Wings of Fire (25 page)

He stared at the streaming reports and found the movement comforting. When it came to an end, he started from the beginning just to watch the documents flit by.

He trembled, a long shudder down his body. He had a very simple problem. He needed to get Parisa back. Well, the truth was that he needed her dead, but clearly that meant first he needed to kidnap her again.

He took a deep breath, but another shudder traveled the length of him. He was not a sexual man; he did not have that capacity because of a certain unfortunate event several hundred years ago. But he believed his desire to have Parisa back came very close to that sort of base need and drive. He craved to have her once more under his control.

He had almost succeeded during the woman’s ascension ceremony. He’d teased her mind with an image of himself, and she’d folded to him. He shook his head. So very close.

What a coup that would have been … except for the fact that he didn’t have permission from Greaves to go after Parisa again. He was playing with fire.

What no one knew was that because Rith also had limited voyeur ability, he was able to find Parisa anytime he wished to. He had but to open what he called his little window, think of her, and there she was. Right now, she was seated in the library of Warrior Medichi’s villa. He listened for a few minutes and realized she was attempting to voyeur Fiona. What a coincidence, but not a surprise.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t share this information with Greaves—for the simple reason that Greaves didn’t know he had the ability to voyeur. Indeed, he’d only been able to voyeur two people so far, one of them being Parisa. The other was Greaves himself.

What a tightrope he walked.

The phone on his desk rang, a soft chime. He answered it quickly. “Yes, master.”

Greaves’s deep, pleasant voice filled the space. “Good evening, Rith. I hope your day has fared well. How are the donors doing?” He was always polite. Just hearing from his master made Rith smile.

He put the phone on speaker then shifted slightly to his right. He had a bank of monitors, with cameras fixed on each slave, just as he’d had in the Burma location. All the donors were asleep. “The sedative is working quite well. All shipments should proceed as usual.”

“Excellent, but then I would expect nothing less of you. I just checked my messages and discovered that you had called. I trust nothing is amiss.”

Rith took a deep breath then plunged into the delicate issue. “I called to request permission to secure the captive again.” He held his breath. He had little hope of having the request accepted—he knew Greaves was working his own plan—but he had to try. He had to.

Silence returned to him, not pressing, which was good, but silence nonetheless.

Finally, Greaves said, “You have need of this captive?”

Rith nodded, then became aware he hadn’t spoken aloud. “Yes, I do.”

“I realize that for you to place your request was no small thing, but I am sorry. I am waiting only for Parisa to open her voyeur window to begin utilizing the link. Though I am disappointed with the limitations of this link, I have great hopes of entrapping a warrior or two.”

“Yes, of course, master.”

“I will promise, however, to contact you the moment I have information of use to you where the blood donors are concerned. I also wish to thank you for how well you kept Parisa perfectly groomed, healthy, and compliant. I commend you, Rith.”

His heart softened, like pudding in his chest. “Thank you, master.”

“As for Madame Endelle and our blood donors, no doubt she’s been informed of our little operation and will want to disband it. I do expect the Warriors of the Blood to attempt to locate and assault your facility, and I suspect that they will try to do so through Parisa. With that in mind, I want you to choose among the death vampires at the Phoenix Estrella Complex, twenty of the very best, and bring them to your home in Toulouse. Then I want you to prepare to evacuate the facility upon my command. Do you understand?”

Rith was always surprised that anyone would interest themselves in his blood donors. The women involved had no particular value. Why would the warriors waste such critical time and energy on such a useless mission? But then he often found the actions of the warriors to be incomprehensible. Why, for instance, had they come as an entire unit to Parisa’s aid?

“I have no doubt they will attempt a rescue,” Greaves said. “Yes, yes, I already know your opinion. And I concur. Such a waste of military expertise on behalf of partially ascended mortal women—I am as incredulous as I’m sure you are. But we can use their absurd sense of chivalry to our advantage.”

Rith smiled. “Yes, master.”

True friendship bridges every terrible abyss.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 12

Jean-Pierre thought the library was a sensible choice for Parisa. She was going to voyeur the woman Fiona, the death and resurrection slave, and since Parisa was a librarian by trade, she might feel more comfortable surrounded by books.

It had to be difficult for the dark-haired beauty to attempt contact with a woman she had met in such terrible circumstances. Who would want to be reminded of a captivity such as Parisa endured? But here she was, settling herself in the chair by the farthest wall, ready to do what she must.

Medichi had to be very proud of his woman. She was learning to battle with sword and dagger, and she was intent on rescuing those she had left behind.
Oui,
Medichi should be very proud.

Parisa now wore a loose white blouse that was gathered low on her hips.

Jean-Pierre remained in the doorway to give the young woman some space. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. She had been humiliated by the earlier evidence of her
interest
in Medichi. The two of them were so clearly in the first throes of love, embarrassed and excited by turns. It was a beautiful thing to behold—especially to see Medichi caught, because he never allowed himself to love. To chase women at the Blood and Bite,
bien sûr,
but never to love. Seeing him now with Parisa, so kind and attentive, his eyes shining with affection, with desire,
oui,
very beautiful.

He wondered, though, what the
breh-hedden
might mean for the rest of the Warriors of the Blood. Three already had been caught by the fever—Kerrick, Marcus, and now Medichi. Was this portentous? Was there a chance he would fall next into Cupid’s lovely web?

A shudder went through him. He had been a lover of women his entire life, and every decade or so he enjoyed a deeper entanglement, an emotional one, but always the women were unable to handle the warrior’s life and commitments. But the women who had come to his three brothers were so very powerful. Could it be different if such a woman came to him? A world at war in this way was a horrible thing. He saw how Parisa suffered, how she was struggling to grow, to meet her challenges. Could he bear to see a woman he loved suffering in all these ways? He thought not.

He glanced around the room, looking for distraction. Medichi’s library was very tall, with bookshelves all the way to the fifteen-foot ceiling. He had been collecting since the printing press was invented. Most of the books were leather-bound. Jean-Pierre liked the fragrance in the room. Leather had a strong presence, a perfect binding for fragile pages and black print, very male and very female at the same time.

A tapestry hunting scene served as a valance over tall windows overlooking the front lawn. Wooden blinds kept the light at a minimum.

Medichi drew a chair close to Parisa’s. He was not convinced that he was needed, but Endelle had assigned him to assist both Medichi and Parisa as they shaped their plan to locate and extract the slaves.

As Parisa leaned back into the chair, her dark brown hair disappeared into the chocolate color of the leather. She took deep breaths. He tried to imagine what this must be like for her, so new to ascension, so recently freed from her captivity, so overwhelmed by the
breh-hedden.
He admired her courage and God help her but she would need courage to be bonded with a warrior, to live as his
breh
to whatever degree they chose to accept the
breh-hedden
into their lives. He wished her well, he wished her joy and every happiness but he did not think she understood yet just how hard life would be mated to a Warrior of the Blood.

He repressed a sigh.

“I see Fiona,” Parisa said.

So soon. Jean-Pierre was very impressed. Parisa had a soft voice, in the lower registers, very pretty, like velvet. Her cheeks bore a flush of excitement.

“Where is she?” Medichi asked. “Can you see her environment at all?”

“She’s walking outside, alone. There is a high wooden fence and beyond that, tall trees, but not the tamarind trees of Burma.”

“Try communicating with her telepathically.”

At that, Parisa opened her eyes and stared at Medichi. “Do you think I can?”

He smiled, so reassuring. He was gentle with her. Parisa did not need a heavy hand. Medichi was exactly the right man for her.

Parisa once more closed her eyes. A frown of concentration formed between her brows.

Jean-Pierre’s nostrils flared and he looked behind him. Was someone baking? He smelled croissants … again … rich buttery croissants, like the ones he had smelled in Rith’s house.

He heard footsteps and Havily appeared. Her eyes glittered and her lips looked bruised. He turned away so that she would not see his smile. She had been well kissed and perhaps more.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly as she drew up next to him.

“Parisa can see Fiona now,” he whispered. “She is trying to communicate telepathically.” He leaned closer. “Were you in the kitchen baking?” The words seemed absurd, but he didn’t understand what he was smelling.

“No, but I brought scones home from my Starbucks run.”

He nodded. “So, I must know—are you to learn to battle with Parisa now?”

She nodded and appeared just a little pleased with herself. “Yes, I am,” she stated, keeping her voice low. “After work, Marcus will do the download and I’ll start training with you boys and Parisa tomorrow.”

“Très bien.”

“You approve?”

“
Bien sûr.
I think it wise.” But he frowned. If he had a
breh,
would he speak so easily on a subject that meant his woman might attempt to engage a powerful death vampire in combat? A shiver went through him. Mercifully, he did not have to worry about such a thing.

He did, however, feel uneasy. The aroma of the croissants made him hungry … for many things. How very strange.

***

Fiona stood very still. She glanced around her. No one else was in the garden, but she always felt as though several pairs of eyes were on her. From the moment the woman in the Burma garden, Parisa, had escaped, Rith had doubled, maybe tripled his surveillance of his blood slaves.

Right now, however, she swore she heard a voice whispering inside her head:
Fiona, can you hear me?

Again, she looked around then put her feet in motion. She wore sandals and her usual pajama ensemble. The fabrics were soft but she so craved something else, anything else, to wear, like the jeans so many of the newer arrivals wore. Jeans and a blouse and underwear. How lovely that would be.

Fiona, this is Parisa, can you hear me? Don’t be afraid. This is telepathy and I’m not very good at it yet so if you hear me just say something aloud. A simple yes will do. Remember, I can see you. I’m a preternatural voyeur.

Fiona walked because she was afraid if she stopped and turned around to hunt for the source of the voice, Rith would jump out of the bushes and frighten her back into the house. But she didn’t think it would do any harm to say a single word aloud. How could that be interpreted as something dangerous?

“Yes.”

A faint girlish squealing sounded through her head and she almost covered her ears. It wasn’t loud, but it had startled her. So she said aloud, “If you really do exist, and I’m not just making up voices in my head, no more squealing, please.”

Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Fiona, but because I’m voyeuring you I can both see and hear what’s going on and I heard you. But just to make sure we’re communicating, say yes three times in a row.

Well, if she was going mad, this was not a hard phrase to repeat. “Yes, yes, yes.”

I heard it and I saw your lips move. Fiona, listen to me, I am doing all that I can to locate you and I’m not alone in my efforts. The Warriors of the Blood are helping me. We’re all working to locate you. After I escaped from Rith’s house, Warrior Thorne and his men returned for you but Rith had already moved you to another location. We think it was done first by van or some sort of automobile then by dematerialization. Are we right?

If this was her mind circling down the drain of insanity, she was certainly speaking to herself in remarkably lucid terms. “Yes,” she said aloud. “You have it exactly right. He put us in a vehicle, a Hummer, I think, but only for fifteen minutes or so. Then we were dematerialized here.”

Where are you? If we can pinpoint your location, I think we can come and get you, but we have to know which part of the world you’re in now.

It was at this point that Fiona’s heart began to thrum, to beat so hard in her chest that she could hardly breathe. Could it be this simple, after all these years?

Tears rushed to her eyes. She kept walking. She had almost died for good during the last blood-drain. If it hadn’t been for James, that strange elderly man who sat on a bench and fed sunflower seeds to a flock of pigeons, she wouldn’t be here right now. He’d pressed her forward, into the future. He’d put courage in her heart when she had been depleted. He had said she had reason to hope. She hadn’t exactly believed him, but now she did.

Aloud, she said, “I’ve heard people speaking French.”

Another squeal, which caused her to put her hands over her ears.

Oh, I can see that I hurt your mind again. I’m so sorry, but even a language narrows the search.

This time, Fiona smiled. “I’ll find out as quickly as I can.”