She stepped farther away from the enormous tamarind tree, away from Rith, away from his three Burmese slaves who had come to watch the show. The women loved to watch her fly. As far as she knew, none of them had wings—yet they’d been ascended for centuries. She found the absence of wings very strange for second dimension vampires, unless of course Rith had found a way to prevent them from gaining normal flight capability.
Whatever.
Rith was a monster, a quiet, dedicated, harmless-looking monster. He had ways of hurting her, and probably his slaves, that left no marks: His torture skills involved the piercing of the mind with his superior mental power. If she escaped his home tonight and he caught her, at the very least he would fill her mind with the equivalent of whirling knives. At the most, he would find an excuse to take her life.
So what was she to do? Take her chances and attempt to escape the mist or remain and risk staying one more night in the power of a man who now radiated a desire to kill her?
Her arms trembled as she prepared to mount her wings. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, an exercise that required a full minute of firm concentration.
She took a final deep cleansing breath, leaned forward slightly with her hands on her waist, then released her wings. She couldn’t hold back the moan of pleasure. Her ni**les drew into hard beads. For whatever reason, mounting her wings had always been for her an experience akin to sexual release.
The feathers flew in perfect balance through the small weeping apertures in her back and at the exact same moment joined with the mesh superstructure that also emerged and held the incomprehensible mass together. She would never understand how her body produced the glory that was her wings, but then how could she open the windows of her preternatural voyeurism and see what others were doing? How could the ascended vampire dematerialize? How did Rith create the extraordinary mist that appeared in visible domes over his home? Power then more power.
These were the mysteries of her world, her new world, the world of ascension.
She moved in a slow circle, wafting her wings up and down, practicing the combined movements of her back, her arms, and her wings. She was new to flight, having flown for the first time three months ago, though she’d had her wings over a year before that. Her friend Havily Morgan, an ascended vampire, had been teaching her to fly before the abduction. In one early session, Parisa had almost gotten herself killed by launching into the air without enough training, but Havily had pulled on her feet and brought her out of a deadly forward roll.
Because she was alone here in her garden prison, all her practice had been done with great care. She feared falling and breaking her wings more than anything. She didn’t heal at lightning speed like normal vampires did, which was part of the reason she feared attempting an unsupported escape. One huge gust of wind would probably throw her into an uncontrolled spin or roll; she could easily fall to the ground. In her mortal state, she didn’t want to think what that would feel like. She could end up paralyzed or even dead.
Yeah, this really wasn’t a simple decision.
She looked up into the swirling dome and drew her wings back. She launched into the air, brought her wings forward, caught air, and began to fly. A collective gasp came from the three women on the porch. She flapped her wings and smiled. She understood their delight. She had seen Havily fly. It was a sight to behold.
She had seen all the Warriors of the Blood in flight at one time or another, all except Antony, of course. She knew the reason why he didn’t mount his wings. She had voyeured him for over a year, so she had seen the secret he kept hidden from those closest to him. What she didn’t know was the why of it.
Antony.
Now she was here, struggling to find a way to escape. The truth was, even if she did escape she still didn’t know which path she would choose: to stay on Mortal Earth or ascend.
She tilted her wings slightly to the left and began a turn. She had to keep her movements small or she would start a rolling maneuver from which she would have a hard time recovering. Maybe impossible.
Her heart pounded as she approached the upper reaches. She flew in an arc and raised her arm straight over her head, carefully controlling the shape of her right wing as she dragged her fingers through the blue-green mist. A wonderful ripple of power flowed up her arm. The women below applauded since the dome reacted to these movements by swirling in enormous patterns to reconfigure over and over again, an oversized kaleidoscope.
Parisa dove toward the ground. Yes, her skills had improved. The women gasped again but at the last moment, she fluffed her wings into parachute position, brought her feet up, and floated to earth. She touched her toes to the grass, bent her knees, drew her wings close to her body, then once more launched upward.
The whispering grew louder from deep within her mind. Yes, leave now. Make your escape.
Antony? she sent, hoping. Was her guardian warrior communicating with her? The whispers were so faint, she couldn’t tell.
Antony?
But nothing returned.
She drew close to the top of the tamarind tree and once more assumed the parachute position. This time she stared down at Rith. He had moved to the edge of the porch, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes dark and glittering as he stared up at her. She wafted her wings slowly to maintain altitude.
She met his gaze.
Fly through the mist. Hurry. Escape now!
Then she knew and her heart plummeted. She wasn’t hearing Antony’s whispers at all. Rith was in her mind. These were his words, his commands, and he had but one purpose—he wanted her to make a run for it. If she did, she knew she would die.
She understood now that though Rith wanted her dead, he couldn’t kill her outright. He must be under orders to keep her alive, which meant he’d have to make her death look like an accident. His master, Commander Greaves, was the one truly in charge of her. Rith was just her keeper.
What better way to create an accident than to hurt her high in the air, beyond the mist, and send her into a deadly spin?
Yet what exactly had changed for Rith that he now wished for her death?
Her heart sank farther, a rock dropping into a pond. She turned slowly and wafted her wings, gliding down to the lawn below. She didn’t look at him or the women. Once she felt the grass beneath her feet, she closed her eyes and retracted her wings.
She ignored Rith as she made her way onto the porch then into the house. The female servants followed her.
Time for bed.
She showered and slid on a soft white cotton nightgown trimmed with lavender lace. Yes, everything of the finest quality had been provided for her since the first day of her captivity.