her wrist with a twist she shrieks.
Then the gentle hands of her sisters are upon her. One in particular stirs a warmth deep in Siana’s marrow, and the knitting of her bone begins.
Marquette's eyes widen.
Siana sees when Marquette understands there is more than a broken bone to deal with.
There is also a new pregnancy.
It should be a joyous knowledge, yet all Siana sees in Marquette's deep eyes is an abiding anxiousness.
Marquette touches Siana's lids, and Siana shakes her head.
“Yes,” Marquette says, though the word comes from a distance. “You need rest more than consciousness, my sister.”
Marquette's hand is in Siana's as her mind whispers away into soundless darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Baird
Titus runs beside Baird, and Baird puts up with his closeness for Titus fought well against his own kind. Not that Faction can be categorized. They are many of the vampire race, stuck together through a mix of genetics which do not conform strictly to either Reaper or rogue.
Shortly they will return to the Reaper fortress, and Carrig will heal from his wounds from battle.
It is Siana who Baird worries over, she and the ten Druid females they rescued from the Faction. The females travel more slowly, in part because of the trappings of their wardrobe. A skirt's movement is laborious, confining, and slow.
Baird slows as he sees Carrig holding a piano's keys worth of broken ribs, pain all over his face.
“Hurting, my brother?” Baird asks with a smirk.
“ I am, as you are well aware. Broken ribs will not heal whilst running and with no blood to fuel the heal.” Carrig’s eyebrows rise to his hairline, his Reaper coloring all shadow in the dying night. The moon vaguely reflects on his eyes of palest silver.
Baird chuckles, shifting Siana's weight, and she groans softly. She’s not exactly conscious but not strictly out.
Titusʼs eyes flick to her form, and Baird lets a growl break the seal of his lips.
“ Stop, Reaper,” Titus says. “You must concede her pregnant and unmated as of yet. I have done all I can to prove my worth and lack of Faction loyalty.”
“ And how quickly you let it go for a prick of Druid pussy, my friend.” Carrig watches Titus, his eyes narrowing.
Baird gives a tired exhale. “We will rest. Then we will come to the Reaper fortress. We will determine your fate at that time.”
“You will not kill Titus,” Siana says from Baird's arms. Her voice is raw from disuse.
Baird focuses on the bruises around her throat from Faction hands. Not disuse, but abuse. The voicebox always suffers when one is strangled.
“I did not say we would kill Titus,” Baird says, feeling a frown form as he utters the words.
“ Yet you did not say you would not.”
“ Siana is right,” a voice says from behind them. “We must rest, then when we are safely ensconced, we can make our way within a new order.”
All eyes move to Marquette. Baird takes her in as a female and Druid.
Like many of the Druid females, she is small, her dark hair like a raven's wing, and her eyes are either green or blue. Some have an unusual seawater color, as though the eyes cannot decide the shade.
Marquette is one who does.
She uses those luminous eyes to her advantage now. She pleads, though Baird feels there is no need. “I wish to make haste to whatever place is safe and free of Faction and other marauders.” Her eyes flick to Titus, who heals from the minimal damage he sustained earlier. “He is not a concern. Who Siana beds is not relevant at present. She is pregnant, starving—as we all are in various states of the same.”
Baird looks at the remaining nine breeders and admits they are a ragged bunch.
He nods. “Lead on, Carrig. We will move at a slower pace.”
“ Not too slow.” Carrig looks at the sky. “You of Exotic blood might be fortunate enough to shadow skip, but I will fry like an egg in the sun.”
Baird sighs. Carrig needs to feed. Baird’s gaze moves to the females.
They look
Then the gentle hands of her sisters are upon her. One in particular stirs a warmth deep in Siana’s marrow, and the knitting of her bone begins.
Marquette's eyes widen.
Siana sees when Marquette understands there is more than a broken bone to deal with.
There is also a new pregnancy.
It should be a joyous knowledge, yet all Siana sees in Marquette's deep eyes is an abiding anxiousness.
Marquette touches Siana's lids, and Siana shakes her head.
“Yes,” Marquette says, though the word comes from a distance. “You need rest more than consciousness, my sister.”
Marquette's hand is in Siana's as her mind whispers away into soundless darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Baird
Titus runs beside Baird, and Baird puts up with his closeness for Titus fought well against his own kind. Not that Faction can be categorized. They are many of the vampire race, stuck together through a mix of genetics which do not conform strictly to either Reaper or rogue.
Shortly they will return to the Reaper fortress, and Carrig will heal from his wounds from battle.
It is Siana who Baird worries over, she and the ten Druid females they rescued from the Faction. The females travel more slowly, in part because of the trappings of their wardrobe. A skirt's movement is laborious, confining, and slow.
Baird slows as he sees Carrig holding a piano's keys worth of broken ribs, pain all over his face.
“Hurting, my brother?” Baird asks with a smirk.
“ I am, as you are well aware. Broken ribs will not heal whilst running and with no blood to fuel the heal.” Carrig’s eyebrows rise to his hairline, his Reaper coloring all shadow in the dying night. The moon vaguely reflects on his eyes of palest silver.
Baird chuckles, shifting Siana's weight, and she groans softly. She’s not exactly conscious but not strictly out.
Titusʼs eyes flick to her form, and Baird lets a growl break the seal of his lips.
“ Stop, Reaper,” Titus says. “You must concede her pregnant and unmated as of yet. I have done all I can to prove my worth and lack of Faction loyalty.”
“ And how quickly you let it go for a prick of Druid pussy, my friend.” Carrig watches Titus, his eyes narrowing.
Baird gives a tired exhale. “We will rest. Then we will come to the Reaper fortress. We will determine your fate at that time.”
“You will not kill Titus,” Siana says from Baird's arms. Her voice is raw from disuse.
Baird focuses on the bruises around her throat from Faction hands. Not disuse, but abuse. The voicebox always suffers when one is strangled.
“I did not say we would kill Titus,” Baird says, feeling a frown form as he utters the words.
“ Yet you did not say you would not.”
“ Siana is right,” a voice says from behind them. “We must rest, then when we are safely ensconced, we can make our way within a new order.”
All eyes move to Marquette. Baird takes her in as a female and Druid.
Like many of the Druid females, she is small, her dark hair like a raven's wing, and her eyes are either green or blue. Some have an unusual seawater color, as though the eyes cannot decide the shade.
Marquette is one who does.
She uses those luminous eyes to her advantage now. She pleads, though Baird feels there is no need. “I wish to make haste to whatever place is safe and free of Faction and other marauders.” Her eyes flick to Titus, who heals from the minimal damage he sustained earlier. “He is not a concern. Who Siana beds is not relevant at present. She is pregnant, starving—as we all are in various states of the same.”
Baird looks at the remaining nine breeders and admits they are a ragged bunch.
He nods. “Lead on, Carrig. We will move at a slower pace.”
“ Not too slow.” Carrig looks at the sky. “You of Exotic blood might be fortunate enough to shadow skip, but I will fry like an egg in the sun.”
Baird sighs. Carrig needs to feed. Baird’s gaze moves to the females.
They look
Similar Books
