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“No.” Thorne frowned. “A complete anomaly.”
Kerrick felt compelled to make his confession. “I left a card for her.”
Thorne snorted then backhanded his arm. “What the hell were you thinking? We are never supposed to interfere.”
“I thought between the Commander’s presence and the death vamp’s knowledge of her power she was already in the middle of a call to ascension. Couldn’t be a coincidence that the vamp went to the complex hunting for her, and apparently with a purpose to drain her, nor that I showed up shortly after.” He dropped his voice, turned slightly, and met Thorne’s gaze dead-on. “Something else happened. I really got into her.”
Thorne shook his head. “So exactly what are we talking here? How much?”
He dropped his voice one more notch. “Like I was the f**king German army and she was Poland.”
Thorne frowned, caught Sam’s eye, then popped his glass on the bar again. Sam moved in smoothly and filled. Thorne took a swig and met Kerrick’s gaze. “Is she here?”
“Nope, and believe me I’d know.”
“She’s fragrant, then?”
“Yep.”
“Damn. You know what this means, although, hell, I thought it was a myth.”
“We all did. I’m trying not to think about it. Besides, even if she shows, I have no intention of going after her.”
Thorne clapped him on the shoulder. “Think about it, though. If she’s so powerful, she’ll be right for you. This could be a good thing.”
Kerrick really didn’t want to hear any encouragement, not from Thorne, not from any of the brothers. “I took vows after Helena died.” EOS. He finished off the Maker’s.
Medichi leaned in from the side. “I’ve got a question.”
Kerrick turned in his direction and waited.
He swirled the Cabernet in his wineglass. He was the tallest of the brothers, topping out at six-seven with lean, powerful muscles. “What the hell are you ladies talking about?”
Before Kerrick could answer him, Zacharius rounded Medichi and butted in as well. “Yeah. You exchanging recipes or what?” Kerrick flipped him off.
Zacharius was the man, a vampire full of shit and swagger. His thick curly black hair, when he chose to release it from the cadroen, drove the ladies wild.
Thorne’s gravel-pit voice broke over Kerrick’s shoulder. “Well, ass**les, though it’s none of your business, we were just discussing warrior mate-bonding. Any thoughts?”
Zacharius turned white and headed back to his stool. Medichi crossed himself. Both warriors hunched over their drinks and disappeared for a while. Kerrick waggled his empty glass at Sam. Sam nodded and refilled.
A feminine moan shifted his attention down the bar, just past Zach. Jean-Pierre whispered a string of tender French words into the ear of his now panting female. He traced a long index finger along her collarbone. The other hand slid deep into her skimpy blue silk top.
Sam called to him, “Jean-Pierre, you know the rules. Mist and a booth or I’ll have to throw you out.”
Jean-Pierre met his gaze and lifted an arrogant brow. He bared his fangs and a lovely Gallic growl eased out of his throat.
Kerrick had to smile. The barkeep was half Jean-Pierre’s size, a small vampire, born on Second Earth, who’d find himself broken in half if he pushed the warrior. One of his privileges, however, since he served Endelle by keeping the club specifically to serve her warriors, was to order even the Warriors of the Blood around, at least on his premises.
Sam tipped his head to his bouncers, and a couple of giants stepped forward. Kerrick’s smile broadened. Regardless of their size, if they intended to engage Jean-Pierre, they’d both end up in the hospital in less than a minute.
When the warrior didn’t back down, Thorne lifted his head from his drink. “Goddammit, Jean-Pierre, get a booth. Now. Though why you have to forget the rules every other night…”
Jean-Pierre shrugged, laughed, then wrapped a ripped arm around the female’s shoulders and drew her away. The only order he would ever take was from Thorne.
He had a different take on the cadroen as well. He tied up his wild-looking brown waves with varying strips of brocade, a leftover affectation from his years at the court of Louis XVI.
“Fifteen minutes,” Thorne called after him.
“Quinze, bah.” He made use of his tongue again and the female sagged against him.
Zacharius hooted after Jean-Pierre, who in turn flipped him off. Jean-Pierre disappeared behind a layer of mist as he hauled his mortal female into one of many red velvet booths.
Fifteen minutes.
As usual, the warriors would be working the Borderlands throughout the night, on both Mortal Earth and Second, hunting the Commander’s death vampires. Kerrick’s muscles twitched. Fifteen minutes? He couldn’t wait.
Movement at the entrance caught his attention. Alison? Adrenaline punched through his veins once more, but it was only Luken and Santiago, the two remaining warriors. They strolled in, tall powerful vampires, each six-five plus.
Damn but if a petite redhead didn’t run at Santiago, leap on him, and throw her legs around his hips. He caught her easily and sucked on her neck. Her giggles rose above the noise of the club. Alcohol tended to elevate any voice, so even with the music off until Thorne wanted it back on, the place was alive with whistles, catcalls, and loud conversation. There were other sounds as well. Those, however, Kerrick ignored.
He picked up his glass, slid off the stool, and once more leaned his hips against the bar. He hooked Luken’s arm and palmed his hand.
Luken nodded then spoke in a low voice. “Heard about the mess in downtown earlier. Kids. Shit.”
Kerrick was taken right back there to finding the mortal woman and her children, broken and drained. He nodded then sucked back the rest of the Maker’s.
Luken clapped his shoulder, afterward moving down the row to greet his brothers. Kerrick followed with his gaze. Luken kept the peace and eased suffering. He was a massive warrior, with more muscle than even Kerrick, yet lean as hell. He had the heart of a saint and it meant something to have Luken acknowledge when shit went bad.
Kerrick shifted his gaze to the dance floor. Several couples remained, chatting, waiting until the music came back on, exchanging a few erotic kisses. Even Santiago waited with his redhead, his lips still fixed to her neck. He had the whole Latin thing going on and knew how to work it.
One Militia Warrior already had his fangs deep, his body arched over the female, who, hell, looked like she was ready to come.
