Faith Hunter - Host

“I think so. You. Lucas. Eli.”

“And the things that looked like you?”

“I think they were his dream-interpretation of the succubus larvae.” I took a deep breath, wondering if he would laugh at me. I plunged on. “I think the mages and the kylen weren’t an accident, that we were planned for and expected by someone. Maybe by the Most High.”

The small smile spread. He was amused at me and not trying to hide it.

“I think that we’re necessary to ending the war between the Light and the Dark that’s been raging for so long. For eons.”

He shook his head at my whimsy.

I smiled back and shrugged, tucking my hands into my cloak pockets. “I know how it sounds. But look at the evidence. Battle Station Consulate was established and licensed by the High Host, not by an existing enclave. That’s the way Enclaves were originally created. We have two mages, one kylen, two sigils, a Flame-blessed blade, three foretellings, a seraph stone that stops mage-heat, a mountain with a hellhole and three peaks, and new forms of Darkness. A succubus queen has laid eggs that then were moved to a safe place, and that place became part of a predictive dream that showed my sister, battle, and seraphs in a killing heat. We have a Dark tornado and a Dragon, which may be the same thing. I could list more, but—”

“I get the picture. So what do you want with me?” he asked, still amused. Big tough man humoring the little woman. It made me want to sock him. So I did, verbally.

“I want you to go public.”

His face hardened. “No.”

I looked pointedly at his wings. “You can’t hide it anymore. I want you to meet me at dusk on the street in the center of the sigil, and swear to become my champard. That puts you under the protection of Battle Station Consulate. Under my protection. And under the protection of the High Host.”

I watched as the logic of the argument made a home for itself in his mind. His face changed slowly, the stubborn cast fading, deliberation and something like respect growing. And his amusement was back, broader and wider. He chuckled and ran a hand through his too-long red hair, leaving it in stiff peaks. “You came up with this all by yourself?”

“I think I did. I’m not really sure how much I’m figuring out and how much God the Victorious is feeding me.”

“If he exists. And if he speaks to mages, against all the theology of the kirk about the Most High speaking to soulless beings.”

I didn’t agree with the disclaimer, I simply watched him.

“If I’m under your protection,” he said, “then I’m technically under the protection of the High Host.”

“Provided we do it formally, with all the ceremony required. Then they can’t take you away to a Realm of Light without asking my permission. If they want you, it becomes a catch-22. They can’t take you unless I agree. And if I want to fight it, this battle station could technically be described as a Realm of Light.”

“Mineral City?” he said, laughing. “A realm?”

I wasn’t insulted. He had a point. But my concerns were elsewhere. I jutted my chin at the huge ring lying on his bedside table. “Why did you take off the ring?”

Thadd’s face fell, all amusement draining away. He looked down, busying himself buttoning his shirt, not meeting my eyes. “I couldn’t stand the pain anymore,” he said after a moment. “I haven’t slept in three weeks. Pain meds weren’t touching it.”

One hand reached back to stroke his feathers, fingers sliding through the down. As he moved, his scent expanded and filled the room, stronger, more demanding. Just the smell of him was intoxicating. “I decided to let it take me at a time of my choosing.

“I think I’m a third-generation kylen,” he said, extending his wings. They were six feet on a side, looking ludicrously small in comparison to a seraph’s twenty-three-foot wingspan. “Flightless. And besides”—he folded his wings and shrugged as seraphs shrug, wing-wrist bones touching together behind him—“though we have no idea what I can do, maybe if the transition is complete, I’ll have something to offer when the Darkness returns. Something you can use.”

I understood that he meant some power, some talent for manipulating creation energies. He meant that he would be willing to share his gift, whatever it was, in conjures that I would control. Seraph power was very different from mage power, and mages couldn’t wield it. But if he gave me control over it, helped me to utilize it, things might be different.

It was an offer of unprecedented generosity. Kylen were notoriously tightfisted when it came to their gifts, a power that could be much greater than any single mage possessed. In the case of a kylen who had not transformed in the womb, but had been under the constraint of a restrictive conjure his whole life, power of any kind was questionable. It might mean Thadd possessed a volatile wild magic, unstable, powerful enough to wipe Mineral City off the map. It might mean he possessed nothing. Or any amount in between. But it was more than I’d had available to fight the Dragon a moment ago.

Prompted by the visa, I lowered my head in a bow and said, “This mage is honored at the offer of your might.” I raised my head and searched his eyes, in which amusement still lurked. But now it was the devil-may-care mirth of the soldier who faced insurmountable battle. “So, you’ll meet me? Just before sunset?” I asked.

“Why not,” he said, laughing the words. “I gotta die someday. But since I may bleed out all over the streets of this misbegotten town in the next few hours, there’s one thing I want.” He tossed the seraph stone to the mattress, stepped to me, and opened my battle cloak. In a single motion, he slid one arm around my waist, gripped my neck in firm fingers, and jerked me close. His mouth found mine. Heat flared between us.

I breathed into his mouth, the taste-smell-feel of him waking my mage-senses. I closed my eyes, knowing this was stupid, but needing him, wanting this so very much.

Behind my lids, I saw his aura flare brighter than any human’s, brighter than any mage’s, shocking and intense, an image like cinnamon on my tongue, the synesthesia of kylen-mage melding so intense that I couldn’t separate sight from taste and smell. With his transformation so nearly complete, the mind-bending merge was concentrated into all the colors of the rainbow, all the scents of a candy store, a bakery, all the textures of heated velvet.

I arched into him, pressing along his length, rising onto my toes as he lifted me closer. I was dimly aware when my cloak fell to the floor with a swish of sound and I relaxed into the mattress beneath me, sheets cool and scented of him. Thadd settled between my legs and pressed against the center of me, needing me as much as I wanted him.

Mage-rut roared, a wild whitewater river of desire, my body preparing for him, belly quivering, breasts so tight they ached to be touched. Pain and pleasure.

A dobok isn’t conducive to mating, hard to get into when standing, impossible to get out of while lying on my back, my legs wrapped around Thadd’s waist. I pulled at my own clothes, mindless fingers at the fastenings. His hand found its way through an opening and stroked along my side. I hissed and clawed at him, raking his skin until my fingers touched the down at his back, beneath his wing. I pulled in a shuddering breath and stilled. Slowly I eased my hands into the cavities beneath his wings.

Heated, hotter by several degrees than my own body temperature, the nevus, the massed and coiled blood vessels that fed seraph wings in flight, pulsed against my hands. His down, softer than the finest fur, rubbed against my palms, warm and alluring. I heard myself groan as his wings lifted and fell around me, the movement creating a prism of light in the air.