“Let’s get back to the villa. I think we’ve been out here long enough.”
It was always a risk, being in the open. Antony held her steady and with a smile and a nod, folded them both to the villa.
She felt the front pavers beneath her feet, but the sight of Militia Warriors now stationed throughout the property startled her.
“I know,” he said, feeling her tension. “I almost drew my sword. I forgot they might be here. Endelle said she’d call Seriffe. But if Rith shows up again, uninvited, he’ll have to face an army this time.”
***
Rith felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his white cotton trousers. He withdrew the Nokia and smiled at the word MASTER, which indicated the call’s origin. He brought the phone to his ear. He felt pleased. “Yes, master.”
“What are you doing over there, my dear Rith?”
“Experimenting.” The woman Fiona had a bright red handprint on her left cheek. A small trickle of blood ran from her left nostril. It was actually rather pretty, that red stream on her creamy complexion. Fiona had very good skin, for a Caucasian.
“I felt Parisa’s voyeur window open and I had a glimpse of the women in a long narrow room on cots. Was that your doing somehow?”
“Yes, I believe so, master. I asked the woman, Fiona, to contact Parisa. It would seem it worked.”
“Interesting. Do you suspect Fiona of undeveloped powers?”
“I have for some time. How is that she has lived this long when no one else has?”
“I believe you may be right. I will read her powers the next time I come.” He paused. Rith knew better than to disturb his master’s ruminations. After a long moment, Greaves said, “Be prepared to move the donors again. In the meantime, you may want to stop further experimentation until we have command of Parisa. We would not want Fiona to develop the ability to communicate with our mortal-with-wings.”
“Yes, master.” Greaves was right. Parisa’s ability to reach out to Fiona also allowed her to see his dying blood acquisition facility. What else she was capable of, who could say, but he didn’t want to risk discovery. If he had to move the slaves again, he would disrupt the dying blood supplies he sent around the world.
As Fiona met his gaze, he really didn’t appreciate the hard look in her eye. He lifted a brow. He pushed at her chest with his power, that physical power he used to command obedience. She resisted at first but after a minute fell back against the cot. For good measure, he sustained the pressure while he worked.
Into his hand, he folded restraint straps from a special chest he carried with him from place to place. He didn’t touch her as he directed the straps through the air, around her wrists, and through the slots in the cot. He did the same to her ankles.
He ignored her after that but he kept the pressure on her chest until she was gasping for air. He didn’t relent until she passed out. Only then did he let her breathe.
At the same time, he chose the next donor, the woman who had been whimpering. He really would not tolerate such pathetic noises among his slaves.
“You will be next.”
“But I gave blood two weeks ago. I’m not ready.”
He passed a hand over her eyes, and her gaze became blank. He left her in that state. He was debating whether or not to bring her back afterward.
Who is the true warrior
But the one tried in battle.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 18
Medichi stood on the half-moon of pavers that formed the large patio in front of his villa. He watched Parisa throw her dagger with unparalleled accuracy. The target was now thirty feet away and still she nailed the bull’s-eye every time.
An hour had passed since they’d returned from the rim. Parisa had done her voyeur window quick-checks twice now, but there was still a lot of blue sky at the window. Time was counting down, though, and he was ready.
She’d done her set-Greaves-on-the-wrong-path routine a number of times as well. That she experienced pain every time bugged the shit out of him, but there was nothing he could do and she was determined to see their plan through. Damn, he was proud of her.
He’d consulted with Thorne more than once, keeping him updated. This time, however, Thorne wanted all the warriors to go on the mission. Medichi wasn’t certain why, but it didn’t matter.
He felt a movement of air behind him. He whirled and folded his sword into his hand despite the dozen Militia Warriors stationed around the lawn.
Jean-Pierre shimmered into being.
Medichi released a breath. “Why didn’t you call first?”
Jean-Pierre pushed a hand through his long, wavy, light brown hair that hung beside his face to mid-chest, and down his back. He wasn’t wearing a cadroen and he looked like hell. “Désolé,” he murmured. Sorry.
“You look like fuck.”
“I feel like fuck.”
“You should be sleeping right now. Thorne will want you at the Borderlands tonight.”
“I know, but I cannot sleep. I have so much fatigue. Medichi, I did not know how hard it was. The breh-hedden. It’s like a torture in my head and a fire here.” He circled his palm over his chest. He wore a navy T-shirt, jeans. Medichi glanced down. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.
Medichi chuckled. “I’m sorry, Jean-Pierre, but welcome to the goddamn club.”
“How did you bear it for three months? I have borne her disappearance for less than a day and I want to hurt someone very badly.”
Medichi sighed. His gaze shifted to Parisa, who was heading toward the target to pick up the practice daggers. She still wore the flight suit and his gaze fell as always to the swell of her breasts. Parisa, he sent.
She stopped mid-stride and turned toward him. Yes? Her gaze shifted to Jean-Pierre, and she waved at him. He waved in return.
He felt like a pig speaking the words but he responded as gently as he could inside her mind, Maybe a shirt? I hate to ask, but you’re very voluptuous.
She almost glanced down at her chest, but instead her hand came to the deep cleavage, her fingers resting on the push of her breasts beyond the leather. Her gaze shifted to Jean-Pierre and her cheeks fired up. She then glanced at the Militia Warriors who were at least some distance away.
Oh, you’re right, you’re right. I’ll change now. Sweet Jesus, but Jean-Pierre looks wrecked.
She started to walk in their direction, but he added, Fold.
Right. Right.
She lifted an arm, closed her eyes, then vanished.
“Mon Dieu,” Jean-Pierre cried. “Did your woman just dematerialize?”
Medichi shouldn’t have been so pleased, but he was. “Yes,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. His pecs swelled. His woman was the only other known mortal to have born wings before her ascension other than Luchianne, she could communicate telepathically, she had a voyeur’s window which was an acknowledged Third Dimension ability, and she could dematerialize. He felt damn proud.
“You are preening like a peacock, mon ami.” Jean-Pierre smiled and nudged him with his elbow.
“Where’s your cadroen?”
Jean-Pierre sighed. “What do I care for the cadroen? For anything, when my woman is held captive by that beast.” His gaze fell to the nearby lawn. Back and forth his gaze flew as though hunting for her. “I do not know what to do, mon ami. I am desperate.”
“Why do you sound so damn hoarse?”
“Because I have been shouting into the wind, calling for her. The breh-hedden is a terrible madness.”
The air shimmered next to Jean-Pierre. Medichi leaped back and brought his sword into his hand once more. Jean-Pierre did the same, but it was Parisa now wearing a loose blouse over her flight suit.
Medichi groaned and got rid of his sword.
Jean-Pierre folded his away as well. This time he moved in a circle, his eyes closed, his hands once more pressed against his head.
“Did I do something wrong? I was practicing.”
“You did fine. We’re just on edge.” To her mind he sent, Fiona, then gave a swift jerk of his head in Jean-Pierre’s direction.
Jean-Pierre came to a stop next to Parisa. “Thorne said Rith tried to abduct you again. Is this true, cherie?”
“Yes, that’s when I discovered I could dematerialize.”
He nodded. “Have you tried to see the woman again, Fiona, with your voyeur window?”
She sighed. She explained what had happened, that somehow Fiona had opened the window while they were in the Sedona canyon. She didn’t tell him that Rith had hit her and for that, Medichi was grateful. “Did Antony also tell you that I probably have a voyeur link with Greaves?”
“Oui. That you have headaches now when you try to see something.”
“Yes, exactly. So we’re being careful how we use the window. We’re only opening it once every half hour, very quickly so that I can see the windows and judge the light. Once the sun sets we can really narrow the location.” She turned to Medichi.
“How long has it been?” Jean-Pierre asked.
“Maybe five minutes. Sorry. Wherever they are, it’s still light out.”
He nodded. He looked up at the sky. “Well, there is one thing for certain. She is not in France. It has been night there for hours now.”
“That’s true.”
Medichi met her gaze. “We could give it another shot, don’t you think, Parisa?”
She looked at Jean-Pierre and nodded. “Why not?”
A sound erupted out of Jean-Pierre’s throat, something between a huff and a cry. Before Medichi could stop him, he had grabbed Parisa and hauled her into his arms. He repeated, “Merci” over and over.
Medichi felt his nostrils fold inward and his hands bunch into fists. His brain shut down and all he could think was that another man had his hands on his woman. The sequence was irrational, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Take your hands off her,” rushed out of his throat, a throat that felt too small for the words. At the same, time he grabbed Jean-Pierre by the shoulders and started dragging him away from Parisa.