Obsidian Flame

He loved this woman and he wanted her with him, now and forever. That much he knew.

He thought back on the entire meeting. For whatever reason, Marguerite seemed to blend right in, even going so far as to hold a baby who generally didn’t settle down with anyone except her parents.

His woman, without meaning to, had fit in.

Everything seemed to be adding up to one thing. The truth was, he had truly begun to wonder if maybe this was the right path for him after all, taking Marguerite as his breh.

Of course, other things were on his mind as well, like Grace and Leto, the war, always the war.

But as he stared through the wide bank of windows opposite his bed, at the monolith edge of the Mogollon Rim, black now against a dark night sky full of stars, his mind skipped around uneasily. All this emerging power, and he had no idea what it was for, especially his own obsidian flame power. Besides an incredible orgasm, what purpose did it serve and what exactly did this power encompass for him? He sort of got it where Fiona and Marguerite were concerned, since Fiona’s ability to channel was enhanced exponentially, and Marguerite now had the power, with support from other Seers, to achieve pure vision.

But why the hell did he have this power? What ability of his would be enhanced, if enhancement was even the purpose in his case?

All in all, something didn’t feel right to him, but when did it ever? The warriors would be out fighting now and he should join them, but he couldn’t seem to leave this bed. He felt stopped dead, halted, immobile.

Marguerite plucked at the hair between his pecs. He had bite marks again, which he savored, something she’d done to him when they’d first returned from the villa. He loved the feel of her bare mons against his thigh. Her wax really worked for him.

First thing tomorrow morning, Greaves’s massive military review would take place, morning in Phoenix but thirteen hours later in Moscow. He had meant to talk strategy earlier with his men, about concocting some means of disrupting the review.

Marguerite sat up and looked at him. “You’re very tense.”

He met her gaze. In the dark, her brown eyes were just a glitter. He could enhance his vision and bring her into perfect focus as though a light shone on her face, but right now he liked the shadows over her face and the glitter of her eyes.

He sighed. “Just thinking about the war.”

She plopped down again and his arm once more held her tight. “Oh, that’s all,” she said, then she laughed.

“Yeah, that’s all.”

Though it was still fairly early in the evening, events of the night before, as well as the demands of the breh-hedden, tripped up his mind. Before he knew it he’d fallen asleep just like that, worrying about the war, with Marguerite in his arms.

When he woke up it was just before dawn, and the bed next to him was empty.

Connection is everything.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 21

Marguerite stood by the window. As far as she could tell, there were no houses anywhere near Thorne’s, so that her nakedness wouldn’t be seen except by a couple of hawks circling over the gorge above Oak Creek.

Dawn broke on that side of the house, above the Rim, a beautiful clear pink that faded way too fast to the rising gray-blue of the day.

In a few minutes, yet thirteen hours away in terms of geography, the Moscow military spectacle review would begin.

As she looked out at the lightening sky, she thought it would be a wonderful thing to be on the wing right now, to be flying as the hawks were, catching air currents in the dawn, dressed in a warm flight suit of course, but flying free, without a care in the world, just letting the wind guide the journey and nothing more.

Her thoughts turned to her Convent days and how, on rare occasions, Thorne would unburden himself about the hideous depths of Greaves’s overall plan for world-domination-via-death-vampire. What he couldn’t have known was that afterward, when he dematerialized to return to this house for the day, she would be left in a state of despair and a longing to be free. She hated seeing her man so distraught, shoving his hand through his long hair as though he would tear out every last strand if it would just end the war.

But her short burst of freedom hadn’t lasted very long and had basically ended the moment that second vision had crashed down on her at the Holiday Inn.

Now she was here, shacked up with Thorne, in his bedroom, in Sedona Two.

Although, to be fair, she wasn’t exactly discontent.

She folded her arms across her chest. So what the hell was she?

Okay, maybe she was discontent. Maybe she still longed for her freedom and maybe, just maybe if she thought outside the box, she could still be a powerful Seer on Second Earth, still enjoy Thorne’s oh-so-hot body, but chart her own course, go her own way. Hell, if she started practicing making her own mossy mist, maybe she could live by herself somewhere, a Seer hermit of sorts, on a beach in St. Croix Two maybe.

Thorne could come visit her and they could shake up the whole island with their obsiddy-based lovemaking.

“What time is it?” Thorne asked.

She didn’t turn back to look at him. She didn’t want to. She was frustrated and uneasy. She wanted an island paradise beneath a dome of mossy mist.

Yep, she wanted her freedom.

“It’s time to get up,” she said at last. “The little peach will be starting his puppets down the tree-lined avenue any minute now.”

“You have a beautiful ass.”

At that, she smiled, but she still didn’t turn around.

“What are you thinking about so hard?”

“Nothing much,” she responded. “How to craft my life, what I want to do next, where I want to live.”

The silence that returned to her was so powerful that she finally turned around to look at him.

He was leaning up in bed, the covers hanging low on his hips, his massive chest on display, his long hair draped over his shoulders. He was an edible portrait, except for the hard stare in his eyes and the expanding and retracting of his nostrils.

“You’re serious,” he said at last.

“Yes. I’m serious. This life here is for shit. You know that.”

“We’re at war. The war is heating up.”

“It’s been heating up for decades.”

“The review—”

“So what? A review today, maybe an air show tomorrow with ten gazillion death vamps flying in formation. I figure I could live somewhere else, like I’ve been doing. We communicate long-distance as it is, we could probably even do it through dimensions if we gave it a shot. We’re both powerful enough.”

“What about today? What are your plans today?” The man sounded bitter.

“I’m with you today, until this mess with Grace and Leto gets sorted out. Of course.” When he didn’t say anything, she added. “Thorne, please try to understand.”

“What you’re saying is that you’re taking off as soon as Greaves lets the world know that he’s ready and willing to subjugate everyone on Second Earth?”

“No. I’m saying we have options.”

“Like hell we do.”

“Hey, I didn’t make this war. I’ve been locked up, remember? And I thought you wanted me to be happy.”

* * *

He did want her to be happy but why should he be the only one with a responsibility here?

He hadn’t awakened thinking about what he wanted. He woke up thinking about the military review and wondering what he could do to disrupt it.

Thorne leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He stared up at the black slate ceiling and the deep inset lights. He released a heavy sigh.

So his woman was still intent on taking off.

Great. Fucking great.

The trouble was, he understood her reasoning. He got it. The need to escape, to get away; hell, she’d been a prisoner for ten long decades. She should have her freedom. She should have what she needed. He wanted that for her.

But what about him? What about what he needed? When the fuck would he get a turn? “I want you with me, beside me, in my house. Why can’t that be what you want as well?”

“Thorne.”

“What?” He sat up. He recognized that tone of voice. “Another vision?”

She nodded. She moved back to the bed and sat on the edge. She put her fingers to her temples. That was new.

He scooted up behind her. “Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. “No. The vision is just a little unclear. Kind of fuzzy. I’m trying to focus better.”

“Maybe I should look?”

“Yes.”

He pushed inside her mind and there it was, but the image was wavy, almost blurry. Was this a result of her new decision to take off again? Did her emotions and her intentions distort her visions?

But after a moment, Grace came into view. She sat in some sort of cage, like a circus cage. She glanced around as though confused. She still wore her long Convent gown, so this had to be in the near future.

Then the vision sort of faded away.

“That’s it? My sister in a cage?”

Marguerite turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I know. But I’m not myself right now. I’ll try again.”

Thorne got a really bad feeling. “We need to get to the villa.”

He slid from bed and in a quick wave of his hand folded on jeans, loafers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

Marguerite followed suit and within another two seconds, she was dressed in her jeans, a red sweatshirt, and a pair of black flats. She ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times then nodded. “Let’s go.”

He folded her back to the villa, to the foyer.

“Leto,” he called out toward the south rooms, his voice booming the length of the hall.

Leto moved in from another hallway that led to a couple of guest suites. He was showered, shaved, glowing with health, blue eyes crisp, his long black hair secured in the cadroen. He also wore jeans and a blue plaid short-sleeved shirt. “What’s the hell’s going on?”

“Marguerite had a vision of Grace in a cage. Where’s my sister?” 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">