“So what was he thinking about when he took you in that brutal manner?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t enter his mind?”
Julianna tilted her head. “You know very well I don’t have that kind of power. Certainly not with a Fourth ascender.”
But Greaves had a suspicion that something had happened in Moscow Two when Casimir failed to acquire Leto with his stasis skills. There had been just the smallest hesitation on Casimir’s part, as well as an astonished expression. But what had caused it?
Even Leto’s whereabouts had been a mystery until Stannett had reported that the future streams showed him in the Convent, in Thorne’s sister’s pitiful cell.
And now Casimir had sent Julianna back.
He dropped to his knees before her and spread her legs. He rubbed the claw along the inside of her thigh. “Let me take the sting from your pride. Let me love you the way I used to.”
Julianna sighed. She even smiled. She put her hand on his bald head and stroked. When she began to sink in her nails and continued the exquisite pressure, she said, “You always knew exactly what I needed to ease my heart.”
With her nails embedded in his flesh, both hands now, he made liberal use of his claw.
When she began to scream, he knew she was content.
But as he sank into the completely delightful business of making Julianna bleed, he pondered a few interpretations of his own, about exactly what had happened to Casimir in Moscow. And Leto. And exactly what Grace had to do with all these strange occurrences.
* * *
Thorne wanted to fold on battle gear, but he was still caught in a disagreement with Marguerite. Brynna had folded home to get sober. He had hoped she would stay with Marguerite but as soon as he and his woman had started arguing, the Seer had taken off, asking only for an update later to ease her mind.
Marguerite had her hands planted on her hips. “I’m coming with,” she stated … again.
“No, you’re not. Death vampires, remember? And let me just add that one of those motherfuckers looked big, really big, so the answer is no, you’re not coming.”
She met his gaze, but her brown eyes flashed and he understood that look of determination. Over the centuries, he’d known a lot of warriors, both male and female, and this was one of the many things that made no difference when it came to gender: pure stubbornness. Marguerite would have her way and she would go to the grave before she gave in.
He released a heavy sigh.
“This will be dangerous, Marguerite. I’ve never encountered shifting mist before—and exactly how well do you think I’ll be able to do my job if I’m worried about your safety?”
She blinked a couple of times, and some of her belligerence dissipated. “I understand your dilemma,” she said, “I really do, but I’m not just being capricious here. I’d prefer not to go. But I can sense that I need to be there.”
Oh, great. She’d just given him the one reason that would force him to acquiesce. He hated this. And the thought that she could either be wounded or die made him jumpy as hell.
Okay, he did not have time to argue, and given her level of power he was obligated to respect her instincts. However, the thought that at any given time she’d be within a few yards of extremely powerful death vampires put a chunk of ice in his chest.
But he went with his gut. “You’ve seen the vision, you’ve seen where the action will be. If you can get to your old cell and stay there, with Grace, that would be best—that’s where the Fourth ascender will be and he’s not a fighter. If you can’t, then place yourself in any of the outlying regions: the chapel, the sanctuary, the cellars, the dining hall. The shifting mist wasn’t in any of those locations.”
She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. “Understood.”
It was so the right word for her to speak that he almost smiled. Instead, he murmured, “Thank you.”
He waved his hand in a quick flash and folded on flight battle gear. Another wave and he folded his weapons harness on, a snug fit molded to his chest. He secured his cadroen then checked his daggers.
He brought his warrior phone from his Sedona house and thumbed.
“Jeannie, here, how may I help?”
He started in. “This is an emergency, Jeannie. I have a handful of minutes to orchestrate a protective operation within the Creator’s Convent in Prescott Two. As quickly as possible, please fold Warriors Luken, Santiago, and Zacharius to Sister Quena’s administrative office. Contact Colonel Seriffe and have him send squadrons to each of the Borderlands to replace these warriors until further notice.”
“Very good.”
Pause. He knew the question without needing her to voice it. “And please let Endelle know that I will be in contact with her during the next twenty-four hours and that Warrior Leto will be with me.”
“Leto? I mean, yes, of course, I’ll let her know. Anything else?”
“Yes, I’ll be calling for cleanup, but we’re dealing with a special kind of mist in this situation. Just stay tight.”
“Got it. I’ll get the boys now.”
He thumbed his phone. He trusted Jeannie. She’d served as a liaison among all the warriors for centuries. She had exceptional telepathic abilities, which had been her primary tool for transmitting critical messages among the warriors prior to the twentieth century. However, she was a modern woman now and infinitely preferred the phone, the grid, and everything else electronic. If this job didn’t get done, it wouldn’t be her fault.
He slid his phone into the narrow slit at the waistband of his kilt and turned in a circle, surprised that Marguerite had left the room. “We need to go,” he called out.
She folded in front of him. She now wore a flight suit in a deep red, almost burgundy color. “Where did you get that?”
“I contacted Brynna”—she tapped her head—“and she just sent it over. It bags a little around the ankles because the woman’s an Amazon, but otherwise, I’m good.”
He could see that she was.
“Let’s go.” He put a hand on Marguerite’s shoulder and thought the thought. The trip through nether-space, an entire dimension, took a little longer, an extended blinking-out then sudden awareness as his feet touched down and he released her.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sister Quena glared at Thorne then Marguerite. But when she caught sight of the latter in a flight suit, her expression turned to a sneer.