AllFreeNovel
Share Us
At that, Havily whirled back around. All she saw was Medichi flat on his back and the towel he’d dropped bunched over his hips and covering his arousal. Marcus stood next to him, his fists bunched.
Thank God! Marcus had arrived and immediately assessed the exact nature of the situation and intervened.
She glanced at Parisa and said, “How about we go for a walk?”
Parisa turned to her and murmured, “He’s … so big.”
Havily thought of Marcus and a little shiver traveled down her spine and teased her wing-locks, every damn one of them. “I think it’s a warrior thing.”
She didn’t say anything more, but Havily knew Medichi. He defined the word gentleman, and this whole situation would mortify him once he came to his senses. She hooked Parisa’s arm and guided her in a northerly direction toward the pool and the formal gardens.
* * *
Medichi stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but his jaw hurt. He pressed it with his hand and moved the hinge around. At least nothing was broken. He blinked.
“I see stars.” Someone was bending over him. Oh. Marcus. “What the f**k did you just do to me?”
Marcus sat back on his heels but he was grinning, the bastard. “Saved you from a rape charge. Or don’t you remember dropping the towel in front of the ascendiate for her viewing pleasure?”
Oh, dear Creator, what had he done? He crossed his hands over his stomach, but he didn’t want to look. He whispered, “Are Havily and the ascendiate still standing on the other side of the island?”
“No. Havily took her outside. Dragged her, actually.” Then he smiled. “Well, dumbfuck, how do you like the breh-hedden now? Isn’t it just the bomb?”
Medichi flipped him off. “So, shit. She’s here.”
“Looks like it.”
“What the hell is going on? First Kerrick, then you, now me? Don’t you think this is a little bizarre?”
“At the very least. So, did I break your jaw or what?”
He rubbed it again and once more worked the hinge. “No, but I could use some ice. I’d call Horace but this is just too goddamn embarrassing. Shit.” When Marcus rose up then headed toward the fridge, he called out, “So did the ascendiate just arrive or what?”
“She’s been here all night.”
At that, Medichi leaped to his feet and shot in the direction of the pool, the towel once more forgotten. “It’s not safe,” he cried. “She’ll die!”
* * *
Marcus watched Medichi blur past him and move swiftly into the hall that led to the patio. He was about to call out for the warrior to stop, but his gaze fell on Medichi’s back.
Holy shit. Scars crisscrossed the broad muscled expanse in a multitude of flat silver lines. All the decades of wondering why the hell Medichi never mounted his wings suddenly came home to him loud and clear. But the vampire was moving fast, intent all over again, apparently, on getting to Parisa. He didn’t really have time to wonder what had created the scars.
Marcus knew Medichi wasn’t thinking. He’d been there, done that. He knew the powerful instincts boiling in his chest.
He swiped the towel off the floor … again … then folded straight to the doors leading to the pool area and met a blazing-eyed warrior who had drawn his sword. Marcus lifted his brows, cocked his head, and wagged the black terry cloth in front of him.
Medichi stared at the towel but merely scowled hard, dipped his chin, and for a moment looked like a bull before a red flag. Clearly, he had one goal and that was to bust past Marcus no matter what.
“Medichi!” he shouted. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Outside!” the warrior bellowed in return.
“You want to put on some clothes first?” He held the towel even higher.
Then Medichi blinked and blinked again. Finally, a long string of obscenities flowed from his mouth, a sure sign his rational brain had started to kick in. Marcus could only grin at him. “I feel you, brother. I really do.”
“Fuck,” Medichi spit. He folded his sword away, took the towel, then wrapped it once more around his waist. “This is hell. My brain isn’t functioning.”
“Preaching to the choir. So what went through your head right now? Why did you suddenly decide you had to go after her?”
Medichi shook his head. “You said she’d been here overnight. She can’t stay here. Marcus, you’ve got to get her back to Mortal Earth. Now. She only has twenty-fours and then she’s dead. How long has she been here anyway? Goddammit, Marcus, what have you been doing? Manscaping your pubes? Why haven’t you f**king secured her safety?”
“Easy, Antony. I’m not the enemy, and I promise you there are answers to your questions if you think you can hear me.”
Medichi took a deep breath, but his brows were pinned low on his forehead. He was one breath away from losing it again, and Marcus knew exactly how and why he felt the way he did. Maybe talking would help. “Parisa is still here because Endelle’s mist is the best possible protection. But beyond that, Parisa is unusual. She’s not feeling the effects of Second Earth like most ascendiates. She’s fine. Believe me, we keep checking.”
Medichi’s shoulders dropped, and his brow grew pinched like he was in pain. “Okay. I guess I can deal with that. But shit, I feel this ache to get to her, right here.” He punched his chest, between his pecs. “Just tell me, are you absolutely sure she’s safe? Even Alison felt dizzy at the two-hour mark when she was on Second Earth and not yet ascended and you know how f**king powerful she is.”
“Havily keeps asking Parisa but the ascendiate’s comments range from how at home she feels to sensations of euphoria. She’s fine.” He turned slightly in the direction of the door that led to the patio. “Of course, I’m not crazy that the women are out there without one of us guarding them.” He turned back to Medichi. “How about you go to bed, or do whatever you do after a night of fighting, and let me see to them?”
“You stay away from Parisa,” he barked.
Marcus could only laugh, which made Medichi glare and bunch his shoulders.
Marcus just lifted a brow.
Finally, the warrior huffed a heavy sigh, then turned on his heel and headed back the other direction. This of course allowed Marcus a second look at the warrior’s scars even with all that thick black hair hanging to the middle of his back. There wasn’t an inch of his skin unmarred. There was a possibility he couldn’t even mount wings.
