She smiled when it occurred to her that he’d essentially just popped her obsidian flame cherry.

She finally drew back and looked him in the eye. She could tell he was no longer in her mind. She was pretty sure that obsidian flame had shot him the hell out of there. “So did you get fried or anything?” she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I got a taste of what you endured, but it was more like a punch in the ass when I left the center of your power.”

“You know, you seem really pleased with yourself.”

“Not with myself. I’m pleased because I can feel the difference in you, in your obsidian flame power. It tastes complete, and very big, as though before it was just a shadow of what it could be. But how did you know you needed it pierced?”

She shook her head. “I remember Fiona went through something similar but it wasn’t Jean-Pierre who had done the deed. It was Endelle.”

“Well, I’m sure it was no picnic.”

“I felt like you were carrying a blowtorch and had it lit the entire journey. And once you got there, you used a chain saw to cut through some really sensitive tissue.”

“Good to know. Okay, so tell me about the vision.”

“It’s just there, waiting. When I’m ready.”

He smiled. “That’s fantastic. So obsidian flame has done this for you, given you command of these visions?”

She nodded. “I think so, at least to the degree that they can’t just incapacitate me.” Her hand slipped down his arms. She drew back and gasped. “Look what I did to you?” Her horrible inch-long nails had dug into him and created a bunch of small wounds. Blood oozed down his arms. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

But he scoffed. “Please. You really think I’m not used to much worse? Besides, I could tell how much this recent penetration hurt you.”

At the sound of the word, she smiled. “I haven’t had a penetration hurt that bad since I was fifteen.”

“Oh, now, please don’t bring that up. That is so not the kind of thing I can handle.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thorne, how old are you?”

“Two mil.”

“And, uh, just how many women have you penetrated in the past twenty-four centuries?”

He could only grin, so she leaned up and kissed him full on the lips. “Wish you’d been the one, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

“But man, with the size you are, that would have hurt a helluva lot worse than what I went through.”

“Again, I need to remind you that I don’t want to hear about you with other men, even if you were just a teenager. I’m also guessing we need to take a look at this most recent vision.”

“Right.” She frowned as more of her intuition kicked in. “I have a feeling this vision concerns you, just like the last one, so maybe you should just jump in.”

“I agree.” He took a deep breath then pushed his mind against hers.

This vision was like a black cloud, which really didn’t bode well for the contents. She held her obsidian flame power at the fore and very slowly opened the door to the future streams. The images wanted to rush, but she simply thought the thought and they slowed.

She was back at the Convent, inside the cell she shared with Grace. That sight alone was enough to almost make her want to shut the whole thing down. Instead she held steady and let the next images come. It was as though she stood in the center of the cell facing Grace’s bed, her former cot behind her. As she began to pan toward the wall with the desk that sat between the beds, the images simply became murky and unrecognizable, something that never happened in her visions.

She felt uneasy. She had a sense that there were two people in the room, Grace and someone else.

I don’t understand. Why did the images stop? Thorne sent. I mean, what the hell happened to them?

She thought for a minute. She extended her senses toward the vision once more, then she knew.

Oh, shit, Stannett.

You mean he’s interfered?

Exactly.

Sonofabitch.

She prompted the vision once more, hoping that perhaps there was a way to enhance her obsidian flame power in order to overcome the interference. But she could feel that her new power was flowing in a perfect stream—yet there was nothing she could do to affect what Stannett was doing. He was one powerful vampire.

She closed the vision down and pulled back to look at Thorne. He disengaged from her mind so that the familiar rubbery sensation followed. She was alone within her mind once more.

“That was your Convent cell,” he stated, frowning.

“Yes, it was.” She felt restrained in her spirit.

He put his hand on her arm and met her gaze. “What are you not saying? I can feel your hesitation. What’s going on?”

She looked up at him, at his somber expression, the pinch of his lips. It was simple: She didn’t want to go down this path.

Unfortunately, this path involved saving Grace, her friend, her cellmate. She even suspected that it would involve all the devotiates in the Convent as well.

“Is this an attack?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” That at least was the truth. “All I know is that Stannett is blocking the vision. Maybe he suspected I’d be reading it, or maybe he’s just taking precautions. I don’t know.”

“And you think this is serious?”

“I know it is.” She let her gaze fall to his chest. His tank was cut low so that she had a view of the swell of his pecs and the fine hairs on his chest.

She didn’t want to say the rest—that she also suspected she would be able to see the hidden part of the vision if she had help. She would have to involve another Seer in the situation, to engage with another Seer in the future streams, to create a connection that she did not want to create.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want this to be happening, for aggressive visions to be the reality of her life; she hated that she had been thrust onto the stage of world events because she was a Seer of great power and because she was obsidian flame.

But there was another truth here, a very dark one. She didn’t have to respond to this vision and she didn’t have to take her place in ascended society. She had a choice. She really did. She could go her own path, especially now that she would be free of the crashing visions. She had control.

She still had a chance at the life she’d dreamed of for so long, she really did. She could taste it. All she had to do was back away from this, not take it to the next level, a level she saw so clearly it made her dizzy.

But what would happen to Grace if she failed to act?

Truth? She didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t be good.

Her gaze fell to the carpet. She was only faintly aware that she was breathing hard.

She put a hand to her forehead.

“Marguerite, what’s wrong?”

The next level.

Connection. That thing she despised.

She wanted her freedom.

One obscenity after another rolled through her head. Though she remained physically close to Thorne, in her mind she was mounting her wings and flying up and up and up, into the stratosphere. Never mind that she couldn’t breathe or that her wings were icing over.

Oh, God, this could not be happening. She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want this, not even a little. She was at a crossroads and the choice was simple: either go forward with what she knew to do and save Grace and how many other devotiates, or leave this colony right now, live her life the way she wanted to live it, embrace her freedom.

She didn’t want this. It wasn’t fair.

“Marguerite, talk to me.”

She pulled back. Her gaze fell to his arms and to the blood now dried in swaths where her long nails had pierced him and her fingers had slid around. It looked like a child had finger-painted on him.

But Grace was her friend and she would die if Marguerite didn’t act. She could feel it now in her bones. This much she knew, this much Stannett couldn’t hide from her, that Grace would die this very night without her help.

The next breath she drew had a singing quality, part hiss, part gasp.

In the end, however, there was no choice, no choice at all. Grace was her friend, had helped keep her sane, had shown her respect when everyone else was afraid to. Only Grace had stood up to Sister Quena on Marguerite’s behalf.

Though her heart was breaking because the freedom she had fought for was now disappearing, she lifted her gaze to Thorne. “I need to reach pure vision and I need to do it now. If we want to save your sister, and the other devotiates in the Convent, I have to reach pure vision.”

“Oh, God. What do we do? Do you need Fiona?”

She shook her head. “I’ve thought of her, of course, but I know that for what I need to accomplish, only another Seer will do. I need Brynna. I need you to go to the club and bring her back here. Will you do that for me?”

Thorne met her gaze squarely and dipped his chin a little. He nodded. “I’ll be right-fucking-back.”

As he lifted his arm and vanished, she drew in a deep breath. What did it say about him that he simply stared into her eyes, made an assessment, and took charge? That familiar swelling in her chest happened again, the sure knowledge that she loved him and trusted him.

But did he understand even a little what she was giving up tonight, forever?

Would anyone?

You are beloved.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 11

Thorne had needed every ounce of patience he’d learned over the past two millennia in order not to push Marguerite. He had felt her restraint and he knew something was terribly wrong, but he hadn’t been a leader of men and women, of powerful warriors and powerful vampires, without having come to recognize a pivotal moment, a moment of dynamic change.

He had feared the worst when she had hesitated: that she wouldn’t be able to make the leap, wouldn’t be able to accept and embrace the challenge in front of her. No, he didn’t comprehend the scope of what she was going through, but he felt the weight of it, the size of it. After all, he had pierced the sheath protecting her obsidian flame power and he had hurt her. The entire experience had spoken the truth to him about who she was when it came to her most essential courage and what she was going through.