She straightened her shoulders a little more and lifted a brow.
His lips formed a perfect sneer.
She took deep breaths as her heart set up a furious rhythm. How on earth was she going to battle this man-vampire-whatever?
She wondered if she could touch his mind. She sent a gentle feeler. She reached his thoughts. She watched him take a step backward, but she could go no farther. He had shields, tough shields.
He shifted his gaze away from her. He played to the crowds as he crossed the matting. He lifted his hands into the air, his sword now balanced between. He encouraged both cheers and boos as he walked. The crowd roared. Thorne’s warriors taunted him the way the opposing forces had sent a tsunami of boos against her.
When he had traveled from one end to the other he made his way back to the middle then turned in her direction, plowing straight for her.
Would he attack immediately? Was this it? Did the battle begin now, no preamble, no warning, just … fight?
She held her ground, her sword still angled downward in a passive position. The entire arena fell silent. She reached out with her senses. She could hear the rate of Leto’s breathing and the firm, confident beats of his heart. She could read his reactions and intentions one split second to the next. This at least she had the power to do.
Even as he came toward her, she kept her sword in place, the point pressed firmly against the matting.
As he closed to no more than two yards in front of her, she understood he was testing her courage as he looked down at her and met her gaze. He had blue eyes, sharp intense blue eyes. One thing about the Warriors of the Blood, traitor or not, they tended to be prime examples of the male species, ripped, powerful, and gorgeous, Leto no less so.
She never let her gaze waver from his. She sensed that in this moment he meant to challenge her mettle but not to attack, not to hurt.
She lowered her shoulders a fraction of an inch. “Bring it, Warrior,” she said softly.
A faint smile curved his lips as he narrowed his gaze. He turned and brought his sword in a swift arc to within an inch of the base of her neck.
The gasp that flew up from the entire circumference of the arena sounded like a gust of wind. So fifty thousand people had expected her to die without once having lifted her sword.
Again, whatever.
For a long moment, Leto kept the blade poised at her neck, then cheering and applause erupted from a majority of the spectators, a wild sound that went on and on for at least a minute. Throughout the entire time, Leto’s sword hovered at her neck, unmoving, his hands steady as a rock.
When at last the cheering died down, she said, “I’m ascendiate Wells.” She could hear her voice amplified for the entire arena, a bizarre experience just in itself. However, she didn’t let it deter her as she continued, “I believe you were above the Trough two nights ago. May I at least have an introduction before we begin?”
He withdrew his sword from her neck, his expression slightly confused. “I could have killed you just now.” His voice, bearing an exquisite resonance, also reverberated the length, height, and width of the massive building.
She shook her head. “No. That was not your intention.”
“Then you read me well.” He bowed to her. “At least I face a worthy opponent. But make no mistake, Alison Wells. My name is Leto, I’m a general in the Commander’s army, and given the chance I will end your life.”
“Understood,” she returned.
He narrowed his eyes.
He turned away.
Only as he strode fifteen feet from her did she finally raise her sword. Everything in his demeanor had shifted. She sensed it as though he had fired off a flare.
He turned then attacked in a swift deadly whirl. She knew he had expected to strike her down and finish the contest in one blow. But she had already folded behind him out of reach. He turned again and slashed toward her in a mind-bending array of slices and thrusts.
The battle was on.
For the first minute she heard the madness of the cheering, growling, stomping, screaming crowd. Not long after, however, everything disappeared from her awareness except Leto, his sword and his movements. She saw only him. She immersed herself in learning the subtlety of his signals as she made use of her real weapon—her ability to anticipate—just as Kerrick had taught her.
The only strategy she could compose at this point was defensive in nature against so seasoned a warrior. He was a powerful man, yet he could be struck down for good if she let him taste her sword. She understood the power of the blade, the burn, the sharpness of the slice of Second Earth weaponry. She didn’t know how they were fashioned but she knew they cut like the infamous samurai swords.
He moved as quickly as Kerrick. He kept her hopping and folding. After a few minutes, she realized he had settled on his strategy. He was physically more powerful with profound endurance and he meant to wear her down. Simple as that.
She had no doubt he could succeed. Though she was able to match his skill, he would outlast her.
Fifteen minutes into the battle, a bell sounded.
Leto drew back and bowed to her. He turned around and headed to his white diamond, in the Commander’s direction.
Alison waited before changing course. She reached out for his intention. What came back to her was only his need for water.
Assured he would not attack, she turned around to face the applause of Endelle’s contingent. Havily brought her a goblet, which contained Gatorade, thank God. She drank slowly, savoring.
“Be quick, ascendiate Wells. The break is only thirty seconds long.”
Oh, God.
She sucked down the remaining drink.
The bell sounded.
She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rise. She turned and Leto was already on her. She had a fraction of a second to fold out of the way, but just before she did she touched her sword to the back of his leg. He stumbled and fell forward. Blood gushed from a long and very deep slice.
She had cut him.
She had cut him.
Her stomach rolled. She brought her sword up, preparing for him to rise in a blur of movement and assault her again. Instead he flipped over but remained sitting, his eyes wide as he stared at her.
Now he waited for her to make the next move.
Why?
She glanced down at the mats. Blood poured from the wound, forming a glossy lake beneath his leg. He set his sword beside him and put both hands on the wound.
Holy shit! Had she just severed his hamstring? Oh, my God, she had, which meant she could finish the contest right this moment, right now.
A cheer rose up from Endelle’s faction along with a cry to finish him. He continued to stare up at her, his expression intense.
Of course. He was healing his leg.
Finish him. Her gaze shot to Endelle, whose voice had pierced her head. Finish him, ascendiate. You have the chance. Finish him now.
Alison had a choice to make. She could simplify her life right now by taking out a key player in the war, by obliging Endelle, by making thousands of Militia Warriors happy.
There was just one problem.
She wasn’t a warrior. She had chosen a healing profession as her life’s work. She had a pacifist’s soul and an antipathy toward causing pain of any kind, even if deserved. To take Leto’s life went against the depths of her character.
She had therefore only one recourse. She backed away from him.
The crowd went into a frenzy of screaming, at least those who wanted Leto dead. Endelle’s faction shouted vile things at her and booed her. They wanted a kill and they wanted it now. As so many times before since she began her rite of ascension, ancient Rome came to mind.
The knowledge of the crowd’s gruesome expectation made her furious all over again. This was Second Earth?
She kept backing away. She shook her head back and forth. She couldn’t kill him even though she knew he wouldn’t show this kind of mercy toward her. The w
ay her arm shook even now, even at the beginning of such an engagement, all he had to do was wear her down and he would succeed in his objective.
A bell sounded. Leto actually stood up and walked to his diamond amid cheers from the Commander’s faction. He had healed his leg. The vampire had power.
Alison moved back to her place, her mind disordered. Given the strength of her convictions, she thought it likely she wouldn’t make it out alive. That she had been able to inflict so severe a cut had been a piece of luck, nothing more. No doubt Leto knew it as well, and he wouldn’t make a similar mistake.
Havily gave her the goblet. As she drank, she set her gaze on Leto. How on earth was she going to defeat him if she was unwilling to harm him?
When the bell sounded again, Leto charged forward, faster than before.
Her act of grace had awakened a demon.
He moved so fast she barely saw him. She fought with all the skill she could muster, streaming Kerrick’s battle images in a constant flow through her mind so that her arms, her legs, every joint of her body knew how to respond, but truthfully what did she have left to withstand this superb, powerful warrior?
From then on, Leto pressed his advantage hard. He used his physical strength to force her into larger and larger movements. As minute piled upon minute, her breathing grew labored and her muscles grew heavy and overworked. At this rate, she wouldn’t last much longer.
The bell sounded.
She received her goblet from Havily and sucked the Gatorade down as though she had been walking through the desert for hours. Sweat poured off her body and she cursed the person who had put her in all this leather.
She was barely refreshed and her breathing hadn’t calmed at all before Leto was on her again. As her ankles grew heavy, Alison’s courage faltered.
Kerrick’s voice and words shot into her head. Use your wits. Think. You can beat him.
His presence had an effect, strengthening her weakened muscles and reflexes as well as her spirit.
Watch him. See how anxious he is to defeat you? Use it against him.
A light went on and her courage returned.
From that moment forward, she began to plan. Though she had an aversion to hurting the man so willing to kill her, there might be another way to finish the battle. She knew humiliation fired him and perhaps would also make him reckless.
“Leto,” she said quietly. Again she could hear her voice amplified throughout the arena.
He scowled and struck harder.
She lifted her sword in answering blows. “You must know by now I won’t take your life.”
“Then you’re a fool!” he shouted, his voice also echoing to the rafters, his sword slashing.
“You must tell me which you prefer, to end this civilly or to be humiliated in front of the Commander and his army.”
These words enraged him. He thrust hard and wild. She had her answer.
She dodged, folded, leaped into the air. His ire overtook his sense. She saw her opportunity.
She leaped again, rolled over his shoulders, caught his sword arm with a deadly slice, and removed it at the elbow. He fell on his stomach, his sword sliding with his arm. He tried to regain his feet, but she laid a shield over his body and set her foot on his neck. Blood pumped from the wound with every quick beat of his heart. He pinched his lips together in a taut line. His face paled.
She glared at the opposition. Silence and horror returned to her. From Endelle’s ranks behind her, a “death” chant began. She felt the blood of the combined warriors rise up. She heard their shouts of triumph as they called for Leto’s death, the traitor’s death.
She knew they had lost innumerable comrades in the many battles they had endured. She understood their hatred of the enemy. Regardless, she couldn’t take this warrior’s life. Everything within her rebelled at the idea.
She was not a warrior.
She touched Leto’s mind. I know you wish for your death, but I refuse to give it to you.
I am proud to die as a warrior. Nothing less will answer. Finish this.
She sank deeper into his mind, doing what Kerrick had called mind-diving, the deep form of engagement that would allow her inside his head, to see his thoughts, his memories. She expected resistance only to find he had released his shields … as though he wanted her to know.
She saw his life. She saw the family he had lost to a squad of death vampires, night-feeders who had been stalking ascenders instead of pillaging humans on Mortal Earth. She saw his level of rage, something she had seen in Kerrick before the battle. She found another smaller shield, a very powerful shield, and pressed. In slow stages, the shield gave way and she saw the truth that could not be told. Oh, God, Leto was a double agent! She forged an instant mental shield around Leto’s mind and her own. She felt other entities pummeling to get in, and knew she had a mere second to absorb this truth. She gasped.
Oh, God, Leto. What am I to do now?
Keep your silence.
Done.
She released him, tears in her eyes.
She took her foot off his neck but kept the pinning shield in place. Blood pumped steadily from the vein of his arm. He would die soon anyway from blood loss if she didn’t do something. She moved swiftly, knowing that if she saved him, he would still be forced to attack her, despite what she had just learned about him.
Too bad.
She lifted her hand and stared into Leto’s eyes. Hold on … we’re going for a ride.
You can’t fold out of here. Shields everywhere.
Not gonna fold.
She thought the thought. She snatched this small pocket of time and the two of them went through a whirlwind until she rolled back over his shoulder the opposite direction and stood on the other side of him, his sword raised, though frozen in place high overhead. “What the fuck?” he cried, his voice sounding through the arena.
The resulting power rippled in a circle outward, and just as had happened in her office, a sonic boom sounded. Again, in slow waves, the majority of the arena spectators began to cheer and applaud, wild cries that grew louder and louder at her unexpected exhibition.
Endelle’s voice entered her head once more. Well, now you’ve shown me something, ascendiate.
Leto scowled at her. “What did you just do?”
Alison shrugged. “Pocket of time reversal.”
He stared in return. “Who the hell are you?”
“A therapist, not a warrior, still hoping to ascend.”
He grimaced. “We’re battling here.” But she saw the chagrin in his eyes.
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Like hell,” he said. To her mind, he sent, Don’t have a choice, ascendiate. I’m sorry.
She felt his intention like a ball of fire in her stomach. For her, however, everything had just changed. She knew what she had now and she didn’t hold back. She sent a devastating hand-blast, threw him on his back, cast a shield, and once more put her foot on his neck.
“I’m not a warrior,” she stated in a clear voice. She looked up at the nearest floating camera. “I’m. Not. A. Warrior.”
She released the shield. Leto was on his feet in a split second.
He sent his own hand-blast. She felt it coming, swiped her hand through the air, sending the blast in the direction of the ceiling. She waved her hand again and all that power turned into an enormous display of fireworks in every color of the rainbow.
Applause thundered now except from among the opposing armies. Silence filled those sections of the arena. Each was losing the hoped-for victory.
She sent her own hand-blast this time and dislodged Leto’s sword from his hand. She brought the sword toward her, which pulled another enormous shared gasp from every direction. Endelle’s faction behind her cried out warning after warning. She wasn’t afraid because at the exact moment of touch she reconfigured the molecular identification of the sword, rendering the weapon harmless.
She held the sword aloft for all to see, tur
ning in a wide circle.
When she didn’t fall over dead, another great cry rose up in astonishment all around the arena. She eased into a slow smile and relief replaced all her tension.
Well, what do you know. She’d done it and Leto wasn’t dead. She faced him once more.
“I will not fight you,” she cried. She tossed the sword to him.
He caught it easily, but stared at it. With a change of configuration the grip had to feel different to him. Regardless, he shifted his attention back to her, lowered his chin, and once more blurred in her direction, fast. “Then die,” he shouted. Behind him, the Commander’s army raged. Almost as one they screamed at him, urging him to continue the fight, to take Alison’s life.
She cast a new shield, this time around herself. He struck but could not penetrate. He struck a dozen times, twenty, thirty, but to no effect.
She waited.
Continuous applause resounded from all over the arena.
Finally, Leto was breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his body. “My God. Who are you?” he asked again. He leaned over at the waist to catch his breath.
After a long tense moment, in which both armies fell silent, he finally dropped to one knee in front of her and laid his sword at her feet.
“I concede,” he stated in a loud clear voice.
Silence fell on every spectator present.
She released her shield.
He stood up, his complexion pale, his gaze for one split second full of agony. She reached out with her empathy and read him. Dammit, he wanted out. Of course he wanted out. Just like the Warriors of the Blood, his role had taken its toll. He was on the razor’s edge of disintegration, his vulnerable position at risk of discovery.
She approved of this warrior. He had honor and character and he had lived a double life for eight decades, serving as a spy. A spy! But for whom? She had seen the name James deep within Leto’s head but not Endelle’s, which meant that Endelle knew nothing about his activities, of that she was sure. Worse, when Leto defected, Darian had forced him to take dying blood as proof of his loyalty. At the same time, he was given an antidote to nullify the effects. Leto did not have the paling, beautifying, and faint bluing of the skin that most death vampires exhibited. No one would ever know he was, essentially, a death vampire. But all these years, he’d had to continue taking both the tainted blood and the antidote to sustain his mission. What a horrible mess.