Gates of Rapture(15)

Alison had ascended over a year ago, one freakishly powerful mortal who had carried with her just about every preternatural ability a Second ascender could ever possess. She had ended up serving as Endelle’s executive assistant, even though she could have been anything in the second dimension, including a Warrior of the Blood. The woman, however, had the killing instinct of dandelion fluff, so executive assistant it was.

Endelle clapped her hands together. “This is some righteous shit. So are they white, blue, orange, what?”

Alison shook her head and her eyes glittered. “Emerald, like Kerrick’s eyes. A beautiful deep green with black banding at the tips.”

“Mount them for me.”

Alison looked around then shook her head. “I can’t.”

Endelle smiled. “The wingspan is too big.”

“Yep.” Mounting wings in too small a space could cause damage.

Endelle narrowed her eyes. “Okay, spill the rest of it, because I know there’s something else, right?”

Alison nodded. “My dreams have returned, the ones about opening the Trough to Third Earth.”

“The portal to the third dimension,” Endelle murmured. She put two fingers to her lips and sat down. Her heart was still that wild bird. Vampires didn’t usually stroke out, but she thought if she didn’t calm the hell down she might just be the first one. So Alison had mounted her wings and now her dreams had returned, the ones that placed her at White Lake with the blue spinning vortex above: the portal to Third Earth.

She swallowed hard. She had a feeling that everything relating to the war and to Greaves was coming to a head.

Then she felt something new slam into her from the direction of Mortal Earth and another holy shit shot through her mind.

When Thorne finally put his phone away and turned in her direction, she said, “You’d better get your woman over here, and while you’re at it, I want to see Jean-Pierre and Fiona as well. Now. Within the next sixty seconds.”

Thorne might have been the Supreme High Commander of the Allied Ascender Forces, but she was still in charge. He met her gaze, his hazel eyes clear and beautiful in a way they hadn’t been in centuries. He was a new man thanks to the bonding of the breh-hedden. He nodded and withdrew his Droid from the pocket of his slacks, then started issuing orders.

“What’s going on?” Alison asked.

Endelle looked up at her. “You’ll find out, and it isn’t just about your wings.”

Marguerite arrived first. Her hair was short and platinum blond and her six-months-pregnant belly stuck straight out in front of her. She was a full foot shorter than Thorne. He slid his arm around her back and leaned down to kiss her. She wore a snug blouse, and his hand went to her stomach. She looked beautiful. Hell, together they could have been a pair of Mortal Earth movie stars.

Marguerite had turned out to be one big surprise in Endelle’s world and in their small circle of über-powerful vampires. She had a mountain of power as a bona fide red variety of obsidian flame and as the most powerful Seer on the planet. Endelle had made her Supreme High Seer of Second Earth, a distinction that had no particular perks and a lot of responsibility. Marguerite had translated her job into a constant effort to secure global Seers rights for the frequently enslaved Seer population.

Near the east wall of windows, a shimmering brought Jean-Pierre and Fiona into the office, both wearing jeans with matching tanks and gazing at each other like no one else existed. Fiona had fang-marks on her neck. Oh, shit, the couple had been doin’ the nasty when she pulled them in here. She was almost sorry she’d disturbed them, but she had more important stuff going on than a little nookie between breh-mates.

Jean-Pierre had a head of gold-streaked light brown hair that curled however the hell it wanted. She could tell he’d crammed it into the cadroen, another sign that he’d been busy when he got Thorne’s call. He had eyes the color of the ocean, big teeth, and a big smile. Fucking gorgeous.

Fiona, the gold variety of obsidian flame, had silver-blue eyes and long chestnut hair. She’d at least combed her hair, but with the exception of some lip gloss, she wore no makeup. She didn’t need to, though. She was in love and all aglow, maybe the best makeup a woman could ever wear.

“What is it, Endelle?” Jean-Pierre asked as he and Fiona drew close to her desk. His accent still carried a French lilt and drove the ladies wild. She often heard him speaking quietly to Fiona in French, after which of course she would end up wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. How many times had she seen the couple just take off from any old event once he started in with his mother tongue?