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She looked like a princess, a soft elegant princess who belonged in a court from years ago. All the love he felt for her swelled in his chest and squeezed his heart. He wished more than anything that this was not a world at war. He would ask her to marry him, he would drop on one knee right now, take her hand, kiss her fingers, and beg her to become his wife.
But this was a world at war, and he was this man who had been through too much to ever so simply give his heart, all his trust, to a woman again.
Still, for this moment, as his feet put him in motion before his rational thoughts caught up with him, Fiona belonged to him, tonight and, God willing, tomorrow.
He forgot all about his brother warriors who stood nearby, about Seriffe and his wife, Carolyn. All he could see was Fiona, and her loveliness, all that she had suffered, all that she had overcome, and the woman she was this night.
He took her hands in his and kissed the backs of each. “You look so very beautiful. I thank you for that.”
Fiona smiled and there was laughter in her silver-blue eyes as she said, “Right back atcha. You look … magnifique.”
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, as though everyone in the room couldn’t hear him.
“Later, you can kiss me all you like.”
“All? Are you certain, because that would be a lot of kissing, perhaps hours of it?”
Everywhere, he sent for good measure.
A lovely wave of buttery croissant wafted over him, which in turn caused him to draw his breath in deeply. He watched her sigh, and her lips parted as though she struggled to draw air.
Santiago said, “Lo siento, mi amigo, but the hour grows late and the landing platforms close on time. They do not care that you wish to kiss your woman.”
Fiona chuckled but rolled her eyes.
“Santiago is very right,” Jean-Pierre said. “We should go.” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and touched the screen a couple of times. He touched again to connect with the Las Vegas Two arena theater to set up the folding time for their party of four. He’d preset the ticket numbers so that as a group they were already confirmed and identified. Because of his status as a Warrior of the Blood, and because the ticket numbers were courtesy seats provided by the owner of Dark Spectacle, they did not have long to wait.
Fiona clung to his arm as she said good-bye to her daughter.
A minute passed.
A return call allowed them to fold to the VIP landing platform as a group.
They were greeted by a tall dark beauty, wearing a skimpy red silk dress. She opened her mouth to speak then blinked a couple of times as she looked first at Jean-Pierre, then Santiago and Zacharius.
Jean-Pierre knew that look: the eyes that widened almost in shock, the lips that parted. A blush soon covered her cheeks, but he doubted she was embarrassed. He was a man who knew women and when he glanced back at Zach and Santiago, each appraised the woman, her willingness, her level of interest. Had the circumstance been different, she appeared to be just the sort of woman any of them would have taken into the red velvet booths at the Blood and Bite.
Fiona glanced up at him and narrowed her gaze. He opened his eyes very wide, but she shook her head at him and laughed.
When the hostess had collected herself, she pushed back a wave of her long, flowing brown hair. She inclined her head slightly and began her speech, greeting them in her special VIP voice and manner.
“Welcome, most exalted Warriors of the Blood and Ms. Fiona Gaines. The proprietor, the Amazing Rimizac, wishes me to take you to the box he has set aside for your use tonight. Champagne and a fine selection of delicacies imported from Mortal Earth await you. If you will follow me.”
She turned and headed down a short flight of stairs.
At intervals, security personnel nodded to the hostess as she led their group to the right, up a shallow ramp covered in a very fine scarlet carpet. Jean-Pierre did not know whether to be impressed or concerned. The owner showed a tendency to attend to details, not a good thing in an enemy.
Given the size of the arena theater, the walk was long. In the distance, he heard an orchestra tuning their instruments.
As he walked, he kept his left arm around Fiona, low on her waist, but very light. His right hand remained free so that he could draw his sword into his hand if needed.
The box was low as boxes went yet it was situated, as all the boxes were, a considerable distance from the central stage. This was not an average production by any means.
This was spectacle.
Fiona sat in the front row of the box to his right. Zach and Santiago took the chairs behind them. He scanned the enormous theater, going from box to box and the less expensive seats high in the galleries. He extended his vision. By habit he hunted for death vampires, but given the level of security he doubted any were present, certainly not visible.
He turned back to Santiago, who in turn leaned forward and whispered, “I do not see the enemy—do you?”
Jean-Pierre shook his head.
The theater was built in a deep horseshoe with a ceiling that rose at least ten stories in height to allow for a true spectacle performance, which always involved genetically altered swans and geese.
Zach also leaned forward. “There’s something wrong here. Have you looked at the next four boxes to the left of us?”
Jean-Pierre shifted his gaze. He had scanned them but he had not paid attention to the occupants. Before, he had been looking for the pale, almost bluish complexion and overall beauty of death vampires. Now he saw something else and as he continued shifting his gaze from box to box, he cursed beneath his breath.
“Mon Dieu,” he murmured.
Fiona slipped her hand in his, her fingers cool against his palm. “What’s the matter? You’re scowling and muttering.”
Of course she could not have known. “In many of the boxes on our level, the entire distance around the theater, are High Administrators from Territories known to be allied with Endelle.”
“Oh, no,” Fiona whispered, her fingers clasping his tightly.
“We should go,” he said, turning toward her. “I should take you home immediately. I believe there is much more going on here than just Casimir’s interest in you.”
“We can’t leave, Jean-Pierre. We just can’t.”
He admired her conviction but he hated that she was beside him and in danger.
She leaned toward him and whispered. “You know, I think everyone is staring into this box.”
He glanced around and realized that what she said was true. He had been so concerned about determining any overt threat that he did not realize their box had become a matter of interest. Great interest. He was surprised and did not quite know what to make of it.
