“Get behind me,” she told Vetta. The girl obeyed and huddled shivering against her back. All of Seremela’s snakes focused on the danger in front of her. Every muscle in her body was pulled as taut as piano wire, and she felt slightly nauseous as she tried to make sense of the melee.
They were so fast, all four of them, faster than she could track, and the Dark Fae were so difficult to tell apart in the silvery shadows. One struck another—oh, it was a bad blow—and that one grunted and went down on both knees, while Duncan engaged the third in a vicious flurry of blows and countermoves, and the fight was horribly, sickeningly unfair because his opponent had a sword while all he had was his knife.
A tic started at her temple, fluttering at a frenetic pace, because it was one thing to know how to shoot but quite another to know who to shoot, and just how was she supposed to tell when the last resort was, anyway? She pushed the heel of one hand against her temple as she tracked Duncan’s opponent with the gun.
Duncan leaped forward, a fast, vicious attack. His opponent fell back and kept falling until he lay prone on the ground. It took a couple of heartbeats for Seremela to comprehend what had happened, because the violence ended as quickly and abruptly as it had started.
Two of the Dark Fae were down. Duncan and the third faced each other but didn’t leap to attack each other. Seremela only recognized Xanthe for certain as the other woman reached over her head to sheathe her sword.
She lowered the gun, slid the safety back on and strode rapidly over to Duncan to fling her arms around him. He clenched her to him, one hand at the back of her neck.
“You’re not hurt?” she whispered.
“No,” he whispered back. “I’m all right.”
Oh gods, thank you. She held onto him with all of her strength.
His lean cheek was cool against hers, the length of his body hard. He said, “Let’s go home now.”
She nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. In that moment, she thought those were the four most wonderful words in the English language.
Let’s go home now.
Chapter Seven
Hearth
After a nerve wracking yet uneventful drive back to the Reno airport, they were airborne a couple of hours later and headed to Chicago where they would stop just long enough to allow Xanthe to disembark before they flew to Miami.
During the car trip Vetta drank three bottles of water, ate a couple of protein bars and had a crying jag against Seremela’s shoulder as relief set in. As soon as they had cell phone reception, they called Seremela’s sister, Camilla, and Vetta cried some more at her mother. Once they boarded the jet and took off, the girl disappeared into the lavatory for a while to emerge some time later, looking pale and exhausted but somewhat cleaner.
After Vetta finished, they all took turns washing up. Seremela sighed with relief as she rinsed the desert dust off her face, arms and neck.
Dawn spilled over the horizon. After shuttering all of the windows to block out the morning sun, the co-pilot served Xanthe, Vetta and Seremela bistro-style breakfast trays with fresh fruit, rolls, cheese, hard boiled eggs and smoked salmon, hot coffee and cream and fresh squeezed orange juice.
Duncan accepted a glass of bloodwine. Seremela frowned. After a sleepless, stressful night she was starving. He must be too. While bloodwine might do in a pinch, it did not have nearly the same nutritive qualities as fresh blood did.
Somewhat haltingly, she asked him, “Will bloodwine be—sufficient for you, for now? I would be honored to help if you need fresh blood.”
Duncan smiled at her. He looked inexplicably sweet and roguish, and she thought he even looked somewhat embarrassed. Although she wasn’t sure what prompted his expression, she could not help but smile back.
“That is very kind of you,” he said. “Bloodwine will be sufficient for now, thank you.”
She felt her cheeks warm and her gaze slid away from his. She had never fed a Vampyre directly from her vein before. Their bites were famous for inducing a sense of euphoria in their donors. Perhaps that was why he looked embarrassed. She glanced at Xanthe and Vetta. It was probably just as well he didn’t need fresh blood at the moment.
Even though tiredness threatened to take her over, she ate quickly and drank several cups of coffee, fueled by a sense of purpose. She was not going to relax while they carried an unexamined item of Power on the plane.
As she ate, she listened to Duncan and Xanthe talk. Duncan asked, “Why kill Thruvial instead of taking him back to face trial?”
“He was the last nobleman involved in the conspiracy that killed the Queen’s family,” Xanthe said. “The problem with putting him on trial was that the evidence we managed to gather might not have been enough to convict him. Lord Black Eagle made the decision on the kill order.”