He tried to spend part of each day chopping wood just to rid himself of some of the deep, unrelenting tension he felt.
With a thought, he turned on the shower. He looked into the mirror. Christ, he had Grace’s blood spread over his lower face, his neck, his chest.
He feared going lower, examining more of his body, afraid of what he’d find.
But he had to know.
He glanced at his cock then drew in a deep shuddering breath. Oh, thank God. He had feared he would find blood, that in his beast-like state he would have hurt her, that he would have made her bleed. But he hadn’t, thank you, Creator.
He turned and moved into the shower, the broad circular head slamming pinpricks of water against his hair and scalp. It felt so good. He wanted to get clean, to be cleansed of all that worried him, troubled him, and guilted him up. He took his time, using a loofah and shower gel. In his ritualistic way, he began at his forehead and scrubbed carefully down his body, one limb at a time, until even his toes were burnished.
He washed his long hair and used a healthy amount of crème rinse after, the only thing that kept his mass of hair in order. He had once told Greaves that his long hair would be a constant reminder to Endelle that Greaves had succeeded in turning a Warrior of the Blood to his cause.
The truth, however, had been very different. His warrior hair was the one thing he had held to symbolically as a hope that he would return to serve Endelle as he had served all the millennia of his life, as a dedicated warrior. Toweling off, he took a shortcut with his hair and modified his hand-blast to dry it out. Sometimes preternatural power could have an in-a-pinch application. Within a minute his hair was dry, if a little bit singed.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed downstairs. He grabbed a beer. Before he went to the hot spring, he needed to gather his thoughts. Mostly, he wondered who the hell he was.
His tribe had come from Eastern Europe. Though his name sounded Greek or even Italian, the root was farther north. At one time, he was called Leotrim d’Istra. Other versions existed as well.
Now he was Leto Distra.
Names morphed, but the old name still meant something to him. His tribe had been known as the soulful ones, and the name he’d earned in battle was one who is brave.
Those days, however, were long past, and the century with Greaves, betraying those he loved, had changed him. He was fractured inside. He didn’t know himself anymore. He didn’t recognize himself. Parts, yes, like his warrior nature on one side, but this other part was big, demanding, even oppressive. Who was this beast?
In his three thousand years of ascended life, he’d never experienced anything like what he was going through. Was he part death vampire now and forever? He didn’t know. But his last thoughts before passing out had been Grace has come home. I’m safe now. I’ll be okay. And finally, Oh, God, I can breathe again.
He went downstairs and sat at the dining table in one of the tall-back chairs. He leaned his elbows on the carved wooden table and put his head in his hands.
The sex.
The sex had been magnificent, like every fantasy he’d had about Grace for the past five months all rolled into one.
But he’d been so damn rough. Had he hurt her? She hadn’t seemed hurt. She’d seemed … enrapt. He smiled, just a small quirking up of his left cheek. Grace was such a pure soul; he would never have believed this of her, this complete abandon in her lovemaking.
He glanced at the clock, trying to determine just how long he’d been out.
It was nearly five. The games were due to start in two hours and he had a speech to make.
Duties to attend to.
He stood up. With a wave of his hand, and with long practice, he donned flight gear, all heavy, battle-worthy black leather, a kilt that was as familiar as air, battle sandals, shin guards, silver-studded wrist guards.
Time to speak with Grace. May I fold to your position? he sent.
There was a slight pause and his body tensed. Why the silence? Was something wrong? Was she in trouble?
Yes, of course you can come, but … I want to stay in the hot spring. Is that all right with you?
Even thinking about her in the spring to the north of his cabin brought pleasure gripping his cock. The location wasn’t far, just a hundred yards, no more, in a cluster of rocks. And Grace had found it. He sighed. Perfect.
Leto?
I’m here. Sorry. The images. But I wish to speak with you before I head to the games, and later I’ll want you to have a contingent of Militia Warriors around you while you fold to the landing platforms.
He heard a mental sigh. As you wish.
Sometimes the way she spoke, her word choices, surprised him. As you wish, for instance? But then she’d been convent-trained for a century.
See you in a few, he sent.
* * *
Grace floated in the small, decadent, heavenly pool of steaming water. The mountain air was cool in early September, the water hot and relaxing. Wisps of mist floated and swirled from the water in continuously moving patterns. The forest was beautiful at twilight. She ached in so many wonderful places that all she could do was smile up into the sky. She felt safe and free.
Leto had worked her neck fiercely, taking her blood. She touched her neck and rubbed a finger over the swollen tissue. She didn’t want it to heal too fast. She wanted to savor the memories as long as she could.
She flapped her hands just a little and moved her body in a circle. There was enough room to stretch all the way out, and she would have done that now, but not with Leto coming. She thought it imprudent to greet him with her breasts bobbing above the waterline like two small islands, a pebble in the center of each.
The image made her smile.
Dear Leto.
She had missed him. She understood that now. She had missed him as much as life itself. She had known him all her two thousand years, even if their paths crossed infrequently. Even so, he’d been a constant in her life and an excellent friend to Thorne, having served as Thorne’s mentor until recent decades. Leto had also inspired her erotic poetry at the Convent—the one signal, even to her own committed and devoted mind, that perhaps she needed a different life than the one ordered by the dogma of the church.
So here she was.
“Grace?”
Leto.
She turned in an easy circle, flapping one hand more than the other, her knees bent to keep her chest below the water. When she was in position to face him, she smiled and a soft vibration flowed through her body. She let loose another sigh, deep and carrying a slight groan. Was that her obsidian flame power or just her desire for her breh? How strange her life was right now.
Because of her heightened vision, she saw Leto as in a glow. Her man was in warrior gear. With his hair tight in the cadroen, he looked fierce, handsome, god-like, and powerful. Made for war.
He was an amazing vampire, a philosopher and a warrior combined.
Lest she get caught in his beauty, she asked, “You wanted to talk?”
“I thought we should.” But his gaze drifted to her chin then her shoulders and chest. His lips parted and the air smelled even more of the forest than before. What an elegant scent.
She smiled. “Maybe you should sit down on the spring’s edge.” A hand-hewn stone shelf rimmed the entire pool.
He sat down with his back to her. His shoulders dipped a little. “Why did you return?” he asked. “Why now?”
So he wanted answers. She would try hard to be as honest with him as she could. “Because I heard you calling to me. I have all along, you know. From the time I left Second Earth five months ago.”
“What do you mean?”
She remembered the sounds of his beastly roars. Even between dimensions that sound had reached her, burrowing into her heart, reminding her that she had left behind a warrior who carried a breh-scent meant just for her. “When you roared in your pain, I could hear you, all the way to Fourth. No one else could. Just me. But I heard you. That’s why I c
ame to you today. And … it was time.”
She watched him nod. His leather cadroen bobbed. “You’re very powerful.”
“And we have a connection,” she said. “Though I don’t understand it.”
“I don’t, either, but there is something I must know. Did I … hurt you? Earlier, I mean.”
Grace drew in a sharp breath. “Of course not. You must never think that what happened between us wasn’t consensual, or that I didn’t savor every second of it, or that you hurt me. I promise you, I’m uninjured.”
“Good. I was so afraid.”
“You needn’t have been. But now I have a question for you, maybe a dozen, in fact. What is this that you’ve become, this extraordinary creature—all Leto, yet more.”
“You mean this beast?”
“Yes.” She chuckled. “This beautiful beast. The one I personally hope to see more of.”
At that, his back tensed and he twisted his head slightly to look at her. His nostrils flared. “The entire forest smells like a sweet meadow right now. That’s what I smell, you know, when I’m around you, your breh-hedden scent. But I can’t believe you would speak well of this beast.”
“He’s you. Why wouldn’t I speak well of something that is more of you?”
He looked away again. “That is your renowned compassion speaking, your acceptance of everyone around you. But this beast that you praise is a death vampire, or the remnant of one. At least that’s what I think it is. How can you speak well of that?”
“Do you know for certain that these manifestations are a result of taking dying blood?”
He shook his head. “I’m really not sure. But it seems logical.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. Did you ever seek treatment?”
“I stayed in the hospital in Metro Phoenix Two for a couple of weeks for tests and observation. My beast even emerged for the staff once. The nurses wouldn’t come near me but I could hardly blame them.
“After that, I had a complete blood transfusion and I spoke with Alison for hours. She thought there were three possibilities for this transformation: a consequence of having taken dying blood, an unheard-of emerging power, or possibly the results from having taken Havily’s blood.”
“Alison is very wise. So it is possible that what you’re going through has nothing to do with dying blood.”
“Yes, it’s possible.”
He was still facing away from her, bent over slightly. “There is something I must know,” he said. “Why … why did you leave with Casimir five months ago? I’ve never understood. I mean I know you scented him, as you scent me, but how could you have chosen him, of all vampires?”
She paddled a little bit more, her knees still up, her gaze fixed on the small waves she created in front of her. But how to explain? “I had to go because of a powerful intuition I experienced about Casimir’s future. Every cell of my body cried out that it was necessary, that I would not survive if I did not go with him; nor would you. What I believe, Leto, is that our fates, yours and mine, are intertwined with his, and I had to be with him to make sure we were all safe. When I left, it was with the certainty that if I didn’t leave with him, I would lose you both, that you would both die.”
“You believe you left to protect me.”
“Yes, though I have no way of proving it. Marguerite had the same experience with Casimir once. She prevented his death some months ago because she knew, in the same way that I do now, that Casimir had to live, that he has some critical mission to perform in the future.”
“But you don’t know what it is?”
Grace shook her head, her long hair pulling to and fro beneath the water and causing more ripples. “No. Neither Marguerite nor I know. However, I am convinced it was about saving your life.”
“How do you know that?”
She shook her head. “I just know. I think it’s my obsidian power at work.”
“So Casimir is no longer your breh?”
“No, he is not. I no longer scent him, nor does he scent me.”
He rubbed his face with his hands as though working hard to make sense of the incomprehensible. “So why do you think you stopped scenting him?”
“It happened when he made the decision to enter Beatrice’s pools of redemption.” She explained about Beatrice’s unique gift to redeem souls through extensive baptism in graded pools.
“I know of Casimir’s exploits,” Leto said. “He must have been in agony.”
“I suppose you are making light of it, but he was in terrible pain, pushing himself hard as he went from one baptism to the next, working to change the future. We have both seen his death, but Beatrice said that if Casimir completed the program, he wouldn’t die. He’s so changed. More than anything in life he wants to be a proper father to his sons, to be worthy of them.” She told him about not sharing Casimir’s bed any longer as well. “Not for weeks.”
She also spoke of her desire to fulfill her duty in the war against Greaves. “I just wish I was more powerful, like you and like Thorne, even like my twin, Patience.”
At that, he laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Grace, you can fold between dimensions, three of them. And if you’ll remember, you appeared to me in Moscow Two, five months ago, in the form of what looked like a ghost. You took me away from Moscow in some mysterious preternatural stream of energy, back to your convent cell. You saved me from certain death. How is any of that not powerful?”
She shook her head, wanting to explain. “I guess I didn’t mean preternaturally powerful. I meant a kind of internal fortitude. Warrior strength. My inclinations are more spiritual. I lived in a Buddhist monastery six centuries ago and more recently spent ten decades in a convent.”
“I always thought you were unique, and perhaps if there hadn’t been a war, I might have done the same. And your brother speaks with such reverence when he talks about you. He has from the time he joined the Warriors of the Blood.”
“But Thorne never really understood me.”
“That much is true, but he envied you. He envied your freedom. I did, too. You were even free to choose a devotiate’s life in the Creator’s Convent.”
“Free to give up my freedom.”
“Exactly.”
“And now my freedom seems to be disappearing.” That was the truth she hated.
“I think you’re right. For that, I wouldn’t blame you for heading back to Fourth.”
“I’ll never go back. That much I know. I belong here.” She could sense that he didn’t fully believe her, but time would prove her intention.
“So I’ve wondered: In all the time you were gone, did you ever contact your obsidian flame sisters? Fiona or Marguerite?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You never felt the desire?”
“On the contrary. I have never stopped wanting to reach for them. It’s like a pressure in my chest, a need, a craving, almost an obsession.
“Sometimes I think I must be crazy to have come back. But now that I’m here, Leto, you should know that I’m determined to become part of the obsidian flame triad and to do all that I can to help Endelle and her administration bring Greaves down. More than anything, I despise how much he has hurt our world, especially those I love and care about, you and Thorne in particular. But now I’d like you to tell me something: What do you want of me?”
He stared at her and remained silent for several seconds. “I don’t know. I seem to need you in this inexplicable, primal way, especially when my beast takes over. But right now, when I can be rational…”
She paddled over to him, close to where he sat. “When we are both rational, neither of us has answers.”
He smiled. He leaned down and touched her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too. I’m going to leave the pool now. I just want you to be prepared.”
When he nodded, she slowly levitated up and out in order to avoid the rough rocks that surrounded the edge of the pool. When she finally stood in front of him, she put her h
ands on his face. “But I will tell you this: I did not come back to torment you by playing a push-pull game about Casimir. I am not a cruel woman. My life with Casimir is over. I will not go back to him. Ever. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Also, I know he’s determined to follow me here, but when he comes, you must promise me to let him be. Can you do that?”
His jaw turned to flint and his eyes hardened. “If he touches you, I will go mad.”
“I will not permit him to touch me. That is my promise to you. I will not be with Casimir again. Yet there is something I need you to know if we are ever to piece this whole mystery together and make sense of it. While I was with Caz, I became a mother to his children, to Kendrew and Sloane. No matter what happens here or on Fourth Earth, I intend to be part of their lives.”
* * *
Leto saw Grace as in a glow. She was so beautiful, yet speaking of Casimir put hot coals in his blood. He felt ready to fight him to the death over having taken Grace away. Yet here was Grace demanding that he set his rage aside.
Time swam before him like a perpetual motion instrument, back and forth, back and forth, tormenting him, past–present, past–present.
He had been a powerful warrior, then a traitor-spy, once more a warrior, now a beast. He was jealous of Casimir.
Before him was all that he desired, yet he saw Grace through the haze of his pain and the depth of his rage. Mostly, he just felt unworthy of this woman.
She caught his arms. “Leto, please don’t look at me like that. Please understand that I’m not a saint.”
“But you are.” His words were barely formed, just a whisper in the air.
She smiled suddenly. “How much of a saint does it make me when I want you so ferociously? Do you know that I wrote erotic poetry while I was in the Convent, and it was always about you? No, a saint I’m not.”
“Are you saying that the whole time you were in the Convent, you were writing poetry about me?”
She smiled softly. “Very sexy poetry while thinking of you. And that was before I brought you out of Moscow Two.”
When she shivered, he extended his arm straight out to his side and folded a fleece blanket into his hand. He wrapped her up then drew her close. His battle gear wouldn’t exactly give her comfort, but she leaned into him anyway.