He thought of Helena again. She had given her life to be with him. I’ve chosen to be with you, she had said. It is my privilege, my pleasure, even my honor to be with you and bring peace to your life as you do to mine. You are my choice, for better or worse, come life or death.
Come life or death.
Endelle had said, Give Helena a little credit.
When he had taken Alison’s hand-blast to his chest and abdomen and begun recovering in the hospital, his natural instinct had been to retreat. After all, that was how he had lived for the past two hundred years. But throughout those centuries, he’d been a shell of a man, flying on nerves and Maker’s, holding the line at the cost of dying a little each day.
He would always feel responsible for Helena’s death. That was the nature of being a man, the inherent sense of responsibility to keep everyone alive, to keep everyone happy, satisfied.
He released a heavy sigh, the kind weighted with guilt, lots of it.
The question seemed to be: Was he thinking of Alison right now or thinking of himself? Did he truly fear that his proximity to her would cause her death or did he merely fear the agony of losing her should she die as a result of the Commander’s aggression? Some of both, he supposed, but what was the right path in this situation? He longed to be with her, a longing that kept her in his dreams when he slept and in his thoughts when he was awake.
Now she faced a new situation. Against one of the prime laws of the land, Greaves had sent death vampires against her. Holy shit.
Thorne was right, the attacks on her would never stop. Her ascension was a beginning, not an ending, and Endelle was wrong to think three squads of Militia Warriors would do anything except cost lives, possibly even Alison’s.
What came to him was his present need to let go of his guilt over what had happened in the past to both Marta and Helena and to all three of his children. Life was hard and had been from the beginning of time. Choices were made and, yeah, like Endelle had said, Death happens. One day in the future, he would die as well as Alison, even their daughter.
But no longer would he deny the simple truth, good or bad—that he belonged with Alison and he belonged with his daughter.
Alison’s presence in his life had done this for him, forced him to take that extra step out of the confines of his present life and into … the future.
He laughed and shook his head. Goddammit, just seeing her had made him feel like more of a man, more powerful. How the hell was that possible? The breh-hedden, of course, calling to him in wild shouts from the edge of his tightly held life.
Only this time he didn’t stop the sensation. He let it fill him, the physical intention, the pure sexual need, the whirrings of his mind begging for Alison’s presence inside his head.
He stood at the foot of his bed and pictured her lying naked right there, her long blond hair spread out over his pillows and sheets. He wanted her in his bed, in this bed, the bed he now slept in. He wanted her with him now and always.
Then he knew, then he understood that his life had changed completely, not just a little but in every possible way. He saw the future, how this was going to go down from this point forward, and why he intended to complete the breh-hedden with Alison. No way was his lovely therapist, built to help others, going to be subjected to fighting. Some women were built for war. She was built to save lives. He felt stronger in his spirit than ever before, determined, full of purpose.
Come hell or high water, come good times or bad, come life or death, he would be with Alison, he would love her, he would protect her to the extent he could, she would be his breh and he would serve her as he had from the moment he first met her, as her Guardian of Ascension.
He smiled, he laughed, he punched the air a few times, he gave one powerful shout to the heavens. No longer would he look back, but he would set his face to the future and live, really live.
He felt a strange low-level vibration in his body, something he had never felt before. He drew in a deep breath. Holy shit. Was it possible?
Hell, yeah, it was possible.
Tonight he began a new life, and sure as hell this was the way to start it.
He calmed himself down and pictured the library. He thought the goddamn righteous f**king thought. The journey between lasted a rough second, maybe two, a dark ride through nether-space, a blanking-out then sudden hard awareness, a blinding rush of adrenaline followed by a blast of endorphins.
He had folded himself to the library.
Praise be to the Creator, at long last he could fold.
He shook his head. He closed his eyes, thought another thought. He experienced another vibration of blood and bone. He opened his eyes. He was back in the master bedroom.
He laughed and shouted. He dematerialized about a dozen times. His fist pumped the air.
He could fold.
He. Could. Fold.
Goddammit, he could fold!
One last trip back to the master bedroom and his body stilled. The why of it became a big question in his mind, but somehow he already knew.
Alison was the why of it, the why of everything.
Now, how to tackle the problem that was Endelle?
* * *
Alison listened to her CO arguing with Madame Endelle about how many guards she would need to post, twenty-four/seven, to ward off a constant stream of tag-attacks like the one that had just taken place. Alison had risen from her kneeling position, her sword still in hand. She kept up a constant surveillance even though it was unlikely the death vamps would return, not with Her Supremeness around.
When the CO, a tall woman with broad shoulders, dipped her square chin, placed the tips of her fingers on the desk, and leaned toward Madame Endelle, Alison could have chewed the sudden tension streaking through the air. She half expected to find the CO on the floor, a stiletto at her neck, but for some reason Endelle allowed the aggression.
“But Madame Supreme High Administrator, what you suggest would mean suicide for those involved. With all due respect, ascender Wells is the only warrior I have on the entire base capable of battling even one death vampire, let alone three. You know the ratios required for regular Militia Warriors to defeat death vamps? Four-to-one in order to prevent a mortality rate at point of combat of less than twenty-five percent. Four of our soldiers to one death vamp … and some would still die. Ascender Wells would require a twelve-warrior detail around her at all times, and that’s assuming only three pretty-boys show up. She is unmanageable for us. At the very least, she requires the protection of the Warriors of the Blood.”
These facts, presented as they were by a woman of reason and authority, forced Alison to confront her situation in an entirely different light. Until this moment, she had assumed she could create a life for herself, by herself, on Second Earth. But that simply wasn’t true.