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He had told Ennis that he would be gone a few days, to sort this out, but he knew, he knew, he wouldn’t be going back. He’d returned to Second Earth, to this house, to Havily, to the goddamn f**king war.
He belonged here.
When he’d folded to the front door of her condo, he hadn’t thought he was making such a final decision, but he was. There’d be no going back even though he also knew to a certainty that whatever this was between himself and Havily, breh-hedden or not, wasn’t permanent, either.
His sister, Helena, had died because she’d married a Warrior of the Blood, and Marcus had every intention of picking up his sword and dagger again. Which meant that he wouldn’t take a wife, or in this case a breh. He wouldn’t do that to Havily—or any woman for that matter. Besides, what kind of hypocrite would that make him if he were to marry where he had once begged Kerrick not to?
Havily was so beautiful and even in casual dress she looked stylish. She wore snug black leggings and a loose, flowing gray silk shirt almost to her knees, reminiscent of Vera Wang, the latter a perfect complement to her peachy-red waves. She stood in the June heat looking crisp and fresh, her long, layered hair sparkling in the sun.
But her expression was all Havily, her brow raised, her lips curled in a soft, oh-so-pretty sneer. Her opinion of his character wouldn’t exactly encourage a permanent connection, and that could only work to his advantage in the long term.
For whatever reason, though, in this moment in time, they were connected. They might even have something they needed to accomplish together. He was here now with his first duty already laid out for him by the call of the breh-hedden—to protect this woman. The warriors knew it. He knew it. He’d get to the bottom of the recent attack on her life, see her through this current crisis, then once more take up his place with the Warriors of the Blood.
For a moment, however, the past caught up with him, a particular memory that almost knocked him flat. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking of his sister, of Helena, right now, but a vision of her came to him.
It was her wedding day, the day she had married Kerrick. She was the only family he had left on Second Earth, and he had begged her many times not to marry a Warrior of the Blood. Anyone connected to those who battled death vampires every night would be targeted by the Commander.
He had stood beside her at the top of the long walkway beneath an arch of honeysuckle. At the end of that archway, Kerrick waited for his bride. On either side of the archway, a hundred guests had all turned to watch Helena, but Marcus had stayed her with a hand on her arm.
Telepathically, he sent, Please don’t do this. Surely, you know what the end will be?
She had sighed, smiled, patted his cheek. “Stop worrying,” she had whispered. “This is what I want.” How beautiful she had looked, her lovely light brown eyes, the same color as his, full of hope, compassion, and finally wisdom, for she had said, “Life is for the living, dear brother, and I love him.”
Marcus had walked her down that long, difficult path beneath the archway of honeysuckle but all his fear became fixed on his brother warrior, his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Kerrick had glowed with his love for Helena. Marcus had never doubted the man’s love, but he questioned his selfishness. Marcus knew that if anything ever happened to Helena because of this marriage, he would never forgive Kerrick. Never.
When Helena had been killed, her children with her, something inside Marcus had gone wild with rage. His grief had transformed into a hatred so virulent that he knew he would have taken Kerrick’s life. So instead of killing his brother warrior, he’d exiled himself to Mortal Earth. He had never thought to return.
Now he was here, staring at Havily.
He still wanted to beat the shit out of Kerrick for having married his sister, for having been the cause of her death, but even these powerful impulses dimmed in the face of the overwhelming need he had to be with Havily, spread his wings over her, make sure she was safe.
He strode toward her now, long confident steps, sure steps. She backed away from him in small shuffles since a bank of shrubs was directly behind her. He caught her by the arms and held her in a rough grip.
“Tell me,” he cried. “Tell me. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Has your neck healed? Were you frightened? Did he touch you otherwise? Are you all right? Tell me.”
She gave a little gasp, a small cry, then flung herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her, holding her tight. He closed his eyes, his throat knotted, his eyes burning.
“I just don’t understand why he came after me,” she said. “That death vampire, Crace, was so big, like Luken, and he had a squad with him. They … they were going to take turns drinking from me. But why me? It makes no sense.”
Her voice was muffled against his shirt. He stroked her hair, his fingers drifting down her back. He felt the faint ridges of her wing-locks through her shirt, and his body heated up when it shouldn’t have. He knew she needed comfort but the damn breh-hedden was taking over.
She moaned softly. Wing-locks were extremely sensitive to the touch, and he could feel her quick response to the light flutters over her back. He wanted his tongue on them as he took her from behind. She pressed her hips against him and a wave of honeysuckle rose up to knock him senseless all over again. He glanced at the Militia Warriors, each of whom had turned away, allowing for some privacy.
Once more his protective urges took over.
He let his arms fall away from her but at the same moment he shifted and caught her around the waist with his right arm. He drew her to his side. As she melted against him, he addressed the men within the confines of the patio. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am.” The Militia Warrior nearest the street-side fence stepped forward.
“You may leave. Take your men. All of them.”
“Of course, Warrior Marcus.” So they knew who he was. Good. The last thing he could handle right now was another man questioning his authority. He’d lose it and someone would get hurt.
Within seconds the property was empty, but Marcus wasn’t taking chances. He moved Havily in front of him and with his body shielded her as he urged her back into her home. Once he had her within the cool, air-conditioned house, the slider locked, he created a deep covering of mist over the entire property.
Now that the house was securely hidden, the fact that he was holed up with Havily sent a wave of heat over his body. “I’m not going to be able to keep away from you,” he said. “Tell me you know that. Tell me you understand.”
