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she did, her fury eased up and in its stead was something very close to remorse. Essentially she’d just cheated on Thorne, even though she’d already dumped his ass. But then, the fact that she felt even a nanosecond of regret pissed her off all over again. She’d already told Thorne to get lost. She’d made it clear in a thousand different ways that she was done with him and her life on Second Earth.
    Through all the decades locked up in the Convent, her dream of a new life on Mortal Earth had kept her going. She’d always seen herself this way, living free and hooking up with as many men as she wanted, hitting the road at dawn every morning, and travelling to the ends of the earth, then starting all over again. She didn’t want to be accountable to anyone or anything.
    On the other hand, Thorne didn’t deserve to be put through this. Maybe her dreams of freedom had kept her going, but Thorne’s presence in her life had kept her sane. But why had he followed her? He knew what she’d intended. She’d never made it a secret that once she got free, she was going on a prolonged man-hunt, maybe for a millennium.
    She spread her towel on the toilet seat and sat down. She leaned over, put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. The trouble was, she kinda felt like two people and torn right down the middle. She wanted Thorne. Aw, hell, she craved him.
    But there was another part of her that also craved freedom and self-determination the way her lungs craved air, as though she would die without it.
    Then there was Owen Stannett and Commander Greaves. Either of those major pricks would be oh-so-happy to strap a new ankle guard on her leg, hook her up to a Seer milking machine, and never let her see the light of day again. So what the hell would she do if Greaves or Stannett started a major campaign to acquire her?
    There was nothing about her current predicament that was simple. Above all, she wished she could get rid of her obsidian flame ability. Unfortunately, once a preternatural power arrived, it was just there, forever.
    At least her obsiddy power, as she liked to call it, seemed to be sleeping for now, thank you, God. She and Fiona were sisters in obsidian flame, and supposedly one day there would be another. Once they joined powers, they would be able to make some kind of cosmic orchestral music together—not literally, but something as yet undefined.
    The night she’d left Second Earth, Madame Endelle had promised her all sorts of freedom if she would stay and help out her administration. But Marguerite hadn’t been tempted, not even a little. Her experience thus far with administrators of any kind was that they would say one thing then do another, usually with the help of, yeah, an ankle guard.
    A promise of freedom? Nothing in her experience told her she could count on that promise, from anyone.
    So she’d left and here she was, feeling guilty as hell because she’d just cheated on Thorne even though she wasn’t even with him anymore.
    She let go of a really big sigh then heard whistling from the other room. At the same, she caught a whiff of cherry tobacco.
    Thorne.
    Her first reaction involved a slight jumping of her spirit so that she rose to her feet and almost smiled. Thorne would never have told her to just get out of his room. Never.
    Thorne.
    But the moment she let his name drift through her head, guilt powered down so hard she nearly fell to her knees. She’d just had some amazing sex with José, some of the best of her life, but now her vampire boyfriend of the past century was in her hotel room.
    She cared about Thorne, she really did. But he needed to move on, get his own life, get back to the war.
    She dried off her hair in rapid swipes of the towel over her head, shuffled her fingers through to even the strands out, then shrugged into her white terry robe.
    When she left the bathroom, her heart lurched at the sight of him. He was sprawled on the bed, no shirt, looking as yummy as