Burning Skies (31 page)

“That sage scent you were smelling last night?”

“Yes. The one all throughout the house. The chair I sat in was drenched with it.”

“Is that why you sat there? Oh, now you’re blushing.”

The women laughed together.

“And now your cheeks are bright red.”

“Stop, Havily.”

“So you’re smelling sage?”

“Yes. Isn’t that strange?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Havily still served every once in a while as a Liaison Officer, though less often because of her increasing duties as an executive in Endelle’s administration. Medichi smiled. The pitch of a woman’s voice was higher and lighter than a man’s. Yeah, he had forgotten how much the sound pleased him.

*   *   *

Marcus awoke to the sound of feminine laughter and not close by, but in some distant part of this big-ass house … villa … whatever.

What do you know? He’d dropped off to sleep after making love to Havily. The last thing he remembered, she was in the shower.

Ah. Making love to Havily. He folded his arms behind his head and smiled up at the ceiling, carved beams in a coffered pattern of the same heavy wood as the bed. He liked this room. Of course it helped that he still had Havily’s scent in his nose, thick this time, rich with sex. He licked his lips and tasted his blood on his mouth because she’d kissed him right after she’d taken his vein. Oh … yeah.

He slid a hand from in back of his head and touched his neck. Not even a bump. He would have preferred to wear the red burn as a badge this morning, to see it in the mirror, to see Havily’s gaze drop to the results of her penetration, to watch her eyes flare as she remembered.

Those thoughts brought a sudden new arousal and, if they’d been alone in the house, he’d have called Havily back to bed. Yeah, that’s exactly what he would have done.

He touched his side where Leto had stuck him with the blade. Not even a fucking twinge. He ought to send Horace flowers or something. What a gift the man had.

But the healed wound sent his thoughts flowing in the direction of the death vampire known as Crace. Havily had been right, he was big like Luken. The thought that he had been at Havily’s neck balled his hands into fists. He wanted the vampire dead and he wanted him dead now.

So who was he exactly? Endelle had said he was a High Administrator aligned with the Commander but apparently he was operating in Phoenix now and had a new passion in the form of securing blood donors. The next question was simple: Had he come to Parisa’s home for her or for Havily? Could he have even known Havily was there?

Thank God Crace had been unable to trace to the villa. The women wouldn’t be alive otherwise. Shit, this whole situation was setting his teeth on edge. He knew how Havily’s blood made him feel, which meant that Crace had experienced the same damn sensations. A long line of obscenities possessed his mind, swirling around until his head pounded. If he were in Crace’s shoes, he’d want more of Havily’s blood because, based on all the reports he’d ever heard about dying blood, Havily’s blood was a fucking match.

Jesus H. Christ.

He rolled out of bed. Though Medichi’s home had the best possible covering of mist, in addition to COPASS’s protection under the law of Second Society, he felt a profound need to be near Havily right now, to keep his guard up, to watch the skies.

He went into the bathroom and found his shaving gear lined up against the mirror. Havily’s doing. He smiled but shook his head as he picked up a can of shaving cream and squirted foam into his hand. She was a woman of detail. He liked that. He was a detail man himself. But those thoughts led him down a different path, and though his fingers were now covered with shaving cream all he could do was stare at the white cloud.

Havily had been right. What the hell were they doing getting so involved when neither of them had the heart for it? He sure as hell didn’t. He loved being with her for obvious reasons but right now, his chest felt weighed down when he thought of the next day and the next. He couldn’t give something to this woman that he didn’t have to give. Four thousand years of living, of losing those closest to him, had ripped his heart from his chest.

For a minute, he could hardly breathe.

Shit.

The women’s laughter struck his extended hearing. He drew it in then cast his hearing in a southerly direction. Medichi should be home by now. What he heard there surprised him, since he detected a faint, guttural moaning followed by a very precise, “What the fuck is that?”

Yeah, Medichi was home and apparently agitated about something. Maybe all the laughter was keeping him awake when he was trying to fall asleep for the day.

*   *   *

Havily hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in a long time. Parisa had a sharp wit and strong intelligence. She stood at one end of the dark soapstone island in the kitchen and Parisa at the other. They were talking like college roommates, sipping coffee and comparing the warriors.

“Santiago has the most interesting nose,” Parisa said. “It’s curved and very sexy.”

“You should see Luken with his hair down,” Havily said.

“I have, remember? His hair was over his bare chest in the hospital.”

“That’s right. You saw us there in one of your visions.”

“Yes, I did.” Parisa shook her head. “You know, there’s almost too much raw muscle among these men. I swear I’m ovulating even as we speak.” Then she laughed.

Havily, having been trapped by the sensual delights of the
breh-hedden
for the last several days
,
giggled along with her.

Parisa wore a pair of Havily’s jeans again but instead of the purple sequin tank she had donned a red silk blouse, which was, of course, a little too snug across the chest, but that couldn’t be helped. If Parisa stuck around on Second, Havily would definitely need to take her shopping unless they could find some way to sneak back into Parisa’s home without getting attacked by death vampires.

Hmmm. Shopping or death vampires. Now, there was a tough choice.

Parisa was something of a mystery in many respects: her
royle
wings, her visions, which seemed oddly focused on Medichi, and her ability to handle being on Second Earth. All these things indicated strong preternatural powers. Yet she couldn’t fold
,
nor did she seem to have telepathic abilities. So she had phenomenal powers in some respects, yet in others she was totally lacking. Which made Havily like her very much.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Havily asked.

Parisa shrugged. “You’ve asked me three times this morning and I’m fine.” She tilted her nose off to the side and sniffed. “You know, that sage smell is getting even stronger. In fact, it seems to be coming from the direction of the foyer.”

Havily turned and took a deep breath. “Actually, I do smell something but it’s more along the lines of licorice.”

“Licorice?”

Havily felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She then spent the next few minutes explaining about the
breh-hedden
and the warriors, about specific scents that indicated the ritual had been triggered between a warrior and his
breh,
and how the same experience had struck down Warrior Kerrick and Alison four months ago.

Parisa frowned. “What are you saying? Do you think I’m Warrior Medichi’s
bray
or whatever it is you said? Do you think this sage I’m smelling belongs to him?”

“Of course not … that is … oh, my God.” The owner of the villa suddenly appeared in the doorway, his long, thick black hair, still damp from a shower, draped over his heavy pecs and down his back. The man wore nothing but a towel, a black terry-cloth towel wrapped around his waist that was tented ominously. “Medichi? What’s … going on?” Havily was shocked. Of all the warriors, Medichi was the most … gentlemanly.

But, damn, he was one gorgeous man. He was also in a profound state of arousal, and it was as though he didn’t even see her. His gaze was fixed on Parisa, his chin dipped low, his dark eyes glittering. His pecs flexed, relaxed, flexed, relaxed. A low growl reverberated through the room. She realized she had never seen him without a shirt on, but wow was he built … and aroused … and acting like a beast.

Which reminded her of Marcus on more than one occasion … and that’s when all the puzzle pieces fell into place: that Parisa could smell sage, that her visions had focused on him, that he was now behaving in a completely uncharacteristic manner.

Oh, dear God.

Trouble was, she didn’t exactly know what to do.

But as bad as it was that Medichi stood in the doorway, obviously aroused and looking like something from the Roman pantheon of gods, the warrior then did the unthinkable. He unhooked his black towel and let it fall to the floor almost as though he wanted Parisa to see … oh-my-ever-loving-God.

Havily whirled around, turning her back on Medichi. She had no right to see what he’d come to show … Parisa.

But how was the woman taking the situation? She was probably embarrassed, maybe ready to faint.

From her peripheral vision, she could see that Parisa hadn’t moved. Instead, her gaze was fixed low on Medichi, her lips parted, and she was stroking her neck with her fingers. Her cheeks were pink. Her breathing shallow.

Well … she certainly wasn’t
embarrassed.

Holy shit! The
breh-hedden
had struck again!

Havily couldn’t bear looking at her because she knew exactly what Parisa was feeling, the depth of the sexual desire and attraction, the flood of scent that was right now passing only between the two of them, specific scents meant only for each other.

“Warrior Medichi,” Parisa whispered, her voice a soft erotic caress.

She started moving down the length of the dark soapstone island, clearly intent on going to him. Havily didn’t know what to do, a confusion that intensified when Parisa’s eyes went wide with horror and she cried out in a loud voice, “Warrior Marcus! No! Don’t hurt him!”

At that, Havily whirled back around. All she saw was Medichi flat on his back and the towel he’d dropped bunched over his hips and covering his arousal. Marcus stood next to him, his fists bunched.

Thank God! Marcus had arrived and immediately assessed the exact nature of the situation and intervened.

She glanced at Parisa and said, “How about we go for a walk?”

Parisa turned to her and murmured, “He’s … so big.”

Havily thought of Marcus and a little shiver traveled down her spine and teased her wing-locks, every damn one of them. “I think it’s a warrior thing.”

She didn’t say anything more, but Havily knew Medichi. He defined the word
gentleman,
and this whole situation would mortify him once he came to his senses. She hooked Parisa’s arm and guided her in a northerly direction toward the pool and the formal gardens.

*   *   *

Medichi stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but his jaw
hurt.
He pressed it with his hand and moved the hinge around. At least nothing was broken. He blinked.

“I see stars.” Someone was bending over him. Oh. Marcus. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

Marcus sat back on his heels but he was grinning, the bastard. “Saved you from a rape charge. Or don’t you remember dropping the towel in front of the ascendiate for her viewing pleasure?”

Oh, dear Creator, what had he done? He crossed his hands over his stomach, but he didn’t want to look. He whispered, “Are Havily and the ascendiate still standing on the other side of the island?”

“No. Havily took her outside. Dragged her, actually.” Then he smiled. “Well, dumbfuck, how do you like the
breh-hedden
now? Isn’t it just the bomb?”

Medichi flipped him off. “So, shit.
She’s
here.”

“Looks like it.”

“What the hell is going on? First Kerrick, then you, now me? Don’t you think this is a little bizarre?”

“At the very least. So, did I break your jaw or what?”

He rubbed it again and once more worked the hinge. “No, but I could use some ice. I’d call Horace but this is just too goddamn embarrassing. Shit.” When Marcus rose up then headed toward the fridge, he called out, “So did the ascendiate just arrive or what?”

“She’s been here all night.”

At that, Medichi leaped to his feet and shot in the direction of the pool, the towel once more forgotten. “It’s not safe,” he cried. “She’ll die!”

*   *   *

Marcus watched Medichi blur past him and move swiftly into the hall that led to the patio. He was about to call out for the warrior to stop, but his gaze fell on Medichi’s back.

Holy shit. Scars crisscrossed the broad muscled expanse in a multitude of flat silver lines. All the decades of wondering why the hell Medichi never mounted his wings suddenly came home to him loud and clear. But the vampire was moving fast, intent all over again, apparently, on getting to Parisa. He didn’t really have time to wonder what had created the scars.