Burning Skies (37 page)

But it wasn’t going to happen.

She wanted to go home, and as soon as Madame Endelle figured out how to make her safe on Mortal Earth, she was going back.

*   *   *

Havily lay on her back, still in bed, listening to the shower run.

She was sated, beyond sated, so well used she wondered if she would even be able to stand, never mind walk.

She looked at her wrists, wondering again how he had bound her but hoping it wouldn’t be the last time. She ran a finger over the place he’d taken her at her groin. A lump remained and she touched it gently. She closed her eyes, remembering.

What a session that had been.

Wow. Shivers ran over her shoulders.

She still couldn’t believe that Marcus had taken her the way he’d taken her—and so thoroughly. Then he’d kissed her and kissed her and with his mouth pinned to hers he’d given her round two, or was it three, or was it seven?

She chuckled. Then she sighed. What bliss.

But as she recalled what it had been like to have Marcus in her mind, her amusement dimmed. Something troubled her about that, something she couldn’t quite define. Except, what if he now had different expectations of her? What if he wanted more from her?

She tried to think back over the past day or two. Had she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship with him—and not just because he would always be a deserter in her mind?

They hadn’t exactly had time to talk. Either they’d been engaged dealing with her work or protecting Parisa or they’d been in bed … busy.

Her thoughts traveled back to Eric’s funeral and how blasted she had felt, so deeply hurt that she vowed she would never go through that again. Grief was a powerful antidote to falling in love. Enough grief and why would anyone go through such terrible loss again?

It didn’t take long for other thoughts to arrive, ones from a hundred years ago when she had buried her family in four graves all within one single horrible week. The month had been April, and even now she could smell the hyacinths in bloom, that light powdery fragrance, the flowers that came up by bulb just outside her kitchen window.

She sat up, the pain of remembered loss pressing on her. She lifted her gaze to the bathroom. She heard Marcus humming and her heart hurt a little more.

She slid her legs over the side of the bed. She grabbed a robe and a change of clothes. There were several bathrooms in the villa, and without examining the why of it, she left the bedroom and went down the southern hall to yet another hub in the center of another group of rooms. In one of those, she found a bathroom and closed herself inside.

She turned the shower on, wrapped her hair in a towel, and when the water was warm, she stepped inside. She washed her arms, her shoulders, her breasts. Her hands traveled lower. She felt the faint bump on her groin again, then her hand went between her legs and she felt his seed. Marcus had left a lot of himself on her and inside her.

For some reason, the tears came, hot on her cheeks as she bent forward out of the spray. She didn’t even know why she was crying except that Marcus’s seed had reminded her of being married once, of having loved being married and content in the safety of her world until disease stripped her naked within a handful of days.

She had been hysterical that first night. During the painful days that followed, grief had stolen her heart utterly and completely

She marveled only at one thing, that eighty-five years later she had actually allowed Eric into her life. How and why was the mystery, except that somewhere in her mind she had thought maybe ascended life would be different and she had given herself permission to risk loving again. Then Eric had died and her heart had closed up once more.

Reminded of the depth of that loss, and the terrible losses before Eric, she knew one thing—she could never go through it again.

A few more minutes in the shower, as her tears lessened and finally ceased, she felt calmer, more at ease, more like her old self. Her heart felt safer, more secure.

She dressed in jeans, two tank tops, one white, the other black and off the shoulder. She folded her makeup from the other bathroom and made use of under-eye concealer. She tended to her makeup as she always did, blending the foundation carefully, applying the proper layers of eye shadow and liner. She got very close to the mirror and tweezed her brows. The routine of it further eased her heart.

When her hair was brushed, teased, combed, and shaped, when she had donned several rings, two sets of pierced earrings, and a simple silver chain necklace, when she was satisfied with her appearance, only then did she leave the unfamiliar room and head in the direction of the kitchen.

By the time she entered the foyer, two aromas reached her. One belonged to onions and garlic simmering in olive oil, and the other was a rich fennel scent. Her stomach rumbled at the first, but her heart seized at the second.

Whatever.

Somehow, she was going to have to get used to the call of the
breh-hedden
and not take it so damn seriously.

She straightened her shoulders. As she neared the kitchen, she called out, “What smells like heaven?”

Marcus sat on a bar stool on the nearer side of the dark soapstone island. He wore a fresh, white silk, short-sleeved shirt; slacks; shoes; and socks. This was casual Phoenix, but she had the impression that what he wore right now was about as casual as he would ever allow himself to get. But jeans would be a great look for him, jeans and maybe nothing else. Commando would add the finishing touch. Okay, she needed to stop these thoughts right now because they weren’t helping her to stay focused.

He turned toward her, a forkful of pasta near his mouth. The fork paused midair as he looked her up and down, his light brown eyes flaring. He licked his lips. “Parisa cooked.”

When another rush of fennel struck her, she ignored the way her heart rate climbed. She looked past him to Parisa, who stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “So I see. It smells wonderful.”

Parisa dished up a plate for Havily and dressed it with fresh basil and a squeeze of lemon. “I found the ingredients in the fridge. I made a lot because I know I was starved and I figured you both would be as well. I wasn’t sure about Warrior Medichi.”

Havily took up a stool next to Marcus and before she could warn him away, his hand was on her thigh. She looked down at it, uncertain what to do.

“Hey,” he murmured. And before she could stop him, he leaned close and kissed her, full on the lips. Ohhhhh … damn.

Havily drew back and looked at him, fear striking her heart like a well-swung mallet.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. But just as quickly as the concern entered his eyes, understanding followed, and the hand on her thigh slipped away.

She wanted it back.

No, she didn’t

Yes, she did.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on her pasta.

Parisa sat down beside her. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what is that mesh-like structure in the air above the villa?”

“You can see that?” Marcus asked, then whistled low.

“It’s called mist,” Havily said. “A powerful ascender can create it. Marcus can. Medichi. All the warriors, I think. I haven’t developed the ability yet but then essentially I’m very young in ascended terms. That you can see it is rather amazing; it indicates your level of power. It is the rare ascender who can actually see mist. Although I must say I’m not surprised by this ability since you’re not only a mortal with wings but you can also throw a hand-blast. Amazing.”

Parisa shook her head back and forth. “I can’t believe I actually slammed the ruler of Second Earth against a plate-glass window because of power I released from my arm and hand.”

Havily laughed. “It was the highlight of my day, let me tell you.”

Parisa smiled, but her gaze shifted in the direction of the exotic dome over Warrior Medichi’s property. “Well, I think her mist is beautiful. It reminds me of a very fine white lace.” She was silent for a long moment, chewing on the tender pasta, then asked how old everyone was.

Her eyes widened when Havily gave both Endelle’s and Marcus’s ages. “Medichi of course is younger. He ascended around
AD
700.”

Parisa laughed and shook her head. “You know what’s funny? Of all the things you’ve told me, for some reason speaking of having lived in terms of centuries has made me dizzy.” She lifted her hand, palm facing both of them, and added quickly, “I’m fine. I swear it.”

Havily laughed, Marcus as well. “Parisa, the pasta kills,” he said. “Thanks for cooking. I would have offered but when it comes to culinary ability, I’m basically cooking-challenged.”

Havily glanced at him. Now, why did he have to be such a nice guy? Why couldn’t he have said something offensive, or not been grateful that Parisa cooked, or worse,
bragged
about what a great cook
he
was? Why couldn’t he just man up and give her a reason to dislike him?

“You’re welcome,” Parisa said. She then drew in a deep breath. The fork that twirled her pasta slowed and stopped.

Havily noted the serious frown between her brows. “What is it?”

Parisa met her gaze. “I know that there are bad guys out there looking for me, but do you think there’s someplace we could go so that I could try out my wings? I mean, I don’t want to make anything difficult for either of you, but if you only knew how much I long to fly—”

“Absolutely,” Havily cried. “I haven’t flown for a week and I know exactly what you mean. I get a little antsy, even irritable, if I don’t take to the skies on a regular basis. But you haven’t really flown at all yet, have you?”

She shook her head. “Just that little jump off the railing, which was really more of a floating experiencing than anything else.”

Havily felt relieved. Supporting Parisa through her first few flying experiences was just what she needed to get some distance from the warrior beside her. “I’ll bring over a couple of my flight suits. They’re made with halters. I’m sure one of them will fit, although it might be a little snug through the chest.”

Parisa grinned. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

After the dishes were cleaned up, and Medichi’s dinner put in the warming oven, Havily returned with Parisa to their rooms. She folded the suits from her town house, gave Parisa one, then changed into her own.

When she left the bedroom she shared with Marcus, he was standing at the end of the hall, near the rectangular table, as though he’d been waiting for her. He opened his mouth to speak but Parisa exited her room at the same time and called out, “Yes, it’s tight, but I think I can manage.”

Havily’s gaze fell to the beautiful long line of cleavage that overflowed the haltered top then dropped to examine the waist, which was loose. “I can adjust this for you,” she said. “The clasp is in the back.”

Parisa put her hands on her hips and turned around. Havily adjusted the waistband, making it snug. “There’s an entire industry geared to women’s flight apparel.”

“I can just imagine.”

“There. I think we’re both ready. Let’s fly.”

As Havily turned toward Marcus, she saw that his gaze was settled on Parisa’s cleavage—and why wouldn’t it be, since the snug fit pushed her breasts up and out? Still, she rolled her eyes.

Directing Parisa toward the front door, she let her get in front of them a few paces. When there was sufficient distance, she elbowed Marcus. “Do you have to be such a guy?”

He looked at her, startled, then glanced up at the ceiling. “Sorry, sweetheart. Old habit.”

“Yeah, well, get some new ones. And what’s with the
sweetheart
?”

“Darling?” he suggested.

“Aack,” she cried, and walked faster, moving ahead of him.

“You know,” he called after her, “for a second there you looked just like Endelle.”

She ignored him and focused instead on teaching Parisa the basics of flight.

Havily wore an emerald-green flying halter, boned to support her breasts and tight around the waist to keep the whole thing from sliding around while she maneuvered through the air. The black pants, snug at the ankle, were a stretch knit that gave ease of movement.

Her back itched and tingled, the wings ready to come.

She stood opposite Parisa, whose breaths were high in her chest in anticipation, her amethyst eyes glittering. The un-ascended non-ascendiate hopped from one foot to the next. Her flight suit included the same black pants, but the halter was a sexy boned creation made of super-soft black leather. She really couldn’t blame Marcus for staring. The woman’s cleavage was spectacular.

Both sets of feet were bare since they’d be practicing on the front lawn beneath the shelter and protection of the enormous dome of mist.

Havily smiled then closed her eyes. She hadn’t mounted her wings in over a week and she tried to fly often. Her preferred place to take to the air was off the Mogollon Rim, near Thorne’s house in Sedona. Though it had taken a good decade to gain real confidence, she loved launching from the two-thousand-foot cliff and flying through the canyons, catching the currents, floating, feeling the eddies tease her wings as unexpected drifts of air appeared from hidden canyons.