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Flip. Release. Pat. Flip. Release. Pat.
That’s when she’d listened in on one little horrific conversation between Thorne and Fiona.
She’d been dreading this moment for a long time, a century maybe, and right now she wanted to scream or cut her throat.
Marguerite.
Endelle had known about her almost from the first, having seen the glow of a memory deep within Thorne’s mind. She’d pushed her way in when she shouldn’t have. Thorne had hooked up with a powerful Seer in the Convent and was keeping her hidden.
But now that the Seer had become a player in their little thing called “the war,” Endelle would have to act. And she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to hurt Thorne.
* * *
“She wants to see me now?” Fiona asked. Thorne looked pale, his bloodshot eyes blinking strangely.
Thorne nodded. “Ten minutes. Both you and Jean-Pierre, and no I don’t know what it’s about but my guess is it has something to do with what happened at the christening.”
“What does she know?”
Thorne shrugged, but his lips parted and for a good long moment she watched him dragging air into his lungs. He rubbed his forehead. “Okay. Okay. We can do this. She’s in her office at HQ.” He looked at Jean-Pierre. “Bring Fiona with you when you’re ready. I’m heading for the shower. See you there.” He lifted his arm and vanished.
Fiona turned to Jean-Pierre. “I don’t want to do this.” She shook her head back and forth. Endelle on a good day was hard to take, but Fiona suspected Her Supremeness would want to investigate everything that had happened at the christening.
She shuddered. She understood now that she truly did have emerging powers, that what used to be a simple form of telepathy had escalated into something more, something much more. Endelle, on the other hand, collected powerful beings around her, but the last place Fiona wanted to be was near the scorpion queen.
The woman might have had a few endearing qualities a couple of millennia ago. But the intervening centuries had worn away any superficial charm, any means by which the ruler of Second Earth could pass through the world with a nod and a smile.
Another shiver traveled through her. She’d rather be bitten by rattlesnakes than spend ten minutes in the woman’s presence.
“She is not all bad,” Jean-Pierre said.
Fiona looked up at him, but the quirky smile that played over his lips didn’t give her confidence. “You’re so not helping.”
He chuckled. “She possesses a good heart. Unfortunately, it’s buried beneath layers and layers of concrete.” He glanced down at his stained battle gear and skin. He looked at her as well, his gaze sliding down to encompass her shawl and blouse, her skirt, her legs. There was nothing of desire in his expression; instead he frowned. “You will want to wear something else as well.”
He didn’t think her somewhat conservative ensemble would please Madame Endelle. Then she glanced down and her brows rose. Several dark streaks and smudges also marred her clothes.
A gasp caught in her throat and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She nodded several times. “I should change.” Evidence of the battle combined with thoughts of having to meet Madame Endelle battered the support beams beneath her composure.
She took a moment and calmed herself, taking deep breaths. To Jean-Pierre’s credit, he didn’t try to touch her or in any way attempt to settle her down.
When she looked back up at him, his gaze held more speculation than compassion, and again she was grateful. “Thank you for that.”
“For what, chérie?”
“For not jumping in and trying to make me feel better.”
At that he smiled. “I have extended my hand to a biting dog on enough occasions to know better.”
She put her hand to her chest. “Am I that bad?”
“Oui,” he answered. “Vile, actually. Nearly as bad as She Who Would Live herself.”
Fiona laughed. She thought he must be one of the kindest, most perceptive men she had ever met.
She Who Would Live. Madame Endelle. Her Supremeness. She had another name, one that apparently only Thorne could pronounce, one with three clicks from ancient times, one that gave rise to her abbreviated name and to her nickname, She Who Would Live.
Nine thousand years.
Unfathomable.
Perhaps if Fiona lived to be that old, and carried even half the responsibility that Endelle did, she would also turn into a fire-breathing dragon.
Whatever.
“Why don’t you fold me to Militia Warrior HQ and I’ll stay there until you’re ready, then you can take me back to Seriffe’s house to change. Will that do?”
He nodded. “You have a very organized mind.”
She snorted. “You mean controlling and obsessive.”
But at that, his gaze grew intense. “I like your mind, Fiona, very much.” A wave of rich, aromatic coffee rolled in her direction.
She stared into his eyes, and all her well-ordered plans faded into the background. She was struck again by the varied shades in his eyes, the dark blue, the gray, the grayish green and just a few flecks of amber, sun glinting off the ocean.
What she felt couldn’t be just about the breh-hedden. He had taken pains to understand her, to know her, and that meant something. Perhaps the absurd call of vampire mate-bonding had sunk its claws into both of them, yet it would be so easy to simply turn away from the man right now if he had been mean or surly or disrespectful. Surely, the profound desire she felt for him would wane in the face of such unhappy qualities.
Right now, however, because he hadn’t crowded her, because he kept the reins light in his hands, she liked him all the more. Her body responded, a swell of sensation rising from deep within, like a wave rippling up her body, tingling, warm, thrilling.
His eyes closed and he listed, jerking a little to right himself.
When he opened his eyes they came only to half-mast. “Fiona,” he whispered, low and deep, his accent dipping then rising over her name, a caress.
She became acutely aware that she was alone with her vampire boyfriend in a room that had several large empty couches.
She swallowed hard. When he took a step toward her, she planted her hand on the center of his weapons harness, which meant she connected with the hilts of two daggers.
That forced her to draw back and to blink several times.
“Take me to HQ, please.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Jean-Pierre stood just inside the door of Endelle’s office. He trembled in rage at the ruler of Second Earth, but he could not interfere. He would give his life for Her Supremeness, but there were times, like now, when he wished to put his hands around her neck and squeeze.
