Ascension - Laura Hall (books for 20 year olds TXT) 📗

I dreamed of a sun-drenched glade in a forest. Butterflies fluttered and dove, iridescent wings shimmering. Wildflowers bloomed in riotous patches on the verdant ground. The sky was pale blue, crystalline and tinged with violet.

I felt him first, then turned and saw him.

He looked tired. His hair was mussed, tuxedo jacket missing, and bow tie hanging loose. The pale green eyes held an odd, desperate light. I took an uncertain step toward him. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Connor shook his head minutely. “You haven’t stopped screaming for an hour.”

I stilled. “What?”

He broke eye contact, tilting his head to gaze at the dream-sky. I stared at the strong column of his throat and remembered.

“Did you fry my brain with your aura?”

He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “No, but you’re currently frying the ears of everyone in the compound.”

“You’re exaggerating,” I breathed.

He looked at me. “Somewhat. Did Accosi say anything to you, before he hit you with the spell?”

It was my turn to look away. “Yes. He said my mother sent her regards.” I paused, picking at my ruined dress. “I . . . I saw things. People. I saw Ethan get into a car with Delilah after he disappeared. Did she do what I think she did?”

“It seems that way.”

I looked at him sharply. Instead of the relief or excitement I’d expected, there was only fatigue.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Your seeing-eye dog just earned her badge.”

“Yes, I suppose I should be . . . happy. Perhaps I will be, once you stop screaming.”

I winced. “Do you think the spell went wrong somehow?”

Connor shook his head. “You’ve been talking between incoherent shouts, sometimes details of the present, locations of people you know. Other times, vague tableaus of the future. Adam is recording it. When you regain consciousness, and focus, you should only have to think of your father to find him.”

Tears of relief stung my eyes, but my heart was strangely heavy. “I don’t want this,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see the present, the future, any of it.”

“Neither did your mother. Not at first.”

“How did this happen?”

He seemed to understand what I was asking. “I’m not sure. If there’d been a spell in place keeping your ability suppressed, Adam would have sensed it by now. It’s more likely you were born with the power, but it’s been dormant all these years, not even awakening with Ascension. Knowing this, Delilah found a mage who could engineer the right type of spell.”

My limbs felt weighted. I didn’t fight the lethargy, letting my legs buckle and deposit me on the soft grass. I plucked at the blades near my hip, severing tiny stalks and tossing them aside.

“Have I said anything interesting about the future? Winning lottery numbers, maybe?”

“No,” he said, so quickly that I looked up with narrowed eyes. “Nothing but disjointed ramblings. It was like that with Delilah, too, at least until her Ascension.”

“Everything comes back to that woman, doesn’t it?” I shook my head, communicating that I didn’t want or expect a response. “Did she tell you what she is? Is there even a name for it?”

Connor lowered gracefully, propping himself on an arm and crossing his long legs at the ankle. He gazed at me with a fixed, solemn expression. It wasn’t the dreaded blankness; almost, it was worse.

“As a former Statistician, can you accept that Ascension was an accident? A random occurrence with no definitive cause?”

“Hell no.”

His lips curved slightly. “What popular theory do you ascribe to?”

“I don’t think the truth has been discovered yet.”

“Mmm.” His smile grew. “Perhaps there were forces at work that cannot be quantified.”

I snorted. “I’m a little surprised to hear the God angle from you.”

His brows lifted. “Because vampires are damned, hellish creatures? I have a soul, mo spréach.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I stared at a nearby tree, tracing veins of moss on its pale, peeling trunk.

He continued softly, “Supernatural powers existed in this world long before Ascension. Long before the first vampire, shifter, and mage. There are Fae races, mythic beasts, monsters of the sea . . . and before the concept of one God, there were many gods, and those gods procreated with mankind.”

I stared at him. “Are you saying my mother thinks she’s the daughter of god?”

“Not necessarily. I’m saying there are mysteries in this world that will never be discovered. In ancient India, Indra was the god of lightning. In Rome, it was Zeus. In Greece, Jupiter. In Norse mythology it was Thor, son of Odin. The concept of beings holding elemental powers is not new.”

“You’ve lost me,” I said weakly.

“There are gods of fire, of the sea, of the earth . . . Masters of the elements. You were struck by lightning and survived, Fiona. You hold its destructive power in your hands, control it, channel it. You’re not a vampire, shifter, or mage, but you are supernatural. Maybe you are the progeny of godkind. Maybe you are not.”

“Wow. Just . . .wow.”

He smiled softly. “It is the same with prophetesses. Oracles, Sibyls, Seers, Visionaries. They’ve peppered the timeline of the world, noted in nearly every culture. Rare creatures, who see the warp and weft of time, the tapestry of future days as it is being woven. There’s no telling what culmination of genetics and fate birthed you.” He paused. “Nor can we know the secrets Delilah keeps.”

My spine stiffened. “If you’re implying what I think you are, you can stop right there. I’m Frank Sullivan’s daughter.”

Those solemn eyes just watched me. Patient. Gentle.

“Enough, Connor,” I whispered. “Enough.”

I jerked at his sudden presence on his knees before me, then froze as he caught my first tear with the pad of his thumb. And when his palm grazed my jaw, and his fingers sank into my hair, the world went soft and hazy.

I had the nebulous thought that this moment had already been written. That everything was exactly as it should be, each second a culmination of all seconds before and after, and the present but a small thread in a tapestry of infinite scope.

He said my name.

Cool, soft lips pressed onto my closed eyelids, the tip of my nose, and each cheek. Long fingers held my face gently. So gently.

When his lips grazed mine, electricity veered from my body in small snaps of sound, and I finally understood the danger that was Connor Thorne.

I wanted him. Mind, body, and spirit. As naturally as a flower wants sunlight, as inherently as every living creature’s desire to live. To feel and rejoice.

Shadows blotted out the sun overhead, and a name filtered through my mind.

Gabriella.

“No,” I said, jerking back and scrambling to my feet.

He whispered my name on a small, broken exhale. I memorized his expression—vulnerable, naked with desire for me. Only me. Then I packed it away for a rainy day and straightened my spine.

“Get out of my head, Connor.”

He vanished.

The glade vanished.

I was alone. And empty.