Endelle’s voice entered her head once more. Well, now you’ve shown me something, ascendiate.
Leto scowled at her. “What did you just do?”
Alison shrugged. “Pocket of time reversal.”
He stared in return. “Who the hell are you?”
“A therapist, not a warrior, still hoping to ascend.”
He grimaced. “We’re battling here.” But she saw the chagrin in his eyes.
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Like hell,” he said. To her mind, he sent, Don’t have a choice, ascendiate. I’m sorry.
She felt his intention like a ball of fire in her stomach. For her, however, everything had just changed. She knew what she had now and she didn’t hold back. She sent a devastating hand-blast, threw him on his back, cast a shield, and once more put her foot on his neck.
“I’m not a warrior,” she stated in a clear voice. She looked up at the nearest floating camera. “I’m. Not. A. Warrior.”
She released the shield. Leto was on his feet in a split second.
He sent his own hand-blast. She felt it coming, swiped her hand through the air, sending the blast in the direction of the ceiling. She waved her hand again and all that power turned into an enormous display of fireworks in every color of the rainbow.
Applause thundered now except from among the opposing armies. Silence filled those sections of the arena. Each was losing the hoped-for victory.
She sent her own hand-blast this time and dislodged Leto’s sword from his hand. She brought the sword toward her, which pulled another enormous shared gasp from every direction. Endelle’s faction behind her cried out warning after warning. She wasn’t afraid because at the exact moment of touch she reconfigured the molecular identification of the sword, rendering the weapon harmless.
She held the sword aloft for all to see, turning in a wide circle.
When she didn’t fall over dead, another great cry rose up in astonishment all around the arena. She eased into a slow smile and relief replaced all her tension.
Well, what do you know. She’d done it and Leto wasn’t dead. She faced him once more.
“I will not fight you,” she cried. She tossed the sword to him.
He caught it easily, but stared at it. With a change of configuration the grip had to feel different to him. Regardless, he shifted his attention back to her, lowered his chin, and once more blurred in her direction, fast. “Then die,” he shouted. Behind him, the Commander’s army raged. Almost as one they screamed at him, urging him to continue the fight, to take Alison’s life.
She cast a new shield, this time around herself. He struck but could not penetrate. He struck a dozen times, twenty, thirty, but to no effect.
She waited.
Continuous applause resounded from all over the arena.
Finally, Leto was breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his body. “My God. Who are you?” he asked again. He leaned over at the waist to catch his breath.
After a long tense moment, in which both armies fell silent, he finally dropped to one knee in front of her and laid his sword at her feet.
“I concede,” he stated in a loud clear voice.
Silence fell on every spectator present.
She released her shield.
He stood up, his complexion pale, his gaze for one split second full of agony. She reached out with her empathy and read him. Dammit, he wanted out. Of course he wanted out. Just like the Warriors of the Blood, his role had taken its toll. He was on the razor’s edge of disintegration, his vulnerable position at risk of discovery.
She approved of this warrior. He had honor and character and he had lived a double life for eight decades, serving as a spy. A spy! But for whom? She had seen the name James deep within Leto’s head but not Endelle’s, which meant that Endelle knew nothing about his activities, of that she was sure. Worse, when Leto defected, Darian had forced him to take dying blood as proof of his loyalty. At the same time, he was given an antidote to nullify the effects. Leto did not have the paling, beautifying, and faint bluing of the skin that most death vampires exhibited. No one would ever know he was, essentially, a death vampire. But all these years, he’d had to continue taking both the tainted blood and the antidote to sustain his mission. What a horrible mess.
Darian, her Darian, had forced him down this path. Either he took the dying blood or he would be killed. There had been no choice.
He bowed once to her, turned on his heel, brought his sword into his hand, then headed back in the direction of his lockers. She tested her internal mental shields. Could she keep Leto’s secret from Endelle, from the Commander, from Kerrick?
She wondered just how deep this hole could get.
The crowds had already begun to disperse except for the attendant armies and administrative corps. Apparently, the entertainment was over.
The Warriors of the Blood stood in sober array in front of thousands of Militia Warriors. Her decision pleased no one.
To Kerrick, she sent, I couldn’t do it.
I know. A pause followed. I treasure your heart more than anything else in the world.
Her eyes filled with tears as she blew him a kiss.
She could not, however, look in Madame Endelle’s direction. She suspected the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth would have a few choice words for her as soon as the cameras disappeared.
Birth,
A place of beginning, of seizing, of weeping.
Treasure the moment
Recline in bliss.
—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 19
Crace could do little more than stare at General Leto’s retreating back as the warrior disappeared into the archway leading to the underground rooms of the arena. He couldn’t even blink. The fucking vampire had failed.
He shook his head over and over.
“My darling?” Julianna whispered.
He glanced at his wife, who winced. “He should have won,” Crace said. “He should have beat her, killed her.”
“Darling, please?”
Please, what? What the hell was she begging for now? Didn’t she understand the magnitude of what had just happened? Couldn’t she see that the dream of a seat at the Geneva Round Table was fading, turning to a brilliant shade of dirt brown?
“My darling, please?” The latter word was spoken aloud and in his mind at the same time, which caused a burst of pain to explode inside his skull.
“What?” he shouted.
“My hand,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re crushing my hand.”
He looked down and realized he was close to cracking several bones. He released her at once but he couldn’t even apologize. He couldn’t speak. He watched tears fall onto the swell of her breasts as she held her hand in her lap.
As the cameras shut down, as Alison’s face disappeared from the now blank arena screens, as the spectators began to stream through the exit tunnels, Kerrick stared at Alison and marveled. One question surfaced above every other thought—could he have a life with this woman whose powers exceeded even Second abilities? Would she be able to stay alive on Second when Helena could not? Would she be able to cast her shields and keep a thousand death vampires from slaughtering her? Could he have a fucking life with her?
His heart thundered in his chest at the possibility. A woman in his life, permanent, bonded, treasured. Did Alison’s arrival on Second Earth actually mean a change for him, a different life, that which he had vowed never to have again so long as he made war?
Moving at lightning speed, he reached the hall leading to the arena floor. Another dash and he breached the tall arched opening to the arena. He rushed toward the black mats, his gaze centered on Alison’s blond ponytail. Just as she turned in his direction, as though sensing his presence, he was on her. He caught her in his arms and spun her around and around, her feet dangling off the floor. He kissed her hard. You were magnificent.
“It’s over,” she whispered, her arms wrapped around his neck.
“You were brilliant.”
He kissed her again. He stroked her damp hair. He held her tight against him.
She drew back and smoothed her hand over his cheek. “We’re okay … you and me?”
He nodded.
“Maybe we have a chance?” she asked.
His heart melted, a big puddle in his chest. “We just might.”
He planted his lips once more against hers and penetrated her mouth with his tongue. She took him willingly and suckled. He arched over her and deepened the kiss, settling her booted feet back on the mats. She moaned softly.
“Okay, you two, knock it off,” Endelle cried, joining them.
He released her but didn’t let her get far as he slung an arm around her waist, drawing her flush against his side.
Havily crossed the black mats as well and addressed Alison. “Congratulations. You were absolutely amazing. That was beautifully done—and to think you had several Third Earth abilities, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Imagine, a reversal of time. I had heard of it but I’ve never seen it done. And the wave of resulting power! It passed through me like a cool breeze. Exhilarating.”
Alison broke free of Kerrick’s clasp and embraced the Liaison Officer. “Thank you for being with me tonight, Havily. You are my first friend on Second and I will always be grateful for your help and support.”
“It was my pleasure. If you need anything, you have only to ask. And now”—here she glanced at Madame Endelle—“I have a new military-admin mock-up to re-create, something I do in my spare time, something that would help someone to defeat the Commander if only that someone would spare me a few minutes of her time.”
Endelle offered a snort in response and a roll of her eyes. Havily in turn bowed to her, shifted to face Kerrick, smiled at him, pinched his cheek, lifted her arm, then vanished.
Kerrick moved in and once more took possession of his woman. She melded to his side, this time sliding her arm around his waist. He held her close since directly across, the Commander waited with his army. Alison’s ascension was by no means complete, which meant she was still fair game. When Darian fixed his gaze on her, a growl erupted from Kerrick’s throat.