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Fuck. He didn’t know what he was going to say.
Finally, he just pounded on the door and closed his eyes. He ushered up a swift prayer to the Creator for wisdom and the right words. God help him.
But when Kerrick opened the door, wearing jeans and a damp T-shirt, his wet warrior hair hanging past his shoulders, his head shrouded in white terry cloth, words failed Marcus.
In a flash, the kind rumored to occur at the point of death, images flew through his mind, of meeting Kerrick some twelve hundred years ago when Kerrick was inducted into the Warriors of the Blood, of battling death vampires side by side with the brother, of a thousand conversations on every possible subject, of Kerrick having his back at the Blood and Bite and the other way around, of having stood up for him at his marriage to Helena, of having loved Kerrick like a brother, of having trusted him implicitly.
For all those reasons, yeah, words failed.
But his emotions didn’t. His goddamn eyes burned as he just stared at the man. He felt as though someone had driven a stake through his heart.
Kerrick pulled the towel from his head and the terry slipped to the floor. “Marcus.” His shoulders dropped. His head wagged from side to side. “Marcus,” he said again. And finally, “My brother.”
How he ended up in a powerful embrace with Kerrick, he didn’t know, nor did a single word of apology rise to his lips. All he could think to say was, “I loved my sister.”
“I loved her, too,” came back at him.
This was what had always bound them together. Helena.
“I was too angry to think straight,” Kerrick confessed. “And just as you blamed me, I blamed myself.”
Marcus nodded. “I loved her and losing her and the kids, it was too much. The fighting, too.”
Kerrick put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain anything to me ever. What you said to me, believe me, I said worse things to myself.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“It doesn’t matter. Living is what matters.”
Marcus nodded. “Then we’re okay?”
“Absolutely.”
Marcus nodded again. “Good. That’s good.”
He looked behind him, to the west, in the direction of the White Tank Mountains. He turned back to Kerrick. “I have things to take care of.”
At that Kerrick smiled; he even chuckled. “Yeah. You do. I’d offer some advice but … wouldn’t do any good.”
Marcus nodded. “Probably not.” Then he laughed as well. “Shit, the breh-hedden. I thought it was a myth.”
“It’s one helluva ride, though,” Kerrick said.
The conversation was about to fall into the foot-shuffling stage, so he straightened his shoulders. “Later, Kerrick.”
“Later, my brother.”
Marcus nodded, lifted his hand, and dematerialized. As he landed in the foyer of Medichi’s villa, he put a hand to his chest. Shit he hurt. It was a good kind of hurt, but still, he hurt.
He took a couple of deep breaths, which helped. But what helped more was hearing the laughter of two women in the distance, coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Havily’s scent, her beautiful honeysuckle reached him at the same time. He closed his eyes and breathed in. As long as he lived he vowed the smell of that flower would forever remind him of the feeling of coming home. Because that’s what he felt like right now, as though he was coming home.
He found the women in the dining room, both perched at the top of ladders that were situated at opposite ends of the long formal dining table. They taped twisted red streamers to the fifteen-foot-high ceiling.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Are we having a party or something?”
Havily turned and looked at him. She gave a cry, let her end of the streamer drop, and literally dove from the height of the ladder into his arms. He smiled and caught her easily enough, but said, “You sure trust me. What if I’d stepped back a few inches?”
“You’d never do that.” Her lips were on his and her very sweet honeysuckle tongue was suddenly in his mouth. Oh, shit, she felt good, but if she kept this up he’d have to excuse them both and take her straight to their bedroom.
He pulled back and smiled at her. “Wait,” he said. He’d added a little resonance so that her peachy-red brows lifted.
“You sure?” she asked. She waggled her brows, growled, and a wave of honeysuckle shrank the fine tailoring of his pants.
He took more deep breaths, nodded, then lowered her to her feet. He glanced up at Parisa, who now sat on the top step of her ladder working not to look at them. “How are you doing, Parisa?” he asked.
She glanced down at him and smiled. “Really good, thank you.” She glanced at Havily. “We’ve been flying.”
Havily turned back to him, her arms still around his neck. “You should see her,” she cried. “She can do a front flip then float down to land on her feet. I couldn’t even do that for the entire first year. She has amazing flight capabilities. She could perform in the spectacle circuits, if she wanted.”
Marcus thought he might suggest to Havily that she keep that particular idea to herself. He knew how the breh-hedden affected him, and the sheer logistics that would be involved trying to protect his woman during a spectacle performance made his head spin. He didn’t think Medichi needed those images right now.
He kept his counsel and instead smiled up at Parisa. “Flying’s great. So, this looks like a party. What are we celebrating?”
“Zach’s birthday.”
“That’s terrific but Parisa, why are you suddenly frowning?”
Parisa sighed. “Because Endelle’s coming to the party.”
“No shit. Well, that has to be a first.”
“Hey,” Havily said. “I invited her. Besides, her bark is worse than her bite.”
“This from you?” Marcus cried.
She shrugged. “We’ve kind of made up, at least for now.”
Marcus could only laugh but he took the opportunity to kiss her again … briefly. “And how are you doing?”
“Perfect,” she said. She looked and sounded as though she meant it. “I had a long talk with Endelle and we got a lot of things settled. So yeah, I’m good.”
He nodded. “Okay, that’s fine, but what I want to know is if you have any dizziness, any ill effects from the forge.”
She shook her head. “Really, I’m okay. No dizziness. I’m just so glad you’re home.”
