As she made her way back to her chaise-longue and all the warrior costumes she’d sketched, she still had no idea what the hell she should do. Except of course, she’d definitely get her staff going on a few of these sketches. The more she looked at them, the more her heart settled down.
She might as well have some fun while she watched two worlds go to hell.
~
Rachel sat on a stool at the bar in the Ops Cave, arms aching, thigh muscles on fire. She was edgy as well, but not from either the nightly drills, battling death vampires, or the recent escape from Yolanthe’s clutches.
Instead, her libido was wearing on her. Maybe it was a warrior thing, but she needed to be on her back and Duncan doing what he did best. However, the man was barely speaking to her unless it related to the business of making war.
And no arguments on her part had changed a damn thing.
She sipped a glass of water. The men drank harder stuff, but her stomach was too unsettled to chance it. Nausea had accompanied her battle training. And why wouldn’t it? No one should have to see such a large amount of blood and other kinds of human debris, night-after-night.
The first time she’d seen a Third Earth wrecker killed, she’d thrown up the contents of her stomach, then continued on with a long bout of the dry heaves. Same thing had happened when one of her daggers had found the throat of a ‘pretty boy’ for the first time. The beautiful death vampire had fallen over, and she’d watched the life drain out of him.
Though she didn’t wield a sword like the men, she practiced throwing her daggers two hours every night. More than once, she’d saved one of her team a lot of hurt by intervening with a sharp blade.
For the first week, she didn’t understand how the men faced the battlefield night after night. A month later, she’d built an iron wall around her initial sensitivity and horror. She no longer had nightmares either, but slept like a baby.
Duncan had helped. He’d reminded her in detail how death vampires were addicted to a powerful substance which could only be reached at the point of death. Once enslaved to dying blood, getting the next fix was all the pretty boys thought about. They were in most respects similar to the vampire lore of Mortal Earth, with pale, almost bluish skin and mesmerizing beauty.
By her third week of training and battling, she’d come to celebrate each death along with the men, knowing how many lives she and her team had saved.
Her purpose in the field also included learning how to shield all the warriors, not just Duncan. Because even the lowliest Militia Warrior on Third would outmatch the most powerful Warrior of the Blood on Second, her ability to shield the team had become her most significant contribution.
The trouble was, the whole team pretty much sucked in terms of having the chops to battle on Third Earth. So how the hell were they supposed to go to Third and save the world?
With dawn closing in, the team now lounged in their hang-out at Militia Warrior HQ. Luken had commandeered the large rec room specifically for the team.
By quickly acquired ritual, they were all here or in the immediate vicinity. The bathrooms and locker rooms were nearby and the men often made phone calls arranging hookups or any other point of business after a night of fighting. Or sometimes one of their number ordered pizza and wings and they’d dig in as a team.
She’d passed Duncan on the way in, but he hadn’t even made eye contact with her. Typical. He’d been talking to good-natured Alex, probably comparing notes on how much they each despised Merl.
At least he was talking to someone.
She leaned an elbow on the bar, then lifted her ponytail. She was still hot and sweaty, grateful the Ops Cave had the air-conditioner blasting. She wasn’t sure why, but her breasts hurt something fierce. Maybe her weapons harness needed another adjustment.
She flipped the side tab, which let out the seam a little on the thick metal-and-leather garment. She almost groaned with relief. She switched to the other side and repeated. Better. Much better. She’d have to remove the harness in order to do a full adjustment involving the side straps and locking mechanism, but for now, she wasn’t in quite as much discomfort.
But what was with her breasts? Was this another result of the freaking breh-hedden that besides craving sex with her man, her breasts had gotten bigger? Forget implants, just get struck down by vampire mate-bonding and snap, bigger boobs.
Yeah, she was tired.
She sipped some more. The cool glass against her lips felt like heaven as well. She was tired and she wanted her bed. Yet, more than her bed, she wanted a man. She wanted Duncan.
Her gaze took a slow drift around the room. Duncan still hadn’t come in, but what a collection of muscle.
And here was the other side of the equation. It did not help her overwrought libido to be surrounded by so much masculine gorgeousness. Whatever else the black ops team might be, these men rocked.
Owen sat next to the pool table, a beer in his left hand while with his right he made a fist and flexed his bicep. He had a healthy bruise across the top and was probably performing a bit of self-healing. The sight of the bulge, however, accompanied by a sexy flex-and-release put a hitch in her breathing.
Owen was an intense warrior and ridiculously handsome. He had a cleft chin, brown hair with natural golden highlights, and hazel eyes. A sexy three-inch scar ran at an angle below his left
cheekbone, acquired before he ascended. Over the last month, since the team had formed, she’d watched women touch him there, knowing full-well they’d be touching something else later.
What was it about a scar on a man?
Merl didn’t have any scars, at least none she knew of, though she had glimpsed a tattoo etched down the center of his back. He was a powerful Third ascender and sat in a corner apart, a hard expression on his face. Gone were his flirtations from a month ago and he no longer stuck close to Endelle. In many ways, he seemed like a different man altogether.