What the fuck?
For a moment he drew his wings to half-mount, bent over at the waist, planted his hands on his knees, and forced himself to take one deep breath after another. For all his vows, he suddenly knew temptation, deep, soul-searing temptation. A hyphenate from the ancient language came to mind, breh-hedden. Mate-bonding. The kind he believed was just a myth, yet here he was out of his mind with need and desire. Was it possible?
He closed his eyes and shut his brain down in a hurry. This shit was so not going to happen. Besides, with a death vamp still hanging in the air, he needed to focus. He had a job to do. He sucked more air into his lungs.
When he calmed down, he rose up then did a quick scan. He profiled the female’s powers—so many—telepathy, empathy, hand-pulse, and she could dematerialize. No mortal had ever ascended with the ability to fold … except one … Endelle. No wonder the Commander seemed to have staked some kind of claim on her. Holy, holy shit.
Endelle must have known, and right now he felt like he’d been suckered into something. He shook his head, back and forth, a strong negation. None of this mattered, not what he was experiencing, not Endelle’s scheming, nothing. He had a vow to keep and he would keep it.
A little calmer, he brought his phone to his ear. “I can’t tell what’s going on with the female because I can’t punch into her head.”
“What?” she cried. “You can get into anybody’s head.”
“Not hers.” His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed a box of tacks. “At least not from this position.”
“Then what do we do with her?” Jeannie asked. She sounded as shocked out as he felt.
“You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah. No interference. Blah-blah-blah.”
“Amen to that. I’ll just have to get rid of the death vamp and we’ll see what happens over the next forty-eight hours. You’d better let Endelle know what’s doing. Tell her Greaves was here as well and tell her about the strength of the woman’s signature. I’ll know more later.”
“I’m on it.”
He thumbed his phone and once more returned it to the tight narrow pocket of his kilt.
He summoned a different kind of deep breath and shifted his gaze to the pretty-boy.
Time to take care of business.
Who can comprehend the lure of the breh-hedden,
except those caught in its teeth?
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 3
Alison released a deep sigh that Darian had finally left since she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. A hallucination, maybe?
A winged creature drifted slowly in a circle about ten feet away from her. He was very beautiful, extraordinarily so. His dark brown hair was long, well past his shoulders. He was muscled like a bodybuilder and wore only black cargoes, no shoes, no shirt. He sported a massive pair of glossy black wings, the feathers barely moving but keeping him both aloft and spinning very slowly. His chin and chest were streaked with blood, his feet—oh, God—at least two yards off the ground. His eyes were closed and he looked euphoric, like a drug addict who’d just taken a hit of his favorite supply.
His strange twirling reminded her of something from a film heavy on the CGI side. In fact, the whole courtyard had the appearance of a movie set, dozens of people crammed at the far end of the catwalk and down the stairs, all chattering quietly, hands covering mouths, and a host of emergency vehicles and corresponding personnel. The center of attention was a body stretched out on the cement, surrounded by yellow tape, the view blocked by several officers, thank God. Given the blood on the creature’s body, she could only presume he’d killed her, the way a fictional vampire would kill his prey.
So what exactly was this thing with the porcelain skin that hung in the air without any apparent cable support? Was she really seeing him? Did he exist? A psychopath who had somehow strapped wings onto his back—without straps? And how did he pull off the float-and-spin?
She shook her head in complete disbelief. She blinked several times. She glanced at the spectators to see their reactions to this strange creature, but no one—not one person—was looking at him, thus confirming her suspicion that she was hallucinating.
She moved close to the railing and stared down at him. A familiar gripping sensation pulled at her heart, a longing she couldn’t explain, a yearning that had tormented her for the past few weeks, but surely not for this monster?
“Al-is-on” emerged in a singsong cadence from the creature’s mouth. “I’m ready for you.”
He spoke her name?
She formed a thought and let it fly from her mind: Why can no one see you?
The fanged freak stopped twirling, plunged toward the cement, then stopped to float suspended in the air just inches above the ground. His wings undulated slowly. He turned his back to her as he looked around at the spectators then came into profile as his gaze skipped from face to face all up the stairs. Yet no one looked at him. So yeah, maybe he existed only in her head. She’d seen A Beautiful Mind and she’d read a number of case histories on schizophrenia during the course of her studies.
His wings fluttered and his body shifted a little more as his gaze worked over the small knots of onlookers all across the landing until he found her.
He met her gaze and smiled. His shoulders relaxed.
Alison, he said, his lips unmoving. So, my sister was right and you are here after all.
Telepathy. He was able to communicate with her telepathically.
A pair of fangs—fangs—descended, thick white incisors against perfect lips. Red tinted the grooves between his teeth.
Fangs?
Wings?
Blood?
Her mind shifted around and around. The word vampire once more tumbled through her brain, end-over-end-over-end, leaving her dizzy.
A slow, perfectly executed downward sweep of the creature’s glossy black wings sent him floating upward. He rose toward her and once more conversed with her telepathically, his dark gaze fixed to hers. I am here to take your powers so that I can destroy what is evil in our world. Your blood belongs to me now.
As his words reverberated through her head, her ankles filled slowly with cement. She tried to move but couldn’t. He wanted to take her blood?
Nausea rippled through her stomach, as though her body knew things her mind couldn’t yet comprehend.
Who are you? she sent. The movement of his wings caused the leaves of the surrounding ficus trees to flutter as if a breeze filled the outdoor courtyard. Why can I see you when no one else can?
He ignored her questions and aloud said, “I must have your blood.”
She shook her head. Her chest grew tight. How was it possible after all this time, after all these years of hopelessness, after three decades of living trapped with powers that made no sense in the normal human realm, she would have to meet a terrible winged being, maybe even a vampire, who might actually share her abilities, but who had only killing on his mind? Why couldn’t she have met a good guy?
When he reached the catwalk, however, her nerves settled down. He was incredibly beautiful, so pleasing to the eye. Did she really need to be frightened of such a creature?
He settled his hands on the railing and smiled, a lovely smile. He drew his wings back and flipped his legs over the side. He landed easily and bore down on her, a wall of thick exquisitely shaped muscles, a fluttering of glossy feathers, a show of fangs. As the blood on his chest came into view, however, her mind sharpened and her instincts fired up.
Yes. She should be frightened.
For the entire duration of her adult life, Alison had never, never engaged in a dematerialization in plain view of other people. It was one of her rules, an important rule, one that had for years helped her to feel like she had a place in the world, that all her exceptional and useless gifts could exist side by side with normal.
But this monster had already made his intention clear, and right now this rule would have to go. Hallucination or not, and though she felt completely freaked out at vanishing in front of God and everyone, she pictured the courtyard below and moved herself there with a thought followed by a brief vibration of blood and bone.
Kerrick’s head swam as he watched the mortal female fold from the catwalk to a position not three yards away, her back to him as she gazed up at the now stunned death vamp. Kerrick had been ready to intervene, his wings thrumming, when the pretty-boy explained his mission. His words alone, his professed purpose, had forced Kerrick to pause—a death vamp ready to destroy that which was evil? Did he actually mean the Commander?
But then the woman folded. He knew it was possible because he’d read her powers. However, since he still couldn’t fold, he was mesmerized, and not a hair of her tight blond twist out of place.
He looked her up and down from behind.
She wore black pants, short-heeled shoes, and a light green silk top fitted to her body. She looked elegant and controlled, like she kept herself wound up into a comfortable knot, just like her hair. He so got that. She had probably spent most of her life holding back, trying not to freak everybody else out because of who she was. Yeah, he really got that.
His nostrils flared and a sudden scent of lavender hijacked his brain. Damn he was dizzy! He rubbed the center of his chest over his heart. The scent gave him a rush, the way he sometimes felt after throwing back half a dozen shots of Maker’s in quick succession. Yeah, like that. Damn. The surface of his skin felt hot and he craved. This was what he needed, what had been calling to him since he’d awakened with that weird hum in his chest. He took a step forward and sucked in more of the lavender scent. Holy shit, the scent was her. Addiction swept through his body, sudden, hard, complete.
He wanted the lavender on his lips and down his throat. He wanted her body beneath his. He wanted her back arching, her hips meeting his. He wanted to be inside her mind. Damn … he wanted her blood.
Holy hell. He backed up and shook his head. He ordered his mind … his body … again. He forced himself to think rational thoughts, like he had a job to do and this was a mere mortal and he had sworn off getting involved with a woman so long as he remained a Warrior of the Blood.
