Wings of Fire

Yes, so beautiful.



She moved closer, until she was a few inches from his face. She watched his tongue nestle within the tangerine, making small sucking noises. She knew that he was imagining his tongue inside her body. He’d told her that as well. Desire was too small a word for what she felt for this man, this warrior. She would be the tangerine for him and he could devour her.



Tears rolled down her cheeks as her need for him grew, her thighs trembling. She had to keep her voice quiet or the servants would descend on her.



She leaned in and kissed the air an inch or two away from him. He groaned, as though feeling how close she was. She watched his hand glide lower, sliding down his chest. She pulled the window back to watch. His abs were rippling, taut, rolling hard mounds she wanted to touch, to lick, to savor. His forefinger touched the narrow erotic line of hair that led down. Lower. Lower.



In her mind she spoke to him. Yes, touch yourself for me. I’m here. I want you to know pleasure. Antony, hear me.



His groans thickened the air. With one hand he held the tangerine to his mouth, his tongue working feverishly. With his other hand he held himself in a firm grip, pumping now. His hips moved, jerking forward.



She panted and the core of her spasmed. She rolled onto her stomach and slid her hand between her legs. She pushed, pulled, pressed. Her hips bucked off the mattress as she watched him. His groans were loud in her ears. She could tell he was close. He opened his mouth, and the groan turned to a shout as he came.



She came with him, the core of her body rippling and tugging, streaking pleasure up through her tender flesh. She imagined him inside her and the sensation intensified. She withheld the gasps and moans that wanted to erupt for fear the servants would hear. Antony. Antony, sped along the telepathic highway.



All movement on his bed ceased, as it always did just at this moment. “I hear you,” he said aloud to the room. “You said, Antony, Antony. Twice tonight. I feel you near me, Parisa. I know you’re here and I know you’re alive. Thank God.”



Antony, she cried out with her mind. More tears slipped down her cheeks. She shifted back onto her side, still looking at him. I’m here, she sent. I’m here. If only her telepathy would improve. At least he’d heard his name twice. That was something. Not much, but something.



“Parisa, I have a piece of information about you, but getting some usable results from the grid might take a few days. I found a rogue death vampire in northern Arizona, Mortal Earth, this morning. He knew Rith. He was connected with the underbelly of Mortal Earth rogue life and he knew of you. I searched his memories and discovered that you’re in Burma on Second Earth. Carla’s already moved Central’s grid in place. We know your signature doesn’t show up, so we’re hunting for an anomaly, anything that seems out of the ordinary. I swear I’d dematerialize to Burma and start hunting for you myself, but the damn place is as big as Texas.”



She heard his frustration but her mind whirled with the new possibility that Central could locate her in a day or two, maybe three. Oh … God … yes!



“If only you could communicate better telepathically. Can you try? Please try. I heard my name twice tonight. That has to mean something.”



Her own frustration rose until she was kneeling in bed, beating her fists against her pillows. Had she tried? Only a thousand times. Of course I’ve tried, she sent.



“You can do this. I know you can. If I can feel your presence like this, I know you can talk to me.” He flopped back on the bed and shifted his hips to bring his legs straight out in front of him. His cock lay half thickened on his groin. He was very big and so damn beautiful. She watched tears fill his eyes, spill over, then run down the sides of his face and into his long warrior hair. She moved in close and pretended to touch his hair, run her fingers through it.



“The minute we find an anomaly, I will come for you. We’ll all come for you. All the brothers.”



I’m near Mandalay, she sent, but she knew it was useless. She had tried a hundred different ways to communicate, but all he’d ever been able to hear was his name at the moment of her release.



She had tried different locations as well, moving from room to room while she called his name, changing the time of day, the time of night, beneath the tamarind tree, away from the tree, shouting the words in her head, then calling them softly. Nothing had worked. When she opened her voyeur’s window, that strange preternatural gift she possessed, she could find him anywhere. She just couldn’t communicate her thoughts to him.



He slid his hands behind his head, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. “I love that you’re here with me,” he whispered. “And I can feel you near.”



Good. I’m here.



“Do I disgust you? Please understand, it’s the only time I can hear your voice. I wouldn’t do this otherwise.”



You could never disgust me. I know you, Antony. I’ve listened to your warrior brothers as well. They speak of you with such respect and they turn to you for advice, for approval. I love your kindness and that you’ve never stopped searching for me.



It was almost a conversation.



Almost.



“Last night before my tour at the New River Borderland, Jeannie and I spent hours scoping South African Territory for your sign.” He smiled faintly. “Now we know you’re in Burma. It’s hard to stay here—I want to fold right now to Burma. But what good would that do? I’ll wait here, but I don’t have to like it.



“I don’t think I told you this but yesterday afternoon, Jean-Pierre and I hit a rogue vampire lair in Mortal Earth Sweden. That’s when we learned about this rogue in fucking Sedona, Mortal Earth. Remember how Thorne has a house in Sedona?” He sighed. “I love talking to you and feeling you close.”



Me too, she sent.



“I chased that bastard north all the way to the Grand Canyon. That motherfucker had one set of wings on him—pardon my French or as Jean-Pierre says, my Italian. He’s so funny. He’s been with me every afternoon, hunting beside me. He’s as wrecked as I am. No warrior ever had a better brother. I owe him everything. Do you believe me that I haven’t stopped looking? That I never will?”



I believe you.



He sat up suddenly. “You must do one thing, Parisa. Promise me this, that you’ll stay alive for me. Please … stay alive.”



I will try.



“Don’t just try, either.” Yep, almost a conversation. “Do whatever you have to do to stay alive, no matter how horrible your current situation. Know this: I will come for you.”



She moved in close once more, toward his lips. She tilted slightly and pretended to kiss him. He gasped. “What did you just do?”



She moved in again, and kissed him.



He put his fingers to his lips. “Did you just kiss me?”



“Yes,” she whispered aloud into her room.



“Parisa. Do it again.”



She leaned forward once more. He stayed very still. She drew back. His eyes opened. “I didn’t feel anything. If you tried again, I couldn’t feel it.” He flopped back on the bed once more and threw an arm over his forehead. “Oh, God, how I miss you. I ache for you.”



She panned back and looked at the full length of him again. He had a faint dusting of black hair over his pecs angling to his stomach. She loved the distinct line of hair that traveled his lower abdomen, showing the way. His hair was curled over his groin, a healthy animal. His cock was still half erect—it always was so long as she was near, even after he’d come. The same fine black hair covered his legs. She loved the way he looked, so masculine. She had always liked hair on a man. She wanted to sift her fingers through all of it, from his toes, up his legs, around the base of his cock, up that sexy line, over his chest, his arms … but mostly she wanted her hands in his long warrior hair.



Long hair meant something to the Warriors of the Blood. In a ritual that went back several millennia, the warriors faced battle by binding their hair in the ritual clasp called the cadroen, symbolizing strength of will and purpose.



Yes, Antony had told her many things during this time he shared with her. Though he couldn’t hear her, he knew she was listening so he talked.



Antony’s voice continued softly. “Did I tell you that the first time I used my wings after my ascension, I fell flat on my back? I couldn’t breathe for a good minute, and the pain was almost unbearable. I’d crushed some of the feathers. Three healers worked for hours to put me back together. When the wings are broken like that, you can’t retract them. Remember that when you fly. Be careful.”



She got very close and rubbed her fingers over his lips. I almost did the same thing. Do you remember? I’d ended up in a forward roll the first time I flew and Havily tugged on my feet and saved me. Later, she told me privately that you’d been watching us. She often shared things even though he couldn’t hear her.



Havily Morgan had been a good friend to her and had saved her life more than once during the short time she’d known her. She missed Havily. She missed all of them.



“Remember how you almost crashed that first day flying with Havily? Did you know I was watching you? When you almost fell, I dropped a plate of pasta. I was afraid for you but Havily kept you safe.”



Oh, why couldn’t he hear her? She pressed a fingers to her lips.



“I will always be grateful that Havily took care of you that day and taught you so much about flying. I wish I could have been the one but…”



You never mount your wings in front of anyone.



“… I never mount my wings except in private. I just can’t. They’d see my back. Marcus knows the truth but I trust him to be discreet.” His chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “When I ascended and understood how quickly I could heal in my new vampire state, I thought my back would change, but it didn’t. I’m … scarred, Parisa. Forever.”



Parisa could tell by the way he whispered the words that whatever had scarred his back had wounded him more deeply in his mind, maybe even in his soul.



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