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Marguerite released another heavy sigh. She’d come a long way since she’d dropped down to Mortal Earth. Now here she was, looking at Thorne and wondering. It looked like Thorne was a little farther down the road than she was, though.
Her arm had begun to ache holding the baby in one position for so long. She crossed in front of Alison and Kerrick, then sat down in one of the large chairs and adjusted the baby. When Alison slipped a pillow under her elbow, she breathed a sigh of relief. In this position, she could hold Helena forever.
The baby once more sighed. Marguerite heard faint humorous grumblings from both Fiona and Parisa as they each stared at the sleeping baby.
Thorne continued, “What I need to know right now is where all of you stand on his activities as a spy for our Sixth ascender.” Zacharius dropped to sit on the floor in front of the couch, within touching distance of both Havily and Fiona. Marguerite watched as both women reached toward Zach’s hair then pulled away, each turning to meet the scowling gazes of her respective mate.
Marguerite thought the whole thing fascinating, but mostly she could understand why the women had reached for his hair. Zach’s unusual curly black hair fanned out from his cadroen in an enormous mass. He was prettier than most of the men, his large cornflower-blue eyes and heavily fringed lashes giving him an outrageous appearance. He also had faint freckles and pale skin.
Okay, you’ve looked at him long enough.
She shot her gaze to Thorne. He lifted a brow at her.
Sorry. Guess I was staring. He really could be a model.
Yeah, so stop looking.
Jealous?
Hell, yeah, especially in this room.
Thorne looked away. Generally, it wasn’t polite to hold telepathic conversations while in company. “Shall I give Leto and Grace a shout and bring them here? All in favor, say aye.” It was unanimous.
Thorne drew his phone from the pocket of his slacks. Not jeans this time, but tailored dark gray slacks and Italian loafers. His shirt was made of fine cotton in a blue-green that enhanced those particular shades of his hazel eyes. Damn, he was handsome. Helena made a kind of cooing noise in her sleep and Marguerite murmured, “Exactly. But you just wait. Your day will come and then you’ll understand.”
The baby huffed a short dreamy sigh.
Thorne frowned as he said, “He’s worse?” Pause. “Shit. But he still wants to come?”
Marguerite was just far enough away that she couldn’t quite hear Grace on the other end. She had strong, vampire hearing, but it wasn’t that strong.
Thorne hung up. “Grace wants everyone to know that Leto’s in bad shape, and the fold will make it worse, so be prepared.” He glanced at the couch. “He’ll need to lie down.”
Everyone rose as if on cue, even Zach who practically launched off the floor.
Parisa spoke to Antony. The next moment a blanket appeared on the couch, a very soft beige fleece, as well as a couple of pillows.
Thorne called out to Luken, “Carla’s sending them into the foyer. He might need assistance.”
“Got it, boss.” Luken was right there so he immediately moved into the adjoining room.
A moment later Luken cried out a resounding, “Fuck, is he even still alive?”
Marguerite stayed put because of the baby, but otherwise there was a mad rush to the doorway, which meant that it was one major traffic jam. Everyone had to retrace their steps and resettle in different parts of the living room once more.
Luken had Leto’s arm around his neck, his other around his waist, as he all but carried him to the couch. The vampire was pale and hollow-eyed. Grace followed behind, her expression calm, even dignified. Her lips, however, were pressed tightly together. She still wore the Convent gown, maybe thinking she would return after all this got settled.
Thorne joined her by the couch. “How’s he doin’?”
“Not well. He was barely holding his own before the fold. He’s going downhill fast, even though I’ve fed him twice.” She shook her head and her voice trembled. “Once we arrived … he collapsed.”
Thorne put his arm around Grace, and she turned into him until he held her tight in both arms. He turned slightly and met Marguerite’s gaze over his sister’s head.
Marguerite felt for all of them. Maybe she wasn’t the most sympathetic person in the world, but she loved Grace and she loved Thorne and from everything she’d heard, Leto didn’t deserve his present suffering despite his service to Greaves.
When brother and sister drew apart, Grace wiped her face with her hands then sank down on her knees next to Leto. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.
But an argument broke out near the doorway.
“No the f**k way,” Marcus shouted. “Not for a thousand deserving men, Havily. No. That’s final.”
Marguerite had no idea what was going on. She glanced at Thorne but he had a stunned expression on his face and began making his way to Marguerite’s side. For some reason, he sank down beside her, next to the chair, and took her hand.
“What is it?”
“Oh, man this is bad, but it might be good. But dammit, this is really bad. Shit. I don’t think I could do it.”
Havily’s voice lifted to the tall villa ceilings. “Screw that, Marcus, this isn’t your goddamn choice.”
Marguerite lifted her brows and held Helena a little more firmly. That was Havily? She hadn’t thought the lovely woman, with the immaculate makeup and perfectly coiffed red hair, would ever utter such words. She began to like her a little more.
“You are so wrong about that, Hav. Warriors don’t f**king share. You know that.”
“We need to make an exception in this case.”
“I don’t think I could do it,” Thorne murmured once more. He squeezed her fingers harder until she told him to let up, that he was hurting her. “Sorry.”
“What’s the argument about? What is it he won’t let her share?”
Thorne met her gaze, but boy did his eyes look dark, almost hostile. “Her blood.”
Marguerite recoiled. Even she got it. Even she understood the horrible nature of the idea. “She can’t … do that.”
He nodded in brisk pops of his head. “You understand, then.”
“Sure. Of course. I’d kill a woman for taking yours.”
But much to Marguerite’s surprise Fiona moved to stand beside Havily. “You have to let her try, Marcus, you know you do.”
“Okay, now I really don’t get this,” Marguerite whispered. But Thorne was rubbing her fingers and kissing them as though trying to soothe himself.
