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He went into the bathroom and found his shaving gear lined up against the mirror. Havily’s doing. He smiled but shook his head as he picked up a can of shaving cream and squirted foam into his hand. She was a woman of detail. He liked that. He was a detail man himself. But those thoughts led him down a different path, and though his fingers were now covered with shaving cream all he could do was stare at the white cloud.
Havily had been right. What the hell were they doing getting so involved when neither of them had the heart for it? He sure as hell didn’t. He loved being with her for obvious reasons but right now, his chest felt weighed down when he thought of the next day and the next. He couldn’t give something to this woman that he didn’t have to give. Four thousand years of living, of losing those closest to him, had ripped his heart from his chest.
For a minute, he could hardly breathe.
Shit.
The women’s laughter struck his extended hearing. He drew it in then cast his hearing in a southerly direction. Medichi should be home by now. What he heard there surprised him, since he detected a faint, guttural moaning followed by a very precise, “What the f**k is that?”
Yeah, Medichi was home and apparently agitated about something. Maybe all the laughter was keeping him awake when he was trying to fall asleep for the day.
* * *
Havily hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in a long time. Parisa had a sharp wit and strong intelligence. She stood at one end of the dark soapstone island in the kitchen and Parisa at the other. They were talking like college roommates, sipping coffee and comparing the warriors.
“Santiago has the most interesting nose,” Parisa said. “It’s curved and very sexy.”
“You should see Luken with his hair down,” Havily said.
“I have, remember? His hair was over his bare chest in the hospital.”
“That’s right. You saw us there in one of your visions.”
“Yes, I did.” Parisa shook her head. “You know, there’s almost too much raw muscle among these men. I swear I’m ovulating even as we speak.” Then she laughed.
Havily, having been trapped by the sensual delights of the breh-hedden for the last several days, giggled along with her.
Parisa wore a pair of Havily’s jeans again but instead of the purple sequin tank she had donned a red silk blouse, which was, of course, a little too snug across the chest, but that couldn’t be helped. If Parisa stuck around on Second, Havily would definitely need to take her shopping unless they could find some way to sneak back into Parisa’s home without getting attacked by death vampires.
Hmmm. Shopping or death vampires. Now, there was a tough choice.
Parisa was something of a mystery in many respects: her royle wings, her visions, which seemed oddly focused on Medichi, and her ability to handle being on Second Earth. All these things indicated strong preternatural powers. Yet she couldn’t fold, nor did she seem to have telepathic abilities. So she had phenomenal powers in some respects, yet in others she was totally lacking. Which made Havily like her very much.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Havily asked.
Parisa shrugged. “You’ve asked me three times this morning and I’m fine.” She tilted her nose off to the side and sniffed. “You know, that sage smell is getting even stronger. In fact, it seems to be coming from the direction of the foyer.”
Havily turned and took a deep breath. “Actually, I do smell something but it’s more along the lines of licorice.”
“Licorice?”
Havily felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She then spent the next few minutes explaining about the breh-hedden and the warriors, about specific scents that indicated the ritual had been triggered between a warrior and his breh, and how the same experience had struck down Warrior Kerrick and Alison four months ago.
Parisa frowned. “What are you saying? Do you think I’m Warrior Medichi’s bray or whatever it is you said? Do you think this sage I’m smelling belongs to him?”
“Of course not … that is … oh, my God.” The owner of the villa suddenly appeared in the doorway, his long, thick black hair, still damp from a shower, draped over his heavy pecs and down his back. The man wore nothing but a towel, a black terry-cloth towel wrapped around his waist that was tented ominously. “Medichi? What’s … going on?” Havily was shocked. Of all the warriors, Medichi was the most … gentlemanly.
But, damn, he was one gorgeous man. He was also in a profound state of arousal, and it was as though he didn’t even see her. His gaze was fixed on Parisa, his chin dipped low, his dark eyes glittering. His pecs flexed, relaxed, flexed, relaxed. A low growl reverberated through the room. She realized she had never seen him without a shirt on, but wow was he built … and aroused … and acting like a beast.
Which reminded her of Marcus on more than one occasion … and that’s when all the puzzle pieces fell into place: that Parisa could smell sage, that her visions had focused on him, that he was now behaving in a completely uncharacteristic manner.
Oh, dear God.
Trouble was, she didn’t exactly know what to do.
But as bad as it was that Medichi stood in the doorway, obviously aroused and looking like something from the Roman pantheon of gods, the warrior then did the unthinkable. He unhooked his black towel and let it fall to the floor almost as though he wanted Parisa to see … oh-my-ever-loving-God.
Havily whirled around, turning her back on Medichi. She had no right to see what he’d come to show … Parisa.
But how was the woman taking the situation? She was probably embarrassed, maybe ready to faint.
From her peripheral vision, she could see that Parisa hadn’t moved. Instead, her gaze was fixed low on Medichi, her lips parted, and she was stroking her neck with her fingers. Her cheeks were pink. Her breathing shallow.
Well … she certainly wasn’t embarrassed.
Holy shit! The breh-hedden had struck again!
Havily couldn’t bear looking at her because she knew exactly what Parisa was feeling, the depth of the sexual desire and attraction, the flood of scent that was right now passing only between the two of them, specific scents meant only for each other.
“Warrior Medichi,” Parisa whispered, her voice a soft erotic caress.
She started moving down the length of the dark soapstone island, clearly intent on going to him. Havily didn’t know what to do, a confusion that intensified when Parisa’s eyes went wide with horror and she cried out in a loud voice, “Warrior Marcus! No! Don’t hurt him!”
