“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I … it’s just it was such a strange experience.” She couldn’t tell him the truth: that sharing his memory like that had left her frightened of something she couldn’t explain. She just didn’t want to be that close … to anyone.

So she ordered her mind and walked away from him, swinging her arms about and focusing on the feel of the memory. In other words, she changed the subject. “Even when I walk, I’m feeling your muscles in my arms and legs. It’s extraordinary, Antony. Do you think I could try wielding a sword now? And I’d like to practice throwing a dagger as well.”

***

Medichi stared at Parisa, at his woman. He had never felt as far from her as he did now. For him the sharing of his battle memories had been sexy as hell, and he wanted more. In fact he wanted it so much he could taste it, but was it him or just the horrible demand of the breh-hedden?

It hardly mattered. Parisa had shut him down. She’d closed up her mind and shut him down.

On the other hand, maybe it was for the best. What was he to her, anyway, but her Guardian of Ascension, the warrior assigned to keep her safe? Yes, he was her breh, just as she was his. But wasn’t that all just destiny bullshit?

Parisa would be wise to keep her distance, shore up her defenses, turn him down. This was war. One long horrible war.

Fine. Then he’d teach her to make war.

He had several swords in his weapons locker. Only one was identified, which meant the rest would be perfectly safe for Parisa to handle. Identified swords were deadly weapons designed specifically for battling death vampires. If anyone but the swords owner touched the hilt or cross-guard, it would result in death.

The only exception was Alison, who had endured a one-on-one battle with Warrior Leto, a former Warrior of the Blood. Alison had brought his sword into her hand and somehow, through power he had never seen before on Second Earth, recalibrated the identification before the grip touched her palm.

He wasn’t taking the chance that Parisa had that power. She was clearly a preternaturally exceptional ascender, but yeah, he wasn’t taking chances.

For practice, therefore, he brought two unidentified swords and a dagger into his hands.

The swords were warrior-big and because Parisa had much smaller hands than even most Militia Warriors, the sword seemed disproportionate.

But the moment he gave it to her, she fell easily into the rhythm of his battle moves. She stepped away from him and went through a series of thrusts and blocks. He shook his head and smiled. Sometimes the vampire abilities astonished him, even after living on Second Earth for over thirteen hundred years. To receive his memories as she had and make use of them like this was simply amazing.

***

Jean-Pierre stood on the lawn beside Havily, but at a discreet distance from Medichi and Parisa. The newly created ascender was determined to become a warrior as quickly as possible. She had asked her Guardian of Ascension therefore to give her some of his memories, mind-to-mind, and by the way Parisa now swung her sword in large perfect arcs, the experiment was quite successful.

Havily ground her teeth. “Do you see how simple this could be?” She held the practice sword in her right hand, the tip aimed at the dirt.

He turned to her and smiled. “I take it Marcus does not know you are here?”

She snorted. “He would skin me alive.”

“So, you did not tell him. Instead, you asked me to accompany you, but your breh does not know?”

She had the good grace to blush.

He continued, “Soeurette, your man will not wish me to show you how to throw the dagger or hold a sword. He does not approve.”

She sighed. “I don’t care anymore, Jean-Pierre. I must learn how to fight. He can’t be with me every minute of the day, and we’re at war.”

“Yes, but—” He looked at her. Insight pierced his skull. “Cherie, non, non, non! Tell me you do not expect me to share memories with you? If I entered your mind, a most intimate act, then oui, he would kill me, a blade straight through my heart. I would not like that.”

The lovely redhead lifted her chin, fire rolling from her eyes. “I must learn to defend myself. You saw what happened to Parisa. Rith found a way to trick her to folding out of the palace. Out of the palace.”

“But I am not the one you need to convince.”

“He will not listen to reason and I’m desperate.”

Merde. What was he supposed to do? Marcus was his friend now. All had been forgiven. The past was as if it had never been, and for that the Warriors of the Blood had Havily to thank.

She had brought Marcus back into the fold three months ago. She had allowed the breh-hedden to take her for a magnificent ride and then she had ridden the beast to its knees. She would always be soeurette to the Warriors of the Blood.

But this? He could not do it, not to his brother, so he lifted a brow to her. She lifted her chin in response.

He chuckled. There was so much to like about Havily. Even her name was a delight for his hopeless French accent. “He would be very angry with me, cherie. I cannot do it.”

She drew a deep breath that swelled her chest. She held that breath for a moment then let it fly out as though carrying her irritation with it. “Marcus has no say in this. We may be bonded but I am not the dirt beneath his shoes.”

Jean-Pierre grinned. “The dirt beneath his shoes? That is very good. I will tell him you said that.”

A shout of triumph drew his attention back to Parisa. While Jean-Pierre had stood arguing with Havily, Antony had folded a target to the front yard. The dagger now rested not far from the bull’s-eye.

“See,” Havily cried, gesturing with a toss of her arm in the direction of the target. “And now, I politely request that you download your battle memories straight into my brain because this sword feels ridiculous in my hands. I might as well be holding a log.”

He shook his head. “I am willing to teach you the skills of the sword but I tell you again, Marcus would put a blade through my heart if he knew I had entered your mind so … intimately.”

Havily rolled her eyes and groaned. She gestured with a slice of her left hand toward Medichi and Parisa. “But that is what I need to be doing right now. Look at her. It’s as though she’s been wielding a sword for centuries.”

His gaze slid to Parisa. It was true. He had seen Kerrick give his memories to Alison all those months ago, and the result had been the same—quite magnificent. It would seem that because both Parisa and Alison were powerful, and could receive the memories from one mind to the next, they could learn the battling skills in the flutter of an eyelash.

He sighed. He wished he could oblige Havily, but he could not.

“Well,” Havily said. “I can see you intend to be as stubborn as my breh, so I guess I’ll just have to find Luken. He’ll do it for me. He’d do anything for me.”

Jean-Pierre gasped. “You would not wound him so,” he cried. Luken had been in love with Havily since he’d served as her Guardian of Ascension over a century ago. “To invite such intimacy when you know that his heart calls to you—”

Havily met his gaze. “I was the one trapped in a forge with a madman draining the blood out of me. I know why Parisa has insisted on being trained to fight. Neither you, nor Marcus, nor Antony, knows what it’s like to feel so powerless.”

“But were you not drugged? How could you have fought such a man anyway?”

Havily glared at him. “I have thought about this a lot, Jean-Pierre. There was a split second when Crace grabbed me during the Ambassadors Festival that I could have fought him. Instead I froze, and he carried me away. I didn’t even think to struggle in his arms. Maybe if I’d had a few skills, even how to handle a dagger, I could have folded a blade into my hand, sliced his arm, and escaped. I don’t know. But I didn’t even have the option. That’s what I want here, enough skill to have a chance if another death vampire attacks me. You warriors are so physically big, so powerful, you can’t imagine anything else.”

He stared into her intense light green eyes. He had not considered how impotent she must have felt. He could not imagine what she had endured in Crace’s terrible forge.

After a long moment, he nodded. Finally, he withdrew his Epic phone from the pocket of his jeans. He held a finger up to Havily. “I have an idea but you must be quiet. Will you be silent for a moment?”

She nodded.

He made the call. “Allo, Marcus? I hope I do not disturb you.”

Havily gasped but she was true to her promise. She pressed her lips together in a punishing line and remained silent.

“I’m in the middle of a staff meeting,” Marcus said. “Can this wait?’

The warriors always took one another’s calls, day or night, meetings or no meetings. Jean-Pierre continued to stare at Havily. He once more took in the set of her chin. His resolution strengthened.

“In five seconds, mon ami, I’ll be linking my mind with Havily’s and sharing my battle experiences. It must be done.” He said nothing more but ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket. He counted backward. “Cinq, quatre, trois, deux…”

The air shimmered beside him and a second later Marcus went chest-to-chest with him. “The fuck you will,” he shouted. His brows were little more than slashes above his light brown eyes, but right now they seemed to sink into his eyes. His face turned the color of a beet, the rich hue of rage.

Jean-Pierre stepped away from Marcus with a wave of his hand in Havily’s direction. “You must settle this with your breh. She has threatened to ask Luken to help her, which is something I believe we must avoid for Luken’s sake. But after listening to her, I believe you to be in the wrong.”

The moment Marcus turned in Havily’s direction and began chastising her about Luken, Jean-Pierre crossed the lawn to join Medichi and Parisa, who both stood with eyes wide as the shouting began.

Jean-Pierre gestured to the door. “Perhaps we should go into the villa?”