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“We’ve still got a battle going, right?” Carla asked.
“Yes.” The women at Central were so calm.
“Small bursts. Let the men know. Just say those words so everyone can hear.”
Fiona had never done this before but she called out in a loud voice, “Small bursts.”
Thorne, who had a break in the fighting, echoed her. “Small bursts.”
“Done,” Fiona said into her phone.
The flashes of light were almost blinding, but by report she knew it was nothing compared with the comprehensive cleanup Central was capable of doing.
Bodies disappeared, body parts, severed heads, debris she didn’t want to put a name to, mostly big stuff.
Another wave of death vampires came, almost as heavy as the first. The battle raged.
The circle closed nearer to her again. Thorne and Santiago formed another wall around her. She knelt in the pine needles, her silk skirt a very thin layer of protection against the prickly needles and rough ground.
In intervals, Fiona made her calls to Carla. Small bursts of light kept everyone’s eyesight safe. Debris vanished.
Not until a good fifteen minutes had passed did the last of the death vampires fall. After one last conversation with Carla, all that remained was Fiona surrounded by five warriors. Each of the men bent over, gasping to catch his breath from the sudden harsh exertion. Each pointed his identified sword toward the dirt to protect the others. Sweat streamed and mingled with blood spatter on bare skin.
Fiona rose to her feet.
“Madre de Dios,” Santiago cried. “There must have been over seventy, maybe eighty.”
“Shit,” Luken stated succinctly.
“Lady present,” Thorne said.
“No, please,” Fiona cried. “Don’t hold back on my account. I’ll say it, too. Shit!”
Jean-Pierre met her gaze. “Ça va?”
“I’m fine, really. I am. You … you were all wonderful, really wonderful.” She met each gaze. She wanted them to know she approved, that she wasn’t upset by what she’d seen. “I only wish I could have battled alongside you.”
Zacharius nodded his understanding. “You, above all, would want them dead.”
“Yes,” she cried, her voice splitting resonance. “Oh, yes. All of them. All of them.”
“Did you hear that?” Luken pumped his fist in the air. “She f**king split resonance.”
“Split-resonance,” Jean-Pierre said. “That is power, Fiona. Much power. So, oui, your powers are emerging.”
For some reason, the image that ran through her head was one she had carried with her all her life as a blood slave, one of the face of every woman who had died because she’d been worn out by being drained of her blood and brought back to life month after month, year after year.
Fiona had memorized each face, each name.
Throughout the decades of her captivity, she had often recited those names and promised retaliation if it was ever within her power to destroy those who had taken all those precious lives.
This was what lived in her, a dark storm, the thunder and lightning that possessed her soul. This was why she kept Jean-Pierre at bay: because she didn’t have room for him. But would he ever understand? So long as those faces lived in her mind, so long as she had breath, she would work to eliminate all the death vampires from the face of the earth, any dimension, so help her God.
She blinked and realized that the men were all watching her, each pair of eyes, each face full of concern. She took a breath and dipped her chin. “Thank you” was what came out of her mouth. And she meant it.
“Jesus,” Luken murmured. “Fiona, we’re so sorry you had to see all this, to be afflicted again.”
But heat invaded her heart and she stared at him hard. “I’m grateful they’re dead, Warrior Luken. Every last one of them. I never thought I would be this person, this woman, to be grateful that any creature died. But don’t you see, my blood may have fueled them all for who knows how long.
“Do you know the anguish I feel because of that? Do you know how enraged I am that my blood, through no fault of my own, may have been the cause of the deaths of the innocent? No, do not tell me you were sorry that I witnessed this slaughter, because I’m grateful on so many levels. So, I will say this again, thank you.” She knew she had split her resonance again, and more than one pair of brows rose because of it.
Luken folded a dark towel into his hands, wiped his face and neck down first, then went to work on the blade of his sword.
Thorne cleared his throat after which his rough voice hit the airwaves. “You spoke of a warning. You had a warning this was going to happen. Can you tell me about that?”
She met his gaze. She saw the wary shift of his eyes away from her, in the direction of the Convent building, then back. “One of the sisters called to me telepathically and issued the warning just before the death vamps arrived.” There was more to tell, a lot more, but this was not the time, nor the place, especially given the haunted look in Thorne’s eyes. Since everyone present thought he was celibate, and she knew by Marguerite’s admission that he wasn’t, she had no intention of talking about the woman in front of the other warriors.
His gaze slid to the carpet of needles. “Shit,” he murmured.
“I feel compelled to try to contact her right now,” Fiona said. “With your permission.”
He gave a small shake of his head then stopped himself. “By all means.”
With all the men still watching her, she closed her eyes and focused on the Convent once more. She lowered her telepathic shields and at first was bombarded by the thoughts of every woman within the building. One by one, she shut them down, searching for Marguerite, until the last mind disappeared. Then there was nothing. Just nothing.
She shook her head. “I can’t find her. I don’t hear her.”
“But you communicated with her mind-to-mind before?” Thorne asked.
“Yes.”
He whistled. “That’s a helluva lot of power, Fiona. But as you know, my sister, Grace, lives here in this Convent. She’s said that not only is telepathic communication forbidden, but if it’s discovered by one of the administrators, punishment can follow.”
“You think that’s what happened to … this woman? The one called Marguerite?” She’d spoken her name before and felt compelled to say it now.
“Given all that Grace has told me over the years, yes, I believe that’s what happened. The Convent has numerous barbaric policies, and a band of enforcement sisters called regulators administer justice for every infraction.”
