Marguerite lifted her brows. Well, well, well. A woman, who was somehow connected to the Warriors of the Blood or at the very least to Alison or Warrior Kerrick, was actually communicating with her. Damn. This had possibilities.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the wood-beam ceiling. But she remained buried in her mind and wondered just what she should do. Should she risk punishment by contacting the woman?

I can feel you, the unknown woman sent. I sense that you’re very close, in the Convent, right? Did you call to me? Are you in danger?

Shit, yes, this ascender had power. Ah, what the hell! She couldn’t help it. She had to know, had to communicate even if Hetty would figure it out and alert Sister Quena.

So you heard me yelling for someone to get me out of this place?

A pause, maybe a faint gasp. Yes, I did.

And you can sense that I’m in the Convent?

Another pause. Actually, I’m right next to you. Do you have a sense that I’m there?

I have to say I don’t. So this isn’t just telepathy.

Something a little more involved than telepathy, yes.

No shit? she sent.

“Sister,” Henrietta called out. “You are forbidden! You must desist at once!” Sister Henrietta could sense the telepathy the way a good bloodhound could smell prey—one particle in a million—even if she couldn’t actually register the nature of the communication. Dammit.

Marguerite ignored her as she focused on her new friend. You’re very powerful. What’s your name?

Fiona. And yours?

Marguerite. I’m Thorne’s woman.

Silence. Long silence. Finally, Thorne’s woman? But … we all thought he was celibate.

Henrietta now pounded on the door. “Sister, cease, or I will have to summon the regulators!”

Marguerite blinked. She was also hearing something else, something that should have been lovely to her ears but which gave her a profound sense of unease. Do you hear that, Fiona? Church bells?

Another silence, then, Yes, but apparently only you and I can hear them. I heard them earlier. Did you?

Yes.

A dark, dark feeling flowed over Marguerite. She tilted her head back and the future streams were suddenly upon her, a fierce pressure demanding her attention now.

She rode them, because she knew she could sense that something terrible was on the way, something menacing and evil, something that had the preternatural taste of death vampires.

She searched quickly, riding fast. The church bells grew stronger and within the space of three seconds she found a ribbon of light, a shimmering green, a vibrant emerald green, iridescent and exquisite. But she began to tremble on the bed, and perspiration beaded on her forehead, her neck, and beneath her breasts. Sweet Christ, what was going on, and who did this emerald ribbon belong to?

She mentally grabbed hold of the ribbon. At the same moment, she sent a message to Fiona. Stay with me. Trouble’s on the way.

Of course, returned to her. Definitely possibilities.

She rode the light and saw a figure hovering high in the air, looking down, well above the Convent and the outdoor chapel. He floated but he had not mounted his wings. Levitation? Very powerful levitation, and he maintained invisibility without the use of mist.

The unknown ascender was very handsome in a dark way; thick, blackish brown hair flowed away from his face in waves and curls and hung very long, past the middle of his back. His nose was strong but narrow, almost hawkish. He had large deep brown eyes framed with thick black lashes. He wore a black leather vest that revealed a feathering of matching chest hair. His pants were white and so snug that Marguerite’s brows rose. Here was an ascender who knew how to display. And she was a vampire who loved to look. Whoa, mama!

He wore embroidered white leather ankle boots with some kind of insignia on the sides, she couldn’t tell. But his hair was the main feature, since it floated away from his face, as though responding to the obvious excitement he was experiencing.

Well, shit. If an air of malice hadn’t clung to him, he was so the sort of man she went for.

He wasn’t exactly a death vampire, though. Her instincts told her as much and she always trusted her instincts, but neither was he a Second ascender. He was higher than that. Holy shit, an Upper ascender. Well, what the fuck do you know? Huh.

The pealing bells returned and floated around the vampire. Interesting. The sound of the deep church bells, which so far only she and Fiona could hear, belonged to this Upper ascender. She wondered which dimension he was from. Third? Fourth?

But what was he looking at and where the hell was he? The sky around him was a sharp blue, a mountain blue. Shit, he must be close by. But just how far in the future was this little episode?

She drew near and positioned herself beside him. She turned in the air and looked down as well, knowing that she needed to see exactly what had put such a satisfied smile on his face.

Oh, hell. From this position, she could see the outdoor chapel below, one couple off by themselves, the rest clustered by the altar and that bitch of a witch, Sister Quena.

She shivered, then the time frame kicked in. This was hardly the future … this was twenty seconds from now!

She scanned the surrounding forest and finally figured out why the bastard next to her was smiling. From every point of entry to the outdoor chapel, death vampires moved into position, even some from the direction of the Convent.

Suddenly the ribbon of light disappeared and she was brought back to her present not-so-great situation.

Hands and arms grabbed at her, pulling her up and out of the Seer trance. Palms slapped her face. She opened her eyes.

Oh, shit, the regulators had already arrived. She felt a pinprick in her neck. Dammit! She only had seconds now.

Fiona! she cried.

I’m here.

Death vampires … in the forest … now … all around the outdoor chapel. Her mind slipped away as she flopped back onto the hard mattress.

Marguerite, Marguerite, Fiona called to her.

Her last thought was of Fiona, and that perhaps at long last she had found the key to her escape.

* * *

Jean-Pierre did not understand what was happening to his woman. She looked blind, as though held in a trance of some kind. He had told her to attempt to connect with the woman, but he grew concerned. Perhaps she was just concentrating very hard on something, a vision, maybe, inside her head.

He put his hand on her neck and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. He stared into her eyes, but she was not focused on him. She merely dipped her chin in response. At least she could acknowledge him. That was a good thing.

He did not wish to disturb whatever was happening, but his skin crawled in some kind of warning. She was upset now. He could see it in her eyes. His gaze flitted to the forest. He was uneasy—or maybe it was just Fiona and her strange behavior.

Finally, she blinked. Yet she did not hold his gaze. Instead she turned to stare at Thorne, who smiled at Alison as he drifted his forefinger over baby Helena’s cheek.

“Thorne,” she called out. “Death vampires in the forest. Now!”

Thorne glanced around. His gaze landed on the Convent then back to Fiona. A split second later he called out, “Marcus, Kerrick, Seriffe, Jean-Pierre … get the women and children out of here.”

The next moment, Jean-Pierre felt the hairs on his nape lift, a certain sign that Fiona’s warning was accurate.

He prepared to fold Fiona away from the chapel, but she shook her head and placed her hand on his arm. “I must stay. The woman issued the warning. I must speak with her.”

“No, I must get you to safety. You do not know what this will be like. You have listened to the battles over the loudspeaker at headquarters, but this you have not seen.”

Seriffe folded his family away. Kerrick, Alison, and their baby vanished. Marcus had his arm around Havily as they dematerialized together. Sister Quena folded as well.

Thorne shouted, “Jean-Pierre! Get Fiona the fuck out of here!”

“I won’t leave,” she cried. “I’m needed here.”

“Fuck!” he shouted in response, as warriors changed into leather battle gear and swords flew into waiting fists. He added, “Jean-Pierre, manage your woman.”

“With all due respect, Warrior Thorne,” Fiona cried. “Like hell.”

Jean-Pierre met Fiona’s hard stare. He recognized the oh-so-stubborn glint in her eye. “I wish you would not stay. This will be very … messy.” He tried to put into that last word everything a battle against death vampires could be.

She shook her head, but he saw the fear in her eyes as her gaze strafed the surrounding forest. “I can’t explain it, Jean-Pierre, but I can’t leave this place. Not yet. If I can reach the woman again, I must.”

“Very well.” To Thorne he called out, “Fiona believes she must stay and I will not force her to go.”

Jean-Pierre waved a hand, and gone was his finery. He now wore a black leather kilt, weapons harness of the same sturdy black leather that held two daggers, studded wrist guards, black battle sandals, and shin guards.

His sword was in his hand as Thorne shouted at Fiona, “Goddammit! Fiona, get the hell out of here! You don’t understand what’s about to happen.”

Fiona turned in Thorne’s direction and in a loud voice responded, “Marguerite issued the warning.”

Thorne’s complexion paled. “Marguerite warned you?”

“Yes,” Fiona responded.

“Who is Marguerite?” Jean-Pierre asked.

But it was too late now. In the distance, deep into the forest, there was movement everywhere, a dozen, two dozen, more. Mon Dieu. “Fiona, let me take you from here. I have never seen so many.”

She shook her head. She squeezed his arm. “No, no. This is where I belong.”

Jean-Pierre slid his arm around Fiona’s waist and pulled her tight against him. “This will be very bad. Are you sure?” He heard the running feet of the death vampires. “There is still time.”

“I will stay. I must.”

“Very well.” He turned his gaze. “Luken! Zacharius! Fiona believes she must stay. Will you help me protect her?”