“I do not know for certain,” Lucien said, “but I don’t believe it will weaken you or create powerful new children. You are not truly giving them your blood. You’re giving them your bone marrow or stem cells. My gut instinct is that it won’t be the same, but we’ll have to test it to find out.”

Lucien didn’t breathe as he waited for her to deliberate. Neither did Makeda.

“I’ll do it,” Saba said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Saba nodded toward Makeda. “She can take the blood from me, or whatever it is you need. Right now you go to Kato. And leave the healer in the laboratory, because we need the soldier if we’re going to do this.”

“Saba, you could do this in your sleep,” Lucien said. “You once ruled a continent.”

“I ruled a continent thousands of years ago,” she said. “I have no love for this modern world and not enough familiarity with it. You may not like politics, son, but you’re well-acquainted with that aspect. You will join Kato and me. You will help us plan and execute this campaign.” She looked at Makeda. “And you will come with us. His attention will be divided if you remain here.”

Damn bossy vampires. Makeda shook her head. “I’m not ready.”

“Child, you do not say no to me,” Saba said. “You will travel in my entourage. Recognize it for the honor that it is and be quiet.”

Lucien squeezed her hip, and Makeda bit her lip so she didn’t talk back. She was thirty-nine and unaccustomed to being spoken to like a child.

Of course, she also recognized that the woman who spoke to her was royalty in the most fundamental sense. She was also a more powerful predator who had offered Makeda protection and position.

She took a deep breath and prepared to send Brenden McTierney a very welcome e-mail. At least it would be welcome on his side.

Makeda Abel wouldn’t be monitoring her colleague’s every tiny move during the transplant trial.

Instead, she was going to war.

“I told you,” Saba said, lying down on the crude examination table. “No anesthetic will work on me.”

Makeda shook her head. “There must be something—”

“There’s not.” She unwrapped the skirt around her waist. “I can handle the pain.”

“I don’t think you understand just how much pain a posterior iliac crest bone marrow retrieval is going to produce.”

Saba said nothing. She stared at Makeda, her dark eyes revealing nothing.

Makeda shrugged. “If you don’t want anything to dull the pain, then I guess we’ll do it your way.” And I’ll try not to pass out in sympathy.

“I’m more concerned that you won’t be capable of following through on this. Do not worry about me. I have endured pain you cannot imagine.”

Makeda said nothing more. She went to the corner and started to wash, mentally cataloguing every step she’d need to take in order to make this marrow retrieval work in less than ideal conditions. Lucien had laid out the tray and prepped the storage chest where Makeda would put the retrieved marrow. Transport was already arranged. Saba’s marrow and her blood would be in Ireland within two days.

“You don’t like me.” Saba lay on her side, her hip exposed. “That is fine. In fact, I like that you don’t like me. Too many immortals are awed by my power, and that is not good for Lucien.”

Makeda paused for a moment, then continued to wash and put on gloves. Was it nearly impossible for Saba to get any kind of infection from a biopsy needle? Yes. That didn’t erase years of training.

“Your power is unlike anything I’ve ever known,” Makeda said. “But no. I’m not awed by you or anyone else. I study the human body. We’re all the same inside. The most powerful human in the world can be brought to their knees by the tiniest virus.”

“An infection conquered Alexander when no king could,” Saba said. “You’re wise for a human.”

“And even vampires, who are stronger, faster, and smarter than humans, can’t survive in the sun. Or without blood. Or away from their element. You have weaknesses too.”

“You’d survive in the Sahara,” Saba said. “You just wouldn’t be as powerful. But you’d survive, Makeda.” She looked over her shoulder. “We survive. Do you understand?”

Makeda paused, the biopsy needle in her hand. “Are you insisting I come participate in this war because you’re worried I’ll kill myself?”

“Yes. You’re the kind who could reason her way into believing your purpose on earth is finished. A year ago, that would have been none of my business, but now my son loves you.”

Saba’s calm assertion hit her like a punch to the stomach, but Makeda didn’t flinch. “We’re still learning each other.”

“You will be learning each other for eternity, if you are lucky, for none of us are relics to be studied. We are constantly changing. You are his true mate. Do you think I can’t scent his blood in you?”

“We’re not mates.”

“You will be.” Saba turned back to stare at the wall of the examination room. “When you understand what loves means, you will offer him your blood as he has offered his.”

“I know what love is.”

“Not as he does,” Saba said. “Not as I do.”

Makeda said nothing, because Saba was likely correct. She didn’t often think about Lucien’s age. His presence was too immediate to be ancient. If she thought about his age at all, it was to wonder about the things he’d seen, not the emotions he had experienced. She filed it away to think about later.