“We had the cleaning service investigated,” Marcus said. “This man was new, the one pictured here. The service checked him out thoroughly. He passed all their stringent tests, but Colonel Seriffe knows him as a servant of Greaves’s by the name of Rith Do’onwa.”
Antony stared at the face of his enemy. The rage he felt was too powerful to give expression to. It lived in him now, a reflection of the day when he had first learned of his preternatural powers and had slain his enemies. He had raged then. He raged now. The woman meant for him was gone, taken by a man who he vowed would one day die by his hands.
* * *
A week later, Havily dressed with care and as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to disturb Marcus. He had fallen asleep after making love to her, but he was exhausted. He had battled through the night, beside Warrior Medichi, slaying death vampires at the Superstitions.
His routine was demanding but he could handle it. She’d given him some of her blood, which always strengthened him, so he would rest until about one, then come into the administration building to fulfill his new duties.
Endelle had begun the process of having him confirmed as her High Administrator of the Southwest Desert Territory. The committee wouldn’t oppose Marcus because Endelle had agreed to accept the surrender of four death vampires as payment for the incendiary bomb attack at the Ambassadors Festival. Everyone knew that other, more powerful vampires were to blame, but without proof, pursuing the matter was useless.
Wearing a light green cotton skirt, white ruffled blouse, and four-inch heels, she crossed the room to Marcus and, as was her habit, she put her hand on his forehead. I love you, she sent.
Usually he offered a smile but didn’t wake up. This morning his eyes opened and he released a heavy sigh. “Tend to Medichi, please.”
“You know I will.” She leaned down and kissed him on the lips.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too, sooo much.”
He nodded, smiled, then closed his eyes. He released a deep sigh.
She smiled at the expression, kissed him again, then went in search of Medichi.
She found him in the olive grove. She crossed to him and slid her arm around his waist. He accepted her presence and rested his muscled arm loosely across her shoulders. He had showered and wore white cotton against the oppressive summer heat. It was now July and the humidity was rising, a promise of the forthcoming summer monsoons. His damp hair hung halfway down his back.
“She was here, in this very spot,” he said. “Now she’s gone.”
“Antony,” she said softly. She was not going to cry.
He released a ragged sigh. “What am I going to do? I failed her, just as I failed my wife, and our unborn son, all those centuries ago. How could I have let this happen? Dammit, I know better.”
She hugged him. There was nothing she could say. The enemy was powerful and for whatever reason, in this situation, he’d gotten the upper hand. So now Medichi suffered as all the warriors suffered when their loved ones were impacted by the war. “We’ll find her. We’re all looking for her. We’ll find her. Endelle has permitted me to hunt for her in the darkening.”
He uttered no response except the lengthening of his breaths as he strove to contain himself.
If she could undo this, she would. If she could spare him, she would. “Tell me, what can I do for you, my friend?” she asked.
He looked down at her and his expression softened. “Love your warrior, while you can. Love him with all your heart. Be with him because in a breath it can all disappear.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
* * *
Marcus held Havily’s hand in too firm a grasp, but he couldn’t seem to do less than that right now. He walked with his breh beside Kerrick and Alison. As a group, they were crossing the rolling lawn of Kerrick’s mansion in Scottsdale Two, heading in the direction of the great mounds of honeysuckle that topped the stone walls at the back of his property.
Kerrick had already told him what was back there and his heart ached, which was why he had a hard grip on Havily’s hand. She didn’t complain, however, but pressed his hand in response every now and then. He glanced at her as they walked.
“It’ll be all right,” she said.
“How can it be all right?” he asked. “All I can think about is Parisa and Medichi.”
“I know.”
Kerrick called a halt to the march. He drew Alison close to him on his left. “Marcus, we don’t have to do this right now. We can do it another time.”
Marcus met his anguished green eyes. Goddamn, they were all in turmoil because of the kidnapping, all of them reminded of past losses and present dangers.
He took a deep breath. He strove to remember his sister and her wisdom, the serenity of her nature, her acceptance of life on Second Earth, of the profound impermanence of ascension despite their relatively immortal self-healing state. As he thought of Helena, peace descended on him. Life is for the living, she had said.
But something more, he thought: Life is for the battling. They were battling now, to find Parisa, and somehow they would. And if in their pursuit they discovered she no longer lived, then he and the warriors, as well as Endelle, Alison, and Havily would all work to get Medichi through. They would rally around him, support him, carry him on their backs every step of the way until he could overcome this loss.
He looked at Havily, and released her hand so that he could slide his arm around her waist and draw her close. He searched her eyes. I love you, he sent.
She nodded, more than once. He brushed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. He felt her sadness as his own; he could feel the warmth of the sun on her bare shoulders, that her left heel had sunk into the lawn—she moved it now—that her thong was causing her trouble, which she ignored, all evidence of their connection, results of the breh-hedden. He loved her so much.
He turned back to Kerrick. “I think it’s appropriate we do this today. I want to do this.”
Kerrick nodded, but his jaw was tight and his breathing harsh. “Let’s do it then.”
He led the way to the fiery red honeysuckle and stepped between an overlap in what was actually two walls. From a distance the breach could not be detected. The honeysuckle had long since formed an arch overhead. Sparrows chattered madly, disliking the intrusion. A few wasps moved here and there. A green-throated hummingbird made a whirring appearance then darted away.
Marcus dipped his head in those places where the honeysuckle had sunk under its own weight. A few more steps and he arrived at an opening. Shit, his knees felt weak and his head spun for there were five gravestones, old weathered stones, lined up in a row. Three belonged to his loved ones, Helena, Christine, and Kerr; the other two had been placed in honor of the servants who had died in the explosion that same night so long ago.