She let the overwhelming sensation move through her. She breathed … a lot … then swept her gaze over what was a magnificent chamber. Leather-bound books rose all the way to the ceiling along wall after wall after wall. She moved in a circle and blinked. The room was lit in a soft glow, the lamps throughout the house already on—or perhaps had come on once they arrived, she couldn’t remember.

But she wanted to see better so she searched for and found the light switch. She turned the dimmer mechanism. The room gradually flooded with light, directed downward from the ceiling, and a choir of angels began to sing … at least in her head.

She searched the shelves on the left and found an edition of Pride and Prejudice, no doubt an early edition. If the potential of immortality was part of life on Second Earth, just how old was Warrior Medichi? Was it possible he had purchased all of these books when each had first been published?

She took the treasured volume and moved slowly to a group of massive leather chairs, the size suited for big warrior bodies. The rich sage smell of the house rose up from one chair in particular. She drank in the scent. In her visions, she had seen Warrior Medichi sit here more than once.

She settled into the deep cushion of the chair and was immediately engulfed with what she now believed to be the warrior’s scent. Her heart beat a furious cadence, one coupled with profound desire of a sexual nature, yes, but something more. No, this desire crossed the boundaries of the body into the deep places of the soul. She found herself, as she had so many times before during the past year, in a state of profound longing that caused tears to pour down her face as she pressed a hand to her breast.

She had come home.

Those were the thoughts that moved through her, beat at her, caused the tears to flow so fast she had to set the book aside. The purple sequins could not in any way absorb the tears so she used her fingers, her palm, the back of her hand until a single thought brought her up short and the tears ceased.

She was a woman who had learned to live her solitary life, and she’d gotten so good at it that she never needed anyone. Long before she had released her wings for the first time, she had become comfortable with her isolated world.

When she was a child, she had moved a lot. Her parents used to joke about their itchy feet; changing cities, homes, and schools was the order of the day. Because of it, Parisa had learned early on that making friends with other children meant leaving them all too soon because of yet another move to another city.

The losses had soon taught her to keep to herself, a state she had never really minded. She had simply accepted the reality of her life. Books had become her refuge.

Later, when her wings had emerged, when she had begun having her special visions of Warrior Medichi, she had understood the value of all those early solitary lessons. She had even been grateful for them, since she could never have explained wings to another mortal.

What she hadn’t planned, however, was that one day she would actually step into this new world. Now what was she supposed to do?

She took a deep breath and with a will she had developed from childhood, she pushed all the longings away. She moved from her heart into her head and started analyzing her current situation.

She had come to a new world, the world of the vampire, and yes she felt, she knew, she belonged here. She had even had the most erotic fantasies of letting Warrior Medichi take her at her neck.

However, this was also a world at war, and clearly Warrior Medichi played a constant part in that war. His death, therefore, was no doubt an eventuality. Ascenders died in this extraordinary world even though they were in most respects immortal, although that was an oxymoron if she’d ever heard one. How could anyone be immortal in most respects.

Whatever.

She might have a sense of having come home, but did she really want to ascend to a world so full of battle, of death vampires, and an enemy that threatened even the women of this world?

She rose from his chair and went in search of a bathroom. She found one en suite in a bedroom opposite the library. She grabbed a tissue from the counter, blew her nose, then wiped her face. Afterward, she crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge. She took deep breaths until she began to grow calm. She would need a clear head from this point forward to be able to chart her course. She didn’t understand her life right now or what was expected of her.

She was here, in a new dimension, a place called Second Earth, a world of the vampire, of immortality, of war.

Her thoughts flew to images of Warrior Medichi in all the ways she had known him through her strange visions. Because of what he was in this world, she couldn’t allow herself to become attached to him.

He was after all, a Warrior of the Blood, and his service to his world had only one likely end: He would fall by the sword as he had lived by the sword.

The last thing Parisa needed was to become involved with someone destined, no doubt, to die.

How proud she was of her analytical mind.

The myth of the breh-hedden lives in the hearts of all vampires.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 12

Marcus released Havily’s wrist unwillingly. The power of her blood worked in him now and thank God the mortal had left because his desire to engage Havily in some hard-core sex was like a jackhammer at the base of his brain. He was rock-hard and in need.

That his wound felt better was not a surprise given the powerful nature of Havily’s blood, but he still required Horace’s healing hands, the sooner the better.

Still, he licked his lips, savoring the honeysuckle flavor of Havily’s blood. He was breathing in gasps and not from pain.

He palmed the back of her neck. “Come here,” he whispered.

“Marcus … no. We have a guest in the house.”

“She went down the hall. We’re good.” He didn’t care whether they were good or not. Bad sounded really good. He tugged, pulling her toward him.

“You’re injured,” she said, but her tone had a lovely whimpering quality.

He tugged again. “Kiss me anyway.” And she followed, her mouth on his in sweet surrender.

He breathed in her scent through his nose and at the same time tasted more of her honeysuckle flavor from her lips. He strengthened the hold on her neck and pressed so he could thrust his tongue and let her feel what he wanted to do to her.

She responded with a moan.

“I love your blood,” he whispered. “I love you here like this and thank you for taking care of me.”

“You feel better?”

“A thousand percent.”

“Good.”

However, a shimmering next to him put him in full warrior mode. He completely forgot about his wound and his aroused state.

He pushed Havily away as he sat up and at the same time folded his sword back from Bainbridge Island into his hand.

But holy mother of God. He grabbed his abdomen with his free hand and arm then rolled onto his side groaning. He had so many problems right now and so much pain he could barely function. His stupid arousal was bent and hurting like a bitch, he didn’t have the strength or ability to face the enemy and protect his woman, and if anyone touched his identified sword they were toast, including Havily.

Fortunately, the intruder was only Horace, the gifted healer who worked the Borderlands all night, taking care of the Warriors of the Blood.

“Don’t touch me,” he cried. It wasn’t pain that made him cry out but the dangers of his sword. If anyone touched the hilt, they’d die.

He leaned on his side and panted, his sword shaking in his hand. Shit, he was useless, so thank fuck it was only Horace or his woman would be dead. At least his arousal had dimmed. Jesus, he was a mess.

Though Horace knelt beside him, he held his hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender. “Deal with your sword, Warrior Marcus.” Even the healer’s voice had a strange soothing quality.

All his fears eased, and the tension left his muscles. He folded his sword back to his Bainbridge house.

Relieved of the burden, he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes. He could hardly breathe. The pain in his side sent bolts of lightning through his body. Shit.

Then he felt Horace’s healing touch and, with his hands held directly above the wound, the pain began to ebb immediately. Thank. God.

Horace never touched the wound directly but merely stationed his hands above Marcus’s side and let his energy flow from his hands into the deep cut. Every second that passed eased more of the pain as his flesh began knitting together.

“Horace?”

“Yes, duhuro.”

Marcus smiled at the ancient form of address, even if he didn’t deserve it. He’d deserted his brothers-in-arms. He didn’t deserve anything from the healer. “I can’t remember when I first met you. Seems like you’ve been serving the warriors from the time I ascended. Has it been that long? When did you ascend? Was it before me?”

“Yes. Now, please, sir, let me concentrate.”

“Right. Of course.” So Horace was over four thousand years old. Now, why didn’t that surprise him?

Havily rose and moved into the south wing, probably to check on Parisa who had headed that direction a few minutes ago. A few minutes later, Havily crossed behind him as she passed beneath the arched opening that led to the opposite room, then into the dining room. His gaze followed her, hungry, grateful, obsessed. In the distance he watched her leave the dining room, which meant she had probably gone into the kitchen. The doors were offset, so there wasn’t a direct view from the foyer into the kitchen, a very nice arrangement.

A few minutes later she came back with a damp rag and a couple of dry ones. He wondered what for but without saying a word, she dropped to her knees, this time to the right of him, and started cleaning the floor. The white rags turned red.

“This isn’t going to work,” she murmured. She rose to her feet and headed back to the kitchen. She came back with a bucket of water, a sponge, and more clean rags.

As Horace worked, she stayed with her chore. She probably could have called Jeannie for cleanup, but instinctively he knew what Havily would say, that she didn’t want to do anything to interfere with the warriors on duty. And she was right.