She finally started to wake up.

A roll of Jean-Pierre’s café-au-lait scent battered her and she heard him groan. His hand was still on her shoulder.

She shifted to look at him and met eyes the color of the ocean, blue, gray, and green, eyes at half-mast. His nostrils flared and his hair hung over her arm and touched her breast, teasing her bare nipple.

His chin trembled. His lips parted. He leaned lower and lower. She rose up and just as his lips would have touched hers, the phone buzzed again.

Alison.

“Oh, shit, Alison! Jean-Pierre, what time is it? How long did I, we, sleep? Oh, my God.”

But even though the phone buzzed, he put a hand on her right shoulder and pressed her back down into the mattress. She let him. When she was flat on her back, he planted a hand on either side of her. She thought he meant to kiss her and then do more than that.

Instead, he held her gaze for a long moment, his expression solemn. “I slept, chérie. I have not slept like that in decades.”

She blinked up at him and drew a deep breath. She nodded, her head sliding up and down on the pillow. “I did, too.”

Sleep still clung to her, desire as well, but in this moment, with this powerful warrior suspended above her, she felt like weeping.

Tears rose then slid from the sides of her eyes, drifting into her hair. “Jean-Pierre, how beautiful you are.” She lifted her right hand and stroked the length of his long warrior hair, all the way to the tips. Maybe it was because sleep still lived in her mind, but all she could think to say was, “When I mount my wings, will you take me flying over White Lake?”

“Of course I will take you flying, anywhere you like.”

He smiled, his big bold smile, full of good humor and something so male, so sexy that once more desire consumed her. She wrapped her hand around a thick section of his hair and tugged him toward her.

But the phone buzzed again, loud and insistent.

Jean-Pierre, closer now, once more remained suspended, his gaze fixed on her lips.

“I have to get that. I really do.” She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began inching sideways toward the edge of the bed, toward the pile of her clothes, and where her phone must be, but she couldn’t go farther than where his hand pressed into the bed on that side of her.

He lifted his arm and threw himself backward on the bed, the comforter caught around his waist.

She held the comforter to her chest as she leaned then leaned a little more over the side of her bed to reach her phone. She felt cool air all down her back and her bottom. What a sight she must make.

* * *

Jean-Pierre stared at the most beautiful shape in the world. He loved to look at a woman from this position, her body stretched out, on her side, reaching, so that her waist elongated and her hip became a smooth curved line.

The split of her bottom was squeezed together because of her slight contortion, and he wanted his finger drifting along that line and exploring … everywhere. His tongue as well.

He almost called to her, to remind her that she could fold the phone into her hand. But his strong male intelligence kicked in and he leaned back to enjoy the show.

She scooted her hip, which made her bottom jiggle so enticingly. He folded his hands behind his head. Of course he was making a tent out of the comforter, but who cared. His woman was in his bed, creeping along, still caught in her sleep-daze, and pleasing his eyes.

She finally looked back at him and scowled. “Will you please stop with all that coffee?”

“Non,” he said, stating his case simply. “How can I when your body is so exquisite, chérie?”

She scowled a little more and tried to tug the comforter around her but didn’t succeed. That he pulled against the fabric worked a little more in his favor.

A new idea struck. He thought the thought and her buzzing phone appeared in his hand, which meant, of course, that she flipped over and turned in his direction, reaching out.

Pure genius.

He groaned at the sight of her full bare breasts, nipples peaked. Her long hair flowed around her shoulders, some in front and hanging to disguise what he longed to put his lips around.

“Jean-Pierre,” she cried. But he kept the phone at a distance, his arm extended away from her so that she had to reach into him. He leaned forward at the same moment, and pressed his chest against hers then crashed his mouth against her mouth.

She made a tactical error, parting her lips to protest. He thrust his tongue deep inside and just like that, her body stilled and her lips began to work, kissing him back, thrust for thrust.

Her stillness melted and he dropped the phone on the other side of the bed.

He was just about to lie back and pull her on top of him when once more the phone buzzed.

Fiona pushed away from him. “Enough. We have people depending on us.” She scooted off the bed on the opposite side and, in a terrible sequence of quick thoughts, dressed in her black pants and heels, her lavender blouse. She was tying the bow by hand when he rose to stand naked on the other side of the bed.

Her gaze fell to what was hard and ready for her. He watched her brow crumple and a small whimper leave her mouth. Then she simply turned around to face the wall, her shoulders slumping a little, as she continued to fiddle with the bow.

Jean-Pierre’s thoughts became fixed on one thing: His woman had been in his bed, had slept beside him, wrapped around his body. And he had known such wonderful peace.

He waved a hand and with the practice of centuries went from naked to fully dressed, not in flight battle gear, but in a long-sleeved ribbed T-shirt, jeans, and loafers. He would not be fighting tonight and they would head out soon to Militia Warrior HQ.

By now Fiona was on her phone making her apologies to Alison, but then she said, “Oh. I see. Well, that’s good then.” She paused. “Yes, we slept all afternoon, can you believe that?” Another pause. A chuckle. “Okay, see you in fifteen minutes at HQ.”

She touched the screen of her phone and turned back to him. “She’s still feeding baby Helena.”

Jean-Pierre nodded.

“You look so nice. Navy is a good color for you.”

“Merci.”

She looked down at her own clothes. “Do you mind if I take a little time to fold some of my things here before we head over? I’d like to change. I usually don’t go this formal at HQ.”

“Please. Make yourself at home.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jean-Pierre had his arm around Fiona’s waist as he folded them both to a secured landing platform at Militia Warrior HQ in Apache Junction Two. Because of the possibility that death vampires could fold directly into the facility, the entire complex was shielded with an electronic system that only allowed folding directly to designated platforms. Technology was a good thing.

Before the shield and platforms, many Militia Warriors died when death vampires folded straight into the facility and began slaughtering at will.

The ascender on duty knew Jean-Pierre well and actually looked a little bored as he waved them both through.

Jean-Pierre kept Fiona close as he guided her down the ramp and into the long building.

The Warriors of the Blood rarely met up at Endelle’s Central Command. Jeannie and Carla kept the grid humming and had decades ago worked out the perfect communications system among the warriors, all orders traveling through Thorne unless otherwise designated. Central Command also answered to Endelle. But because there were only eight Warriors of the Blood—seven on active duty because of Medichi’s ambassadorial assignment—a large-scale operation just wasn’t necessary.

This was not true for the Militia Warriors who were led by Colonel Seriffe.

The Militia Warriors numbered in the thousands in Metro Phoenix Two, serving as a police force for the ascended city as well as a hardened battling force in the ongoing war against death vampires. Every Territory on Second Earth also had fighting units of Militia Warriors so that worldwide, they were a brotherhood of half a million.

Jean-Pierre knew what the Militia Warriors called the Warriors of the Blood behind their backs: WhatBees, after the initials WOTB. As was typical of the male spirit, one group insisted on holding territorial rights against the other. It was just human nature, ascended or mortal. For that reason, he politely ignored all but the most blatant of pissing contests, another American expression he enjoyed very much.

There was, however, much mutual respect since all warriors battled the same enemy: Greaves and his army of death vampires.

Fiona led the way, but he knew exactly where she was going and why her chin had that familiar stubborn look. Before she did anything else, even before she began to explore her new power as obsidian flame, she would check the Militia Warrior HQ grid to see if any more anomalies had been sighted that might in turn lead to the discovery of yet another blood slave facility. In hunting for the facilities, Fiona was convinced that one day she would find Rith and bring him to justice.

As they passed the offices of the numerous Section Leaders, Jean-Pierre caught Gideon’s eye and nodded to him. Gideon had led the most recent group of Militia Warriors, bringing home eleven blood slaves to freedom.

Gideon nodded back but returned immediately to his computer, as though avoiding Jean-Pierre. The vampire had reason. He was approaching Warrior of the Blood status but anytime the subject came up, he got his back up. More than once he said he would never leave his service as a Militia Warrior.

Gideon was as tall as Jean-Pierre now and even perhaps more heavily muscled. Thorne felt certain he was only months away from a WOTB calling.

God help them, but Endelle’s forces needed more Warriors of the Blood. The difference in battle was profound and truly without explanation. But when a vampire achieved WOTB status, he could outperform his fellow Militia Warriors by incredible lengths. For the most part, a WOTB could battle eight or more death vampires at once, while a typical Militia Warrior had to be part of a squad of four to survive the attack of just one death vampire.

There was no comparison, so it was not unusual for Endelle or Thorne or any of the Warriors of the Blood to track the sudden development of a Militia Warrior. Gideon at this point in his life was known to battle two and sometimes three death vampires at once. It was not a small thing for Gideon, therefore, but the man fought, and even appeared to despise, his emerging status.