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Third sent icy chills down her spine.
    Damn that vision to all thirteen layers of hell. And the day she decided a series of most-excellent orgasms wouldn’t fix her up, was the day she knew she was in some deep, stinky shit.
    Only where exactly was a woman of her stature and power supposed to find answers? If she didn’t know what to do, who would?
    As she moved along the stone path around the perimeter of the pond, her thoughts turned once more to Luken. She pressed a hand to her breastbone, her throat tight. An ache had formed in the middle of her chest like a stone and seemed to grow bigger each time she thought about the blond, god-like warrior.
    He’d always been the peacekeeper among the Warriors of the Blood and a favorite of hers, when he’d served under Thorne and later as the leader of the team. Of course, this was in times past, before the breh-hedden had picked off several of her elite troops. With a woman to love, each man had morphed into something new, with greater powers and a bigger role in her government.
    Luken hadn’t yet been so fortunate. He was still very much a bachelor. And worse, the only vision Endelle had ever had suggested Luken’s time was up.
    For a month now, the vision burned in her head with a creeping, constant fame. Luken had been high in the air, battling death vampires, and one of them had sent his blade through Luken’s spine. She’d watched him fall through the sky, presumably to his death.
    But what had the vision really meant?
    The added, constant pressure in her head made her wonder if maybe she was meant to do more than just assemble a black ops team? Was some ascended element working on her, trying to move her down a different path?
    She wasn’t a woman of great faith, not after having lived such a long time and seen what murderous intent most humans were capable of no matter what dimension. If anything, she imagined the Creator walking around, gripping his hands, shaking his head, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking to pull man out of the mud in the first place.
    Maybe she didn’t have answers to her questions, but her instincts warned her some kind of action was necessary. She couldn’t let Luken go to his death on Third without putting up a fight.
    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,