As Marguerite diminished her hand-blasts in stages, Thorne’s body descended slowly until he lay inert on top of her, his wings spread wide in the full-mount position. Marguerite’s feet stuck out at an odd angle beneath him. She coughed because of the smoke.

Endelle dropped swiftly to the marble floor and approached the pair. She wanted to know only one thing, so she focused on Thorne’s bare chest: Was the bastard still alive or had she killed the most honorable vampire she’d known in her entire nine thousand years of ascended life.

His rib cage rose and fell.

Okay, so he was alive.

Fine.

Fucking fine.

She closed her eyes and folded to her meditation space.

She sat down on her chaise-longue and folded off her seashells and mini skirt.

She folded on her soft purple linen gown.

She was in her holy of holies and maybe she would just stay here until the earth blew apart into hundreds of trillions of tiny particles.

Sounded like a good plan.

* * *

Marguerite was stuck beneath 260 pounds of muscled vampire warrior and a pair of wings that were both making it hard to breathe and tickling her nose at the same time. For all their strength, wings were also fragile and when broken required a lot of energy to heal.

She’d only been stupid once while mounting her wings. She’d been drunk, of course, at college, or rather at one of the bars near the college, and had released her wings in too small a space.

Because she’d been standing on the bar, and her wings were huge, she’d broken them both at the apex, shattering a few bottles in the process because of her subsequent screaming. The university healers had worked on her for hours.

As she struggled to draw a deep breath under Thorne’s weight, she hoped like hell he hadn’t broken anything.

Through the feathers, a foot appeared; not hers, not Thorne’s. Had to belong to James.

“Need some help?” he asked. His voice had a warm soothing quality, but even he coughed because of the smoke.

“No, no,” she said. “We’re fine. If he stays unconscious for about six months he might lose enough of his muscle mass for me to move.” She turned her head and coughed.

James laughed, but suddenly Thorne’s weight was just not there. Marguerite slid out from under the levitating body, then James lowered him back to the marble floor. “His wings are magnificent. Did I detect a flame pattern like yours while he was flying?”

Marguerite stood next to the short man, waving her hand back and forth against the thick cloud in the air. She really liked James’s non-warrior, non-Supreme-High-Administrator height. “With all the smoke, fireworks, and sparks showering down like a monsoon storm, I didn’t exactly notice the pattern of his wings.” She turned to the side and coughed her lungs out. Her eyes stung from the smoke as well.

“I suppose not.”

She glanced at James. “So is he okay?”

He nodded. “He’s fine.”

When she started coughing again, James waved an arm and poof, all the smoke was gone.

“Nice trick.”

“Thank you.” But his gaze was on Thorne.

“Why isn’t he burned?” she asked. “There was enough energy in this room to set the whole northern Arizona forest on fire.”

“I’m really not sure except that I believe he has emerging powers. If you’ll remember, Endelle didn’t get burned, either.”

“She just knocked him unconscious during that last round?”

“Yep.”

She turned a little in his direction. “So you’re from Sixth. What’s it like up there?”

Somehow she wasn’t surprised when a look of long-suffering overcame his face. “It can be wonderful, just like here, but I have a very demanding boss.”

“Then you and Thorne have the same problem.”

“Sort of. I report to Luchianne.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You report to the first vampire ever? The one who had first flight, who opened the gateway to Second Earth, who sported a pair of fangs before she could possibly have known what they were for?”

He nodded. “Those are the facts of the case.”

“Sweet Lord in heaven.”

She felt the strangest urge to touch him, to see if he was real. Instead, movement caught her eye. Thorne was coming around. If he moved too much, though, he’d do some damage.

She walked between the apex of his wings very carefully, knelt while avoiding any of the feathers, and bent over him. She put her hands on his face and sent, Stay still. You’re fine. You’re at the palace with James and me. She looked over her shoulder, but the Sixth ascender was gone. Well, you’re with me. Endelle folded somewhere. Try not to move. You’re lying on top of your wings.

His eyes opened and he looked up at her. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“She got me pretty good.”

“Yep. Anything broken?”

“Just my head. Maybe my heart a little. Holy shit, did I actually take her on? I’m lucky I wasn’t blown into a thousand pieces.”

“James said he thinks you have emerging powers.”

“I have a fucking emerging headache. But…” He paused, then said, “She broke the mind-link.”

She leaned down to kiss him, first his forehead, then his nose, then his lips.

He groaned but while she plucked at his lips, he sent, You’d better stop that. I’m starting to move … in other places.

She laughed. “Okay, fine. I’m going to fold away right now, just a few feet, okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“If I back up, I might step on your wings.”

“Oh. Yeah. Please don’t do that.”

She thought the thought and materialized ten feet from his left wing. The feathers were splayed out in a perfect span, so she looked down at it. She squinted. Maybe she saw a flame pattern. Maybe. So what kind of emerging powers could Thorne have that would put them both in even greater danger?

The next moment Thorne simply levitated from the floor, still stretched out on his back, and some of the tension left his face. It couldn’t have felt good to be pressing against the wings, either.

While just lying in midair, he began moving the wings very slowly, wafting like he was doing the backstroke. He stared up into the vast dome of the rotunda and kept moving, easing first this way then that, apparently trying everything out. The beauty of his wings seemed odd against his nubby green sweater, blue jeans, and a brown pair of leather loafers, but the whole thing really worked for her. Even on his back, midair, in casual clothes and full-mount, he was one gorgeous vampire.

His small warrior phone appeared in his hand. “Hey, Carla. Thorne here. I’m at the palace and I need Horace. Can you get him here? A couple of my wings near the wing-locks have small fractures.” He listened and nodded. “Apologize for me. I know he needs his rest.” He then smiled. “Right back atcha. And thanks.”

He drew in a deep breath and lifted up to a standing position, which of course put his wings on full display. Marguerite moved behind him and tried to see the flame pattern. Maybe it was the light, but she just wasn’t seeing it.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Always,” she said, moving to face him. “James said you had a flame pattern but I’m not seeing it. But man, your wings are beautiful. The apex has to rise five feet above your head. Wow.”

She saw that he was sweating and his mouth was tight. “You okay?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m fine but it just occurred to me that I would have fallen hard during that last round. I really should be worse off than I am.”

“I kinda broke your fall.”

At that, his eyes widened. “How?”

“I got underneath you and sent a hand-blast, not too strong, of course, but just enough to keep you from crashing. You landed on me.”

“I landed on you.” He laughed. “Did I hurt you? I mean, I can see that I didn’t.”

“No, but all that muscle weighs a lot.” She moved in close and kissed him. “I mean a lot, but I liked it. Other than not being able to breathe much, I was just fine.” She kissed him until his tongue was in her mouth, he had his hands on her waist, and he was dragging her toward him.

However, a warning vibration from behind her followed. Thorne spun her to his side, holding her close, and brought his sword into his right hand. His knees bent. He was red-faced and grimacing, but holding his posture as Horace materialized.

Marguerite felt his whole body relax, and the sword disappeared. She recognized Horace from the Superstition Seer’s Fortress when Thorne and Jean-Pierre had busted her out of that shithole. They’d found Seers in every cell, badly abused, many of them pregnant. Horace had come to work his healing magic. Now he was here to help Thorne.

He bowed, an unfamiliar form of address, but Thorne had once told her it was an older ritual and he hadn’t quite been able to break Horace of the habit.

Horace greeted her in a way that was very warm, something that surprised her, although she could see the respect he had for Thorne. That respect bordered on awe as Horace spoke to him and asked his questions about which parts of the mesh-like supporting filaments were causing him pain.

She was once more struck with her warrior. She stepped away from him and looked him up and down. He was gorgeous, muscled, powerful, and those wings. Magical.

Her gaze, however, landed on his pecs. Her mouth watered.

I’m smelling rose.

I’m admiring the view.

He smiled and slowly made a fist, then lifted his forearm and brought his bicep into one huge lump of man-meat. She felt her fangs emerge and—since Horace was completely screened by the wings—she flashed them at Thorne.

His eyes rolled in his head. The resulting wall of cherry tobacco that slammed into her put her flat on her ass. She laughed. The level of sexual cravings between them was ridiculous.

She shouldn’t have, but since she was on the floor, she spread her legs about a foot and a half apart.