Wings of Fire (37 page)

Whatever.

Just as she opened her eyes, a breeze blew from behind her, catching her wings before she could think to draw them into the close-mount position. Without warning, she was airborne.

She panicked but Antony was just there, his wings at full-mount and already in flight. He caught her hand and gave her a moment to assess and adjust. Her wings shifted, rippled, and played with the wind so that she grew steady in the air, confident. Yes, she’d been practicing, but there was also a part of her, a very instinctive part, that simply knew what to do.

We’ll fly down,
he sent
. Each intersection of canyon or narrowing of gorge will bring a shift in wind. Can you handle it?

Parisa cupped the top of her wings, which kept her floating in place, not descending. He matched her with the ease of someone who’d flown for centuries. That knowledge added to her confidence.

Antony’s wings were spread out above her and to her right. He hovered just as she did, making infinitesimal adjustments with each erratic current of air. She caught his gaze and nodded.

He smiled. Oh, how she loved that smile. Something around her heart began to peel away like paper touched by fire. What was left exposed was raw and yet hopeful, something she hadn’t experienced … ever. Could she have a life with this man? How strange to be asking the question when just a couple of hours ago she’d all but shoved him out of her life.

Well, one thing she did know—she wouldn’t have the answer right this minute.

She took a deep breath and let go, she let go of all that had happened; her captivity of the past three months, the struggle to understand the first mounting of her wings and the discovery of the world of vampires, of her recent ascension, of fending Rith off twice now, and her terrible fear of the
breh-hedden.

She let go and savored this moment in time, as she lowered her wings and began the descent into the twists and turns and elegant beauty of Sedona’s red rock canyon. She dipped and turned, adjusting for each punch of wind, each stream, each swirl of breeze. Sometimes she spread her arms to match the movements of the wings; sometimes she kept them close at her sides.

She forgot about Antony for a good long while. She saw only the green pines, the manzanita, the ancient junipers, the smooth-edged expanses of red boulders and small treeless mesas, the water in the creek as it made its way down and down, the startled deer jumping below as her predator wings and Antony’s created shadows across the landscape.

She took in the fresh air, warm and dry. Very dry.

Antony was suddenly laying thoughts over her mind.
Your wings are beautiful. In the sunlight, they dance with unexpected color, almost like flames.

She sent,
We have the same wings. Fly in front of me for a moment and let me see yours.

I don’t want to leave this position. I don’t want to lose sight of you, not for a moment, in case you need me.

I’m okay. Really. Please, Antony. I remember your wings in Burma. I recall the flames. I thought it was the storm. Please.

Okay,
he sent but he sounded really reluctant.
But just for a moment.

He shot forward with a quick downward sweep of his wings. There they were, the cream color of the feathers moving like flames. It was extraordinary, like wings of fire.

Oh, Antony, they’re so beautiful. But what makes them like that?

He laughed aloud then sent,
I have no idea.

He dropped back immediately to fly beside her then added,
Come this way.

She glanced at him and watched as he dipped his right wing and began banking to his right and down at the same time.

She followed, dipping her wing as if she’d practiced for years. She had just started making the turn when a wind shear to her right caught her completely off guard and knocked her sideways. She rolled; she had practiced rolling in the dome, way up high. When her back was once more to the sun, she brought her wings straight out and leveled her body.

She smiled but almost plowed into Antony, who’d brought himself into the parachute position to hang in the air in front of her. His legs dangled down like he was standing in midair, his expression stunned.

“What?” she called as she popped her wings into parachute position to match him.

“You’re amazing,” he cried.

“Oh.”

“I expected you to need help, and instead you righted yourself like you’ve been flying for decades.”

She couldn’t help but smile. It was the best compliment he could have given her.

He shook his head, unfurled his wings, and rocketed toward a deep brick-red configuration of rock, flat and smooth and hundreds of feet across. A recent rain had left pools of water in some of the shallow indentations.

She followed him and landed easily. She pulled in her wings to close-mount so that the feathers were pressed against her body and random wind eddies wouldn’t sweep her away again.

She faced the canyon below but also had a view of the curve of the rim off her left shoulder. They’d already traveled several hundred feet down.

She sighed as Antony drew up behind her and wrapped his wings forward to engulf her. She could not have been more content.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. It almost felt like a date.

She smiled at the thought then let her gaze drift, rise and fall, shift to whatever object grabbed her attention, an outcropping, a hawk on the wing, the deep blue mountain sky over the rim. Why couldn’t life be this simple always, a shared moment of the beauty of nature, the close comfort of another human being, okay,
vampire,
maybe even making simple plans, like where to have dinner.

Just as the question formed in her mind, unease descended. She felt sick into her abdomen. Her thoughts turned to Fiona. Without willing it, her voyeur’s window opened and Fiona was just there. She sat on the edge of what looked like a camping cot, her hands in fists as she gripped the edge. She looked frightened, her lips set in a grim line, her eyes wide. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

“What is it?” Antony asked. “You’ve really tensed up. Is it me? Am I crowding you?”

“No,” she cried. “It’s Fiona. My window just sort of opened on her but I don’t know why. Hang on. Let me see if I can communicate with her.”

But as she reverted her attention to the voyeur window, another male voice broke over her hearing. Rith spoke in his cool demanding tone, “I said, summon her. Summon Parisa and do it now.”

Fiona shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t have that kind of power. I don’t know why you think I would.”

Parisa gasped. Fiona was wrong. She did have the power to summon her, she just didn’t know it. Aloud, she explained to Antony what was going on, ending with, “But Rith is there. What do I do?”

“Let it play out.”

Parisa trembled. She was grateful Antony held her wrapped up in his wings.

Rith drew close to Fiona. Parisa knew what would happen and she wanted to warn her, but it was too late. She flinched as Rith struck Fiona hard across the face.

“I can’t call her,” Fiona said. “I don’t know how. Why would you think I could call her? I’m not like you. I’m not fully ascended. I’m not a vampire.”

Parisa heard a strange whimpering sound. She panned to the left, to a long row of cots. Bodies were huddled beneath blankets. Some shook, but more than one whimpered.

She panned up to the windows, but they were still full of sunlight. Good to know.

Just as she panned back to Fiona and Rith, a sudden twinge pierced her mind. Greaves. Shit. She closed the window as quickly as she could. Maybe she’d been in time. Maybe Greaves didn’t know what she’d been voyeuring.

“Antony, I had to shut the window down. I felt Greaves. But I did see the windows and it was still light outside.”

“Okay. Let me call Carla to give her the update.”

Antony withdrew his wings and stepped away from her. He fluffed and retracted the wings in an amazingly swift and fluid movement.

Parisa had thought they would continue to fly, but even as the disappointment hit her, she realized that her surprise contact with Fiona had ended the simple joy of the flying experience. She’d be worried the entire time if they continued heading down through the canyon to the town below.

He held his hand out to her. “I’ll support you while you retract. Go ahead. Full-mount first.”

Parisa nodded but the process was difficult because of her inexperience and all the wind eddies. Rith’s double dome of mist had protected his Mandalay home from storms, wind, and rain, so when it came to flying or in this case, drawing her wings in, she lacked experience with the elements. Still, within a minute she was fully retracted, and her back muscles were already thinning.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Carla. He relayed the update then thumbed his phone and returned it to his pocket.

“Rith struck her. He was trying to force her to contact me. I think she did so without realizing it. I really think Fiona has untapped powers.”

Antony nodded. “Well, if she’s Jean-Pierre’s
breh,
then of course she would.”

He glanced around, even up into the skies. She understood his thoughts and suddenly felt very vulnerable out in the open.

“Let’s get back to the villa. I think we’ve been out here long enough.”

It was always a risk, being in the open. Antony held her steady and with a smile and a nod, folded them both to the villa.

She felt the front pavers beneath her feet, but the sight of Militia Warriors now stationed throughout the property startled her.

“I know,” he said, feeling her tension. “I almost drew my sword. I forgot they might be here. Endelle said she’d call Seriffe. But if Rith shows up again, uninvited, he’ll have to face an army this time.”

***

Rith felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his white cotton trousers. He withdrew the Nokia and smiled at the word MASTER, which indicated the call’s origin. He brought the phone to his ear. He felt pleased. “Yes, master.”

“What are you doing over there, my dear Rith?”

“Experimenting.” The woman Fiona had a bright red handprint on her left cheek. A small trickle of blood ran from her left nostril. It was actually rather pretty, that red stream on her creamy complexion. Fiona had very good skin, for a Caucasian.

“I felt Parisa’s voyeur window open and I had a glimpse of the women in a long narrow room on cots. Was that your doing somehow?”

“Yes, I believe so, master. I asked the woman, Fiona, to contact Parisa. It would seem it worked.”

“Interesting. Do you suspect Fiona of undeveloped powers?”

“I have for some time. How is that she has lived this long when no one else has?”

“I believe you may be right. I will read her powers the next time I come.” He paused. Rith knew better than to disturb his master’s ruminations. After a long moment, Greaves said, “Be prepared to move the donors again. In the meantime, you may want to stop further experimentation until we have command of Parisa. We would not want Fiona to develop the ability to communicate with our mortal-with-wings.”

“Yes, master.” Greaves was right. Parisa’s ability to reach out to Fiona also allowed her to see his dying blood acquisition facility. What else she was capable of, who could say, but he didn’t want to risk discovery. If he had to move the slaves again, he would disrupt the dying blood supplies he sent around the world.

As Fiona met his gaze, he really didn’t appreciate the hard look in her eye. He lifted a brow. He pushed at her chest with his power, that physical power he used to command obedience. She resisted at first but after a minute fell back against the cot. For good measure, he sustained the pressure while he worked.

Into his hand, he folded restraint straps from a special chest he carried with him from place to place. He didn’t touch her as he directed the straps through the air, around her wrists, and through the slots in the cot. He did the same to her ankles.

He ignored her after that but he kept the pressure on her chest until she was gasping for air. He didn’t relent until she passed out. Only then did he let her breathe.

At the same time, he chose the next donor, the woman who had been whimpering. He really would not tolerate such pathetic noises among his slaves.

“You will be next.”

“But I gave blood two weeks ago. I’m not ready.”

He passed a hand over her eyes, and her gaze became blank. He left her in that state. He was debating whether or not to bring her back afterward.

Who is the true warrior

But the one tried in battle.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 18

Medichi stood on the half-moon of pavers that formed the large patio in front of his villa. He watched Parisa throw her dagger with unparalleled accuracy. The target was now thirty feet away and still she nailed the bull’s-eye every time.

An hour had passed since they’d returned from the rim. Parisa had done her voyeur window quick-checks twice now, but there was still a lot of blue sky at the window. Time was counting down, though, and he was ready.

She’d done her set-Greaves-on-the-wrong-path routine a number of times as well. That she experienced pain every time bugged the shit out of him, but there was nothing he could do and she was determined to see their plan through. Damn, he was proud of her.

He’d consulted with Thorne more than once, keeping him updated. This time, however, Thorne wanted all the warriors to go on the mission. Medichi wasn’t certain why, but it didn’t matter.

He felt a movement of air behind him. He whirled and folded his sword into his hand despite the dozen Militia Warriors stationed around the lawn.

Jean-Pierre shimmered into being.

Medichi released a breath. “Why didn’t you call first?”

Jean-Pierre pushed a hand through his long, wavy, light brown hair that hung beside his face to mid-chest, and down his back. He wasn’t wearing a
cadroen
and he looked like hell.
“Désolé,”
he murmured. Sorry.

“You look like fuck.”