He leaned his head back down on the pillow wondering what the hell to do about the scorpion queen. For one of the few times in his life, he really was at a loss.

* * *

Marguerite sighed again. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know what to think about all that was going on and it was really bugging her. Did she love this, lying in bed with Thorne, stretched out next to him? Uh, yeah.

She’d awakened to his mouth on her breast about half an hour ago, he’d brought her to a quick, roaring climax, and now she lying in his arms, her right nipple wonderfully sore, and wondering what the hell she was doing.

She wasn’t discontent, exactly. She was just antsy, like she’d been for the last few decades in the Convent. She wondered if Thorne would ever understand.

Was she prepared to leave? To let him start bonking women at the Blood and Bite? By all his descriptions of that joint it was exactly the kind of place she would have frequented, often.

But what did it say about her, what deep flaw did it reflect, that she could have this bounty in bed next to her, this absolute perfection of masculine beauty and power, and she was still wishing for the Blood and Bite and a tumble in the red velvet booths?

She finally released another sigh, pulled out of his arms, then rolled to sit up on the edge of the bed. Only her toes touched the dark wood floor, the bed being on the tall side. The room was cool, but not cold like the Convent.

She fluffed her hair and made her way to the bathroom. Diallo had provided toothbrushes so she brushed vigorously, rinsed, spit, and tried to ignore a very sudden desire to be back in her convertible. Freedom called to her, a seemingly infinite voice, and she responded with every fiber of her being.

But why did she still long to leave? And would she always feel this way?

Last night had been amazing with Thorne, in the garden, sex in flight, connected through it all and experiencing such amazing orgasms. When her wings had mounted, she’d almost spun off into the stratosphere from the intense pleasure of the experience.

She wanted to do it again.

She wanted to do it again with Thorne.

And maybe that was what bugged her so much. She’d barely started to live. She’d only been out of her own personal hellhole for three weeks and a couple of days. How could she even think about settling down?

When she rinsed for the last time and rose up, her resident god-like warrior stood in the doorway, leaning sideways into the doorjamb and looking like he was holding up the entire house. “Do you have to be so goddamn handsome? It would help a lot if you looked like a troll.”

He laughed. “What’s got your ovaries in a twist?”

She lifted a brow. “My ovaries in a twist?”

“Well, I could hardly say your nuts. Come on, spill it.”

Her shoulders dipped. “I don’t know. I should be content, but I’m not. What the hell is wrong with me?” She waved a hand to encompass him from head to foot. “I mean, look at you. Even Brynna and Jane were practically ready to bear your children when they saw you practicing sword-thrusts with Arthur.”

“They were, huh?”

“Oh, don’t get cute on me.”

“Okay. Fine.” He brushed past her and walked into the shower, a nice big shower. He completely ignored her and turned the jets on, all seven of them, plus the rain-head.

She moved so she could watch him and he put on one helluva show as he turned in a slow circle, his face into the spray, eyes closed. Fit. Ripped. Handsome. Perfect. Thorne. Her lover. Her breh.

And oh, God, she loved him so much. This she would admit to herself. She ached for him.

Shit.

She opened the glass door and stepped inside. She pushed his soapy hands away from his chest and stepped up against him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Hey, I’m showering here.”

“Just hold me, asshole.”

“You’re such a romantic.” But he chuckled, then moved his wonderful massive arms and wrapped her up. “I take it you’re struggling with being close to me.”

“Yep.”

“No worries.”

“Nope. You are not allowed to say that. You are not allowed to be a nice guy.”

She felt him sigh but he kissed the top of her head. Wisely, he kept his trap shut.

* * *

Endelle sat at her desk in her executive offices at her administrative building in Metro Phoenix Two, not far from South Mountain. She stared at her laptop icons but didn’t touch the keyboard. She was just a little too upset. Okay, a lot upset. Her nostrils had been belching proverbial fire for the past three weeks and right now the air smelled of smoke.

Carla had just called and informed her that His Majesty was inviting her to a meeting, at ten o’clock, to a previously unknown rogue Mortal Earth colony that had apparently existed for three thousand years without detection.

And no, Thorne hadn’t told her these things. Carla had. Carla.

Thorne apparently couldn’t be bothered. No request, no by-your-leave, no I’m fucking sorry for having abandoned you for the past several weeks and for blocking our mind-link communication and for walking out on my duties as the leader of the Warriors of the Blood. No fucking nothing.

She leaned back in her chair trying to calm the hell down but failing.

Luken had just left. He’d reported to her about the night’s incidents, about the battle at the Convent in Prescott Two the night before. The fight was still on between Zach and Santiago. If Thorne had been here, he would have knocked their heads together by now. But no, Thorne just couldn’t be bothered. He was chasing Marguerite around, that gifted Seer with obsidian flame power, who also couldn’t be fucking bothered.

She reached for a coffee that Luken had brought her and she knocked it over. Goddammit.

The mess went everywhere and she hadn’t even been able to call on her vampire speed and keep the thing from spilling.

Well, she had other ways to take care of this.

She mentally shoved the door to her office open and called out, “Alison, get your ass in here and bring one of those tea towels with you. Now.”

Alison appeared in the hallway from her office and folded a tea towel into her hand. Her brow was slightly puckered as she moved up the hall.

Endelle sat tapping her marble desk and watched the blonde beauty walk toward her.

When Alison reached the doorway, she asked, “What do you need the tea towel for?”

Endelle tipped her head in the direction of her desk. Some of the coffee had reached the edge and was dripping over the side.

Alison lifted a brow. She didn’t miss a beat, though. She walked up to the desk and started patting the lake until the tea towel was stained and sopping. Her mannerisms were dramatic, almost theatrical, because of course Endelle could have just thought the entire mess away.

The towel disappeared and Alison brought another dry one into her hands. She worked with increasingly exaggerated movements until Endelle was about ready to explode.

“Would you stop that?”

Alison sent the final towel away, probably to her laundry room in that mansion she and Kerrick now lived in together. She moved to stand directly opposite Endelle. “Would you please tell me what’s wrong instead of ordering me to do ridiculous things? What the hell happened? Did you finally talk to Thorne?”

At that, instead of rage firing a missile through the top of Endelle’s head as usual, her throat closed up so tight she could barely breathe. She shook her head. “No. Carla called, though.” Her voice sounded like she’d squished it to the size of a pea.

Alison dropped to her knees in front of the desk, which meant she met Endelle’s gaze straight on. That was the thing about Alison. She met you where you were and right now Endelle couldn’t even stand up. She just sat in her goddamn chair trying like hell even to swallow.

“So you haven’t spoken to Thorne, not once, since he left.”

She shook her head. “He blocked the mind-link.”

“I know. So what did Carla want?”

“To tell me that His Majesty wants me to fold to some strange hidden Mortal Earth rogue colony and that afterward he’s coming back here but for who the fuck knows for how long. Leto’s there. His sister Grace, as well.” But Alison would know all this—Luken would have told all the warriors this morning.

“Leto is in serious danger then.”

“Luken said he’s near death unless Grace feeds him.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s a goddamn fucking death vampire, or didn’t you know that? When Greaves turned him, he really turned him. No half measures with that bastard.” She put her hands over her face. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was so not herself.

“Endelle, look at me. Talk to me. Why does Thorne want you to come to the colony?”

She let her hands fly apart. “How the hell should I know?”

“Why do you think?”

She shrugged. “To talk to Leto, I guess.”

“Okay, that’s good. No doubt Leto has a lot of things he needs to say to you and to Thorne, and Thorne wants you there. He hasn’t cut you out of his life. He’s just headed down a different path because of the breh-hedden. He’ll come back to you eventually. Give him time. And space.”

“Space? You want me to give him space? How about I walk away from the war? How about I need some space, so I go on a jaunt, find some NBA superstar to match my height and my proclivities, and I follow him around for a few weeks. I’ll call it the breh-hedden so it won’t matter because it’s my fucking destiny. It won’t matter that I have duties every night to go into the darkening and follow that bastard Greaves around to keep him from sending more death vampires to the Borderlands. Hell no. Yeah, Alison, that’s what I’m going to do. I need space so I’m going to take some space.”

Alison rose to her feet. There was too damn much compassion on her face as she said, “You’re feeling lost because he’s gone.”

“Oh … fuck you!”

But Alison wasn’t impressed. “So what are you going to do about it?”