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

“May I join you?”

I kept my eyes closed. “It’s your library.”

I heard him pour a drink and carry it to the newly repaired windows. When I’d seen the damage this morning, and the three-story drop he’d made with me in his arms, the shadow-wings of his aura had made a lot more sense.

“How was your day?” he asked mildly.

Opening my eyes a sliver, I stared at his back, straight as a rod and just as stiff. Though I’d seen him several times today, neither of us had mentioned yesterday’s incident. On my end, I was avoiding thinking about how he’d held me, naked and semi-conscious, until Declan had brought out a blanket.

“Informative,” I said. “Apparently, a source close to the Western Prime told the press I’m a new breed of supernatural. They’re calling me an Elemental.”

“Hmm.”

I propped myself on my elbows. “Your doing?”

He turned his head, presenting his profile and a slight smile. “Maybe. Do you like it?”

“I don’t know.”

He lifted his glass in a mock-salute before draining its contents. I watched him stride across the room and refill it and wondered idly how much he would have to drink to get drunk.

“I can’t become inebriated.”

“I was really hoping my leap up the power scale would fix that.” When he said nothing, I added, “Is there a way to block you out?”

He turned with an eyebrow raised. “I assure you, since you told me so pointedly to ‘get out of your head,’ I haven’t been anywhere near it. Perhaps if you stop thinking so loudly.”

I settled back into a supine position, elevating my healing ankle on the arm of the couch. Eyeing him, I thought about Samantha.

“What am I thinking right now?”

His eyes narrowed. “Nothing that bears mention.”

“Right, sorry.”

Feeling duly chastised, I played with the hem of my sweater. Connor settled in an armchair, his head dropping back wearily. The glass of brandy rested precariously atop one knee. He looked defeated, which sent all thoughts of Samantha flying.

Sitting upright, I asked carefully, “Has something happened?”

He spoke with his eyes still closed, “The FBI found another lab, this time in Oklahoma. They managed to capture one of the Liberati, but he committed suicide before he could be questioned. Cyanide capsule.”

“Dammit.”

His eyes opened to half-mast. “Did you know that in spite of popular opinion, as a Prime I’m not allowed to directly interfere with FBI investigations?” I processed that, and finally shook my head. “It’s true. Yet if I had been there, I could have dissected that man’s memories in moments. No need for questioning.”

“What about his cipher defenses?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “I have my ways.”

I had a feeling his ways included draining the man of blood. To confirm, I asked, “What would the process have done to him?”

His eyes opened fully, chilling in their blankness. “Killed him, of course. Which is what happened anyway. Only without my interference, he gave us nothing but a corpse.”

“You should have done it,” I said without hesitation.

His lips twitched. “Anarchistic tendencies, Fiona? I never would have guessed.”

I shook my head in confusion. “I don’t get it. How do you—a being with unfathomable power—subject yourself to stupid rules like that?”

“I don’t believe you think laws are stupid, or shouldn’t apply to me. What I think you’re asking me is how, after so many years of life, I have retained my humanity.”

“Sure, that.”

A dimple appeared, but the smile was tired. “Humble origins, perhaps, as we are all shaped by our formative years. Before my change, I was a farmer in what is today northern France. I worked the land alongside my parents and siblings. It was a brutal, backbreaking way of life, but it was also full of kinship and laughter.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked away and was silent long enough I opened my mouth to apologize. He said quickly, “No, it’s all right. I was remembering back.” A wry smile flashed my way. “I’m rather old, if you’ll recall.”

I smiled. “You don’t look a day over two hundred.”

He exhaled a silent laugh and slowly his expression turned pensive, then shadowed by sorrow. “One summer’s eve, a vampire broke into our home. He killed my parents and sisters. My brothers and I tried to fight him. I was the eldest, the strongest, and lasted longest. I managed to wound him while we were locked in combat. He tore my shoulder with his fangs, and some of his blood entered the wound. I weakened and he escaped, leaving me for dead. In truth, I was ready to die, to join my family in the afterlife. But it was not to be. I transitioned to vampire surrounded by the bodies of my family.”

“That’s horrible,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, and his eyes lost their sorrow as they focused on me. “I no longer grieve them, but I’ve never forgotten where I come from. I still remember my father’s kind voice and my mother’s embrace. I remember making sacrifices and hard choices for the good of the family. I have a different family now, much larger, but I still try to align my choices with the good of the whole.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Did you find vengeance for them?”

“Yes. It took me a hundred years to meet that vampire again, but he died for his sins.”

“And what about Gabriella?” I asked without thinking. “Do you not want vengeance against the Liberati?”

“If you’re asking me if Gabriella deserves vengeance, then yes, she does. However, if you’re questioning why I’ve not hunted and slaughtered every last Liberati operative in the world for their transgression, the answer is more complicated. For one, Gabriella abhors violence.”

I looked away, discomforted by his use of the present tense. And annoyed, because I didn’t agree with Gabriella’s pacifism, while Connor obviously kept her on a lofty pedestal. Or maybe it all boiled down to what Adam had said, that I was Gabriella’s opposite.

If something gruesome happened to me—or Adam, or Declan—I’d want the Prime to unleash some apocalyptic justice. Lots and lots of violence. No pacifism, please.

As for myself, I had no doubts that when face to face with the Liberati who’d abducted and were apparently torturing my dad, I’d bring down the fucking sky on them.

“Bloodthirsty,” he murmured.

“Damn straight,” I said without heat. “I’m starting to believe what Delilah said on the phone. There’s a war going on. There are different rules in war.”

“Are there?” he murmured, a thread of humor in his voice. “No place for compassion on the battlefield?”

I snorted. “Of course. Kill them fast. That’s compassionate, right?”

He chuckled, tension releasing from his shoulders. “You, Fiona, are an enigma.”

“Nope,” I countered. “I’m pretty straightforward. There are bad guys and good guys. Bad guys need to be dealt with.”

“As I said, we are indelibly shaped by our formative years.”

“My dad raised me right,” I growled.

He lifted a graceful hand. “I agree. But did Frank not also teach you the importance of due process, and the adage innocent until proven guilty?”

“Are you kidding me?” My voice climbed a few octaves. “Did you not just admit you wanted to mind-meld that Liberati, which would have instantly killed him?”

His eyes darkened to emerald. “Not acting on base impulse separates mankind from animals.”

I made a noise of complaint. “Are we having this argument? For real? God, Connor, if the Liberati cut off your head, I’d fry them. The end.”

The emerald bled closer to black, then flashed to their normal green. “You would have done well in Rome, mo spréach.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

His chest shook soundlessly with laughter. “Ah, you do