Brink of Eternity
Page 2

“Understatement,” she said.
“Okay. Fine. But could you stay put for a day or two until I figure out a couple of things?”
The night was full of dead air spaces. He heard her take a deep breath through her nose. “I’ve heard of a rogue colony in northern California, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
“Rachel, no.”
“Well, gotta go. Love you, Gid, so much, but my instructor scowls if I cross the threshold past seven.”
“Whatever,” he responded, but only because he was talking to the screen of his phone. Rachel had already hung up.
Sweet Jesus. Every word out of his sister’s mouth just confirmed at least part of Elise’s prophecy. He didn’t doubt for a second that his sister was going rogue.
Thousands of vampires left Second Earth to live in exile on Mortal Earth. He just never thought his sister would join those ranks.
And how the hell was he to protect her if she went rogue? She could say whatever she wanted to say, but death vampires hunted vulnerable women who tracked life alone, like culling the weak from the herd.
He also knew that powerful ascenders like Rachel had light signatures that could show up on HQ’s electronic surveillance grid. He could contact Bev, who worked the grid all night, and have her start checking for power signatures over northern California.
He withdrew the thin, credit card–sized warrior phone from the pocket of his jeans. He swiped the front and a moment later Bev came on the phone.
“What’s doin’, Gideon?” He smiled. Bev’s voice soothed him, but then the women chosen to work HQ’s command center had that special calming quality, a necessary skill when dealing with disaster and horror on every other call.
“Hey, Bev. I have a situation.”
“How can I help?” There it was, the words he needed to hear.
“I’ve just been tipped off about a rogue colony in northern California.”
“Is it possible this is a lair?”
“My source indicated there were no death vampires present. Definitely a colony. And … this is critical.”
“I’ll set up the grid right now. May take a few hours to identify significant power signatures.”
“Give me a shout when you find something.”
“Will do.”
He hung up and sucked in another deep breath.
Now for the other side of the equation.
An hour later, Gideon leaned against the tall side of the nearest red velvet booth at the Blood and Bite. His skin twitched.
Fighting and making war shaped his days and nights. As a Militia Warrior, he battled death vampires six nights out of seven every fucking week of his life, serving and protecting. He could handle wielding a sword, but waiting for his ex gave him the scratch.
Beyond that, could he believe a woman so made up of lies?
This last thought went straight to his hands. He watched them ball up into fists. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then shook out his hands. He needed to calm the hell down.
He hadn’t seen Elise for a month. Talk about hell. He had no special attachment to her, but he couldn’t exactly sleep at night and his thoughts ran to her more often than not.
Fuck. Breakups were hard. That’s all.
He opened his eyes and once more scrutinized the entrance to the club in case Elise had arrived.
Unattached Militia Warriors milled around waiting for the next female to arrive. Mortal women came in droves to the Blood and Bite. Once they left, they might have foggy memories of exactly what happened on the club’s premises, enthrallment being a beautiful thing to a vampire, but rarely did a woman leave without a smile on her face. That fulfillment brought them back every time.
For the most part, the warriors held to the rigid club rules: no deep enthrallment, consensual sex only, mind-altering mist over the openings to each booth to sustain privacy, no voyeurism except in the case of a superior officer checking out rumors of misconduct.
As a section leader for the Phoenix Two Militia Warriors, he had to investigate even the whiff of an infraction. Every once in a while, he prosecuted warriors who crossed the line.
He glanced to his right in the direction of the dance floor. The DJ kicked up the Black Eyed Peas and the strobes made those couples dancing look like zombies on crack.
He caught a scent and stiffened from head to toe.
He knew Elise had arrived because the air in the hot, sweaty club suddenly smelled of strawberries, ripe, lush, sweet, juicy strawberries. She had a scent meant just for him, an anomaly in their relationship, since specific mutual scents didn’t occur in the usual course of ascended vampire life. In fact, the only known case of the phenomenon had occurred recently when a myth, which proved to be not a myth, afflicted one of the elite Warriors of the Blood.
That Gideon could scent Elise had always troubled him. What did it mean that she gave off a scent he could detect? Was this a case of the infamousbreh-hedden? Impossible, on so many levels. For one thing, thebreh-hedden was supposed to be a myth. And for another, only Warriors of the Blood were known through all those ancient myths and legends to have experienced the ritual.
What-the-fuck-ever.
Even thinking about the WOTBs, otherwise known as WhatBees among his ranks, also gave him the scratch. Those assholes just couldn’t stay out of Militia Warrior business. The next time he found one of them discipliningone of his men, he’d not hold back, not even a little. Sure, the WhatBees had a place, but not on his turf. They served Madame Endelle directly, answered only to her as the ruler of Second Earth.
Right now, they were lined up at the bar, pretty as you please. Assholes.
Okay, so he was a little on edge and he should think nicer thoughts, because they did lay it on the line every night. That they had advanced powers was just the luck of the fucking draw. But courage for courage, give him a Militia Warrior every damn time.
When Elise’s strawberry scent once more rolled in his direction, his body reacted, as it always did, as though her scent punched into all his pheromone receptors at exactly the same moment. Punched, then punched again.
Thank God for the strobes. He didn’t have to worry about any of the other Militia Warriors thinking he was interested.
He pushed away from the bank of tall-backed red velvet booths and headed toward the entrance. When he reached her, two Militia Warriors hovered over her, attempting a thrall. He might have laughed, because no way could either of these bozos bust past her shields.
But amusement didn’t exactly sum up his feelings right now. Instead, the sight of two men hitting on a woman he would always think of ashis womanbrought his head down and his fists up.
“Move it or lose it,” he said. “This woman’s taken.”
The first warrior jerked back in his direction ready to do battle, then looked up. “Shit, Gideon. Sorry.” He turned and headed toward the dance floor.
The other one backed away almost as fast.
Smart vampires.
He looked at the woman whose body he knew every which way from Sunday, and all those familiar sensations rushed back at him, her under him, her on top of him, her lips around him, taking him deep. God, he missed her. Even standing in front of her, yeah, he missed her. And he blamed her for his goddamn celibacy as well. For the last month, since their breakup, he’d been off blood and sex, which might just account for his current temper.
“Gideon,” she said, in that controlled way of hers. Her voice, low and melodic, did him in every damn time.
The music had just cranked up again. More Black Eyed Peas. He leaned close and spoke against her ear. “I’ve got a booth.”
She drew back and nodded. She looked tight around her eyes, even angry. What the hell did she have to be angry about? He was the wounded party here.
She moved to the right, in the direction of the booths. He crowded her, his hip up against her hip, his hand at her back, then around her shoulder, pulling her close to keep her from touching other men. Shit, he couldn’t control his instincts around her. But how was that anything new?
He was so screwed.
When he drew her up next to the booth, she looked up at him and frowned. “You actually reservedthis booth?”
He nodded. “Why, not? I figured you owed me one helluva an explanation, so why not here? After all, this is where you spoke and acted out all those fucking lies.”
Elise stretched her preternatural vision just a little so that the strobes didn’t impact her view of him. She saw him as though bathed in a warm light. But this was a mistake, because she could see him, really see him, and what she saw struck her down as it had from the beginning, as though she was looking at the only man on two earths that could ever do it for her.
His sheer physical presence never failed to surprise her. He was warrior tall at six-five, lean and heavily muscled. He wore a snug T-shirt and jeans, a look she loved on him. He had broad shoulders and thick pecs made for biting and sucking. She knew his biceps well; they were fit for holding on to when he drove into her.
She loved his dark blond hair, which flowed away from his face, neither long like the Warriors of the Blood, nor short like most Militia Warriors’, but somewhere in between as though Gideon was in between.
But of all his many physical attributes, she loved his eyes the best. They were dark blue and stormy like waters in some northern sea. He had only to look at her, hold her gaze, and he could command her—not because he enthralled her, but because looking into his eyes was like looking into his soul and that was the real problem. She liked what she saw.
Gideon was like no man she knew. He was a warrior, a Militia Warrior, who were also called Thunder God Warriors after an Apache expression. He served the ruler of Second Earth as a frontline soldier in the war against death vampires. He had the commitment and dedication of the disciplined military mind.
She turned, ready to slide into the booth, but there, waiting for them both, was the usual: her reddish Cosmo and his Glenlivet neat.
Memories rushed back to her and she weaved on her feet so that he caught her elbow. “Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?”
Damn and damn. Why did he have to prove his worth by having their drinks ready and waiting and why did she have to remember all the ways he’d made love to her as though time was just one big well-oiled, revolving door?