Marcus had told her that the explosion had rocked Las Vegas Two; he’d seen a special report that included helicopter views of the scene not five minutes ago.

If Greaves had succeeded in his plan, if the explosion had happened a minute sooner, if Fiona and Marguerite hadn’t worked in beautiful tandem to get the information to Endelle, all these important High Administrators aligned with her government would be dead. The ensuing chaos would have cost her the war. She had no doubt about that.

She owed Fiona everything right now.

As for the Fortress, she turned back to look at Thorne, at his red-rimmed eyes and the way he breathed hard through his nostrils waiting for her to say the word, just say the fucking word. His woman was imprisoned by a sociopath apparently intent on creating a super-race of Seers. If Endelle didn’t stop Owen Stannett right now, what would she have to face in the coming months or years? Just how much power had Stannett amassed?

She had tried throughout the afternoon to talk sense to Stannett, to force him to own up to his end of the bargain, but he was making use of his old tricks, stalling and ho-humming until she had mentally pulverized his nuts, in her hands, about a thousand times.

And there was something more. She’d also tried contacting COPASS again, trying to impress on that worthless entity that Owen Stannett needed to be removed from service as High Administrator of the Fortress, but all that came back to her was a voicemail from Daniel Harding, chairman of COPASS and secret death vampire, in which he spoke one word: “Nonsense.”

So here she was, hamstrung for the one millionth time.

And as she once more cast her gaze at the crowd, as she watched the High Administrator of Mongolia Two Territory, his very pregnant wife, and their small entourage fold into the night, she drew a deep settling breath.

“No more,” she whispered.

She turned back to her men, two of her tough, powerful Warriors of the Blood, two who had been so faithful, who fought every night against death vampires that Darian Greaves sent to wear them down, night after night at the Borderlands, battling to keep two worlds safe. And now each of them was fighting to save the woman he loved.

Fine.

She called out, “Havily, get your ass over here.”

Havily left her place near Marcus’s execs and moved to stand beside Endelle. The woman waited for instructions, which was exactly what she needed.

Damn, her heart felt heavy. What she was about to do could land her in prison, perhaps even worse.

She turned back to Jean-Pierre and Thorne. She put a hand on Jean-Pierre’s left shoulder then cupped Thorne’s face.

She nodded and let her hands fall away, back to her sides. To Havily, she said, “I want you to witness what I have to say to my men. Do you understand? This is a serious legal matter and you will be called upon in the future to answer for what you have heard here tonight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Madame Endelle.”

She nodded. She glanced from Jean-Pierre to Thorne and back. “I hereby grant you permission to breach the Superstition Mountain Seers Fortress, to take in hand and remove from that place the gifted Seer and recent transfer from the Creator’s Convent, Marguerite, bringing her to my office as soon as you have apprehended her. I understand the legal ramifications of taking this action. May any subsequent suit against this action fall exclusively on my head.” She nodded briskly several times. “Go get Marguerite then bring Fiona home where she belongs.”

* * *

Thorne changed into clean battle gear. He wished he had time to shower, to clean the blood off his skin, rinse it the hell out of his hair. Not that Marguerite would give a rat’s ass. How many times had he gone straight from battle to the Convent, pulled her out of bed, and taken her in just this state.

He’d tried apologizing once, but she’d told him to shut the fuck up and do me. No, Marguerite wouldn’t care. But the flight gear, yeah that was fresh.

His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of busting her out of the Superstition Fortress, having her with him, keeping her by his side.

But as Jean-Pierre talked over the situation with Jeannie, orchestrating a tight fold to the entrance to the Fortress, he slammed the brakes on all his hopes about what Marguerite would do and where she’d go once he got her the hell out of that place.

He realized that the moment Endelle gave permission for the invasion, he’d turned about sixteen again, excited to see his girlfriend. He’d even had the ridiculous thought that once she was out, she’d move in with him, live with him in his Sedona house.

But there was a greater truth to Marguerite, something that only he knew. Above all things she craved her freedom, to do what she wanted to do, to go where she wanted to go, to be with other men. For a long, terrible moment, he wished she was locked up back at the Creator’s Convent, where he could keep her to himself.

Fuck.

Endelle stared at him hard. “Bring her back to me, Thorne. We’ll get her set up in some new place, a place of her choosing, but God help me, I need her. I’ve got to have the use of the future streams. What happened here tonight, well, we were damn lucky. If Fiona hadn’t been in the right place at the right time, if she hadn’t had her powers come online like that, Jesus H. Christ, we’d be in Las Vegas picking up body parts instead of sending people back to their homes.”

He nodded, but his gaze fell to the dirt.

“We need her, Thorne. Tell me you intend to bring her to me.”

He lifted his gaze to her, but his heart felt like it was being held in the fist of a giant and squeezed. “You know I will,” he said. And he meant it. But didn’t that make him a selfish bastard—because in the most secret place of his selfish heart he was hoping that Endelle would lock her up again.

Jean-Pierre nodded to Thorne. “Jeannie can send us now.”

Thorne nodded, his gaze still on Endelle. “Let’s do it.” As he slid through nether-space, he had one last view of Endelle, her lips curved about a quarter of an inch as she flipped him off.

He arrived at the doors to the fortress, the tall, arched iron doors, rusted from the weather. If this was any indication of the state of the facility inside, his stomach lurched.

“Back up with me,” Thorne said. “There’s only one way to do this.”

Jean-Pierre moved about twenty feet away, and Thorne laughed as he joined him. Jean-Pierre knew Thorne’s style. This wasn’t going to be a gentle break-in.

Thorne didn’t do the blast first thing, though. He knew better than that. He called Jeannie and asked her to scan for life-forms near the entrance. He didn’t want one of the Seers accidentally hurt or even killed because he was so anxious to get this job done.

He held his phone to his ear. A moment later Jeannie gave him the all-clear.

He put his phone away and aimed his palm at the door. He didn’t mess around. He gathered energy from all around him, let it sing through his arm, and in a quick flying bolt blasted the damn thing off the hinges.

To Marguerite, he sent, Honey, I’m home.

* * *

Marguerite heard the explosion and instinctively backed up against the wall of her room. She was hungry as hell and a couple of flies were enjoying the second tray of food she’d refused to touch. She’d just been wondering how long she could go without eating, or how soon she could expect Stannett to visit her with some serious muscle in tow to subdue her, when the vibration of the explosion shook her sad little platform bed.

Then Thorne’s voice rang through her mind, Honey, I’m home, and she smiled. Well, dayam! Her man had come to bust her out of this shithole. But wasn’t that like some kind of death sentence or something? Didn’t COPASS frown on trespassing in Seers Fortresses?

Aw, what the hell did she care? The cavalry had come.

I have no idea where I am in this place, she sent.

Honey, we’re checking every cell … except, oh, God, Jean-Pierre, is she alive? He just nodded back at me.

What is it? Tell me? Is who alive?

The first cell we opened has this godawful smell and there’s a woman curled up into a ball, thin as a stick, except, shit, she’s pregnant. Oh, my God. I’m getting Horace and his team over here. I’m coming for you. Oh, my God.

She felt him shut down and now she sat with her arms hooked around her knees and her forehead pressed against her legs. What a nightmare, what a goddam, fucking nightmare.

She’d always hated Owen. She’d always known he had sociopathic tendencies. But to be impregnating women just to make a super-race? Her stomach turned over a couple of times.

“Your boyfriend’s here,” Stannett said.

She looked up. Stanny stood there, calm as you please, as though he’d foreseen this moment.

“So what happens next?” she asked. “You must know.”

He shrugged. “I’m not as good as you. Why don’t you check into the future streams then you tell me?”

“Why are you so calm? Don’t you realize that your life, all these plans, has just been blown to hell?”

But he just smiled. “Do you seriously think this place is the beginning and end of my vision?” He smirked. “I’ll be seeing you real soon, Marguerite.” And with that, he lifted his arm and vanished.

Marguerite unfolded her legs and slid them over the side of the platform. She dropped the few remaining inches to the floor, walked to the door, her mind dizzy and full of thoughts about freedom. This was just too easy. Too damn easy.

But she opened her door and looked left down the long hall. Others were emerging from their rooms. She looked right and standing at the end, like a god, was her man.

She stepped into the hall, turned in his direction, and planted her hands on her hips. “About time, asshole.”

He grinned. She’d never seen him look so young.

He didn’t walk to her, though. Instead he folded straight in front of her and took her in his big powerful arms, lifting her straight up off the cold cement floor.

“This your room?”

She nodded. He carried her backward, her feet dangling. She was too short for him, but he always made it work. He didn’t close the door but he kissed her in that warrior way of his, the way he had from the first—like he was going to devour her from the inside out.