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Brynna stepped forward, both hands out and up in the universal sign of surrender. “Hey. I’m sorry. Jesus, what the hell is going on? Marguerite, I would never step on the territory of another woman. That’s one of my rules. But you said—”
“I know. I know.” She couldn’t exactly breathe. Her wing-locks had started to thrum. She bent over and worked at her breathing. “I’m in trouble here. Oh, man. And now I’m pissed as hell! I didn’t ask for this. He’s been my lay for a hundred years but we’re not exactly, uh, monogamous.” Well, she wasn’t. She’d screwed José. That Thorne had been in his mind and enjoyed the ride as well was completely incidental. She had no right to Thorne, to insist he was hers, and she didn’t even want him like that! What the hell was this?
As if she didn’t know.
Goddamn the breh-hedden!
Jane and Brynna drew close, moving to stand directly in front of her.
“We can help with this,” Brynna said.
Marguerite stayed bent over, her hands on her knees. She was shaking and damn close to mounting her wings.
“You’re gonna mount, aren’t you?” Brynna asked.
Marguerite nodded, swallowing hard.
She folded off her shirt because her back was a mess with weeping. She had enormous wings. The small living room wouldn’t be tall enough to manage them. Letting them loose now would cause some damage and a whole lot of pain. She had to control this mount.
“Let us help,” Jane said. “We can help you.”
She strained to look up at the women. “What the hell are you talking about? How can you help?”
Brynna nodded. “We’re Seers. We have group power.” She frowned. “Or … don’t you know about that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She was pissed, her favorite, go-to emotion. She felt in control when she was mad so she was probably mad more often than she was willing to admit. But realizing that these women were lusting after her man, well, it had hit her in the gut, made her ready to fight, and her wing-locks, in response to all that aggression, were about a breath away from a full-on mount.
Goddammit.
But before she could say anything, the women were on her, both pairs of hands touching her shoulders and her head.
Her first response was to jerk away from them, but they just followed. She felt their warm comforting stream of energy and knew they were doing her some good, but she hated being touched like that. Her wing-locks responded instantly and began to settle down. The streaming fluids just stopped.
But she hated all this nearness, this closeness. She couldn’t bear it.
She tried to pull away but found she couldn’t, not even a little. A war began to rage within her mind, a battle between This feels so good I could stay here forever and I’ll kill them both for touching me.
But the women didn’t let up. The feels-so-good sensation kept flowing and her body grew quiet. Unfortunately, the more calm she felt the angrier she got, two sensations that couldn’t live within the same body at the same time. She ground her teeth together and small grunts came out of her mouth. They needed to back off.
Her wing-locks had completely settled down and even the muscles of her back that had swelled, readying for the release, were thinned out and normal. But something in her mind began to spin in ever-widening circles. Wider and wider. Suddenly the wood floor of the cabin rushed up fast.
Warrior’s Lament, fragment
I bloodied the dirt, blood on my heel
My sword cared not the cost
And though I won, thus was I lost
—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 8
Thorne was breathing hard. “Good workout.” He clapped Arthur again on the back of his neck and shook him for good measure. Arthur smiled. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist then shook off the sweat.
They were both dripping.
Glancing at the Militia Warriors, Thorne addressed the leader. “You’ve got good men, here, Ettgers. Why don’t you take your troops and work what you’ve seen here. In my experience, this is the best time to get in some good drilling.”
“Yes, Warrior Thorne.” He turned to his troops, which included at least three women, and gave a short brisk order to head down into one of the local pastures. Almost as one, the unit turned and moved at a quick jog down the shallow grade toward the lower farms.
Thorne put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Your instincts are good, your speed better. Speed is your biggest advantage. Only Warrior Kerrick might be faster. He could teach you what I’m not sure I can.
“What I can tell you, though, is that you need training, persistent, day-to-day training, by one of us. I don’t care which one. Jean-Pierre might be the best choice because you’re lean in the way he’s lean and you move like him.”
Arthur glared at him and set his jaw. “I’m not leaving the colony. With all due respect, Warrior Thorne, you need to get used to that right now. And the hell if I’m joining the Warriors of the Blood.”
Thorne smiled. He couldn’t help himself. He knew that look well. He’d seen it on eight warrior faces for the past several hundred years. Basic belligerence seemed to be a defining trait for this level of skill and power.
Thoughts of the warriors, however, and the post he’d abandoned, dropped a stone in his heart. Shit, he had to get back. What the hell was he doing here anyway?
He’d been able to talk for an hour to Diallo, who’d invited both Thorne and Marguerite up to his house for lunch.
Thorne had been making his way back to the cabin when Arthur had waylaid him and asked for a training session. He had strong instincts about the boy, and something more, a hint that the future lay with this young man, even though he couldn’t imagine how yet. So he’d accepted.
Ettgers had joined in with his group.
It had been a good session.
Besides, he knew Marguerite had needed some time to think, to work things out in her head. He had no doubt that his woman was anxious to leave, despite the great lovemaking. She had itchy feet, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
He looked up and down the lane, always on the alert, always hunting for death vamp sign, or maybe just for some clue as to how to get himself out of this mess.
“Now you’re pissed at me,” Arthur said.
Thorne looked back at him. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, but this isn’t pissed. If I was pissed, you’d be facedown on the ground with my foot on your neck.”
