“You were married then?”
“Yes. A long time ago. Nineteen hundred two.”
He chuckled.
“Why do you laugh?” she asked. Couldn’t she even say that she’d been married without him laughing or smirking? “You know, you bug the hell out of me.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, his gaze was kinder. “I didn’t mean to offend you. But 1902 just doesn’t seem that long ago.”
“Right.”
He nodded. “Believe me, a hundred years is a flash of lightning in the scheme of things.”
He seemed tired suddenly as he moved to the window and looked down again, always looking down.
She knew he was four thousand years old. She tried to process that much time but couldn’t. She put her hand to her forehead. She was tired and her neck ached. The fact that she hadn’t gotten much sleep was getting to her. “Look. We don’t need to drag this out. The truth is, I don’t understand what’s happening at night … in my or maybe
our
dreams. I can’t seem to control what’s happening, but I do know that every night I come to a place of consciousness in which I’m very awake, very aware of what we’re doing. Can you tell me when that happens for you? When you become fully awake and aware?”
He looked uncomfortable as he shifted on his feet.
She gasped. “Are you telling me that you’re awake earlier than I am?”
He shrugged and looked at her over his shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m not about to shove a beautiful woman out of my bed when she wakes me up the way you do. No man of sense would. I just didn’t realize how serious this was until last night, when…”
She caught his gist and her cheeks flamed hot all over again. She knew exactly what he was referring to. She shaded her eyes with her hand. She couldn’t even look at him. At the very least, the evidence of a man’s orgasm was
messy
, but to be talking about it, referring to it, made her want to disappear from the face of the earth. The truth in this situation really distressed her—she didn’t know this man and yet here they were discussing his …
seed.
He moved to the chair set at a right angle to the couch. She heard the leather creak as he sat down. “Havily … I’m sorry. Shit, I’d undo this if I could. But you’re right. We need to press on, get through this, and end it.
“As I was saying, I really wasn’t sure what was going on between us. It felt real and yet there was a rim of darkness all around the space we shared. Did you notice that?”
She let her hand drop away and leaned back. “Yes, I did.”
He nodded, and the sincerity in his face eased her embarrassment. She said, “What I’m asking is this: If I come to you again, will you awaken me early on so that we can try to end this impossible situation, not let it happen again?”
His gaze was considering, as though he weighed her words, held them in his hands, judged them. Finally, he said, “I will awaken you early on and I promise I won’t attempt to draw you farther into sleep or to seduce you ever again.”
She released a deep sigh. “Thank you for that. I’m truly … grateful.” She rose to her feet. “There is one more thing. I was commissioned to ask you to return to service as a Warrior of the Blood. What can I tell my boss?”
He stood up as well. “You mean, Endelle sent you to beg on her behalf?”
Havily nodded.
“She expected you to
persuade
me?”
Havily smiled suddenly. “I don’t think she knows you very well for all her nine thousand years. Even I understand how mulish you are. For that matter, the two of you have a lot in common. Still, she did know what happened at the palace between us, our
attraction
to each other, so she assumed I had some sort of power over you. But I can think of few things less likely than you returning to Second Earth. Tell me I am mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken. I will not return.”
* * *
Later that night Havily lay in bed, watching the bounce and spin of the glittery paper butterflies that hung suspended from the ceiling. The air-conditioning had come on, and the artificial breeze put the small winged creatures in flight. There were probably a hundred of them.
She had started with twelve, then kept adding to the collection over the years, as inspiration struck. The whole thing was one large piece of whimsy in what was otherwise a dull room of white walls, a green comforter, and black sheets, a room that never enjoyed any activity other than sleep.
She sighed. She had spent the last several hours reviewing her visit to Mortal Earth and her conversation with Marcus. She still couldn’t believe that
she,
and not he, had been the creator of their nightly engagements.
She thought back to her vision of Luken and his wings on fire as he fell to the earth. Her vision of him had saved his life, since she had acted on what she had seen.
But how had she
seen
him? That’s what didn’t make sense to her, which led her once more back to Marcus. How had she engaged him in that nowhere kind of space, some alternate version of his bedroom in his house on Bainbridge? And when her vision of Luken had come to her, she had been sitting
in the desert,
yet not in the desert. Where was this place she went to when she had her visions?
Could she get there again without having an erotic dream of Marcus or without seeing someone she loved caught in a burning sky?
She closed her eyes. She concentrated very hard. She tightened every muscle in her body. She thought about different places and willed herself to move there. She even thought about Marcus’s bed on Bainbridge Island, but nothing happened.
She sighed. She was so tired. She needed sleep badly.
The trouble was she feared waking up on top of Marcus again.
She put a hand to her chest and pressed hard. She needed to let him go. She really did. They could never have a life together. Her loyalty was to the Warriors of the Blood and he had betrayed them by leaving Second Earth and exiling himself in Seattle One.
But the mere thought of him, of being with him, of being engaged sexually with him, sent her fatigue flying away from her brain.
She groaned and rolled out of bed. She wore another cream lace nightgown, this one with a pleat down the center just below a high bodice. She wondered if Marcus would like it. Of course he would. He wore Tom Ford and looked like he stepped from the pages of
GQ.
And she loved his hair longer. She was used to warrior hair, which she thought extremely sexy.
So what did it mean that she and Marcus had been brought together like this? Some horrible trick of fate? He was so the last man she would have chosen for herself—except in physical essentials, of course. What red-blooded female wouldn’t want Warrior Marcus? He was built like a Greek god, or in this case a Sumerian deity.
She paced her bedroom, the soft fabric of her long nightgown brushing between her legs, the silky texture a sensual glide over her skin. Even her nightgown made her wish for things she shouldn’t be wishing for.
She paced to the windows and felt a vibration of air behind her. She whirled around, her heart flying upward. “Marcus?” she whispered. Had he come to her? Had he needed further talk? Oh, would he take her to bed? Hope soared. “Marcus?”
A man emerged—a very large muscled man with pale, bluish skin. “Not exactly.”
She took a step backward. “Who are you?” She didn’t know the vampire but he was huge, warrior huge. He was muscular and fighting-lean but he didn’t have a sword in his hand; nor did he wear a weapons harness. He didn’t even have on a shirt, just a black leather kilt and battle sandals. His complexion was very pale and he was unearthly beautiful. Oh, dear God.
“My name is Crace,” he said quietly, his voice a seductive lure.
She was about to lift her hand and dematerialize but his hand shot up into the air and she felt the field, a powerful one, fall around her. Panicked, she tried again to dematerialize but couldn’t. She couldn’t even move.
“What do you want?” she cried.
His gaze drifted down her body, paused at her breasts, then fell the length of her. He blinked and brought his eyes back to meet hers. “First, your blood, at least some of it. Then we’ll just have to see.”
Oh, God, oh, God.
She had only one recourse. She drew inward mentally and sent a cry for help straight to Warrior Medichi.
Death vampire,
she sent.
In my bedroom.
“Shit,” the death vampire cried out. “You’ve got a fucking link. Well, he won’t get here in time, my dear.”
Then the big body, bearing fangs, descended on her. Behind him she saw four additional death vampires, waiting, more beautiful unearthly creatures that moved like fog into her bedroom, apparently ready and willing to watch the fun and wait for turns.
As sharp fangs punctured her skin, she cried out in pain. The monster tore her neck open. Oh, God. Her mind spun. Would the link work? God help her if it didn’t.
* * *
Deep within Medichi’s mind, Havily’s cry for help sounded like the shriek of a hawk. When her words pierced his brain, he cried out in agony because he couldn’t stop what he was doing to fold to her position. Three death vamps had him fully engaged on Mortal Earth, at the White Tanks Dimensional Borderland.
He had to get to her.
Time to get fucking serious. He dipped his chin and pulled his dagger from his weapons harness. While clanging swords with his right hand he let the dagger fly and caught the pretty-boy to his left straight in the eye. The bastard flew backward screaming.
Behind him, he felt the air move. He spun, ducked, and shoved his sword deep into the belly of the second vampire. At almost the same moment, as he moved with preternatural speed, he whirled back and his sword rasped against metal once more.
His last opponent was skilled, a Japanese warrior who knew how to wield a sword. A battle, blade upon blade, would take too fucking long. Medichi dematerialized and re-formed behind the bastard, catching him straight through the spine.
He didn’t wait to see if more came; nor did he call Jeannie at Central for cleanup. He had to get to Camelback Mountain. Now.
He folded to Havily’s patio. Behind the master bedroom window he saw an enormous warrior framed in the moonlight, bending her flailing body backward as he drank from her. She screamed and beat at him with her fists, but what chance did she have with that much raw muscle? Her movements slowed until her arms fell to her sides.
Even in the dim light, Medichi saw red.
He extended his hand, set up a field, and shattered the window, drawing it toward him, away from Havily.
The warrior drinking from her throat lifted his head. Medichi watched in slow motion as his fangs left the white throat. A smile formed on the bastard’s face. A look of euphoria hit him as he dropped Havily, letting her fall to the floor. Her eyes were closed, her body limp.
Medichi lowered his chin and went for him, sword in hand, but even before he reached the low windowsill the warrior lifted his hand. He dematerialized and four death vamps came into view. Medichi stepped over the threshold, ready to engage, but they disappeared as well, which meant the first bastard possessed enough power to take them along for the ride. Holy shit. Who was this ascender with the brawn of the Warriors of the Blood and power that came close to echoing the Commander?
Whatever.
Right now, Havily came first.
He folded his sword to his villa, fell to his knees, and examined her. Sweet Jesus, her throat was a mess. He lifted Havily into his arms, but she started fighting him and shouting, which was a good thing, except her nails bit into his arms.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered. “Havily. It’s me. Antony. I’m here. I’m here. He’s gone.”
She stilled, gasped, then cried out, a hand clutching her bloody neck. “Is he gone?”
“Yes. He’s gone. You’re safe now.”
He held her close then reached out with his senses into the rest of the house, searching for the enemy. But he found only a welcome stillness to the air. He carried her into the living room and laid her down on the couch. She sat up immediately as though afraid they would return, her hand still at her neck. Blood oozed between her fingers, and her legs shook. Shit.
She met his gaze, leaned forward, elbows on knees, then burst into tears. He watched her for a moment, his gaze drifting to the rivulets of blood that dripped down her chest and stained the lace of her nightgown. Fury filled him. He wanted that bastard’s blood on his sword and on the ground, pints of it until the death vampire was good and dead.
Her sobs increased in volume. He resisted taking her back in his arms, offering her that kind of comfort. He was already too vulnerable where she was concerned. Havily had somehow broken through his defenses and begun arousing something very tender, yet very primal within him. Not a good thing for so many reasons.
Because he knew the wound at her throat would heal, he was more worried about her mental state. She’d been attacked. She’d faced her death tonight, and he wasn’t exactly equipped to handle this kind of trauma.