Drink from me, my love. You must take my blood. Now.
Too late. Love you so much. He closed his eyes. He faded into a very dark place.
“Thorne,” Alison cried. “Get Endelle back here. She can heal him.”
“I’ve tried. She doesn’t respond.”
Darian had thought of everything. Of course. No wonder she couldn’t use her powers.
“Then you must hold him to my throat. He’s got to have my blood.”
Thorne didn’t move. “He’s gone.”
“No.” She saw the despair in Thorne’s face. “Listen to me, Thorne. You must help me. He’s not gone yet. I would know. Please. Trust me.”
Thorne finally met her gaze. His eyes cleared. He nodded. “Medichi! Get Horace here. Now!”
“On it.”
Thorne pinned Kerrick in his arms, lifted him high onto his lap, and supported his chin. Alison took him to her neck, positioning his fangs. His face was slack but she had new ascended physical power now. She drove his fangs into her vein and because he was completely powerless, she directed her blood into his mouth. She used her hand on his neck to direct the flow down his throat.
Horace appeared a moment later. “Oh, dear merciful Creator,” he cried. Despite the severity of the wounds, he settled in immediately and laid his hands over the shredded abdomen. “He’ll need surgery as well … if we can bring him back.”
Alison merely nodded then closed her eyes.
Kerrick, she whispered over his mind. Come back to me. Do you feel my blood within you now? The power singing through your veins? Come back to me. I need you. Please, Kerrick. You must try. Horace is here tending you.
She eased the flow. Talk to me, Kerrick.
Silence returned.
She entered his mind and traveled very deep but found only darkness.
Panic seized her.
You must try, my darling, she sent deep into his mind, into his soul, into the remnant of his consciousness.
Then she knew what she had to do and the timing now made complete sense. There’s something you must know. We’re having a daughter, you and I. She will have such power but she will need her father to help order her mind and to train her. You must come back to me, to us. We can do this … together … you and I … for our daughter.
She drew out of his mind. She pressed her hand to his chest and sent gentle pulses into his lifeless heart.
She couldn’t lose him.
“Darling,” she said aloud and in his mind, quietly so she wouldn’t hurt the men around her. “You must return to me. Please, Kerrick, come back to me. Can you feel my blood in you now, making you strong, renewing your life?”
She could sense the Warriors of the Blood weighing in, Thorne, Medichi and Luken, Santiago and Zacharius, Jean-Pierre. “Your brothers are here. We’re with you, Kerrick. Thorne holds you against me.” She smiled suddenly. “How powerful Thorne is and so incredibly handsome. He has a real aura of command. He would make a terrific breh for me, don’t you think?”
The gasp all around her could no doubt be heard a mile away.
But from a great distance, from so deep within her own mind that she doubted what she was hearing, she heard him. Thorne? Never. You’re mine. Mine. Suddenly she felt a deep draw at her neck, and then another and another.
Joy rose up, a fountain within her heart, higher and higher. Tears flowed, her hands shook.
“He lives,” Thorne cried, still holding him firmly against Alison. “He lives.” Tears now fell from Thorne’s eyes. “Jean-Pierre. Get an ambulance. He won’t survive dematerialization, not in this state.”
“Oui, boss.”
The warriors gave a shout. After several minutes, Kerrick’s eyes opened and he pulled away from Alison’s vein. He looked at her. I love you, he sent then winced.
She could barely see him for the tears that swam over her eyes. She nodded, smiled, and found his lips. She tasted her blood on him and kissed him hard.
“Welcome back,” she whispered.
Another shout rang out.
Horace kept his hands above the wounds, the powerful glow from his efforts spreading light over Kerrick’s face.
Alison could see the pain in his eyes as he struggled to breathe. “We’re … having a daughter?” he whispered.
She nodded as she wiped the tears from her face. “How’s that for ascension?”
He held her hand but suddenly his face twisted in pain.
Thorne cried, “How we doin’ on the ambulance, Jean-Pierre?”
“Five minutes.”
“Hold on, brother,” Thorne said, his hand on Kerrick’s shoulder.
Kerrick nodded, but his breaths were shallow, his skin clammy, so very pale.
Alison glanced at Horace. The healer’s face dripped with perspiration.
The sound of a distant siren allowed Alison to take her first real breath.
Marcus still held his bloodied sword at the ready. His gaze swept the rotunda, back and forth, back and forth. If a new attack came, he would be prepared and he could alert the others. His free arm was flexed, tight, tense, and he held it in back of Havily, protectively. Luken had long since joined the mass around Kerrick.
He glanced down at Havily, who stood next to him, one arm wrapped around her stomach. She held her fingers against her mouth as she looked at Kerrick. Tears drenched her eyes. “He saved us,” she said, her voice trembling. “All three of us.”
“Yes, he did.” Bastard. Now he owed him one.
Emergency techs entered the building on a run, a gurney with them, even a doctor in tow who shot orders left and right. Kerrick’s arms were hooked up in lightning speed to bags of blood and clear bags that contained who the hell knew what. Again with preternatural speed the team streaked in the direction of the ramps leading outside. Alison and Thorne both went with them.
Havily turned toward him. “I wanted to thank you, Warrior Marcus. I would have died here tonight without your protection. I am … most grateful.”
Marcus looked into light green eyes and felt his soul drift into dangerous territory. He had been avoiding this moment from the first time he arrived on Second and caught her honeysuckle scent in Endelle’s office. He had never wanted to be this close to her but here she was addressing him, her lips parted, her eyes shimmering with tears. She shook and he did the only thing that made sense—he folded his sword to the bedroom he used in Thorne’s house then slid an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her against him, letting the warmth of his large male body comfort her.
He had kept her safe. Just as Luken had, but she hadn’t turned to Luken. She had turned to him.
Oh, shit, she felt incredibly right in his arms. His bold vampire nature lit up, like a switch thrown at a baseball stadium. This was his breh. She belonged to him, to no one else.
No one else.
He felt her fingers slide just beneath the front of his weapons harness, curling around the leather, holding on. She trembled. She drew back and looked into his eyes. His gaze fell to her lips and a completely improper idea took shape, one he couldn’t seem to resist.
He leaned closer to her until his lips found her mouth. When she didn’t retreat, he pressed and licked, he pushed seeking possession, demanding admittance.
He pushed again.
Her lips parted. He thrust his tongue deep, staking out the territory of her mouth.
His arm snaked farther around her waist and conscious thought, choices, decisions began to disappear. His ascended nature and his vampire aggression took over. The beast in him awoke, slowly at first but gaining speed in quick measures.
Growls poured from his throat. Soft moans returned from the woman, hungry sounds that cranked him up. He started forcing her back, through a doorway leading to another rotunda, this one dark and private.
Back and back he pushed her. A soft mewling sound bled from her throat. Deeper into the room he shoved her. With his right thigh between her legs, he lifted her up with each step he took until at last her back hit a solid surface, a wall.
Once he pressed his body up against hers, a wild frenzy took hold of him with only one thought in his brain—he had to get inside her, push his cock in deep, make her his.
She panted against his neck, willing, so willing. Her fingers tore at his harness. His hands tugged at her dress. He caught the fabric up around her waist. He ripped her thong to pieces. He reached for her leg. Oh, God, he was almost there.
Suddenly he flew away from her and fists pummeled him. She screamed. Oh, God, his woman must be in trouble. He had to get to her, to protect her.
He fought hard, punching at whatever body got close and he had just enough awareness to know that more than one warrior pulled at him and hit him.
“No, Luken, don’t!” she shouted. “Medichi, stop!”
Luken must be hurting her and what the hell was Medichi doing? Growls erupted from his throat. He saw only red.
Distant phrases flew over his hearing: What the hell happened? Keep him away from her! He’s out of his mind.
He pushed at the arms and legs now pinning him. He had to get to Havily, to keep her safe, to take her back to his home, to Bainbridge, to his bedroom. He had to keep her there, with him, guard her, protect her.
He shoved a body off him. He caught sight of her, a wildness in her eyes as Jean-Pierre held her back. He would kill Jean-Pierre for touching her. He had to get to her. He crawled toward her now, dragging a massive body along with him. The creature on his back was so heavy. He tried to push him off but couldn’t. He crawled a little more, his knees scraping over the marble, probably bleeding by now.
Something flipped him over then the last thing he saw was Luken’s ham-like fist flying at his face. The last thing he heard was Medichi’s voice crying out, “It must be the goddamn breh-hedden. Again. Holy shit! It’s a fucking epidemic!”
Crace stood in the center of the Commander’s peach orchard, his heart shriveled in his chest. Small moon-like lamps floated in the air, illuminating the freestanding patio. What had begun as a great adventure upon his initial arrival in Phoenix Two—indeed, what he had believed would be the most significant moment of his life—had essentially turned into a fucking nightmare, one that seemingly would never end … except perhaps now.
