Chapter 1
Thorne, out of ancient Britain in AD 11, stood outside a vile-smelling dive, a real shithole, somewhere in El Paso One, Mortal Earth. He took deep breaths trying to calm the hell down so that he didn’t draw his sword, go back inside, and impale a beefy-looking mortal who was more innocent than guilty in this little flirtation drama.
He whipped his Droid Ascender from the pocket of his jeans, a sweet interdimensional piece of technology that allowed him to call home. He all but punched the screen. Shit, his hand trembled. He had so much adrenaline and testosterone flooding his system that, yeah, he was shaking like a drunk off a bender.
The phone rang several times. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
Finally, Alison’s voice came on the line. “Sorry. Had to get out of Endelle’s office before I answered.”
“Okay, good.” In the past three weeks since he’d left Second Earth, he’d grown dependent on Alison for a couple of reasons. She helped him keep his head screwed on straight, and she kept him informed on that little detail called the war against Commander Greaves.
He was about to launch into his current dilemma, as in what to do about his woman who was making moves on another man, when Alison cut him off. “Thorne, there’s something you’ve got to know right away, and it’s bad.”
His body stilled. Alison wasn’t given to drama of any kind. From the day of her ascension over a year ago, she’d been an equalizing force among the Warriors of the Blood and especially with Endelle, serving as she did as the scorpion queen’s executive assistant.
His hearing became focused, laser-like, on exactly what Alison would say next. He took another deep breath. “Let me have it.”
“It’s been all over the news for the past hour. In three days, Greaves is conducting a spectacle-grade military review that will last four, maybe six hours. Rumors are that he’s marching an army of two hundred thousand troops, his ‘Ascender Liberation Army,’ down the Moscow Two avenue.”
Thorne’s lips parted because he needed to keep breathing, but he wasn’t sure his lungs were working.
Greaves had just upped the stakes at the same moment that Thorne had gone AWOL to chase after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
Perfect.
“Are you there?” Alison asked.
“What?”
“Thorne, did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Processing. Shit.” He shook his head—like Alison could see that. “This is a completely illegal maneuver. COPASS can’t let this slide, not this time. ‘No entity shall engage in a public display of military prowess.’ The rules are clear.”
“Marcus has been on the phone nonstop to the international COPASS HQ in Prague. Every answer he’s been given goes something like, The committee has the Commander’s request for permits under review. But we all know what that means.”
“Squat.”
“Exactly. I hate to ask this, but can you come home? This news has all of the High Administrators still aligned with Endelle jumpy. Three shifted their alliance to Greaves just because of the announcement. Three.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly.”
He turned back to face the run-down building, which blared some lively Mexican music: trumpets, guitars, and a quick beat.
Marguerite, his woman, his vampire bond-mate, was in there, getting one huge motherfucker of a Mexican all worked up with her long, blood-red nails and short platinum hair.
He’d followed her to Mortal Earth because he’d had no choice in the matter. Much to his surprise the goddamn breh-hedden had hit him flush in the jaw and torn all his good sense from its usual strong footings. All the warriors had thought the breh-hedden was a myth; then Alison had shown up and knocked Kerrick on his ass—Kerrick, the one who had vowed never to marry again. Three other warriors had followed, like dominoes: Marcus, Medichi, and just a few weeks ago Jean-Pierre.
Now it was his turn.
And Greaves had decided this was the hour to let the world know that he’d built an army worthy of victory, and was getting ready to launch his takeover bid of both Second Earth and Mortal Earth.
Fucking great.
He turned again, to once more face away from the bar. He felt the call of his world, of Second Earth, and of something more, something vast that had begun pulsing in the center of his brain. He lived with two aches now, the heavy pounding in his head and the stiff pulsing in his groin.
He was a man torn, now more than ever, because of the implied threat of a spectacle-based military review. Damn, there’d be fireworks and massive orchestral music as well as hundreds of DNA-altered swans and geese. Second Earth lived for spectacle and Greaves knew it. The damn thing was genius.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. Alison, thank God, had fallen silent, giving him space, the usual. She’d been a counselor before she ascended. She knew how to let a moment breathe.
Finally, he said, “I’m going to do everything I can to move things along here. But I can’t leave Marguerite right now and it isn’t just because of the breh-hedden. Because she’s obsidian flame, Greaves wants her dead. She’s unprotected if I just take off. You know Endelle was counting on her emerging power to make a difference in the war. At the very least, I need to bring her home with me.”
“You’re right,” Alison said, some of the tension leaving her voice. “I’d gotten so wrapped up in this review, I’d forgotten about Marguerite’s power. Don’t worry. I’ll talk it over with Marcus. He’ll understand. More than anyone, he’ll understand.” Marcus was four thousand years old and had only recently returned to Second Earth and to the Warriors of the Blood after a two-hundred-year absence, his own form of desertion.
Yeah, if anyone would understand all the dilemmas facing Thorne, Marcus would.
“I’d better go,” he said.
“I almost forgot, what did you call for?”
“Nothing. I mean, I’ll work it out.” He laughed as he pushed a hand through his hair and all but dislodged his cadroen. “I may be calling you later. I’ve got a situation in El Paso Two.”
Alison’s voice dropped. “Oh, shit, Endelle just walked into my office. Gotta go.”
The line went dead.
A military spectacle review. Jesus H. Christ.
He returned his phone to his jeans. He lowered his chin and went back into the bar. He sure could use a drink right about now, but for this ride he’d stopped with the Ketel One. Everything was coming to a head fast and he needed to see things just as they were, not through a vodka haze. Still, it sure didn’t help that Marguerite was flashing a smile at that goddamn good-looking Mexican.