CHAPTER 20
Alison awoke naked and on her side, a heavy, muscled arm draped over her. She had never experienced this in the course of her life. She had never dared to. Yet here she was waking up with a man wrapped around her. He was fully erect, his hard length pressed against her buttocks, not a surprise since he’d been asleep for some time.
The room, his bedroom, was full of morning light. The dark wood blinds were open, a blue sky visible beyond, as well as desert for miles. Mist covered and protected the Queen Creek home and, oh, Medichi strolled by, his sword balanced on his shoulder, weapons harness beneath. The warriors had guarded the property through the night and would continue to do so, taking turns the rest of the day. Nothing was being left to chance.
She sighed, savoring, working hard not to take anything for granted in this moment. She was with her man, her vampire, in bed, waking up with him, both naked. Her skin tingled all over and tears started to her eyes. She had never thought to experience this kind of connection with a man … ever.
She slowly slid her hand over his forearm and pressed gently. He was all muscle and warm skin, his cardamom scent wafting to her nostrils. She took deep breaths, one after the other. She didn’t want him to awaken. She just wanted to take in that heavenly spice, part him, part cardamom. Her breasts swelled at the erotic scent, she grew wickedly wet, yet still she didn’t want to disturb the moment.
She smiled. She had prevailed and she had won the pleasure of being with Kerrick. She had a child growing within. She had a completely naked man at her back. Life could not get better.
He stirred behind her, his thick cock gliding up her backside. Desire rose again, a whirling sensation inside her body, tightening her abdominals, which caused her hips to rock against him.
He groaned. “Lavender. I’m smelling lavender. Please tell me you’re awake?”
“I am.”
“Thank God,” he groaned. His arm snaked around her, over her breasts. He pulled her close, his hands roaming. “You feel like heaven.”
“I love that you’re in bed with me.”
He leaned over her, pushed her hair aside, and kissed her neck. “I want you.”
“I want you more.”
“Not f*cking possible.”
She still had yet to get used to warrior-speak. At the same time the profanity grounded the experience for her, made it real when so much of this new life had thrust her into the center of a tornado.
He kissed a line up her cheek, arching over her body, sliding his lips up to her lips, then he kissed her. Even her mouth felt well used from the night’s pleasures.
She drew back and met his gaze. “Why is it I’ve only known you half a minute, but I feel as though it’s been several lifetimes?”
“It’s the call of the breh-hedden. I feel the same way.”
“Kerrick, I want in,” she said, knowing this was exactly what she needed.
He nodded and smiled. He growled. He rolled over onto his back then pulled her on top of him. She settled herself over his hips, his erection a length of thick rope against her. “To do this, you’ll want me inside you.”
She had to laugh. “Spoken like a man. You sure that’s necessary?”
“You think I’m joking but you’ll see. Now climb on board.”
Her body shuddered at the invitation. She rose up then positioned her core over the head of his cock. She was so ready for him as she eased him inside. Her body wept for him, even more when he groaned and arched, his hips thrusting as if he couldn’t help himself. He pushed and filled her.
Heaven, she murmured within his mind.
He sighed and arched again, stretching her then moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. He pulled her down onto his broad, muscled chest, tucking her beneath his chin. His heavy ripped arms engulfed her. She was in a perfect cage of his body, encased, protected, pleasured.
When she had said she wanted in, she hadn’t meant for sex to happen, but as soon as he opened his mind and she fell inside, sex for the first minute was all that could happen. She was aroused like nothing she’d ever experienced before and she understood, in a sudden flash, what it was to be a man when he entered a woman, the strange power, the erotic nature of penetration, the full-on stimulation—because right now, she had penetrated him. His mind was laid out for her, a banquet on which to gorge, and she was so aroused.
The sensation of control grabbed her and before she could think the thought, she arched away from him and orgasmed hard, her power punching at him as it always did. He caught her with his muscular arms, holding her in place. I love it when you do that. So damn sexy. Now take the real ride.
He worked her body, slow erotic undulations, as her mind began to descend within his. It was like sinking into a warm pool and floating, the water just easing out of the way. When she was merged completely, his life, flashes of remembered events, all twelve hundred years of it, began to stream through her, shared and experienced, savored and hated, all his hopes and fears, all the love, sex, and battle, the loss of his two wives, the leaving of an infant son behind on his ascension—the baby, Evan—then the deaths of his two children all those centuries later.
The most surprising element, however, was that she saw and experienced the depth of his devotion to the Warriors of the Blood, a true Brotherhood of men, powerful men, vampires dedicated to a better world, a safer world.
Within the body of the stream, she got to know them all through his eyes and through thousands of interactions, the peculiar bond he shared with Thorne, their leader, with Medichi and his love of wine, with Jean-Pierre and his love of women, Santiago and his ability with weapons, Zacharius and his vanity, Luken and his gentle soul, even Marcus before the terrible breach tore them apart at Helena’s death.
My turn whipped through her mind. She felt a great wave rise up as he moved her out of his head and started to penetrate hers. He turned her bodily at the same time, so that when he crashed fully inside her mind, he was pounding her hard. She let him but couldn’t lift even a finger to touch him. She was overwhelmed with his presence in a way that set every nerve in her body on fire. She shared her life with him, her history as he had, holding back only the new life within and her strange telepathic conversation with Leto.
Otherwise, he filled every hidden cache of her memories. Rapture once more approached, spearing her deep between her legs where he had taken possession of her body, where his cock thrust. The sensation of intense pleasure spread upward through her torso, engaged her heart, swept into her head and cast fireworks around until she screamed the orgasm over and over and over. The resulting roll of power took him into the air, her hips with him since he refused to lose the connection. Landing back on the bed, he spun her out, thrust, retreated, thrust harder, rolled his hips, and sucked on her neck.
Come for me, she sent as her own orgasm barreled down on her once more. Now. I need all of you.
She cried out as pleasure took hold of her, a great fire in the well of her body. As the sensation increased, she cried out over and over, another wave of power punching at him.
He shouted, groaned, cursed, then with a final cry spent himself hard into her, thrusting until completely sated.
At last, he lowered himself back onto her.
Now her arms could move … well, a little. She wrapped them around his broad shoulders and drew in a ragged breath.
“Awesome,” she murmured. “Let’s do it all over again in about fifteen minutes.”
He laughed, bouncing on her chest. “I love you, Alison. I’m so in love with you. There, I’ve said it. I love you.”
Alison’s heart swelled. To hear him speak of love—! And yet there was something in his tone, an edge of desperation that caused her a ripple of concern. She had been inside his head. She had seen his grief after Helena and the children died, she had felt the impact of two hundred years of keeping his vows so he wouldn’t be a threat to another woman ever again.
She breathed in and out, struggling to find the right words, but nothing came to her, no gentle ease-into phrasing, just four words and she said them aloud now: “Tell me what happened.”
* * *
Kerrick lifted up and looked at her. He knew exactly what she meant, what she wanted to know.
Christ. He drew out of her, breaking the erotic connection. He slid his hips to the edge of the mattress, his legs following. When she turned on her side away from him, he stroked the back of her neck. Right now he wanted to bolt, to leap out of bed, to run hard, away from the house, away from her, away from the subject. He didn’t want to talk about Helena or his children, not with Alison, especially not Alison, because this was his failure, his greatest failure.
He had let her inside his mind, let her romp around, and he’d loved it but it also meant she had seen his past, especially the nature of his grief. She was also a therapist so of course she would want him to talk. This far down the road, he saw no point in trying to evade the subject.
He summoned a breath then another. He let the words flow. “I was fighting. It wasn’t very late, maybe eight o’clock. I was at the north end of the White Tank Mountains on Second. That night Greaves hammered us with pretty-boys at every Borderland, which was unusual at the time.
“Thorne suspected something big was going down. We all did. We just couldn’t imagine what, which meant we didn’t know what to prepare for.
“Helena wasn’t powerful like you although she had a few fully developed gifts. Her telepathy was perfect. If she had been more powerful, if she had been able to sense something was coming, if she’d had even a small piece of the clairvoyance I know you have she could have summoned me and together we could have done something. At least, I think we could have. I don’t know because I wasn’t there when it happened. Maybe I would have misread the situation as well.” He paused. He didn’t want to speak the words.
To her credit, she remained silent, letting him find his way.
“Helena and I engaged in full communion—body, blood, mind—so we were very close, as close at two ascenders can be just short of the breh-hedden, but it wasn’t enough to help us that night.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “What was the difference, then? I mean why wasn’t your full communion with Helena the same as the breh-hedden? I don’t understand.”
He frowned. Shit, this hurt because it went to the central issue, the reason he should never have married Helena in the first place. “Because of the difference between telepathy and mind-engagement. Helena didn’t have your power. I couldn’t be in her mind the way I can be in yours, because I would have hurt her. Nor could Helena be in my mind, because she didn’t have the capacity. We were able to communicate telepathically, but that is still very different from mind-engagement.
“All ascenders can take part in some level of full communion by making use of telepathy, but most ascenders can’t get into the head of another. Some believe mind-diving is more a Third Earth ability than a Second Earth power, which is why the breh-hedden is extremely rare and occurs only among the Warriors of the Blood … and powerful women.” His throat felt choked and raw. “Helena just wasn’t advanced, not like you. Other than Endelle, there is no one like you in our world.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. His chest was tight and his heart pounded at the memories. He took another deep breath and continued. “As for Helena and what happened that night, because of her telepathic abilities and because there had been a lull in the battle, we were talking back and forth within our minds. It was wonderful. She and the children had just come back from town. They’d unhitched the horses. She was very big on making sure our kids learned those kinds of skills early. Kerr and Christine always complained, of course, but at nine and seven those two knew how to care for any of the horses we had on the property and how to keep the wagons and carriages in good shape even if they couldn’t yet do the work themselves.
“God, I was proud of them, all of them. Helena was a wonderful mother, patient, kind.” A new weight descended on his chest and his throat grew tight, the memory pulling hard now. “So, she was in my head, telepathically telling me about some fabric she had just purchased, a recent import from Mortal France, a very fine silk, when the communication was suddenly disrupted.” He remembered the moment as though it were yesterday. “I was standing and before I knew what had happened I was sitting, my head in my hands, tears rushing out of my eyes for no apparent reason … except I knew, I knew they were gone, all of them.
“The stable had been rigged with enough gunpowder to blow a hole through a mountain. The Commander wasn’t leaving anything to chance. In addition to my family, two of the servants died as well. They’d been in the stable helping out, as they always did.”
He felt Alison release a deep breath. “Was the Commander ever charged with the crime?”
“There was no proof of his complicity but he offered up a pair of death vamps for trial. They were convicted and hanged on the flimsiest evidence. Were they guilty? Who knows. I will always lay the crime at the Commander’s feet. He was the one with the motivation.”
He took a breath in, shoved one out. He ached into the pit of his stomach. This was why he didn’t like to talk about what happened. The memories were as fresh as yesterday. The pain as real.
“So you believe he killed your family to hurt you.”
“Demoralizing an enemy is a legitimate tactic of war.”
She turned toward him and looked into his eyes. She kissed him. She kissed him over and over, her hands on his face, her fingers gliding into his hair. She kissed his lips, again and again, pushing at him, her tongue driving into his mouth, her arms snaking around his neck, her body lush, warm, and alive against his.
He drew back and looked into her eyes once more, wet blue eyes, rimmed in gold, sparkling, telling him things she neither spoke aloud nor into his mind, desperate things made up of hopes and dreams.
She kissed him again, those insistent pushing kisses, working his mouth, her body writhing against his. She was here, she was now, she was alive, all for him, to comfort him, to listen to his pain, to hear it, to feel it, to accept all that he was, even his profound failure.
He rolled her onto her back, hard once more, ready for her. When he drove into her, he looked into her eyes and never stopped looking; nor did she shift her gaze away from him even for one passion-drenched moment. Instead the frenzy became about the now of his life and the now of her life, her ascension that would mean everything to him, that would herald a new, shared future, God help them both.
When her climax took hold of her, and her power punched against his abdomen, blue eyes still locked to his, he spent himself in a wicked blur of movement.
As his body settled down, she kept nodding then finally said what was in his heart as well: “Tonight, at my ascension ceremony, our life together begins. I’ll be free of the Commander. The death vamps won’t be hunting me anymore.”
He nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered, but he kissed her hard and ignored the desperate feeling of the moment. Would they truly begin a new life or was this just one big massive lie?
* * *
Alison stood in the middle of the marble floor beneath the enormous central rotunda of Endelle’s palace with Havily just off to her left side and behind her a foot. She was almost home free. She could feel it. Once she completed the ascension ceremony, Darian—the Commander—would have no legal right to continue his attack on her. According to everything she understood about ascending, he would turn his efforts in another direction, perhaps to another ascension-in-progress, who knew?
What she didn’t understand and what made her nervous right now was why Greaves hadn’t attempted another attack. She didn’t know what to make of it, a circumstance that caused her to look over her shoulder more than once, and the fresh air from the open walls did little to calm her nerves.
Despite her concerns, however, this was the moment she had been waiting for, the completion of her process of ascension, the point at which she would become … an ascender … a vampire … an immortal.
She weaved on her feet. She ordered her mind, or tried to.
Endelle stood in front of her, nearly ten feet away. She wore a formal black robe, which just barely touched the top straps of her stilettos. She held out her right hand and a book appeared. She grimaced, flipped through several pages, put her forefinger on a paragraph, and started reading.
The words spoke of the beauty of the dimensional worlds, the exalted nature of ascension, of the community Alison was entering, and of the depth of responsibility each ascender bore to the future of Second Earth. Service was hailed as the greatest privilege and chief duty of every resident of Second. Alison tried to take in what was being said, but Endelle’s frequent sighs and rather bored voice dominated the meaning of the text.
Kerrick stood in guardian position behind Alison and just to her right, his mind never far, a calming, hovering presence with a gentle touch against her thoughts.
The Warriors of the Blood were stationed behind both Kerrick and Havily, in formal regalia—minus the heavy brass breastplates—all seven warriors, including Marcus. Warrior Marcus’s acceptance among the warriors had apparently increased with each successive night of battling.
She could feel the heat of so many large male bodies behind her. But they shifted on their feet, cleared throats, and released breaths. The Commander had been quiet since the Tolleson arena battle, which made all of them uneasy, like that old expression about waiting for the other shoe to drop, only it wouldn’t be a shoe, it would be a sword, a lot of swords.
A cool breeze flowed over Alison from the open walls. The absence of doors, walls, and windows gave an impression of an Olympian dwelling, especially since the palace had been built out from the side of the McDowell Mountains.
Yes, Olympus came to mind. Alison smiled for if she could have made a comparison, Juno suited Madame Endelle quite well. The goddesses of Olympus were remarkably self-involved, unsympathetic in nature, demanding, and of course very beautiful. Yes, very much Juno.
Endelle’s voice broke through Alison’s thoughts. “Do you agree to serve Second Earth with a mind and heart dedicated to service?”
Alison nodded. “I do.”
“Do you agree to abide by the laws of Second Earth, especially as they apply to the limitations of involvement with Mortal Earth?”
“I do.”
“And do you solemnly pledge your loyalty to me, as Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth?”
“I do.”
“You may approach.”
Alison moved forward to stand three feet in front of her.
“Closer,” Endelle commanded.
Alison took two steps to position herself within a foot of her. Endelle folded the large ceremonial book away. She placed her hands on Alison’s face over both cheeks, her fingers spreading to cup her jaws as well. Endelle’s skin felt warm against hers and soon grew warmer.
“I hereby imbue you with Second immortality, all the qualities that will allow for long life and the sharing of blood and potions. May you bring peace to our world.”
As power flowed from Endelle, Alison closed her eyes and parted her lips. She took deep breaths, absorbing the sensations with some difficulty though she wasn’t certain why.
“Dammit, Alison,” Endelle cried. “Release your shields! So damn stubborn. So ridiculously powerful!”
She let go and a warm wave flowed through her body. The sensation was like swimming in tropical waters. She felt covered, surrounded, filled, oddly complete, as though until this moment something unknown had been missing from her life. Her eyes filled with tears.
So this was ascension, the true gift of ascended life, a wonderful ease, a sense of belonging and oneness. Was this what everyone felt?
Every ascension is different. Kerrick had told her that.
She opened her eyes and met Endelle’s gaze. For once, the leader of Second didn’t seem so hardened. Even the wooded appearance of her eyes had softened and she actually smiled. “Congratulations. You have completed your rite of ascension. From this moment forward, should Commander Greaves or any of his minions have the temerity to attack you, any or all will be held accountable under the full weight of the law. I say this to assure you that none of us expect further aggression. With that said, welcome, vampire ascender Wells.”
“Thank you,” Alison responded. She nodded several times. “Thank you.” Her mouth felt strange, her gums achy. Huh. The presence of fangs? Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of what she might do with her fangs and how Kerrick had used his when pleasuring her. Her body responded improperly and she took more deep breaths to compose herself.
“Turn around, ascender Wells, and greet your fellow countrymen.”
She turned slowly, her heart so full she couldn’t speak. The warriors set up a loud applause coupled with whistles and shouts. Havily grinned.
Kerrick smiled his crooked, off-center smile. He nodded and a blast of cardamom hit her square in the chest.
She staggered beneath the blow, but she smiled. She was like him now, truly his equal, and she couldn’t wait to be with him again.
He crossed to her quickly then gathered her into his arms and embraced her. “I didn’t know,” she murmured into his neck. “To think, I might have refused this.” He held her for a good long moment. She could feel the tension in every limb, in the way he held her so tight, a combination of fear and love.
He caught her chin with his fingers and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Welcome to Second.”
When she met his gaze, she got lost, thinking of all they’d been through and all the ways he had made love to her, and should life be even a little fair, all the beautiful centuries they would have together. God willing.
But even then, as the warriors congratulated her, she watched them always checking over their shoulders, gazes shifting about, prowling, always on guard, fists bunching as though preparing any moment to bring swords into their hands.
Doubt ripped through her suddenly.
Would Kerrick and she truly have a life together or were they kidding themselves?
A servant arrived in the doorway and announced that dinner was served. Endelle’s stilettos clicked across the marble as she led the way into the dining hall.
Kerrick offered his arm, and together they fell in behind Her Supremeness.
Alison glanced behind her. Havily had taken Luken’s arm. The rest of the warriors also followed, except two. As she crossed the threshold she had a final glimpse of both Marcus and Santiago standing near the open wall, staring deep into the landscape beyond, hunting, searching. Santiago lifted his gaze to the skies.
She knew what they were searching for—death vamps.
A chill traveled down her spine, gripping her skin in a tight ripple of fear. No matter the assurances, this was her life now that she had ascended.
* * *
Marcus took up last place in line to go into dinner, waiting until Santiago completed his visual sweep of the exterior. His hand itched for his sword. He didn’t like the setup even though Thorne insisted the palace had a state-of-the-art security system. He hated the open walls.
What the hell was Endelle thinking? An attack could come from so many directions, through the various connected rotundas, all of which, by the way, were large enough for death vamps to take to the air.
As the party moved into the dining room, once more he looked up. The ceilings were tall motherf*ckers and would allow for anything in flight to climb high then descend at will like a rocket.
The dining room was vast and would no doubt accommodate more than a dozen large round tables for a sit-down dinner of a hundred. So yeah, the space could easily shelter a small war. Especially tonight, with only one table set for the celebration dinner.
In the round. F*ck. He’d be able to see Kerrick easily and the sonofabitch could see him.
He shouldn’t even be here and resented the hell out of the fact that Endelle had insisted. What was the point? Alison had just completed her ascension ceremony. She was safe now—or at least as safe as she would ever be—and he could go back to his life on Mortal Earth, his real life. He ought to just leave but taking off would only piss Her Supremeness off, which was never a good thing. He wasn’t dismissed until she let him go. No questions or complaints allowed.
He avoided eye contact with Kerrick. Ever since they’d gone head-to-head, a silent truce had characterized their subsequent interactions. Of course he had one major distraction on hand, which kept him occupied most of the time anyway … Havily.
She looked incredibly tempting in a simple black dress and somewhat boxy black shoes. All that black coupled with her peachy-red hair, which hung in glossy waves to the center of her back, made him ache.
Thank God she’d gone in just after Alison and Kerrick. Luken had offered his arm and she’d taken it. Night had fallen and somehow her honeysuckle scent had gotten heavier and thicker as the hours wore on. He had a hard-on he just couldn’t seem to get rid of.
As he strolled behind Medichi, he had to admit one damn thing—Havily was his f*cking breh. Four thousand years, one wife divorced, two wives buried, and at the dawn of all-hell-is-about-to-break-loose the woman meant for him shows up in the Sonoran Desert Two, looking like heaven and smelling like sin. Never had he been so drawn to a woman, so enthralled by her presence and by her scent. And he knew, he knew, she was equally attracted to him. She was also pissed off about it, since the disdain in her expression when she glanced his way was full of fire and brimstone.
He was a deserter and she despised him.
EOS.
So what the hell did any of it matter? He could give an armadillo’s spleen what she thought of him and the hell he would ever take a breh, a real breh.
Goddammit. He just wished to hell she wasn’t touching Luken. Her hand on his arm made him want to mount his wings, draw his sword, then slice the bastard all to hell.
Shit, he needed to get back to his life, to his numerous corporations, to his empire building. He could forget all about the woman if he no longer had to be around sniffing her and throwing wood one minute out of every two. Jesus. Four millennia and he might as well have been sixteen years old again.
As he took a seat two away from Kerrick so he wouldn’t be opposite him, he glanced at Endelle. She sat in a throne-like chair to emphasize her rank. He narrowed his eyes. Had she orchestrated this? All the centuries he’d been battling death vamps on her behalf, since the year 1997 BC, only one other warrior had ever found a true breh. Even Kerrick had admitted Helena hadn’t fallen into that category. Helena hadn’t been powerful enough, which had been one half of the problem, one half of the reason she had died. She hadn’t been able to sense the future, to get herself or her children out of harm’s way.
But those thoughts were a black hole and he wouldn’t go there. Otherwise he’d find some excuse to provoke Kerrick and once more beat the shit out of him, or at least try to.
He sucked in a breath. He just had to wait this evening out, maybe make war tonight if the pretty-boys showed up, then get permission to get the f*ck out. He settled his shoulders back and as soon as the wait staff started pouring wine, he started drinking.
After two full glasses, he looked up to find Alison’s gaze on his. Compassion rested in those blue eyes of hers. Jesus H. Christ. So the bastard had told her what happened to Helena. F*ck. She inclined her head then looked away, thank God.
He caught a waiter’s eye, lifted his glass, and watched the white wine climb up the bowl.
He still couldn’t believe the Third Earth powers she’d demonstrated while fighting Leto. Jesus, talk about power. She had all of Second’s abilities, like Endelle on her ascension, plus a few of Third’s. That was one boatload of ability. Hell, maybe she’d stay alive for the bastard.
A nerve on his cheek twitched. He sucked back more of the white wine. So Alison Wells was Kerrick’s breh, when Helena hadn’t been. A flood of expletives sloshed through his head all over again. And Alison was here and now, which meant Kerrick got to be happy, that goddamn motherf*cker.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down all over again.
The salad arrived, which he ignored.
He kept drinking, wishing like hell he had Scotch to the rim instead of Sauvignon Blanc.
He felt a bump on his arm. Medichi lowered his head, “Hey. Pass the rolls, a*shole.”
Marcus took the damn basket then shoved it at Zach to his left. Unfortunately, somewhere in that movement, his gaze landed on Havily. He would have looked away but she met his gaze head-on. Her cheeks turned pink and a sudden wave of honeysuckle had him swallowing the white wine like he was dying of thirst.
* * *
Havily wished herself gone, long gone.
Being in the same room with Warrior Marcus had become a physical torture, the kind she craved and despised all at the same time.
The lovely beet and walnut salad, which she had been unable to touch, was removed and a savory entrée placed in front of her. But all she could do was pick at the sage and rosemary chicken breast, sautéed green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes. The tastes might have pleased her enormously had it not been for one thing—all she could smell was that ridiculous fennel scent, which now puffed at her in great clouds from across the table. She wished Warrior Marcus would stop doing whatever it was he was doing. Her nose was clogged with his smell, which in turn kept her achy deep into her abdomen.
She stretched her back.
She felt like she was ovulating and now she struggled to breathe. Her breasts were swollen and her bra was way too tight. Luken, who towered over her, could see down the bodice of her dress and his gaze fell there often. He’d had a thing for her over the past few decades, since he’d served as her guardian. She wished she hadn’t sat beside him. He kept leaning close and asking her tender questions. Of course they were tender, he was Luken, the giant with the beautiful heart.
She just wasn’t interested in him, not romantically. She ought to be, though. He was sweet and kind and honorable. But that was always the difficulty with attraction, with love—the choice was not always the most sensible, rational, or realistic.
Not that she was choosing anyone! She wasn’t. She would never choose Warrior Marcus.
She was, however, grateful that after tonight, she wouldn’t be seeing any of the warriors for a good long while. They’d go back to making war, Marcus would undoubtedly return to Mortal Earth, and she would begin rebuilding her architectural rendering of the new military-admin complex.
She cut a slice of chicken, stacked it with a cut green bean, and bathed it in mashed potatoes—the perfect bite. She opened her mouth but all she could smell was fennel. Oh, for God’s sake. She glared at Marcus. Why wouldn’t he stop doing whatever it was he was doing? And why didn’t anyone else complain of the smell, the luscious, erotic fennel he kept casting at her as though he wanted her buried in the stuff.
His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze but he looked away then picked up his wineglass … again.
She had to do something to get her mind off of his absurd scent. She glanced at Santiago, who sat between Jean-Pierre and Medichi. “Anything new on the weapons front?” she asked. He was incredibly handsome in a Latin way, sensual lips, an interesting nose with a few traceable curves. Even his nose was sexy.
He nodded. “A woman after my own corazón. Now, why can’t I meet a woman who will talk metals with me?”
Jean-Pierre elbowed him. “You always bite first and never ask questions later, that’s why.”
“F*ck you, amigo,” Santiago responded.
Jean-Pierre laughed, his long elegant fingers pulling meat off a bone. Jean-Pierre had a faint French accent and very sexy, really beautiful hands.
Havily just shook her head and laughed. How would she ever get a straight answer when the warriors were in a group like this? They always cut one another down, in a friendly way, of course, like brothers.
She gave up on enjoying her dinner, picked up her wineglass, and leaned back in her seat. “Well, what are you working on right now? You always have something on the design table.”
He leaned forward, his brows together. He chewed in his slow measured way. He never seemed to do anything in haste. He showed care and thoroughness, even while eating. “Zach and I keep talking about how we want a weapon halfway between a sword and a dagger. Daggers are good. But I’d like something that throws like a dagger but is more effective, does more damage in a combat situation, something bigger.”
Havily nodded. “What length would work the best, do you think?” It was so the wrong question to ask. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth and she could feel the heat rise on her cheeks even before he answered.
Santiago chuckled, leaned back, then with just a hint of fangs offered his sexiest vampire grin, an easy thing to do with all his beauty. “I have a way to measure that would be perfection,” he said, casting his arms on the back of Jean-Pierre’s chair and Medichi’s to his left. She had no doubt exactly what he was referring to.
She might have drowned in embarrassment if she hadn’t at one time been engaged to a Militia Warrior. Instead she rolled her eyes.
The men guffawed.
“You’re dreaming again,” Jean-Pierre said.
“You’re jealous.”
“Of that?” He glanced at Santiago’s lap. “Bah.”
Havily sipped her wine then shook her head.
Men.
Warriors.
Whatever.
Death comes.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth