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We have heavy security checkpoints and strong anti-dematerialization grids set up throughout. Do you want to have a look at the North End Command Center?
Yes.
Marcus landed with Seriffe at a separate location designated for anyone in flight. He drew in his wings, as did Seriffe, who led him into the command center.
The tent had guards surrounding it, every four feet, armed Militia Warriors, swords drawn. Nothing was being left to chance.
When he entered the tent, the tightness in his chest eased a little more and he had the thought that maybe everything would be okay, that maybe this creeping sense of anxiety was unwarranted.
The North End Command Center was an electronic dream. “How many of these do you have up and down the lake?”
“Thirty in all, one on each side, every mile. The grids overlap.”
Marcus stared at an electronic display just smaller than a movie theater screen. It was huge.
“Good. This is good,” he murmured.
Seriffe clapped him on the back. “Every hotel has secure landing platforms as well. All guests have had scheduled folding times. Anyone arriving early or late or not on the checklist undergoes interrogation. No one in or out without our people checking then double-checking.”
Marcus met his gaze but he saw in the warrior’s eyes the same thing he knew. Greaves could get through. Maybe one of his minions, so shit. Neither of them spoke the unnecessary words aloud.
Seriffe took a deep breath. “I have to get back. My second has been beeping for the past ten minutes. But I can bring someone here, one of my aides, to take you anywhere you want to go. Up to you.”
“Thanks, Seriffe, but I’ve seen enough. I appreciate you taking the time.”
Seriffe nodded and smiled, sort of. He looked sad. “We heard about the attack at the villa. Havily Morgan is one of ours, you know.”
He did know. She was beloved among the Militia Warriors. He nodded.
Seriffe entered the dematerialization departure platform, lifted an arm, almost a salute, then vanished.
Marcus took the platform next. He gave Central a call and asked for a fold back to the villa. With Endelle’s repaired mist still intact, he’d need assistance. He asked Jeannie to give Medichi a heads-up. Less than a minute later the vibration began.
* * *
Havily stood in the bedroom doorway as Marcus sank down on the side of the bed facing the window. He still wore full-on battle gear but seemed distracted.
She was frustrated that he’d just taken off without telling her what he intended to do. “Why didn’t you ask me to go with you? I would have appreciated seeing the whole setup from the air as well.”
But Marcus didn’t look at her. Instead he flicked the hilt of his dagger several times with his thumb, his gaze fixed outside. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. His hair was every which way from having been flying, and sweat trickled down his neck. He had the smell of the outdoors on his skin. Her nostrils flared as his fennel scent brought a shiver rippling down her neck.
Focus.
His posture struck her as odd, even deflated. “Okay. What’s wrong? Were you dissatisfied with Seriffe’s security measures? I thought the plan from the beginning was extremely thorough.”
Marcus turned to look at her over his shoulder, one fist planted on his thigh. He scowled. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She tried again. “From what you observed, do you think Colonel Seriffe has done an adequate job? Do I have cause to be concerned?”
“Concern? No. Oh, hell, no. He’s got fifteen miles of lake and desert locked down like a virgin wearing a chastity belt.”
“Well, that’s certainly an interesting image.” The man had seen some history.
But he didn’t smile. He just stared at her and grimaced then turned once more in the direction of the window.
Okay, something was wrong.
She moved from the doorway of the bedroom to stand opposite him, blocking his view. She crossed her arms over her chest. He looked hot as hell sitting there in a black leather kilt. The traditional warrior harness put his heavy muscled arms on display.
Again … focus. “Marcus, what’s wrong?”
He huffed a sigh. “We need to complete the breh-hedden.”
“The breh-hedden? You’re thinking about that right now? I thought you were worried about security for the spectacle.”
He shook his head. “The entire time I was out there, all I could think was that if Greaves got his hands on you, or that bastard Crace, I wouldn’t be able to find you. So yeah”—he lifted a mulish chin to stare at her, his lips in a grim line—“we need to complete the breh-hedden and we need to do it now.”
Well, how romantic.
She shook her head. “Uh … no. I thought I made it clear that though this has been nice, and at times quite extraordinary, I can’t, I won’t become that involved with anyone again and especially not at the level of the breh-hedden.”
He rose up, his fists bunched at his sides. “Dammit, Havily, we don’t have a choice here. My instincts are firing off grenades right now where you’re concerned. You’re in danger. I can’t explain it, but I know. And if we’re bonded, wherever you are, I’ll be able to get to you, to protect you. Right now that’s all I care about.”
Havily took a step back. She wasn’t going to be pressured into completing the breh-hedden, not by him, not by anyone. “Well, tough shit, Warrior. The hell I’m going to bond with you when I have little doubt you’ll be headed back to Mortal Earth as soon as your ‘instincts’ tell you it’s okay to leave again. Or did you think I’d forgotten about that?”
His face paled and his slash of brows sank low. “So that’s it? That’s the sum total of your opinion of me? Even if I say I’ve returned, you’ll always see me as a deserter, nothing more?”
She had really screwed up. Marcus had more than proven himself over the past few days, as well as the enormous thirty-eight hundred years before exiling himself to Mortal Earth. She wasn’t even sure why she’d dragged all that out again, except that he’d gotten in her face, her heart had started hammering, and she’d met his aggression head-on, the way she’d been meeting Endelle’s aggression for the past four months.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said.
A cold light entered his eye. “You didn’t?” he asked in a way-too-soft voice. “Then what did you mean?”
Thoughts flooded her head—that she was too frightened to complete the breh-hedden, that she was too attached to him already, that if anything happened to him, if he died, she’d have to bury someone else she loved.
