“She almost didn’t make it back this last time, and I feel compelled to get her out of there. I think she’s reached her limit. Also, though I can’t explain it, I feel a connection to her.”

He blew air from his cheeks and slid his fingers into his hair, dislodging several strands from the cadroen. For just a moment, his messy hair made him look younger. He turned beseeching eyes to her. “Can you go tomorrow, right after dawn? That way we could all go. The Borderlands will be quiet by then.”

Antony drew close as well. “We’ve considered waiting, but once Carla or Jeannie has a lock on the site we have to move fast. It could be any time now. Given the vegetation, the length of the shadows, there’s a good chance we’re looking at the Mediterranean. It’s still a big area to cover for the grid but we want to be ready to go at the drop of a hat.”

Thorne sighed. “You’ve really got it narrowed down then.”

“Yes,” Antony said.

Thorne looked up at him. Everyone looked up at Antony. He was two inches taller than Thorne. “Fine. You’re right. You have to go. Take three warriors with you but if I know anything, this smells like a fucking trap.” Thorne’s lips curved in a crooked smile.

“I know.”

“You fucking call me if you end up facing a regiment.”

For a reason Parisa couldn’t explain, Antony smiled. Must have been a warrior thing because she hadn’t heard anything funny at all. Antony added, “I know how you hate missing a party.”

Thorne nodded but his lips flattened to a more familiar grim line. He grabbed Antony’s arm and squeezed, his knuckles whitening. “Call me if you need me.” He stared into the warrior’s eyes for a long, determined moment then dropped his hand and turned into the room. “Who the fuck is going with them?”

All the warriors volunteered. Thorne nodded again, and this time he smiled. “All right, then. All right.” Parisa glanced up at him. His voice sounded like it had gone through a shredder.

“I am going,” Jean-Pierre said. He stood by the bar, shaking a martini. “I will not be left behind on this one.”

“Done.” Again Thorne barked.

Both Zacharius and Santiago stepped forward and together gave a shout like a battle cry.

Thorne grinned. “So the two of you want to go?”

The warriors gave another shout.

“Fine,” Thorne barked. “Fine.” He drew close to Antony and poked him several times in the chest. “Just make sure you bring them home safe and sound. Got it?”

“Yes, jefe.”

Thorne shook his head and ended the conversation succinctly. “Fuck.”

***

Half an hour later, Medichi had Parisa back at the villa, in his bedroom. He lifted a female weapons harness, made of black leather and silver buckles, over Parisa’s shoulders. The openings at the sides would be closed with a number of small buckles, a different configuration than for the male warriors, especially since the size of Parisa’s breasts added a new level of adjustment. In that sense, the harness was a clever work of art. Endelle said she’d designed it herself since a man just didn’t understand the numerous problems associated with trying to fit a single type of garment to the various sizes and shapes of female breasts.

“This is heavier than I thought,” Parisa said as she pulled the harness down to her waist.

“It’s meant to offer protection from moderate dagger thrusts. A sword will cut through it, of course.” He’d already told her that a good sword would cut through bone. He didn’t intend to tell her again.

He fought the panic that swirled at the base of his gut. Yeah, he was nauseated. He didn’t worry for himself, but Parisa had only had about three seconds of training to his thirteen centuries. She wasn’t fit for battle, but then hopefully this wouldn’t become one. Hopefully, Carla would come up with the coordinates, they’d slip inside the facility, take the slaves, and leave.

Right. And hell wasn’t hot.

“You don’t have to go,” he whispered. He shouldn’t have said it but he couldn’t hold back. He felt her stiffen beneath his fingers as he continued to make the various buckle adjustments.

“The hell I don’t,” she responded.

At her tone, he drew back and looked at her. He met her gaze and saw the hard light in her eyes, dimming the pretty amethyst to something like raging purple. He nodded. He knew that look. He’d seen it, oh, about a hundred thousand times when he’d looked in the mirror getting ready for another night of battling.

He’d never thought of his librarian as a warrior, but shit, right now as she started easing one of the buckles into position just below her breasts, she looked like one. A librarian hard-ass. Who’d’ve thought?

Of course it was easier to have these thoughts than the other ones. Like how untried she was, or that with every minute he spent with her he was sinking into the bond that kept drawing them together, or that his heart ached now when he looked at her.

So … shit.

Whatever.

He went back to buckling. He folded the appropriate dagger into his hand, a short blade meant for the slot beneath her breasts. He handed it to her and let her work it in and out of the sheath several times until she said it felt right to her. It was a slick, flat, stainless-steel knife and could do some good in a battle.

When he was happy with the way the front looked, he turned her around. The harness made a T-formation from the shoulders to the lowest part of the waist, to allow for wing-mount. He wasn’t expecting that they’d have to fly but they were, as always, preparing for every contingency. Her back therefore stared at him and he couldn’t help what he did next. He put his hands on the exposed skin and stroked in a long glide straight down.

Antony, she sent. Even within his mind, she sounded surprised but not displeased.

She shivered under his touch and a swell of tangerine rolled over him. He closed his eyes and did it again. Another shiver, another wave. Jesus. He moved in close, fitting his body against hers, folding his arms around her, gathering her in tight.

She didn’t resist and her breaths were high in her chest. She tilted her head to fit into the scoop between his neck and his shoulder. He ground his hips, letting her feel what she’d just done to him.

Her arm swept up and caught his face. She leaned into his cheek and caressed him. Antony came as another sweet drift through his mind. She was getting better at telepathy all the time. He worked his arms tighter around her. He rolled his hips forward. She pushed her hips back. He groaned. I could take you right now.

I’d let you.

He groaned again, but it ended in a sound between a grunt and a sigh. He turned her in his arms. She caught his mouth and before he could think, her small feminine tongue was between his lips pushing. Hard.

His back bowed and he realized he was about fifteen seconds away from coming. Maybe a quickie …

His phone buzzed.

Shit.

She eased back but even as she did, he caught sight of her lips, swollen and red. Her eyes danced with fire.

He kept an arm around her waist as he slid his phone from his pocket. “Give.” His voice sounded hoarse.

“Hey, Medichi. Jeannie here. Good news. We’ve found it, that heavy dome of mist again. Double dome, I guess.”

“Where?”

“Just like you said. The Mediterranean. South of France. Outside of Toulouse Two.”

He took a deep breath because suddenly he couldn’t breathe. “Great. Thanks. I’ll gather the troops. Maybe five minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Jeannie always was. She’d served a long time at Central. In the old days—and that was only a century or so ago—she’d held mind-links with the Warriors of the Blood, taking and receiving messages. It was an exhausting job, and the modern inventions of the phone, then the grid, saved so much time and energy. She always worked a twelve-hour shift, serving alongside the Warriors of the Blood. There were others, Carla, for instance, but for the men, Jeannie was the one.

He thumbed his phone and slid it into his pocket. Funny how a brief conversation could take the edge off even the most profound erection.

“So it’s happening?” she asked.

“Hell, yes.”

Parisa moved away from him and all that beautiful tangerine scent faded. Her gaze fell to the floor, and he could feel her sudden anxiety like a whiff of smoke in the air.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, his voice firm. “Just stay at my back. Don’t try to wage war if it comes to that. Use the dagger if you get up close enough but only if you can do serious damage.”

She drew a breath. “Because an adversary can take the weapon away and use it against me.”

“Exactly.”

She lifted her gaze to him. “I’m not ready, am I?”

He wouldn’t lie to her. “No. Not by half. But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

She shook her head. “No. Not at all. I’m going on this mission no matter what. I wanted to have some skills but I know it’ll take years to be a capable warrior. That isn’t what this is about.”

He nodded. “I know. Just remember, you’ve got a good throwing arm. You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. Use it if you think you can make a difference. That’s what these weapons are for.”

She drew in a deep breath and held her arms out. “Is everything in place?”

His gaze unfortunately fell to her chest, emphasized by all the leather and buckles. “Oh, yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Subtle. Let’s just get this show on the road.”

He chuckled. He put a hand on her shoulder and without telling her what he intended, folded her back to the Cave.

When she arrived, she yelled, “Hey! Give a girl a warning. I’m so not used to that.” She shook herself like a dog coming out of the water then patted her arms.

“Sorry. But you seem so comfortable in our world. I keep forgetting.”