“Yes, my obsidian flame power.”
“You are necessary, Seer Marguerite, in ways you do not understand yet, but I don’t believe it is your ability to reach pure vision that Second Earth needs from you.”
“How strange that you would say that when all my life I’ve been dogged for my Seer skills.”
“Which means no one has seen your true gift.”
“Which is?”
But Diallo smiled. “Your temper, of course.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Diallo shook his head. “One day, you’ll understand.” He turned toward Thorne. “In the meantime, I can’t stay here for very long.” He tapped his forehead. “I have a terrible gnat in here, in the form of one of the council’s elders. We were having a wonderful argument when I got your summons and the dear man wants me back.” He laughed as he spoke, a good-humored way to tell Thorne to get on with things.
“Unless you are opposed to the idea, I want to bring Endelle here in the morning, and I’d like for you to be here. She will need to speak with Leto, to figure out how to protect him, and he’s ready to talk. But she also needs to be made aware of these hidden colonies.” So far, Thorne knew of two others beyond the Seattle Colony, one outside of Portland and of course one in Florida, near Lake City.
Diallo nodded. “We’ve been debating the situation all night. Ultimately, however, we know that our choices became exceedingly limited the moment those death vampires breached our mist.”
Thorne couldn’t agree more. “Would it be better if I brought Endelle to you now?”
But Diallo placed a hand on his shoulder, and he felt a sudden familiar soothing flow of warmth. Alison had the same ability, to give ease and comfort with a touch. “I would advise both you and Marguerite to take your rest now. I’ve strengthened my mist against intruders—although if your Jeannie at Central needs to fold anyone to this location, it won’t be a problem, your discretion of course. And if even one death vampire succeeds in getting through our mist again, alarms will sound this time and give you warning.
“Please, make use of my home. I will meet you there tomorrow. How does ten sound?”
“Good. That’s good.”
Diallo glanced in the direction of the door to Leto’s current room. “If you like, we can create a second protective mist around the infirmary, if that would ease your mind about your brother warrior and about your sister.”
“Absolutely.” Thorne released a very deep sigh. He was more worried about the situation than even he realized.
Diallo extended his hand toward the front door. “If you’ll come outside with me, I’ll show you the mist technique in case you ever need to use it. I believe both your powers are strong enough to make use of it at will.”
“Is it that simple?”
Diallo smiled. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Thorne brought Marguerite forward to precede him from the building. Once outside, he turned toward the smallish cabin-like structure. Diallo stood next to Marguerite and lifted his foot for both of them to see.
His rope sandal disappeared, folded somewhere.
Diallo then placed his foot in the dirt. “The trick to this kind of mist is a connection to the earth. And the Pacific Northwest is such a damp part of the world that the trees often have moss growing on their northern faces. Picture any tree in the vicinity then fold some of that moss into your hand. You won’t need much.”
Thorne focused on a tree, and with a little mental scraping took moss from near the base and folded it into his hand. He held the moss palm-up. Marguerite did the same.
“Marguerite, touch my arm. Thorne, touch her arm. We’ll form a chain and you’ll be able to feel and resonate with a like vibration.”
Diallo was a man of action and he simply began the process. Thorne had created mist before, thousands of times, but he had no idea whether Marguerite had or not.
But as the vibration passed through her to Thorne, he watched her smile as she held up her arm, the moss pinched between her fingers. All three of them began sending the lace-like filaments, only now shrouded with a green tinge of moss, toward the dwelling until it was completely covered. Each of their mists, however, had a different quality, and the end result, though powerful, wasn’t exactly elegant.
Diallo laughed. “I’m not sure if I love it or hate it.”
Marguerite laughed as well.
Thorne just shook his head. He could feel the power of the mist and knew in his heart of hearts that if Grace and Leto weren’t safe beneath this protective shroud, they wouldn’t be safe anywhere.
He turned and offered his hand to Diallo. “Thank you for the mist. I’ll sleep easier tonight. And thank you for the lesson. I have no doubt I’ll be making use of this technique in the future.”
“You can retrieve this moss from any point in the world with just a thought. And I have found that for some reason the moss from these fir trees works best, but you might want to conduct your own experiments.”
Thorne smiled. “Hard to find this quality of moss in the desert.”
Diallo laughed. “I suppose not. Well, I must away. Good night.” He bowed slightly, lifted his right arm, and vanished.
Thorne suggested that he fold Marguerite to Diallo’s courtyard. She agreed, sliding her arm around his waist.
He felt the vibration and the slight blanking-out, but as he touched down in Diallo’s living room, he had a thought, a rather perfect one that he knew would please Marguerite. He glanced down at his battle-weary kilt and the blood spatters on his arms and legs.
Yeah, he needed to get cleaned up but there was something else as well, another powerful need that had to be tended before he could relax.
He squeezed her waist and said, “I forgot something, but I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”
Since she looked ready to argue with him, he chucked her chin, lifted his arm, and took off.
Grace stared into the most beautiful blue eyes that had ever existed in the entire course of mankind, clear and piercing, even though in this moment Leto was doused with pain. His lips were parted. “I don’t want this for you.”
She nodded. “Leto, it’s all right.” She glanced down the length of the bed. He filled it top-to-bottom. Even though from the time she could remember, Thorne had been warrior-sized and she was used to all the height and breadth, she often marveled at just how big these men were. “Maybe I could lie down next to you while we do this?”
“That would be … nice.”
With great effort, he pushed himself to the opposite side of the bed. He was beneath a sheet and a soft wool blanket. He lifted the blanket and she crept beneath so that his very naked body was separated from hers only by the sheet. And her gown.
He pulled the blanket over her.
“Oh,” she whispered, “it’s so warm. I’m never this warm, at least not in winter or early spring. Or the fall for that matter. Summer was always nice, though.”
“That building … was damn cold. Like Moscow Two.”
She felt herself relax as she hadn’t relaxed in a long time, despite all that had just happened. He slipped his arm around her so that she settled her head on his shoulder, but she drew back so that she could look at him. She also needed the angle to present her wrist again, but he pushed it away and turned into her, shifting to look at her neck.
When she realized what he wanted, that he wanted her primary vein, her whole body rolled and arched, which in turn brought a soft hiss from between his lips as his forest scent suddenly drenched the space. Oh, God, this couldn’t be happening to her, that all her poetry was descending on her like a warm wave of the most erotic water, flowing over her, enticing her to do the forbidden.
She wanted to pull away from him and to offer her arm, to insist on her wrist or even the deep vein at her elbow, but she couldn’t, especially since she was having trouble breathing into the depths of her lungs.
Grace, he sent. Rest on top of me. Let me take you from your throat, just this once.
She stared into his eyes and her breath caught in a series of desperate hitches—and then her body completely betrayed her. She rolled onto him. Through the sheet she could feel the strength and bulk of his warrior’s body.
And that he was fully aroused.
She pulled her long hair over her shoulder to hang down her back. She lifted up and presented her throat. His lips settled on her skin as he enveloped her in his arms. She shifted several different ways to make sure she was comfortable so that once he started, he’d be able to keep drinking.
But the closeness and all the movement was very arousing.
“You smell of the sweet earth.”
“And you, of the forest.”
Oh … God.
He had enough strength to slide his hand over her nape and hold her steady. He licked her neck in long slow sweeps until her vein rose, which didn’t take but a few seconds. The next moment his fangs struck to just the right depth.
She cried out, not in pain. The sensation was exquisite. She couldn’t help what happened next as she spread her legs and settled herself on the hard curve of his muscular upper thigh. Her right hip was pressed up against his erection.
As he drank, desire for him spiked. She couldn’t but roll into him, taking pleasure on his leg. That she could feel how hard he was at the same time as his erection slid up and down her hip also kept her moving. She’d kept herself pure for so long.
But the feel of his mouth on her skin, of his fangs buried in her neck, of her blood leaving her body and flowing into his mouth, of all her strength strengthening him—all this worked like an aphrodisiac.
Her mind became a loose wandering thing and his body the hardness she needed. Her hips moved faster and his thigh rose in response, pushing back against her, increasing her pleasure. He held his hand tight against her nape in order to keep his fangs fixed into her throat.
He was groaning now. His free arm rubbed up and down her back then his fingers were suddenly stroking her wing-locks. Oh, God, she’d forgotten how good that could feel.
