t, thank you, Creator.
He turned and moved into the shower, the broad circular head slamming pinpricks of water against his hair and scalp. It felt so good. He wanted to get clean, to be cleansed of all that worried him, troubled him, and guilted him up. He took his time, using a loofah and shower gel. In his ritualistic way, he began at his forehead and scrubbed carefully down his body, one limb at a time, until even his toes were burnished.
He washed his long hair and used a healthy amount of crème rinse after, the only thing that kept his mass of hair in order. He had once told Greaves that his long hair would be a constant reminder to Endelle that Greaves had succeeded in turning a Warrior of the Blood to his cause.
The truth, however, had been very different. His warrior hair was the one thing he had held to symbolically as a hope that he would return to serve Endelle as he had served all the millennia of his life, as a dedicated warrior. Toweling off, he took a shortcut with his hair and modified his hand-blast to dry it out. Sometimes preternatural power could have an in-a-pinch application. Within a minute his hair was dry, if a little bit singed.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed downstairs. He grabbed a beer. Before he went to the hot spring, he needed to gather his thoughts. Mostly, he wondered who the hell he was.
His tribe had come from Eastern Europe. Though his name sounded Greek or even Italian, the root was farther north. At one time, he was called Leotrim d’Istra. Other versions existed as well.
Now he was Leto Distra.
Names morphed, but the old name still meant something to him. His tribe had been known as the soulful ones, and the name he’d earned in battle was one who is brave.
Those days, however, were long past, and the century with Greaves, betraying those he loved, had changed him. He was fractured inside. He didn’t know himself anymore. He didn’t recognize himself. Parts, yes, like his warrior nature on one side, but this other part was big, demanding, even oppressive. Who was this beast?
In his three thousand years of ascended life, he’d never experienced anything like what he was going through. Was he part death vampire now and forever? He didn’t know. But his last thoughts before passing out had been Grace has come home. I’m safe now. I’ll be okay. And finally, Oh, God, I can breathe again.
He went downstairs and sat at the dining table in one of the tall-back chairs. He leaned his elbows on the carved wooden table and put his head in his hands.
The sex.
The sex had been magnificent, like every fantasy he’d had about Grace for the past five months all rolled into one.
But he’d been so damn rough. Had he hurt her? She hadn’t seemed hurt. She’d seemed … enrapt. He smiled, just a small quirking up of his left cheek. Grace was such a pure soul; he would never have believed this of her, this complete abandon in her lovemaking.
He glanced at the clock, trying to determine just how long he’d been out.
It was nearly five. The games were due to start in two hours and he had a speech to make.
Duties to attend to.
He stood up. With a wave of his hand, and with long practice, he donned flight gear, all heavy, battle-worthy black leather, a kilt that was as familiar as air, battle sandals, shin guards, silver-studded wrist guards.
Time to speak with Grace. May I fold to your position? he sent.
There was a slight pause and his body tensed. Why the silence? Was something wrong? Was she in trouble?
Yes, of course you can come, but … I want to stay in the hot spring. Is that all right with you?
Even thinking about her in the spring to the north of his cabin brought pleasure gripping his cock. The location wasn’t far, just a hundred yards, no more, in a cluster of rocks. And Grace had found it. He sighed. Perfect.
Leto?
I’m here. Sorry. The images. But I wish to speak with you before I head to the games, and later I’ll want you to have a contingent of Militia Warriors around you while you fold to the landing platforms.
He heard a mental sigh. As you wish.
Sometimes the way she spoke, her word choices, surprised him. As you wish, for instance? But then she’d been convent-trained for a century.
See you in a few, he sent.
* * *
Grace floated in the small, decadent, heavenly pool of steaming water. The mountain air was cool in early September, the water hot and relaxing. Wisps of mist floated and swirled from the water in continuously moving patterns. The forest was beautiful at twilight. She ached in so many wonderful places that all she could do was smile up into the sky. She felt safe and free.
Leto had worked her neck fiercely, taking her blood. She touched her neck and rubbed a finger over the swollen tissue. She didn’t want it to heal too fast. She wanted to savor the memories as long as she could.
She flapped her hands just a little and moved her body in a circle. There was enough room to stretch all the way out, and she would have done that now, but not with Leto coming. She thought it imprudent to greet him with her br**sts bobbing above the waterline like two small islands, a pebble in the center of each.