He later discovered that Havily had preceded him. She’d been to see Endelle that same night and left her signature scent behind, a rich bouquet that had worked him up before he even knew the source or the why of it.
The second time her scent had pounded him was at the Cave. And that was the first time he’d actually seen her. She’d been surrounded by warriors, then something had occurred to make all of them turn in his direction, and there she was, a red-haired goddess in a Ralph Lauren suit, staring at him first as though he had sprouted horns and then as though she’d been struck down by the sight of him.
He’d been hooked since.
So had she.
Right now, especially since they were alone in the house, if he didn’t keep his distance he’d attack her again like he had at the palace.
His protective instincts were firing off rockets as well. His senses were on full alert, the way he had felt thousands of times over all the centuries he had battled as a warrior. Something was in the wind. The prophecy alone, of the importance of the mortal-with-wings, had set his warrior nerves to screaming.
So he breathed and kept a few feet away from her. He also tried not to look at her. He was so f**king screwed.
“Yes, Jeannie, but hold that thought.” She drew her phone away from her ear and hit the speaker setting. “Warrior Marcus is listening in. Go ahead.”
Jeannie’s voice entered the space between them. “Thorne says to give you top priority. Do you know where we should start looking?”
“Endelle said anywhere in the Metro Phoenix area.”
“It’s too bad we can’t narrow that down but I’ll set the coordinates right in the middle, near Central and Bethany Home. How does that sound?”
“As good as anything.”
“Stay close to your phone.”
“Will do.” She tapped the screen and returned the phone to her pocket.
Now they had to wait. He slung his arms behind his back and turned away from her; otherwise he didn’t trust himself. He could think of a number of things he’d like to do to her while they waited. He’d start with sucking on her neck. Okay, better not think about that.
He glanced into the north hallway. In the distance, beyond what looked like a receiving room with a whole lot of silk chairs and sofas, he spied a massive table with dining chairs designed to accommodate warrior bodies.
He jerked his head in that direction. “Does Medichi keep anything to eat in this joint?”
Havily smiled, that pretty smile of hers. His gaze fell to her lips, then he looked away … fast.
She started moving in the direction of the receiving room. “He always keeps his cupboards stocked since he’ll have the warriors over at a moment’s notice. A month ago they started having the occasional poker game, at dawn of course.”
“I could use a bite to eat.” He’d prefer to bite her but he kept that to himself.
He let her lead the way, but after a few steps she glanced at him over her shoulder and said, “What’s with the fennel?”
“You, Havily Morgan, you’re what’s with the fennel.”
He glared at her until she chuckled and started moving again.
* * *
At nine thirty Parisa had no desire to get ready for bed. She had enjoyed a dinner of pasta and a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. Clothed in her nightgown, she had relaxed in the private courtyard once more despite the June heat. And yet instead of fatigue finding her, she felt ramped up, totally stimulated, as though forces were at work she couldn’t possibly understand.
Her heart beat a little too loudly and her ears rang. She had tried reading, her favorite pastime, but couldn’t seem to concentrate and reread each succeeding page of Anthony Adverse at least three times before pressing on to the next.
The longing she had felt earlier returned in a broad sweep of sensation, and the small apertures on her back wept anew. She reached behind her—yep, the lace nightgown she wore was now damp.
What a strange life she led.
She was still excited about having jumped earlier from the upper railing and she wanted to fly again, right now. The desire to release her wings came to her, sudden and profound. She slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders one after the other then tugged the lace until it glided over her hips. She stepped out of the gown and draped it across the chaise-longue.
She now stood naked in her private courtyard. She felt a little naughty but she giggled.
She spread her arms wide and closed her eyes. She thought the thought. The muscles and tissues of her back thickened, and the next moment her wings emerged. She let the resulting fiery sensation flood her mind, her chest, her heart. She opened her eyes and smiled. What ease, what bliss, just like … well … just like an orgasm.
She wanted to fly beneath the warm glow of moonlight. She brought her wings in very close to her body and went inside. She climbed the stairs and once more gained the railing, her wings at their fullest span. She took a deep breath, gave a little squeal and once more leaped.
Ah … what bliss …
* * *
Marcus finally decided to keep his meal with Havily simple, especially since he really couldn’t cook. Even after four thousand years he had never had enough interest in fire, skillets, and spatulas to get a decent grip on how to make a meal. He had preferred, until about two hundred years ago, keeping his dagger and sword sharp and hunting death vampires.
He opened the fridge and started pulling things out to make sandwiches.
Havily jumped in and found bread, a fresh loaf of sourdough that needed slicing. She took a serrated knife and started in. Funny how they worked in tandem so easily. He opened a jar of mayo and one of mustard and started slathering. He stacked the meat. She washed lettuce and tomato, did more slicing, and before long he sat next to her on a stool at the same island where they’d prepared the meal.
Two bottles of Dos Equis flanked blue-gray ironstone plates. He grabbed his sandwich with both hands and took a bite. The sandwich was very good and yes, he was hungry. There was, however, one small problem. No matter how strong the flavor of the salami, or how spicy the mustard on his tongue, or how fragrant the sourdough, dammit, all he could smell was honeysuckle. For that reason, with each bite he took, he avoided looking at Havily. Whatever his need for her might be, he was damn hungry right now, and he could use the distraction of chewing and putting food into his empty stomach.
“So, how do you like ascended life?” he asked between bites. “Are you happy here?” He sipped his beer and glanced at her.