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Marcus smiled. He battled with his sword like the warrior he had been all those centuries ago. He and Medichi had Leto backed up into a ficus tree.
Leto had been a good friend to Marcus, a drinking buddy, in times gone by. Now he was a goddamn traitor—something he still found hard to believe.
The women had long since dematerialized, hopefully to Medichi’s villa. Crace was gone as well. So now there was just the traitor to take care of.
Again Marcus smiled. And Medichi smiled. Because it was only a matter of time before they finished Leto off, but shit, the warrior was still an amazing swordsman.
Marcus pressed from the left. Medichi from the right. Swords clanged. Marcus felt a punch to his right side but ignored the sensation and attacked. Suddenly Marcus’s sword hit what felt like a wall, his arm jarred from the vibration of the strike, but he wasn’t anywhere near something that solid.
Fuck. Leto had cast one helluva shield. Who the hell could do that? He sure as hell couldn’t. He struck again and was rewarded with another painful stinging vibration shooting straight up his arm. “What the f**k!” he shouted.
Medichi did the same and came away cursing with pain and holding his sword elbow with his other palm. “What the hell is that, traitor? A f**king shield? You afraid to fight, you goddamn motherfucker?”
Marcus stared hard at Leto. The bastard was sweating and breathing hard but then they all were. He looked from one to the other. “Nice to see you again, ass**les, but I need you to get a message to Endelle. Tell her that there’s a party planned for the Ambassadors Festival. Watch the skies.”
“What party, you f**king traitor?”
But that was all Leto would say. He gave Marcus a wide smile, all teeth, flipped him off, then vanished.
Marcus turned to Medichi, who was still holding his elbow.
“What the f**k was that all about?” Medichi let go of his sword-arm and gave it a shake. He was breathing hard. He glanced at Marcus, at his abdomen. “Hey. You’re bleeding.”
Marcus felt the warm trickle and looked at his side. Leto had sliced him, deep and all the way through. As though acknowledging the blood had opened a floodgate, suddenly he felt the pain. “Aw, f**k.”
Medichi bent over at the waist, catching his breath. “It doesn’t look too bad. I’ve got to get back to New River. You know New River, that place where I’m doing that job you refuse to do?”
Marcus found breathing difficult. He wanted to flip him off but couldn’t. He now braced his abdomen with his arm. As Medichi lifted up from the waist, Marcus asked, “How the hell did you know to come over here? Did Thorne send you?”
“Nope.”
“Then how did you know?” Shit, his side had really started to hurt, and now he was bent over.
Medichi grinned. “Well, ass**le, you’re just going to have to find that out for yourself. But I guarantee you one thing, when you do find out, you ain’t gonna like it.” He tapped his forehead, laughed, then lifted his arm and vanished.
Marcus shouted obscenities after him or at least tried to. What the hell did Medichi mean by that? Or was he just f**king with his head?
He clutched his side. Blood poured down his abdomen. His pants were getting soaked. Shit.
Whatever.
He folded his sword back to Bainbridge.
He needed his wound tended to and he also needed to get back to Havily and the mortal-with-wings. He’d seen them fold out of the house just before Crace got to either of them. Damn, his woman was good.
Oh, man, he couldn’t breathe. He’d also need a boost through the dimension and oh, shit, it was going to hurt even more because of the sword slice. Shit.
He called Jeannie at Central. First things first. “Did Havily call you? Are the women okay?”
“Yep. She has the mortal at the villa.”
“Good.” He was panting now.
“What’s wrong, duhuro?”
He didn’t have the energy to argue with her over her form of address. “I got cut and I need a lift to the villa. Can you get me there?”
“Damn straight, but I gotta warn you, the pain will be worse.”
“I know,” Marcus whispered. “Just do it.”
“Feel better. I’ll send Horace.”
“Thanks.”
The vibration struck and as he moved through nether-space he knew he was screaming. When he landed in the entrance near Havily and a now-clothed mortal, he was still shouting like a sonofabitch. Words poured out of his mouth, inappropriate words, but the hell if he could hold them back.
He landed on his feet but fell to the floor and writhed. He forgot how bad it hurt to fold with a wound like this. Sonofabitch. He breathed hard. Sweat poured off his body. He lay on his back and hit the planked floor with one hand over and over. With the other, he held the wound at his side.
He felt a hand on his arm. When had Havily dropped down next to him?
“You’re wounded.”
“Yep. Horace on the way.” He took one more deep breath then passed out.
* * *
Havily knelt beside Marcus as blood pooled from his waist. The cornflower-blue silk shirt he wore was torn and bloodied.
Horace didn’t come.
He didn’t come.
Where the hell was he?
Marcus moaned. Havily put her hand on his shoulder very gently. His eyes opened, but they looked wild with pain.
“Horace isn’t here yet,” she said, “and I know my blood can help. Will you take it?”
He nodded.
She put her wrist to her mouth and with her right fang made a nice suicide cut across all the veins. The sting of it hurt but based on what had happened when Marcus drank from her, she knew her blood would help heal him. She put her wrist against his lips and let him taste.
His eyes popped wide and, as though she’d offered an elixir of Olympian quality, he moaned and started taking deep pulls.
She heard Parisa gasp.
Havily turned in her direction and shrugged. “I might have forgotten to mention that Second Earth is also the world of the vampire.”
Parisa nodded. “I knew that.” She was still sitting on the floor. She stared at the joined wrist and mouth and put her hand on her neck. Her lips parted and the color on her cheeks turned pink, but not in embarrassment.
Havily looked away. Yes, the suckling motion, and the exchange of blood to mouth, all spoke of a more intimate connection. She wasn’t surprised that Parisa rose to her feet and without a word left the room.
* * *
So this really is the world of the vampire.
Parisa left the foyer, but once she entered the expansive formal living room, out of sight of Havily and Marcus, she turned swiftly to lean against the wall. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. She put two fingers to her neck right above the vein. She hadn’t been disgusted or even distressed by the blood-taking. It had seemed … natural … but very erotic.
