Ascension
Page 34Of course it occurred to him that the Commander, by using Crace, removed himself from any culpability in the matter. He didn’t mind being cast as the fall guy because in this case, he knew he could get out of any situation he desired.
“You may go.”
Crace did not wait. He bowed, turned on his heel, then strode as confidently from the room as he could. Once outside, with the door shut, the shaking started. Yes, the plan was excellent but the other matter! The disclaimer! Shit.
How quietly, how calmly the Commander made his threats. A disclaimer was essentially a suicide note. If anything went wrong, and Crace got offed, the Commander would simply offer the signed disclaimer to the Committee and the matter would be dropped.
Struggling to even breathe, he folded to his suite. The honor of being situated so close to Greaves’s quarters now took on an entirely different meaning.
Okay. Get a grip. All is not lost.
He would set his strategy then return to the war room to deliver his next set of orders to the generals. Afterward, he would tend to the chairman of COPASS.
He and Harding had always gotten along, quite well. Although he confessed he’d been shocked when he’d learned that Harding had for at least a year been in the habit of drinking dying blood. But he was also intrigued. As a hedonist, Crace had always wondered what the experience would feel like.
As he considered the Commander’s new plan, hope resurfaced. Even a Warrior of the Blood was no match for a regiment and a rocket launcher. This he could do and no screwups. He no longer worried about a seat at the Round Table. How inconsequential that seemed compared with the preservation of his own sweet neck.
The odd thought rippled through his head, How many times has a man fucked up his life because of a need to ejaculate?
Surrender requires trust,
Then more trust.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 11
Kerrick gripped the steering wheel hard and focused on the freeway. He drew a deep breath and tried to calm the hell down. The sloth inherent in Alison’s Nova wasn’t helping at all.
He had effected a very superficial pathway to sleep. He would need to use his hand in order to take Alison the rest of the way, but so help him if he made skin-to-skin contact one more time he didn’t think he could be responsible for the outcome.
Despite the fact he’d controlled himself, his body roared with need for her, to make her his own, to stake his claim so thoroughly that every other immortal on Second would know she was off limits. Thank God it was dark. He was hard as a rock and had been since she’d parted her lips and he’d pushed his tongue into her mouth.
With one eye on the freeway, he overlaid her forehead with his hand. He sent the image of sleep past the first layer of her mind. Once again the power of her shields stunned him, but he kept working her mind until all resistance faltered. He pressed deeper and deeper until she released a heavy sigh and her head rolled to one side.
This was surely one of the most difficult experiences he’d ever known, wanting to touch this woman yet holding back, sort of like trying not to sneeze while inhaling black pepper. She was so beautiful and he could still taste the kiss and feel her body pressed up against his, the pleasure of suckling her breast. His veins hummed with the memory.
And her scent. The car smelled as if the lavender she shed had become locked onto every surface of the vehicle.
Of course, it wasn’t helping to relive what had just happened, so he focused on just breathing, air in, air out.
Once in Carefree and parked on her crushed-granite driveway, he carried her into her house, past the living room and kitchen, all the way to the back of the house to what he supposed was the family room. He stretched her out on the couch then flipped on the lamp near the bookshelves. He stared at hundreds of books and yet again time stopped. Hemingway, Kingsolver, García Márquez. She had said she loved books. So she did and he had a library most mortals could only dream about, so many first editions because, well, he’d been collecting over a long period of time.
Great. Something in common. A shared passion.
He looked down at her. The breh pressured him, spikes in his chest. This woman was meant for him, designed for him, and he for her. She wouldn’t hurt him with the power she released when she became aroused. He knew it in his bones.
The thought of her power coming at him while fully engaged … he weaved on his feet.
Shit.
He so didn’t need this.
He turned his attention to the rest of the house. He walked through each room, created a mist around the outside of the house.
Christ. If the Commander wanted her, what could stop him?
He doubled the mist.
He continued patrolling. He wasn’t sure he’d done the wisest thing bringing her to Carefree. But then where exactly would she be safe given that her signature was strong enough to appear on the grid? Greaves could easily assign one of his minions to search localities until either of their signatures was located.
He felt confident, however, that he could handle any number of death vamp squads that showed up and he could always call his brothers for backup.Beyond those considerations, the Carefree property was nicely located. The house sat on a good quarter acre and backed up to a wilderness of cacti, native desert shrubs, gullies and washes. He could do battle here, under a cloak of mist, without disturbing the neighbors.
He returned to the family room to look down at Alison again. His lips parted as he struggled to draw a decent breath. She was so damn beautiful.
His desire for her rose sharply … again. Fucking breh-hedden. He wanted to stretch out on top of her and, as she awakened, gently grind his hips into hers and bring her to a state of arousal to match his own.
Hell, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be with her, say, just once. After all, the completion of the breh-hedden involved a lot more than just sex. Minds had to merge—not just in telepathic conversation, but much deeper. At the exact same time, blood had to be shared, his and hers. Just one person making use of fangs wouldn’t do it; both had to be engaged at the same time. So, yeah, an exchange of blood, deep mind sharing, and penetrating sex; all three activities had to occur at exactly the same time to complete the breh-hedden.
His body melted down as the image of engaging Alison in all three ways took hold of him.
Her blood … his mouth.
Her mind … his thoughts tunneling deep.
His cock buried inside her.
Her throat … his blood.
His mind … her thoughts taking possession.
Her body clenching around his shaft.
A soft chuff and a low growl broke from his chest. His abs tightened. His eyes burned. Desire seemed like such a small word.
Guilt followed as it always did, a rabid dog racing behind him and finding purchase on his neck. He shook his head from side to side. How could he move forward with his thoughts, with his desire, when he sucked at keeping those he loved alive? He was responsible for Alison now, to keep her safe during these treacherous three days of ascension.
And yet, he had to have at least part of her, a taste of her. He couldn’t deny himself that much, even as paltry as it would be compared with completing the breh.
He didn’t understand all the forces that had brought him to this place, here and now, staring down at a woman built for him in every possible way.
He thought of Thorne and his despair. Of all his brothers-in-arms and the lack of women in their lives.
They all needed this, some kind of connection, an anchor in stormy seas, which a woman could provide.
His heart once more slammed against his ribs.
He knelt beside the couch, moved in close, and dipped his face into her neck. He breathed in her fragrant skin, her intoxicating lavender. She had asked why vampirism? As he thought about driving his thoughts deep, sinking his fangs, and plunging into her, he knew why. He knew what it would be like with her, to take her fully, his body, mind, and blood engaged, the oneness, the connection.
Hunger swamped him, a tidal wave, relentless, powerful, demanding. He craved her.
Alison, he sent, drawing her out of sleep. He drew back, unbuckled his weapons harness, and slid it off his shoulders. He laid it carefully on the adjacent love seat. He removed his cadroen and set his long warrior hair free.
* * *
Alison opened her eyes, her mind loose, her vision unfocused. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. She looked up at some kind of ceiling. The room was dark except for the dim light from one nearby lamp. Something heavy, though not unpleasant, rested on her stomach. Warm puffs of air teased her neck and raked shivers down the right side of her body.
Weird. Maybe she was still dreaming.
After a long moment, the ceiling took better shape and she recognized the texture pattern of her home in Carefree. Oh, she was home … in Carefree.
So, how did she get here?
Where had she been? Why was her mind so unfocused?
Oh, yeah. The alley, falling men, a bomb, and her Nova.
Oh, God. Kerrick.
He had kissed her like he needed to explain to her in precise detail just what kinds of things made up a real kiss. Then she had seen his fangs, and her mind had started unraveling.
On the way home, he’d put his hand on her forehead and she had drifted into the most beautiful, peaceful sleep.
She blinked a couple more times and came fully awake. Kerrick’s arm rested on her stomach and he was suckling the right side of her neck. A wicked streak of desire flowed from the point of his lips all the way down her body. She slid her hands into his thick black hair, now loose around his bare shoulders. Without thinking, she slipped into his mind, bypassing his shields, and going beyond the level of mere telepathic communication. She was inside his head. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">