“Jean-Pierre,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

He turned toward her, his brow furrowed, eyes full of pain. “Cherie?” he murmured. He didn’t appear to have heard her.

“Thank you,” she said again, but before he could stop her, she slid an arm around his neck and hugged him.

Both of his arms found her back.

Medichi felt the deep growl form in his throat, an ancient response he tried hard to control. Earlier, at the villa, he’d almost gone mad when Jean-Pierre had dared to hug Parisa, but something in the expression of the warrior’s eyes, so full of pain as though he’d had his heart ripped from his chest, stopped him. He didn’t like that another man was touching his woman but the part of him that could think, that could recognize his warrior brother was hurting—well, that man crossed his arms over his chest, and hid his clenched fists beneath those arms.

Jean-Pierre met his gaze. He began to smile as though he realized what he was doing. Maybe it was something that he saw on Medichi’s face, but Jean-Pierre flipped him off with Parisa still in his arms.

It was so Jean-Pierre. Medichi wasn’t surprised that a moment later, he released Parisa, then without a word lifted his arm and vanished.

“Oh,” Parisa cried. “I wish you boys would give a girl a warning. That just creeps me out. One minute he’s hugging me and the next, poof, he’s gone.”

She turned to face Medichi but he still had his arms crossed. She looked at his arms, then up at his face, and rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me? You’re mad because I hugged Jean-Pierre?”

“Uh … yeah. New dimension here. Vampires. Warrior, caught in the breh-hedden.”

But Parisa shook her head, chuckled, then walked toward him in a way that meant if he didn’t unfold his stubborn arms she was going to bang her head against them. What do you know, his arms opened like automatic sliding doors. He wrapped her up and a wave of something very close to his earlier sense of peace flowed through his chest. He couldn’t believe he was feeling like this—almost … happy.

“I’m so proud of you” were the first words that left his lips.

She wiggled to free herself enough to look up at him. “We brought them home, Antony.” Then she smiled even though tears flooded her eyes. “We brought them home, out of slavery, out of certain death.”

“You did. You put the pressure on, you kept your window open, you made sure it happened. Yeah, I’m really proud of you.”

When his phone buzzed, he almost didn’t answer it. But what the hell. “Give.”

Thorne’s voice rasped through the line. “Come over to the Cave and bring Parisa with you. Endelle’s here with news.” The line went dead.

Medichi scowled at the phone. What the hell was going on now, and why did Thorne have to be barking orders at this time of night? Besides, with Parisa tucked under his arm, he’d started getting a certain idea about just what they should be doing next … to celebrate their hard-won victory.

So, shit.

“Thorne wants us at the Cave.”

“Why?”

“Endelle’s there. Apparently she has some kind of announcement to make.”

Parisa pulled away from him and looked around the rotunda. “She’s not here?”

“I know, I know. But that’s Endelle for you.”

The heat of an argument

Brings truth rushing to the surface.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 20

“What do you mean there are twenty-one more facilities like the one we just raided?” Thorne’s voice held a dangerous edge.

Parisa stared at him then shifted her gaze back to Endelle. The woman’s hair seemed strange, as though she’d been in a wind tunnel. She didn’t seem to care.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Why the fuck are you arguing with me. Let’s just say that my source is irrefutable and if any of you are guessing who it is don’t say the name out loud and for shit’s sake shield that thought.”

Parisa didn’t know who they were talking about. She glanced at Antony, who stood beside her. He met her gaze but shook his head. Maybe he would tell her later or maybe it just wasn’t important.

“I want to take charge of this,” Parisa said. She took a step forward almost without realizing that she’d just done either of these things: spoken aloud or moved toward Madame Endelle.

“You?” Endelle cried. Her upper lip curled.

“Why not?” Parisa returned. She planted her own hands on her hips so that she mirrored Her Supremeness. She still wore her makeshift version of battle gear, the buckled female weapons harness, the dagger with the ruby embedded in the hilt, black cargo pants. She could even mount her wings if she needed to.

Endelle looked her up and down. “You playing at warrior or what?”

“Yeah. I am. And in case you don’t know, I’m entering the Female Militia Warrior Training Camps as soon as possible.”

Endelle laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Why the fuck not?” Parisa cried. She had mimicked Endelle’s speech pattern without even thinking about it.

For the first time, Endelle narrowed her gaze. “You’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Why?” She glanced around at the men. When her gaze landed on Antony, she added, “You may want to think twice. Your man doesn’t look very happy about this decision.”

“He’ll get over it or he won’t,” Parisa responded. No, Antony wasn’t happy about it, but right now she didn’t care.

Parisa had a mission.

“Tough words, ascender. But this won’t be a fancy book-reading in an air-conditioned back room. Are you sure you’ve got the guts for it?”

“Truth? I don’t know, but I know it’s the path I want to follow.”

“What the hell happened in New Zealand anyway?” Endelle shifted her gaze to Thorne.

Parisa could see that there was an exchange. She knew Endelle shared a mind-link with Thorne though whether he could share images with her, Parisa didn’t know.

Endelle turned wide eyes back to Parisa. “You stuck Rith with your blade? More than once?”

Parisa’s cheeks grew warm. “I confess I lost control and did more damage to the cot he fell on than to the man. Rith dematerialized. But all the more reason I should enter a training program. I have a lot to learn.”

“Huh.” She glanced around. “Well, I guess nothing needs to be decided right this minute. Let me give it some thought, ascender.”

“Of course.” Parisa stood with her left arm slung behind her back, the way she had seen Antony stand when addressing Madame Endelle. It was a warrior pose.

Endelle looked her up and down once more. Her brows rose as she said, “Well, damn, ascender. Damn.”

***

Medichi was just about ready to bust two pairs of balls.

Kerrick and Marcus stood in identical stances—arms folded across chests, grins spread over both faces as they stared back at him. Under different circumstances it would have been welcomed that both of them understood right now what he was going through. But those smiles made him want to clock them both. If they’d been closer, the hell he would have restrained the impulse.

He was just pissed off with a capital P.

Goddammit.

Parisa needed to be taught a lesson. A big one. He resented everything about her attitude right now, that she was going to take charge of finding the remaining D&R slaves, that she was going to become a warrior, that she was heading to the Female Militia Warrior Training Camps to train for battle. As though he had no say in the matter, as though he wasn’t important to her, as though he could eat shit and die for all she cared. This wasn’t a relationship. This was every man for himself—or woman in this case.

Inaccessible? Try moved-to-outer-space-and-good-luck, asshole!

What the hell was she thinking, training camps? The women there were butch as hell. They’d eat her alive.

“Medichi,” Thorne cried. “Listen up!” Medichi blinked at him and ignored the way Marcus elbowed Kerrick and their fucking grins broadened.

“Yes, boss,” he said. He glanced around. Where the hell had Endelle gone?

“Take Parisa back to the villa. You’re still on guardian duty until Endelle says otherwise. Given the fact that Rith still seems to be captivated by our latest ascender, we’re keeping her on emergency level. Got it?”

Even though Medichi wanted to argue, he said, “Got it.”

“Good.” His gaze skated over the rest of the group. “Well done, assholes. Let’s have a drink and a toast, then we’ll get the hell out of here. Time to take out more pretty-boys.”

Medichi’s thighs, heavy with muscle, shimmied. His arms ached from holding himself together. His throat was tight for all the words he’d jammed down to keep from spewing everywhere. He didn’t want to yell at Parisa, but boy did she have a tongue-lashing coming.

Santiago moved to the back of the bar along with Zach. Together they pulled out a crowd of glasses. Zach opened the small fridge, and a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared. A pop followed.

“How nice,” Parisa said. She left his side without even looking at him, as though she’d forgotten he was here.

If he hadn’t been on guardian duty the fuck if he would have stayed in this room. All right, he would have drunk the toast with the boys then to hell with this female. Inaccessible. No fucking shit.

When the glasses were passed around, Luken held his aloft. “To Parisa, who kicked major butt today.”

All the voices joined together, except for Medichi’s. He drank and fumed. He ignored Marcus and Kerrick. He sure as hell didn’t look at Parisa, though she turned back at him and smiled.

Then she frowned. Good.

He drained his glass and slapped it on the bar. “We need to get back,” he stated.

She faced him now, her back to the warriors, a question in her eyes. One by one the men folded out of the Cave, heading to the Borderlands. Back to making war. Each time, a little breeze flowed in his direction, moving wisps of her hair forward around her face.