The crowd cheered and suddenly he felt the master’s presence beside him. “Well done, High Administrator Crace. An excellent beginning.”
Crace turned and bowed, drawing his wife to face the Commander. This was one of the best uses he had for his beloved spouse. She dipped a very pretty curtsy, and the Commander’s gaze drifted to her beautiful br**sts, now peaked from the excitement of the fireworks and pushing hard at all those seed pearls.
“Julianna,” his deep smooth voice flowed.
“Commander.”
However, the master was never gauche and shifted his gaze to Crace. He even planted a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done well.”
Crace drew in a deep breath. Such bountiful praise. He felt dizzy, and visions of Geneva did an elegant Fred Astaire tap dance in his head. He could feel the soft black leather cushion beneath his ass. The right hand of God.
The Commander merely nodded, offered a small bow, then vanished.
“He is always so elegant,” Julianna murmured.
When he glanced at his wife, he saw the flush on her cheeks and her swollen lips. He frowned suddenly. He recognized her state of arousal. She’d been exactly there not an hour ago. A quick search of her mind told him he wasn’t the focus of her interest.
From the moment he met his wife, he had loved her, almost to the point of madness. Only one thing exceeded his devotion to her—his devotion to his master. For the first time he wondered if there was one thing after all he would not do for his deity.
Sweet Jesus. A shiver of fear shot straight through his heart because he didn’t know if he could ever choose between his wife and Commander Greaves … ever.
* * *
Sometimes life, ascended or otherwise, just sucked.
Alison stood beside Kerrick in what looked like your basic locker room. She was silent, shocked out. From the corridor beyond she could hear an orchestra booming out Beethoven’s Fifth.
Spectacle.
And she was the star attraction.
Great. Just great.
She shook her head. This couldn’t be happening.
She glanced around trying to figure out what a dedicated therapist from regular old Mortal Earth was doing, dressed all in black leather, preparing to battle a warrior vampire from Second Earth.
Even thinking the question threatened to send her into a tailspin. She felt hysteria rising as though thick hands gripped her ribs in an attempt to force the air from her lungs. She wanted to open her mouth and scream.
Instead she drew a breath, then another, then another even though her heart pounded so hard her ears thumped.
She glanced up at Kerrick, looking for some kind of support or understanding, but he was shored up within the fortress of his own mind. And why wouldn’t he be? The man lived with guilt stacked so deep in his soul he couldn’t move or think straight. She knew that now. Even though he was not to blame for this ridiculous situation, he shouldered the responsibility anyway.
So, here she was … alone. What a familiar sensation.
The dream hadn’t lasted long, the deep connection to another human being, immortal though he was, the sense of sharing, of working things out together. There was no togetherness here, just Alison trying to find the courage to take one more step down a road that still didn’t make a lot of sense.
“At last, ascendiate Wells. So, let me have a look at you.”
Alison heard the strong, feminine voice behind her. She whirled around and there, not ten feet away, stood Endelle, in full-mount, her wings a light golden brown. She recognized her from Kerrick’s memories, although her wings had been a different color—first yellow, then black when she’d become angry with Kerrick. She was a tall and extremely beautiful woman, thick black hair, olive skin, strong features, a beauty queen from the Middle East. She wore dark brown suede, lots of it, sculpted to her body, and a cape of what looked like mink. She gave an impression of ancient and modern blended. She was also a walking PETA nightmare.
So here she was, She Who Would Live, the ruler of all of Second Earth, Her Supremeness, Madame Endelle.
In the flesh, the woman responded, inside Alison’s head, just like that.
Alison reached out with her empathy, without thinking. Endelle narrowed her eyes, “Not on your life, ascendiate.”
Alison retreated. “My apologies. An old habit.”
Endelle nodded. “Understood.” Turning to Kerrick, she said, “Make the introductions, Warrior. I’d like to formally meet the woman who’s been making my life a shitfest.”
At these words Kerrick took a protective step closer to Alison, the only sign he was even aware of her. “Madame Supreme High Administrator, may I present ascendiate Alison Wells, previously of Carefree, Arizona, Mortal Earth. Ascendiate Wells, Madame Endelle, Supreme High Administrator, Second Earth.”
Alison held Endelle’s gaze. More than anything she knew she was looking at her future in all its myriad forms. Kerrick had told her that only Endelle had ascended with the same levels of powers Alison now possessed. She also understood that Her Supremeness, as the warriors called her, should have advanced to an Upper Dimension millennia ago, remaining on Second Earth only to serve as a necessary force against the Commander.
Endelle looked her up and down. Ponytail was a good idea, she sent. Black leather suits you. It’s probably a good thing your man can’t get past his anger right now, otherwise he’d be all over you.
Without really thinking, Alison sent back, I think you might have some boundary issues.
“Boundary issues?” Endelle cried aloud, taking a step forward, the tips of every feather shimmying. “You intend to start up your psycho-crap with me, ascendiate Wells?”
Alison shook her head. “Not at all. I’m telling you I don’t intend to discuss my love life with you.”
“Whatever.”
Endelle’s wings reached all the way to the tall ceiling, while her wingspan took up at least a combined twenty feet, larger than even Kerrick’s. The present configuration meant that when in full flight, with the wings extended as far as they could go, my God, the span would reach over forty feet from tip to tip.
“Let me speak plainly about today’s engagement,” Endelle said. “You have only one mission here—to put Leto in the ground. So do it, ascendiate. Know that I’m counting on you.”
“Then you’ve backed the wrong horse,” Alison cried. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the last time I checked, I was a therapist, not a warrior. I have difficulty swatting flies.”