She always did. He drew in a deep breath and relaxed … a little. She was the best of wives. He was the most fortunate of men.
The air stirred once more. She stepped away from him slightly. Given his rank, she did not believe in public displays of affection. When the Commander appeared, she offered a courteous inclination of her head coupled with a slight curtsy, a tradition she had begun and which had caught on throughout Second Earth. “Julianna, how lovely to see you.”
“And you, Commander.”
“Please. Call me Darian.”
His wife, his darling wife, merely smiled, offered another bow, then said, “As you wish, Commander.”
Crace marveled at her adroitness. She always passed the Commander’s little tests, which seemed to please him immensely, for he smiled and even chuckled. She lifted her hand to him.
He approached her and took her proffered hand, offering a polite kiss on the arch of her fingers, a sign of great respect. Crace felt a wave of heat roll from his wife. A surprise. The Commander’s gaze dropped oh so briefly to her br**sts. Crace followed suit and found his wife’s ni**les peaked, stretching the lovely peach linen. He understood in this moment all over again how clever his wife was. He blinked and more of his fears dissipated.
The Commander lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. A moment later three wait staff materialized as well as a large serving cart.
Julianna clapped her hands in an innocent expression of pleasure at the meal the Commander had provided for her. Naturally, Greaves seated her himself. And naturally, Julianna smiled up at him, just over her shoulder, and whispered her thank-you.
Crace sat down to eat with his fears settled to a dull roar, so much so that by the time the meal had been consumed and the champagne had eased through his veins, he leaned back in his chair.
“I was sorry to hear of Warrior Kerrick’s illegal maneuver,” Greaves said. “Wholly unexpected.”
“Yes, it was, Commander.”
“Very well. We shall simply move forward.”
Crace withheld the gasp rattling in his throat. There would be no recriminations. Thank the Creator for small mercies.
“I want you to see Harding and make arrangements for the next leg of this journey. We will have every legal right to pursue any course we wish. I rely on you, my dear Crace, to make the finish remarkable.”
Crace stared into the eyes of his deity. Make the finish remarkable. Every legal right. The emergency lift may have saved the ascendiate’s life, but it had also given the Commander a profound, irreversible advantage.
On Second Earth, there was always one way to make anything remarkable.
Spectacle.
Yes, spectacle.
Within his mind, he began to weave a glorious exhibition. He would use swans, of course, and fireworks. He would call in a favor or two from Beijing. The local theaters would have all the actors he required for a full-mount display … yes, he knew exactly what needed to be done. And of course the event would be televised worldwide. Yes, that would work … remarkably.
As for the ascendiate, well, her demise would be the highlight of the entire evening, of course.
“I believe I have the answer,” he said.
Crace felt a now familiar pressure in his head. Greaves’s serious expression softened then lightened. He nodded several times and afterward smiled.
“My dear Crace, you have outdone yourself. You are to be congratulated.”
“You may congratulate me, master, when the ascendiate breathes her last.”
* * *
The lake.
Alison floated inside a familiar dream high in the air. She looked down at a very long, somewhat narrow lake, perhaps only half a mile across in the widest place. However, the body of water extended several miles in a north–south direction, making up in length what it lacked in width.
The floating was pleasurable.
Wait. She wasn’t floating at all. She was flying and she had wings, beautiful pearlescent light blue wings edged with gold at every tip, a shimmering gold. She felt euphoric and deeply content. She flapped her wings, which had mounted from within her back, like Warrior Kerrick’s wings.
What a strange sensation to feel the presence of wing-locks as well as the thickened muscles of her back and the heavy dose of hormones gliding through her veins. She had a sudden and tremendous sensation of power. She stretched out her arms and felt within her mind the key to movement—the wing-locks combined with thought.
Her wings were an amazing part of her, both mind and body. When she envisioned a downward thrust, her wings responded almost magically. Flight was therefore a learned skill, the way an infant would learn to bring his fists together and feel the clasp of his hands for the first time. Wings were another set of muscles to learn to manipulate.
Exhilaration. She envisioned a spin and her wing-locks responded until she was twirling oh so high in the air. On instinct, she spread her wings wide and the spiral stopped. She laughed.
Looking down, she spun in another circle, much slower this time, and discovered that the lake was at the foot of the range of mountains she knew well—the White Tanks. She also, for some reason, knew the name of the lake—White Lake. Yet how strange to see a body of water here. On Mortal Earth nothing much existed on the west side of the White Tanks except a small development of homes and the occasional lone house or trailer. Certainly not a lake.
As she glided over the water, she experienced a sense of destiny, of the future, that her future was here, with this lake. A strong yearning took hold of her chest, the same profound longing that had prompted her to answer her call to ascension. She felt protective of the lake, almost painfully so, as though the fate of the world depended on her ability to keep White Lake secure.
The word guardian slid through her head, the same word Warrior Kerrick had used to describe his relationship to her, that he was her guardian. And she was the guardian of this lake. Only what could it possibly mean?
As she drifted toward consciousness, the dream formed the backdrop of her mind. She awoke on her back in an unfamiliar bed staring up at a tall vaulted ceiling painted a beautiful burnt orange and overlaid with dark stripped branches. She had never seen a ceiling like this, a real work of art. So where was she?
The last ceiling she’d awakened to had been her own and … Kerrick’s arm had been slung over her chest. He had burrowed into her neck, teasing her awake with erotic movements of the duller parts of his fangs nudging her throat just above the vein.
Potent desire whipped through her at the remembered sensations, and she arched on the bed. Recalling the powerful orgasm brought her legs pressing together, trying to find some relief. Oh, what Kerrick had done to her. She slid her hand over her neck. She groaned at the memory of coming apart while he took her blood and tormented her with his fingers. She couldn’t begin to imagine what full-on sex would be like with him.