Free Wings of Fire by Caris Roane Page A

shit.”
    “What?” he cried, his hands flung out in front of him. Then he slung his arm around Medichi’s shoulders and hugged him. He even kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry about your wife and son,” he whispered.
    “Gracias, amigo.”
    Medichi laughed again. There were times when the brotherhood functioned just as it should and Santiago’s absurdity had done what nothing else could have. The tension in the room thinned as the laughter flowed. Luken put Santiago in a headlock and slapped the top of his head a few times.
    Thorne drew close and with his lips pressed tight together asked, “Did the scars affect your wings? I know you can fly. Are they damaged somehow? You don’t owe us anything, Medichi. What you’ve shared tonight honors us.”
    Medichi met his gaze. The concern in Thorne’s eyes almost undid him again. He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. My wings are fine. But it’s time I started flying in battle. I’ve put it off way too long. When Jeannie calls with word about Parisa, I’ll be in the air if I have to. I’m not holding back any longer. However, there is something I want you to know, and you’ll understand better if I just show you.”
    “All right, then,” Thorne said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
    He turned his back to his brothers once more and focused. A few seconds later the apertures down his back wept and his wings began to release. The sensation was pure heaven, but as before, a few gasps and another stream of profanity hit the air.
    “What the fuck,” Zach cried. “You’ve got royle wings, just like Parisa. What the goddamn fuck?”
    ***
    At eleven o’clock in the morning, Parisa sat in the garden waiting for Commander Greaves to visit her. He had never done so before. She sat on the teak bench beneath the tamarind tree, her nerves on fire and her heart beating a dull thud. Rith had sent her out here to wait an hour ahead of time, which didn’t help her growing distress. What did he want with her, and why had he waited all this time to see her?
    Rith’s dark demeanor hadn’t changed. He still watched her with a cruel light in his eye as though waiting for her to make a mistake so that he’d have an excuse to harm her.
    She smoothed her hands over the cream silk dress she wore. For Greaves’s visit, Rith had made sure she was well groomed, and that included her finest dress. Her makeup was flawless: The Burmese women loved to give her cat-eyes with heavy black eyeliner to bring out the amethyst color. Her dark brown hair had been sculpted into several loops down the back of her head. Talk about a gilded cage.
    But whatever Rith was, Greaves was so much worse. In her opinion, he personified hypocrisy. He spoke and dressed like an aristocrat, but if even half the stories about him were true, he created death vampires of all those who served him. He might have the manners of a gentleman, but he had the soul of Lucifer and intended nothing but pain and suffering to the two worlds he meant to conquer.
    A loud crash sounded from the direction of the house, like china shattering on the planked wooden floor. Parisa turned toward the porch of the large British Colonial. She saw movement just beyond the open doorway but couldn’t make out what was happening. Figures grappled back and forth in the shadows. Grunting followed, and Rith cried out.
    She rose from the teak bench as an unfamiliar woman appeared in the doorway. She wore loose light blue flannel pajama bottoms and a navy tank top. Her wavy chestnut hair hung to the sides of a beautiful face. She had large light blue eyes, almost silver in appearance, but wild looking. She was Caucasian, something Parisa had not seen in three months.
    Parisa couldn’t breathe. The woman caught sight of her and shifted in her direction. Parisa backed up until her legs hit the teak bench.
    The woman raced toward her and knocked her into the bench. She fell on her, grabbing her shoulders. “Help me,” she pleaded in