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“He was pissed that I had my hands on Havily’s arms.”
Thorne searched his eyes. He nodded. He even smiled. “You think the breh-hedden’s got him?”
“Looks like it. His greeting to me was something like, Get your hands off her, ass**le.”
Thorne’s smile eased into a full-blown grin, which of course deepened the crow’s-feet. But for just a moment he lost that we’re-perpetually-fucked look. He released another long breath and once more reached for the Ketel. “Well. Thank the Creator for small favors.”
* * *
When Marcus stepped out of the shower and started toweling off, he wondered what the hell he and Havily were supposed to do now. The problem was, he was ready for another round. He looked down at his subversive cock, thick and doing a righteous imitation of a heat-seeking missile. He wagged his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
Between the powerful effect of Havily’s blood and the call of the breh-hedden, he shook with need. He tucked the towel around his hips and leaned forward to plant his hands on the counter. He forced his torso and shoulders to relax. He took deep breaths, a lot of them.
He had to get a grip. Somehow. After all, he hardly knew this woman, her likes and dislikes, the essentials of her temperament or her temper. He did know she had a bit of a short fuse and that she was defensive as hell. And why wouldn’t she be? Apparently, her boss, the proverbial bitch-from-hell, had let Havily know she’d been a disappointment to Second Earth from the moment she’d completed her rite of ascension. A hundred years of you’re-not-good-enough had to take a toll.
But holy shit … her blood.
He lifted his head and looked into the mirror. He drew away from the counter and let his gaze drift over his body. Jesus H. Christ, he really did look stronger, his muscles better defined, larger, and that orgasm. Like taking off into outer space … again and again. Of course, dwelling on the recent experience was not the best strategy since his proverbial missile started throbbing.
He worked at breathing a little more and focused on Havily, the woman. They were going to be together for a few days, at least long enough to secure her future safety.
For starters, therefore, he should try talking to her, getting to know her. If she wanted to make use of his body now and then—well, he would be happy to oblige her. How generous of him. He smiled. She’d obviously enjoyed the recent lovemaking as well.
His thoughts took a more how-about-now turn.
Maybe …
He let the towel drop.
He moved out of the bathroom and was greeted with a strange sound, which he couldn’t place right away. Havily lay on her side facing away from him in the direction of the window. She had a pillow pulled up to her chest, her knees drawn up.
What was that sound?
He drew closer. It wasn’t quite like singing or talking. Somewhere in between.
He was at the edge of the mattress and listened hard, then heard a faint giggle followed by a murmur, then a sigh. His shoulders relaxed just a little. His woman had fallen asleep and in her sleep she made a series of contented noises.
He put a hand to his chest and listened. His heart warmed. He was drawn to her soft mumblings and sighs.
He didn’t want to wake her but right now he needed to be close to her. Maybe it was the recent attack, maybe it was the breh-hedden, or maybe the sex, but, yeah, he wanted to be near her.
He put a knee on the mattress then the other. He ducked his head to keep from hitting some of the lowest dangling butterflies. He crawled toward her and lifted the sheet. Slowly, he eased himself down beside her. He inched toward her, pulling the sheet up over both of them.
The mutterings stopped. “Marcus?” But it was a soft, slurred question.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Just me.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Go back to sleep.”
She reached behind her and took hold of his forearm. She pulled his arm around her and pressed his hand between her br**sts as though she had done so a hundred times before. He couldn’t help that his c**k responded, but that only made her wiggle her hips and press close.
He knew it wasn’t an invitation, so he forced more air in and out of his lungs. He thought about anything else. Digging a trench. Yeah, he pictured the rocky hillside outside her town house and digging a trench, working hard under the sun, getting good and exhausted.
That helped. He calmed down a little so that he could press closer, embrace her more fully, plant his chest against her back, let her know he was here.
She murmured her approval. She had been up most of the night. His woman needed her rest and needed his protection. He could be here for her in both ways right now. Her soft mumblings started again and he smiled. He had forgotten, truly forgotten, what it was like to be close to a woman in this way, the comfort of her soft body against his hard warrior muscles, the sweetness of being physically connected that had nothing to do with sex. He had not allowed this kind of involvement in too many centuries to count. His last marriage had ended in AD 800. Death vampires had murdered his wife of five centuries, his beloved Neeja. His three sons were gone as well, warriors all, lost to the war before the advent of Christ. The pain … Jesus, he’d forgotten what that pain felt like until this moment because the breh-hedden had made Havily precious in his eyes. He’d promised himself no more. Now he was here, holding a goddess in his arms, an ascender who smelled so erotically of honeysuckle.
She was a balm against his burning skin, an unexpected ease to his soul. If this was her way of seducing him, damn it might just work. He had lived a solitary life for over a millennium. He’d found lots of ways to make it work, one of which was never getting involved with a woman. Another was having lots of casual sex.
But the breh-hedden had orchestrated this moment, which in turn had brought memories forward of former times when he’d known this kind of closeness and joy with a woman.
And in this moment, his heart began to hurt.
* * *
“Is this all the footage you’ve got?” Crace asked. He sat at his desk in the office he’d commandeered four months ago from one of Greaves’s generals. Rith had just loaded a DVD of the attack at the Superstitions, the one in which Rith had personally detonated the incendiary bomb that was supposed to have offed Warrior Luken. Everything looked in order—so why had the mission failed?
Rith stood next to him and grew very still, the man’s only tell. “Yes,” he responded succinctly. “This is all I have. Warrior Thorne showed up thirty seconds after Warrior Luken hit the earth.”
