Since then she had remained close to the warriors. Even though she served as a lowly Liaison Officer, similar in rank to the girls at Central, the Warriors of the Blood had come to treat her as one of their own, in part, no doubt, because Luken had a serious crush on her. She loved the men as brothers. However, this was the first time a warrior had ever affected her so powerfully, like a designer drug created just for her.
The more she stood there, the remembered fennel working inside her, the stronger the drug acted on her body. She should stop the roll of sensations—she had her liaison work to do—but the pleasure she experienced had become addictive. Now her fangs throbbed, seeking a point of entrance. She imagined the tips sinking into his throat. His blood would taste of fennel, very sweet, very earthy, and she wanted his elixir down her throat. Desire drove deep and she clenched, hard, almost to the point of orgasm … again.
Her face grew flushed, first in desire then in acute embarrassment. She had seen how female ascenders, wings mounted and on display, often threw themselves at the Warriors of the Blood, out-of-their-senses women who were normally intelligent and, well, moral. Of course the warriors were superb specimens of maleness and tales of their sexual prowess were legion. Still, until now she had never once engaged in a fantasy of being with one of them.
Until now.
She clenched once more, her body weeping and out of control. Again her face flamed.
This was completely absurd.
And beyond humiliating.
She was not this kind of woman. She had never been a warrior-chaser. She was sensible, governed by rational thought and careful about her conduct on every level. She had enjoyed the act of love, especially with her fiancé, the powerful Militia Warrior nearly equal in size to the Warriors of the Blood. But that had been fifteen years ago.
Since then she had dedicated herself to finding ways to shift the course of the war. Havily Morgan had a mission and she would stick to it.
She forced herself to calm down. She took deep breaths and regained control of her senses. She would not be this sort of woman.
When her cheeks no longer felt torched, she knocked on the door then called out in a loud voice to announce her presence. A warrior on serious guardian duty ought to be warned. “Warrior Kerrick. ’Tis I, Havily.”
After a long moment, the door opened. A frown split Warrior Kerrick’s brow as he stepped onto the porch. He shoved her backward toward the doorway, an arm thrown in front of her protectively. His head panned ever so slowly from all the way left to all the way right. The muscles of his shoulders flexed beneath a very tight T-shirt. He wore his hair loose in long black waves. He had beautiful warrior hair, so long and touchable. Again, she had seen women touch and stroke his thick hair.
Warrior Marcus, on the other hand, had a modern corporate cut, though not unattractive. She remembered his expression as he sat forward on the couch and stared at her, her gaze locked onto his. He had seemed so intent on her.
More desire descended and she gasped. Why on earth had her thoughts again become fixed on him?
“What is it?” Warrior Kerrick snapped, turning to stare at her.
She met his gaze. Oh, God, she could hardly share with Kerrick her unholy thoughts about a fellow warrior, especially a warrior whom Kerrick despised. So she looked past him and prevaricated. “Your mist is so beautiful,” she said. “I … I just noticed it from this side.
“You see, I arrived over there on the edge of the wash and could see nothing of your house. I had to have Central fold me directly to your front door.”
He turned back to her, his green eyes serious and in full warrior mode. He nodded once. “I can’t take credit for the mist. This is Endelle’s work.”
“Oh. Well, it is amazing but it wouldn’t have surprised me if you’d been the author or any of the Warriors of the Blood. You’re all so powerful.”
He shook his head. “None of us can make mist like this. Trust me. But let’s get you inside.”
He hustled her into the foyer and closed the door so hard the frame shook. He stood facing the door and listened for a long, tense moment.
At last, satisfied, he turned to her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She took a step back and lifted her attaché a few inches. “Liaison work. There are forms to fill out, to sign. Questions to ask.”
At that his shoulders relaxed. “Shit, yes, of course. Come in, Havily. I’m sorry. I should have expected you. Let me introduce you to ascendiate Wells.”
The tongue is a blessing.
The tongue is a sword.
Beloved, my beloved,
Pray know the difference.
—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 14
Alison stood by the granite island. She had heard the exchange between the woman and Kerrick, the woman he had called Havily, an unusual name, a very pretty name.
When the rapping on the door had sounded, Kerrick had gone into full warrior mode. As her adrenaline spiked, forgotten in a heartbeat was all the crushing need to throw herself at him. He’d ordered her to stay in the kitchen then contacted Central. Yes, the woman named Havily had been sent to them. He had said, She’s a Liaison Officer. Alison had waited.
Hearing their voices fall to normal levels, she moved into the doorway leading to the living room.
Havily. As the woman turned around, Alison had an instant impression of beauty and tremendous determination. She had a fount of glorious red hair flowing in waves past her shoulders and was an absolute angel, a visual work of art. Her features were delicate, her skin clear and smooth as though molded by a master’s hand, her eyes an exquisite light green. She wore professional clothes, a cream linen suit, nicely tailored. You’re lovely slid from her mind before she could stop the words.
And you are powerful, Havily returned, her eyes brightening. I’ve been told my shields have no equal, yet here you are, in my thoughts?
“I shouldn’t have gone inside your head. I apologize.”
The young woman looked up at Kerrick and blinked again. “She laid her thoughts over my mind.”
Kerrick nodded. “And your shields are like granite.” He smiled his crooked smile. “Welcome to my world. Liaison Officer Havily Morgan, may I present ascendiate Alison Wells.”
The next few minutes involved a general exchange of greetings, explanation of duties, then a sit-down at the adjacent round table, which began with an enormous sheaf of forms. “Is all this really necessary?” Alison asked. “I thought ascension meant everything was improved.”
Havily sighed. “Unfortunately, the same difficulties of entrenched bureaucracies are alive and well on Second Earth. I’m hoping to make a difference. After all, what is the purpose of one form that says ASCENDIATE APPLICATION and another, ASCENDIATE DATA, each presenting a list of identical questions with the exception of one or two? And what’s worse, it’s all done on paper as though the computer had never been invented.”
Alison heard the increase in both pitch and speed of the Liaison Officer’s speech. She glanced at both forms then at Havily. She saw the wrinkled brow and heard the quiet clucking of her tongue. Alison reached out once more and felt the young woman’s passion, her dedication. “You’d like to see many changes.”
“You have no idea.” Her cheeks grew pink and her eyes widened.
“What kind of changes?”
Havily turned toward her, shifted her knees, and met her gaze straight-on. She gestured with a sweep of her left hand. “At the very least, each entity should be led by a person of vision, of passion, who understands the concept of a mission-oriented plan. At the very least.”
Alison smiled as her own heart rate kicked up a notch to match Havily’s. She encouraged her to speak, to elaborate on her ideas, and the Liaison Officer opened up to the point that after a few minutes Havily rose to her feet and paced the room. She gesticulated with an ever-widening throw of her arms and covered subjects like competitive performance and empowering staff. Even Kerrick moved to sit on a stool, coffee cup in hand, his gaze fixed on the vibrant movements and gestures.
When at last Havily drew breath, Kerrick said, “I didn’t know you cared about these things. I mean, I know you’ve been working with an architect on a new military-admin complex. Jesus, Havily.”
She glanced at him then back at Alison. Her fine peachy-red brows rose over her delicate features. She pierced Alison with her vibrant stare. “You’re an empath.”
“I … suppose.”
Havily returned to her seat in her brisk movements. “You are. Of course you are.” She opened up a lavender folder. “Yes, of course, since you have all of Second’s abilities. That’s how you got me to talking.” Once more her passionate nature asserted itself and she laid a hand on Alison’s arm, her light green eyes blazing. “You must get to know Madame Endelle. You must find some way to help her, to get through to her about all the ways she’s misdirected. You see, she’s grossly overworked trying to hold our world together, and her administration is sunk in all the reports she receives from all over the world. We none of us really know her, or what makes up her day, since who among us comes near to having her powers? But you could. With all of Second’s abilities, you could.”
Alison hardly knew what to say. As it was, the little she knew of Endelle made her feel sorry for anyone who might have to work so closely with her.
Kerrick moved from the island to stand next to Havily. He settled a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, O Passionate One, our ascendiate barely knows anything about our world. She’s just getting used to the fangs and having to battle for her life. Asking her to be of use to Endelle—it might be a little early in the process.”
Havily shifted her gaze to stare at the papers once more. “You’re right.” She nodded. “Yes, of course.” She then pulled forward the first sheet and began gathering Alison’s basic information, date of birth, height, weight, medical history, schooling. Alison found the interview soothing in an odd way. To be talking of such mundane things made her feel there was some normalcy to the process.