Havily hadn’t come to him tonight, and she always came to him. In all these months, she hadn’t missed one night, so, yeah, something was wrong. But just how worried should he be? The hell if he knew.
He slid from bed and crossed to the bathroom. His vampire-warrior body always seemed to run a little hot so he never wore pajamas, which made late June and the start of summer almost time to crank up the air-conditioning. Few homes in this part of the world had forced air, but then few residents of Mortal Earth were vampires.
Relieving himself took the length of two or three serious yawns. He had a mountain of work tomorrow and he needed his sleep, dammit.
He washed his hands in the dark, or the semi-dark as it was for him. His ascended vision could see quite well. He dried his hands then stood up straight and let his gaze rove the lean muscled lines of his body. He worked out with weights every day, and sparred at least twice a week, sword in hand, with his second-in-command, Farrell Ennis. Ennis was also an ascender who had chosen exile on Mortal Earth. They were practically blood brothers.
His gaze fell to his heavy cock, partially stiff from sleep and from thoughts of Havily. Even a quick image of her flashing through his mind brought desire streaking the entire length. He flicked the tip in punishment since he couldn’t get Havily off his mind. But the sharp jolt made him hiss. These days it took so little to make him come. One or two thoughts about the redheaded ascender, a few tugs, and he was gone. So, shit.
His gaze ran upward to his hair. Endelle was right. He’d been letting his hair grow. Because he’d had a corporate cut for at least the last century, he’d forgotten that his hair curled at the tips. Would Havily like his hair longer?
Then he chastised himself for wondering anything so useless.
He left the bathroom and moved to the windows. He pushed open the far-right pane and heard the soft lap of the sound’s water hitting the sandy beach below. A rush of cool damp air followed.
So why hadn’t Havily come to him?
He turned back and looked at his bed, a nice big bed to accommodate his warrior body. Funny thing was, he never brought any of his dates here. He had never wanted to. Now, every other minute, he pictured Havily right there, on her back, on his bed, her body writhing. His c**k responded all over again. He glanced in the direction of his groin. “Down, boy. She’s not here. Won’t be here. Get used to it.”
His thoughts traveled back and hooked on the last time he’d truly been with Havily, four months ago, at Endelle’s palace. He’d been so consumed by her, by her honeysuckle scent, that he’d kissed her.
But that wasn’t all that had happened. The craving he’d been feeling for her swamped him, caught him in a heavy undertow, and pulled him down. He’d been 100 percent out of his mind with his need to be with her, to take her sexually, to partake of her blood, to get inside her head in deep mind-engagement. He’d pushed her into an adjoining room of the palace and pinned her against the wall. She in turn had been equally as lost and had been an oh-so-willing, whimpering, moaning participant. There had been no doubt in his mind that had they not been interrupted, he would have taken her then and there and she would have been with him all the way.
But Luken, thank God, had stopped him. He’d peeled him off Havily, beaten the shit out of him, and essentially knocked some sense into his head.
Marcus had never been so out of control as that last night on Second Earth. Afterward, he’d apologized to the Warriors of the Blood then folded back to Mortal Earth, back here to his home on Bainbridge. He’d considered apologizing to Havily as well, but he hadn’t trusted himself to be anywhere near her.
Now he stood by an open window, in the early hours of the morning, knowing that something had happened to her tonight and wondering what the hell to do about it. His protective urges rose, a line of restless stallions, ready to gallop but nowhere to go.
He thought about calling her; then his rational mind stepped up to the gate and shut him down but good. He had nothing to offer Havily, and to be calling her and asking if she was all right would suggest that he had some kind of intention of getting involved in her life and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that.
Havily lived on Second Earth, one whole dimension away. Most of his nineteen corporations had dealings with Second Earth but he never went there himself, not for business, not for any reason. He had plenty of support staff, self-exiled vampires who made regular dimensional trips to Second Earth, all by legal permit, to conduct and foster his various businesses.
No, he had no real reason to call Havily, not now, not ever.
There was, however, someone he could call who could give him information—and she would definitely be up this time of night.
He crossed the room to his nightstand. Picking up his interdimensional iPhone, he thumbed the screen.
“This is Jeannie. How can I help?”
“Hey, Jeannie.” Would she recognize his voice?
“Warrior Marcus,” she shrieked, then toned it down immediately. “That is, good evening, Warrior Marcus, how can I help?”
Marcus laughed. He’d known Jeannie a very long time, long before his departure from Second Earth two hundred years ago. She worked at Central Command, manning the communications night after night between Thorne and all the Warriors of the Blood. She’d been a good friend to him through the centuries; she was one reason he’d hated to leave. “I need to know if Havily Morgan is all right.”
A pause followed as well as a sigh. “You know I’m not allowed to discuss warrior business. Even if my channels are secure, your phone isn’t.”
“I’m not asking about the warriors. I just need to know if Havily was involved in any of the activities this evening?”
“Yes.” But she volunteered no other information.
Marcus put a hand to his chest. Shit, he was struggling to breathe. “Was she … injured?”
“No, not at all. I can promise you that. She is perfectly well.” A pause, then more stridently, “But I really can’t say anything more.”
“I understand.” He released a sigh. “Thank you, Jeannie. You’ve helped a lot.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll say good night.”
“Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“You were always my favorite.”
“Back atcha.”
“Coming back anytime soon?”
In the dark and in the comfort of his bedroom on Bainbridge Island, he smiled. “Don’t think so.”