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“I saw the footage of the battle at the Grand Canyon last fall. I saw the number of death vampires in Commander Greaves’s army. So many had to be a deliberate undertaking, had to be of his doing. We all know it, we understand it, but there is so little we can do as individuals.
“So we watch and we wait. When the time comes, please believe that you will not be alone, that Madame Endelle, for all her eccentricity, is not alone. There are movements in every Territory on the planet, usually led by Militia Warriors, even in those Territories aligned with Greaves, that work to keep the average ascender informed.”
“You are talking underground movements?”
“Nothing less. Greaves and his allies are too involved in the upper rungs of all governments to allow for open dissension.”
He was very intense as he said, “She has us, the commoners. We support her even if we can’t let our voices be heard right now.”
“I will tell her. Your words have given me great comfort.”
For the next few minutes, he exchanged phone numbers and email addresses with his son. Though he wanted to know him better, he felt certain that any evidence of a strong familial connection would put Peter and his family in danger.
Jean-Pierre turned toward Fiona and extended an arm. She moved next to him and he held her close. “I wish you to know my breh, Fiona Gaines.”
Peter offered his hand, but Fiona said, “Nonsense,” and slung her arms around his neck.
Peter hugged her back.
Jean-Pierre wiped his cheeks once more. “Look. I have turned into such a woman.”
“Hey,” Fiona cried, drawing back from his son and giving Jean-Pierre a playful thump to his chest.
Jean-Pierre laughed then drew her up against him, her back to his front. He wrapped his arms around her as he once more looked Peter over: his hair, his forehead, his ears, just like his own ears, his nose, just like his own nose, his chin, so very stubborn and familiar. This was the gift of life, the surprises, like holding his breh in his arms while looking at a son he had never known existed, the true answer to a riddle to which he had always assigned the wrong answer.
Yes, this was the true gift of life.
* * *
Thorne sat in his usual spot at the Blood and Bite, at the top of the bar so he could keep an eye on his men. He rattled his tumbler around. It now held one finger of seltzer water and two fat ice cubes.
Sam moved forward and refilled.
If any of the brothers noticed he wasn’t hitting the Ketel One, no one said a word, but then they rarely did, not to him, not to the goddam leader of the Warriors of the Blood.
He was the man. No one questioned him. No one ever questioned him. Why would they? For two thousand years he’d been on duty, serving, loyal, reliable, a good warrior, a consistent leader.
None of the brothers even asked him about Marguerite once it became known she’d been his lover for the past century. He was that trusted among his men, that trusted by Endelle, so trustworthy that no one challenged him about the century’s worth of lies he’d been telling—celibacy and all that shit.
He had a full house tonight, one of the rare occasions that all seven of his warriors would be battling, which meant this was exactly the timing he needed to start working things out.
He’d already handed out the night’s assignments: Medichi at the Superstitions with Luken, Marcus and Jean-Pierre at New River, Santiago at Awatukee, Kerrick at the White Tanks, and Zacharius downtown.
“Where will you be, jefe?” Santiago asked. He had a lovely redhead under his arm. Santiago seemed to like redheads. She had one hand on his chest and was petting him over and over like she meant to wear a hole in his silk shirt.
Well that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “I have a meeting with Endelle,” he said. A lie, of course. “I’ll catch up with the rest of you later.” Another lie.
Since the woman practically climbed Santiago’s leg, and the brother turned into her and gave her one helluva a deep kiss, he started drifting in the direction of the red velvet booths.
Luken had already disappeared with a blond chick. Zach was on the dance floor. The last Thorne had seen him, he’d had his fangs buried deep. The Blood and Bite, situated in south Phoenix, Mortal Earth, was meant for the warriors of Second Earth, a place Endelle sanctioned for R&R for the Militia Warriors as well as the Warriors of the Blood. Enthrallment of mortals was encouraged in order to keep the nature of their vampire world on the down-low. But any warrior who hurt a mortal suffered major consequences, and Sam Finch, the owner, kept a strict eye on all the doings.
The rest of the brothers, the ones bonded with their goddam brehs, huddled at the bar in one big fat happy group, talking about other things, like how to get along with a woman who could feel you all the time, whatever the hell that meant. Jean-Pierre, the latest addition to the club, did more listening than talking.
So Thorne drank his seltzer alone, which was pretty much all he needed right now.
His recent freak-out in Endelle’s office, the one that had only ended when Luken had punched his lights out, had actually aided his current mission because the warriors had been giving him a boatload of space.
So it looked like everything was working out for him.
He turned to Sam and said, “I’m headed out to see Endelle.”
“I will let them know, jefe.”
Thorne took one last look around, one last gander at the mated brothers. He felt like a piece of shit for what he was about to do, but he just didn’t have a choice. He lifted his arm and dematerialized.
He ended up in the foyer of his home in Sedona. He whipped his warrior phone from the slit in his battle kilt and thumbed it.
“Jeannie, here. How may I serve?”
“Hey, Jeannie.”
Silence returned then a very soft, “Please don’t do this.”
“I’m heading out.” He’d shared his plan with Jeannie. He’d known the woman for centuries now and he trusted the hell out of her. She had instructions to let Endelle know what was up.
“Please, Thorne. What will they do without you?”
“I guess they’ll have to figure it out.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“You know the answer.”
“Yeah, as long as it f**king takes.”
For that, for her use of one of his favorite words, he actually smiled. “Love ya, Jeannie. You’re the best.”
“Right back atcha, jefe.”
For a long moment, he held the phone to his ear as though there was something else he needed to say. But after a few more seconds he realized he was just damn sad that he was taking off like this, like a deserter, but he didn’t have a choice.
