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Good.
He was breathing hard, sweat streaming. There was blood everywhere.
Thorne?
Yeah, Fiona. I’m here.
We good?
He smiled. We’re perfect. Thank you. But I want you to know, I owe you one. Just let Jean-Pierre know that I was battling a Third Earth death vampire.
What?
Yes, you heard me right, which is why I called on you.
I guess Greaves has turned up the heat again.
Afraid so. You’ll let your breh know.
Of course. There was a beat, just a short one, of silence, then a very quiet, And Thorne?
Yeah?
Come home soon. We need you.
He withheld a sigh. I will.
He felt her separate her channeling powers from him then depart. That was one f**king gift Fiona had, to combine forces like that. She’d saved Jean-Pierre more than once because of her ability. Now she’d just saved his ass. Obsidian flame had some goddamn righteous potential.
Could the other warriors call on Fiona? On Marguerite?
Fiona had been right to be worried about Jean-Pierre’s reaction to her connecting with Thorne. Warriors didn’t share their women … ever. So just how would he feel if all his brothers had access to Marguerite?
The dangerous vibration that lanced through his body was answer enough. Okay, there was a lot of shit to work out. But not right now.
He called Jeannie and once more closed his eyes for the powerful flash of light that would take dead bodies away and leave no trace behind. He thanked her and thumbed his phone.
But why was he able to communicate with the obsidian flame women, and not with his own men?
He didn’t have time to contemplate the subject, since the mist shifted—and what do you know, three more blue ass**les appeared in the newly created space. This time they were Second-ascender-sized, though, so he smiled.
* * *
Marguerite tried yet again to fold into another newly created space of mist that still kept her separated from Grace. She didn’t understand why she was so limited when she’d been able to fold into the cell in the first place.
She was damn frustrated.
But even as she paced her small quadrant, jumping up on Grace’s bed then hopping down, Fiona’s familiar telepathic voice showed up deep within her mind. Hey, sister, how’s tricks?
Something inside Marguerite relaxed. It’s great to hear your voice but what’s going on?
I just helped your man out and wondered if you were okay?
Sort of. I … we’re at the Convent in the middle of a shitstorm. She explained everything in a few short sentences including the fact that Grace was their third leg of the triad.
Wow, but then she’s Thorne’s sister. In a way it kind of makes sense. That’s one powerful gene pool.
The blah-blah was great but Marguerite’s nerves were on fire. I need to get to Grace but even though she’s just a few feet away, I can’t seem to fold to her. I think it might have something to do with this crazy-ass mist. Can you help me out?
What if I tried to enhance your folding skills? Do you think that would do the trick?
Only one way to find out. Do it, obsiddy-sister.
She felt Fiona’s presence first, matching up next to her shoulder then her hip. The channeling power just flowed. She felt it as the vibration that occurred right before doing a fold from one location to the next.
Fiona sent, Just picture where you want to be.
Grace came to mind. She focused. The vibration began and after a tiny blanking-out, she touched down behind Grace by barely a foot. But holy shit, Grace was in Casimir’s arms and pressed so tightly against the Fourth ascender that the molecules between them had to be getting crushed.
Her mouth fell to the floor.
Fiona’s voice intruded. Everything okay? You went really still. What’s going on?
If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. Hell, I don’t believe it. But listen, I’d better go. I’ll fill you in later, okay?
Just tell me if Grace is okay?
She’s fine. Really. I mean, she’s definitely not in mortal danger.
Marguerite, I’d better go. Jean-Pierre just walked in and he looks as mad as fire. Oh, damn, I forgot. He’s just experienced everything I just experienced.
Why would he be mad that you helped me out?
Not you. Thorne.
Oh, shit. No, your man’s not gonna like that … at all.
Bye.
The separation from Fiona was brisk and caused Marguerite to list sideways before she caught herself.
But as she stared at the subtle erotic sways and moves of Grace’s body, she wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.
Then the mist shifted. And though it didn’t separate her from Grace again, it did bring a new problem.
* * *
It had taken another shift of mist before Leto finally had access to the space Grace inhabited.
But holy shit, the bastard had his arms around her, his tongue deep in her mouth, and dammit his woman was in a full state of arousal, her meadow scent flooding the room. He could hear each breath the Fourth ascender took, deep breaths through his nose as he kissed Grace, inhaling what belonged to Leto.
Without even being aware that he was thinking the thought, he found his sword suddenly in his hand.
The cramping was forgotten. The sweating. The nausea.
He saw crimson, a sheen of color over his eyes that pulsed with each rapid beat of his heart.
He lost his sense of hearing, but he could see. Everything began to move in slow motion as Grace turned toward him and mouthed something—something she must have said aloud but that still didn’t reach his ears.
His gaze was fixed now on Casimir. The bastard turned slowly to meet his gaze, a smile slithering over his face.
Time resumed.
Casimir released Grace but he lifted his arm and threw a hand-blast that knocked Leto into the wall of mist.
Leto fell to the floor, his sword flying from his hand, bouncing off the mist and landing next to his foot. But he lifted his hand at the same moment and returned the hand-blast in full force.
Casimir looked surprised as he flew backward into the far stone wall of the cell. However, just as Leto gained his feet, Casimir righted himself.
“So the traitor has become a traitor,” Casimir called out.
“Fuck you.”
“Is that an offer? You’re quite beautiful, Leto. I’d accept it wholeheartedly.”
Leto began to sweat as the initial surge of adrenaline subsided. With a quick piece of levitation, he drew his sword into his hand and began moving slowly across the stone floor. Though some of his initial strength had waned, he still had enough juice to match Casimir. He lifted his left hand upright, palm-out, ready to fire off another blast.
