Sometimes you need to smash your enemy into the ground,

Or at least try.

—Braulio, former leader of the Warriors of the Blood, 3334 BC

Chapter 13

Parisa might have argued with Antony but they weren’t alone. Zach stood near the pool table, his thick curly hair drawn away from his face, tucked away in the cadroen but flared over his back as though the clasp couldn’t contain it all. His eyes were his best feature, cornflower blue, thickly fringed with black lashes. There wouldn’t be a woman in the world not jealous of those lashes. His lips were full, his nose curved, even sexy. He was the usual warrior height, which Havily had once told her was six-five. None of the warriors was shorter than that.

Jean-Pierre looked unsettled, his eyes floating back and forth. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his kilt and scowled then shifted on his feet. Something was bugging him, but she didn’t know him well enough to either guess at the problem or ask about it.

Santiago crossed from the brown leather sofa on the right and moved to stand in front of her. He took hold of her hand. “It is my pleasure to serve you, Parisa.” He bowed over her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers.

She felt Antony move in tighter to her back. She could feel a growl rumble through his chest.

Santiago looked up from his bent position and grinned. What a tease. He drew back abruptly when the growl left Antony’s throat. She glanced over her shoulder and stared at him. “You’re going to start that now?”

He offered her one as well, a warning. She turned a little more, still holding his gaze, and thought for just a moment that he was not just a man but a vampire as well. His deepest instincts had shifted when he ascended. She had to keep reminding herself that she was ascended now, that she had entered the world of the vampire, and that she was no longer on Mortal Earth.

She patted his cheek. “Okay, down, Fido.”

She had meant it as a joke, but Antony grabbed her hand and where Santiago had kissed her fingers he licked a long slow line. She gasped. She understood his intention but all she could feel was the softness of his tongue.

Her body gripped low and tight. Antony slung an arm around her waist and kissed her hard on the mouth. She knew he was marking her, claiming her, and part of her wanted to protest this absurd caveman behavior but her body was one complete betrayal of thought.

Tangerine, he whispered through her mind.

Sage, she responded.

Jean-Pierre cleared his throat. “I do not mean to disrespect this petite love-fest, but we need to be going, non?”

Antony released her, his dark eyes flashing. “Yes.” But he turned to Santiago first. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Santiago shook his head. “Madre de Dios,” he cried, both hands tossed in the air. “I keep forgetting the breh-hedden has command of you in this way. Lo siento.”

“Apology accepted.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Jeannie has the location in the south of France. We all know the drill. We have no way of knowing whether the enemy has troops in position, but we’re going in armed as though the place will be crawling with death vamps. I’ll keep Parisa at my back. When we touch down, she’s going to try to contact Fiona and we’ll go from there. Everyone ready?”

Three nods. Four, including Parisa.

“Let’s go.”

The words seemed so inadequate given what they were about to do.

Parisa looked up at Antony. He slid his arm around her shoulders. “You ready for a fold?” he asked.

He remembered.

She smiled and nodded.

He lifted his arm. She felt the vibration first, then a soft swish through time and space as though she were floating, a kind of metaphysical blink. She arrived outside a very familiar dome of mist, probably a double dome, in a grassy countryside. For a moment, she recoiled at the familiarity of the mist and a shudder passed through her chest. Could she do this? Could she return to the monster’s lair?

She drew a deep breath, however, and ordered her nerves to calm down. It was her idea to come on the mission. She had no intention of losing heart now just because of a little mist.

The warriors each turned in a full circle and folded their swords into their hands. Fists pumped weapons, fingers adjusted grips. She had held a sword with the full advantage of Antony’s memories, and she knew how complete a warrior could feel with his sword in hand. She wished for one now, but she knew it was ridiculous to think she could square off with a death vampire no matter how vivid the memories.

Santiago took point. He slipped quickly through the mist, disappearing, then returned with equal speed. Without a word, he waved the warriors forward and whispered, “Two layers.”

Antony put his arm around her and kept glancing over both shoulders. It seemed ironic to her that once inside the double dome, he relaxed a little and let his arm drop away. Given the circumstances, she was probably in more danger inside the domes than out.

The warriors remained grouped at what proved to be the far end of a garden and the back door of a small stone farmhouse. Chickens pecked in the gravel yard and a wooden table sat outside the door. The place looked empty.

“No one’s here,” she whispered.

None of the warriors spoke. Each faced the house, waiting.

Antony whispered, “Go ahead, Parisa, see if you can contact Fiona.”

With his arm around her, she relaxed enough to open the voyeur window. She thought Fiona’s name and came suddenly into a small whitewashed room. The woman’s beautiful chestnut hair was fanned out on a pillow. Her arm hung off the side of the bed, her hand limp. She was asleep in what was afternoon in France? Something wasn’t right.

Fiona, she sent, a sharp word through Fiona’s mind. We’re here.

The hand twitched and at almost the same moment, a violent headache struck Parisa’s mind, just like the one she’d experienced in Antony’s library. Voyeuring had never been this way, ever. Had her ascension to Second Earth caused an unexpected problem? She stumbled backward and would have fallen, but Antony caught her.

“Are you all right?”

“Headache again. Give me a minute. I can see Fiona. I still have the window open. She appears to be asleep on her bed.” The pain sliced through her like a knife. Tears rained down her face. She wanted it to stop. She held her hands over her lips to keep from crying out. She took deep breaths, one after the other. Only after an excruciating half minute did the sensation finally ease, then disappear.

“Oh, God,” she murmured.

“What is the matter, cherie?” Jean-Pierre asked, frowning.

“Headache,” she said wiping at her face and smoothing her damp hands on her soft flight pants. “It’s been happening lately when I voyeur. I’m okay now. Let me try again.”

Once more she opened the voyeur window. Again, she called to Fiona in sharp telepathic tones then finally shouted, Wake up. Fiona, we’re here. Wake up. Each time the hand would pop up and down. Once her foot moved.

“I think she’s drugged,” Parisa said. “She can only move her hand and her foot.”

Zach glanced back at her, his curly black hair moving like a cloud over his back. “Then let’s go. Let’s see if they have anything planned for us.”

The warriors moved as a quick organized unit, knees bent, swords held at safe angles away from one another.

A sudden shimmering covered the entire back of the house, in front of the wooden table. The next moment, an array of death vampires, sixteen strong, appeared.

Parisa stopped in her tracks. Antony turned to her. “Stay put, but watch for Rith. Don’t look him in the eye if he comes to you.”

She nodded. Her vision grew blurry in the wake of a burst of adrenaline that pounded her heart. The warriors spread out, preparing for battle at a ratio of four-to-one, which she knew from conversations with both Havily and Alison was fairly SOP for the warriors. They fought hand-to-hand with death vampires every night.

What were sixteen more?

Another shimmering, however, brought eight more into sight, and more than one of the warriors muttered, “Shit.”

Antony took a step back toward her but the battle was just suddenly on. Death vampires moved like the warriors did, with preternatural speed.

Parisa drew her dagger out of the harness. In the distance, she heard Rith cry out, “I want the woman alive.” He sounded so certain he would prevail.

Rith. She’d heard his voice but where was he? Safe, no doubt, near the house.

Something cold settled within her chest, her heart turning to flint.

Rith.

Her gaze sought him and found him in the doorway that led into the house. He watched her.

The next moment he was beside her. She didn’t hesitate but slashed at his arm. She struck home. He cried out, recoiled, and took a step back. Antony turned, ready to use his sword, but at the exact same moment Rith folded away.

The war in front of her hurt her virgin eyes. She had never seen the warriors engaged in battle like this. Each had six to contend with and several of the death vampires, in full wing-mount, had launched into the air.

The moment that happened, the warriors fell back in her direction. Before she understood the intent, she was surrounded by them in a wide circle. Because she was theirs to protect, none of the warriors mounted his wings.

She held her dagger aloft in warning, but all movement became a blur of speed. Through the batting of wings and swipe of swords, death vampires fell. She kept turning in that broad circle in case her blade was needed.

Zacharius leaped into the air, spun in a circle. He took an arm and part of a wing and sent a death vampire spiraling out of control. He came back to earth, met steel with steel, lunged, and another death vampire fell backward screaming.

The screams were all around her as swords slashed and clanged.

She turned. Jean-Pierre withdrew one of two daggers from his weapons harness with his left hand as he battled in lightning speed with two death vamps. He threw the dagger at the same time, a powerful throw in an upward motion that pierced the abdomen of a flying death vamp up through the fleshy part below the sternum.