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“You were so wrong,” Zach said. “Looks like Sleeping Beauty is up after all.”
Marcus felt his wing-locks thrum and his biceps flex. As his c**k settled down, his aggression wound up. He smiled, rolled over, then sat up. “So what the f**k do you ass**les want?”
When Zacharius went for him, Marcus jumped to his feet, but Thorne moved like lightning and slid between them.
“Settle down, boys. Don’t waste all this precious juice on each other.” He turned to Marcus and shoved him back. “You can go to my digs, shave and shower. Don’t even think about folding back to Mortal Earth. Endelle would have me by the short hairs if you left Second, even to freshen up. She wants everyone tight.
“Kerrick has ascendiate duty until tomorrow night, at which time we expect all hell to break loose when Her Supremeness releases her mind-shield. And if you think Greaves won’t have something spectacular planned while we wait, you’re wrong.” He then delivered the assignments. “Luken to New River. Santiago, White Tanks. Zach take Awatukee. Jean-Pierre, you’ll be with me in the Superstitions, and Medichi, I want you with Sleeping Beauty downtown.”
“Fuck that,” Medichi said. “Can’t someone else babysit?”
Thorne got in his face, tight, hard. “You’ll do as I say.”
Marcus felt the heat off Thorne’s back. After a long tense moment, Medichi murmured, “Whatever you say, boss.”
Marcus scoffed, just a little snort off his left nostril. He only realized he’d f**ked up when Thorne’s fist landed on his face and broke his nose. Goddamn, he didn’t even see Thorne move.
“Shit,” he cried. Fortunately, the couch was behind him so he had a soft landing.
Blood poured down his face. Thorne bent over him and grabbed the hair at the top of his head. “That’s for taking off for two f**king centuries, you worthless piece of shit.”
Thorne pulled back, cradling his hand in the crook of his arm. Bending over at the waist, with his free hand he dipped into the deep pocket of his kilt then palmed his phone. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, Horace. I need you at the Cave. One of the warriors walked into a door.” He grimaced as he put his phone back in his pocket.
“Fuck you,” Marcus cried. Rage pounded through him now, a series of heavy waves pulsing against the inside of his skull. “I never asked to come back. I never would have come back.” He pulled up his tee and caught the blood flowing over his mouth.
Thorne stood over him, his hazel eyes red-rimmed, his mouth grim. “You’re not welcome here. Unfortunately, I have my orders just like you. I serve Endelle and will do whatever she asks of me, but I don’t have to f**king like it. And while you’re here, you’ll respect the warriors who have fought on while you were playing with your balls on Mortal Earth.” He put his hand on Marcus’s forehead then relayed the location of his home. “Go there now, before I really lose my temper. I’ll send Horace to you after he repairs the bones I just broke in my hand.”
Marcus didn’t wait. He felt like twelve kinds of shit. Thorne was right. He shouldn’t have left all those decades ago, yet if he’d stayed, he would have killed Kerrick. Those weren’t just words he’d said. The fury he had experienced when his sister and her kids died had demanded only one outlet—Kerrick’s blood—so he had left, without a word, without a good-bye to any of his brothers, only a message via Jeannie that he had exiled himself to Mortal Earth. The only conversation he’d had was with Endelle, a promise that if she ever truly needed him he’d come back—though only once, as a favor. So here the f**k he was and he hated every goddamn minute of it.
He dematerialized into the foyer of Thorne’s house, his shirt still pressed to his nose. He felt cool Mexican tile under his bare feet. The house had a warm feel and one helluva view of the Sedona cliffs, the massive two-thousand-foot Mogollon Rim.
So this was where Thorne had chosen to build his home. The colors were desert shades—sand, terra-cotta, a deep turquoise, purple, representative of the land, of the dusty sunsets, of a sun-drenched world, a dry world, the opposite of Marcus’s wet, cold Pacific Northwest environment. The change was oddly … soothing.
He waited where he was. His nose still bled freely and hurt like a bitch. His shirt wouldn’t do the job much longer. He needed Horace’s healing power before he took one more step into the house. So he’d stay put.
The rooms radiated off the entry in several directions, a sprawling maze ending in glass walls, which let in all that Arizona light. Doorways were arched from room to room and the texture had a hand-troweled look. Still, the place had a weird feel, an empty feel, even though the pillows on the various sofas and chairs were crushed like they’d been well used.
“Huh.”
He recognized the weird feel. It was just like his primary residence on Bainbridge Island. Well designed, architecturally pleasing, and goddamn solitary.
Shit. Didn’t that define them all? A bunch of lonely fighting bastards. He may not have brandished sword and dagger for the last twenty decades, but he’d run his corporations with same single-minded zeal, never leaving a single minute open for living a normal life.
Learning occurs,
When the body remembers.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 15
“I think this is ridiculous,” Alison cried. “I’m not a warrior. I don’t know the first thing about fighting and why would I need to be trained to battle?” She felt stuck inside a nightmare, unable to get out. Wasn’t it bad enough she’d already been hunted by a regiment in Carefree, then wounded? “Talk to me, Kerrick.”
The man in front of her, the warrior, now a stranger, merely dropped into a crouch position and stared at her abdomen. She felt the airwaves shift and knew he meant to attack. A jolt of adrenaline sent her flying into the air. She levitated swiftly as far as she could then held the position, spread-eagled, her back pressed into the long branches that covered the vaulted ceiling.
“Good,” he stated. “Anticipation is everything.”
“Did you hear what I said? I’m not a warrior! Stop this!”
He shook his head, lowered his chin, then launched toward her. She folded to the family room beside the sliding glass doors. She had never felt so out of control. Her mind raced, trying to find purchase, and her legs trembled.
Oh, God, what if she hurt him?
Her heart started pounding as he attacked again. His six-six powerhouse of a body blurred toward her and just as he would have struck her in the chest, she shot away from him.
