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Several of the females moved closer to whatever male happened to be seated beside them.

Wrath continued. “I will not hesitate to follow my father’s lead in this. I recognize that you all have suffered. I respect your trials and I want to lead you. I will not, however, hesitate to treat any insurgency against me and mine as the act of a traitor.”

The king lowered his chin, and appeared to glare out from behind the wraparounds, to the point that even Blay felt a frisson of adrenaline.

“And if you think what my father did was violent, you haven’t seen a goddamn thing yet. I will make those deaths look merciful. I swear on my lineage.”

FIFTY-TWO

On some level, Assail could not believe he was walking into a restaurant. For one, he didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule, and two, he had no interest in eating in the dive: The air smelled like fried food and beer, and from what he saw on the trays of the waitresses, he was uncertain whether the entrées were graded safe for non-animal consumption.

Oh, look. Across the way, there was a stage that had a wall of chicken wire in front of it.

Classy.

“Well, hello, there,” someone purred at him.

Assail cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The human woman was dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had clearly been stitched onto her legs. Hair was blond and stick straight. Makeup was heavy, with the lipstick shiny enough to qualify as an exterior oil paint.

He’d rather spoon his own eyes out then engage in any fashion with the likes of her.

He willed her to forget she’d seen him and turned back around. There was a heavy crowd, with more people than there were tables and chairs, so he had good cover as he went over to a corner and scanned….

And there she was.

His little burglar.

Cursing under his breath, he dimly recognized the waste of time this all was—especially given that the cousins were, at this very moment, making a deal with that lesser again. Unfortunately, however, as soon as he’d gotten an alert that that black Audi of hers had gone on the move, he’d been compelled to find the thing and follow it.

He had not been prepared for this.

Whatever was she doing here? And why was she dressed like that?

As she found one of the few empty tables and sat down alone, he found himself not approving of the way her hair was down around her shoulders, the dark weight curling about her face. Or the formfitting shirt that was revealed as she took off her coat. Or—she had makeup on, too, for godsakes. And not like that woman who had just oiled her way up to him. His burglar had kept things light, in a way that magnified her features….

She was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

All the men in the restaurant were looking her over. And that made him want to kill each and every one of them by ripping their throats out with his teeth—

As if they were in agreement with that plan, his fangs tingled and began to descend into his mouth, his body tensing.

But not yet, he told himself. He needed to find out why she was here. After having followed her to Benloise’s mansion, he had expected any number of destinations…although never this. What was she doing—

Her head turned, and for a moment, he thought she had somehow sensed him, even though she was not a vampire.

But then a very tall, very well-built human man approached her table.

His burglar looked up at the guy. Smiled at the guy. Got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the guy’s big shoulders.

Assail’s hand went into his coat and found his gun.

Indeed, he saw himself going over and putting a bullet between the man’s eyes.

“Hey, you ever been here before?”

Assail’s head cranked around. A rather large human male had approached him and was staring at him with a certain aggression.

“I asked you a question.”

There were two responses, Assail decided. He could verbally reply, thus entering into some kind of dialogue that would consume his attention—arguably not a bad idea, given that his hand remained locked on his gun, and his impulses had not shifted from those of a homicidal inclination.

“I’m talking to you.”

Or he could…

Assail bared his descended fangs and growled deep in his throat, redirecting his wrath away from the scene of his burglar with that human fool for whom she had dressed and made herself up.

The guy with the questions threw up his hands and took a step back. “Hey, it’s cool, whatever. My bad. Whatever.”

The man disappeared into the crowd, proving that in certain circumstances, rats without tails could dematerialize as well.

Assail’s eyes returned to that table. The “gentleman” who had taken a seat across from his burglar was leaning in, his eyes locked on her face even while she examined the menu and glanced around.

Something was going to have to be done about this.

Sola closed the menu and laughed. “I never said that.”

“You did.” Mark Sanchez smiled. “You told me I had nice eyes.”

Mark was exactly what she needed on a night like tonight. He was really easy to look at, super charming, and as long as he didn’t make her drop and give him ten thousand, she had nothing to worry about: As a personal trainer? He was a demon. She should know.

“So is this a way to butter me up?” He eased back as the waitress brought them both beers. “Try to get me to go light on you in the gym?”

“I know better than that.” Sola took a draw from the thick, ice-cold rim of her mug. “No quarter given. That’s your policy.”

“Well, to be fair, you’ve never asked for any special treatment.” There was a pause. “Not that in your case, I wouldn’t be willing to cut you some slack…in some areas.”

Sola ducked the eye contact that was flashing her way. “So you don’t date clients, huh.”

“No. Not usually.”

“Conflict of interest.”

“It could get messy—but in certain cases, it’s worth the risk.”

Sola glanced around the pub. Lot of people. Lot of talk. Air that was hot and thick.

She frowned and stiffened. In the far corner, something…someone…

“You okay?”

She shook herself free of the paranoia. “Yes, sorry—oh, yes, we’d like to order,” she said as the waitress returned. “I’ll have a cheeseburger. Assuming my personal trainer doesn’t throw an embolism from disapproval.”

Mark laughed. “Make that two. But hold the fries. On both plates.”

As the waitress took off, Sola tried not to look in the direction of that dark, back corner. “So…”

“I didn’t think you’d ever take me up on this. I asked you out how long ago?”

As Mark smiled, she noticed that he had fantastic teeth, straight and really white. “It’s been a while, I guess. I’ve been busy.”

“So what do you do for a living?”

“This and that.”

“In what field?”

Ordinarily, she got pissed quick when people became nosy. But his affect was calm and easy, so this was just date conversation.

“I guess you could call it criminal justice.”

“Oh, you’re into the law.”

“I’m very familiar with it, yes.”

“That’s cool.” Mark cleared his throat. “So…you look really good.”

“Thanks. I think it’s my trainer.”

“Oh, somehow I think you’d be doing fine without me.”

As they fell into an uncomplicated back-and-forth, she actually started to relax—and then their dinners arrived and they got another round of beer. It was so…normal being in the bar, doing the one-on-one thing, getting to know somebody else.

The exact opposite of what she’d played witness to the night before.

Sola shivered as images came back to her…the candlelight, that black-haired man looming over the half-naked woman like he was going to devour her, the two of them unleashed and uninhibited….Then those glittering eyes looking up and meeting her own through the glass as if he’d known all along that she was watching.

“You okay?”

Sola forced herself to focus. “Sorry, yes. You were saying?”

As Mark resumed talking about his training for the Iron Man, she found herself back in the cold outside of that cottage, watching that man and that woman.

Shoot. She’d engineered this date only because she’d wanted an outlet. It wasn’t because she particularly cared about Mark, as nice as he was.

In fact, maybe she had done this because her personal trainer happened to be really tall, and really well built, with very dark hair and very pale eyes.

When guilt rang her bell, she thought, oh, for chrissakes. She was an adult. Mark was an adult. People had sex for all kinds of different reasons—just because she didn’t want to marry the guy didn’t mean she was breaking some cardinal rule…except, crap. Her grandmother’s morality aside, and his shiny, pearly whites and big shoulders to the contrary, she wasn’t actually attracted to Mark.

She was attracted to the man Mark reminded her of.

And that was what made this wrong.

FIFTY-THREE

Even though Qhuinn was hardly an arbiter of taste when it came to meetings of the Council, it was pretty damn clear to him that the assembled group had come to the house expecting one thing, only to get something else entirely.

Wrath didn’t waste or mince words and, after laying the smack-down, wrapped things up within five or ten minutes.

This was a good thing, actually. The faster he finished, the quicker they could get him home.

“In closing,” the king said in his bass voice, “I appreciate the opportunity to address this august group.”

In this case, “august” clearly meant “a-hole-ish.”

“I have other commitments at this time.” Namely, staying alive. “So I will be departing. However, if you have any comments, please direct them to Tohrment, son of Hharm.”

A blink of the eye later and the king left the building with V and Zsadist.

In the wake of the departure, all the fancy-pants in the dining room stayed sitting in their chairs, shock and now-what playing across their attractive features. Clearly, they had expected more…but also less. Kind of like children who had pushed their parents too far and finally gotten a wooden spoon on the ass.

From Qhuinn’s perspective, it was pretty fucking amusing, actually.

The party finally began to break up after the hostess rose to her feet and yammered on about what an honor it was to have had all the yada, yada, yada.

Qhuinn cared about one and only one thing.

And that was the text that came through on his phone about a minute later: Wrath was home safe.

Exhaling slowly, he put his cell back in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and thought about setting off a couple of rounds into the floorboards to get this bunch of stiffs to dance a little. He’d probably get in trouble for that, though.

Bummer.

The crowd started to file out shortly thereafter, to the clear dissatisfaction of the hostess, as if she had gotten dressed up and rearranged her house with the expectation of a long, socially prominent evening—only to find that all she got were two seconds of celebrity and a bucket of KFC for eats.

Sorry, lady.

Tohrment lorded over the exodus, standing in front of the fireplace, nodding his head, saying a few words. In this delegation, Wrath had made a wise choice. The Brother had the appearance of an ass-kicker, with all his weapons, but he’d always been willing and internally inclined to be a peacemaker, and that was no different tonight.

He was especially nice to Marissa when Butch’s mate left, his face showing a flash of genuine affection as he hugged her and nodded as the cop escorted her out. That slice of real was immediately replaced by his professional mask, however.

Eventually, the hostess helped her ancient hellren to his feet, and made some noise about taking him upstairs.

And then there was only one.

Elan, son of Larex, lingered before the bank of draped windows.

Qhuinn had had an eye on the guy the whole time, counting exactly how many of the Council members came up to him, shook his hand, murmured in his ear.

Each and every one.

So it was not exactly a surprise that instead of leaving like a good little boy, he made his way up to the fireplace like he wanted an audience.

Great.

As Elan approached Tohr, the closer he got, the more he had to lift his chin to keep eye contact with the Brother.

“It was quite an honor to have an audience with your king,” the gentlemale said gravely. “I hung on his every word.”

Tohr murmured something in return.

“And I’ve been struggling with something,” the aristocrat hedged. “I was hoping to speak with him directly about this, but…”

Yeah, don’t hold your breath for that, buddy.

Tohr stepped in to fill the silence. “Anything you tell me will go straight to the king’s ears, without filter or interpretation. And the fighters in this room are sworn to secrecy. They will die before they repeat a word.”

Elan glanced over at Rehv, clearly expecting a similiar pledge from the male.

“The same goes for me,” Rehvenge muttered as he leaned into his cane.

Abruptly, Elan’s chest puffed up as if this kind of personalized attention was more what he’d been hoping for out of the meeting. “Well, this has lain heavily upon my heart.”

Certainly not your pecs, Qhuinn thought. You’re built like a ten-year-old boy.

“And that is,” Tohr prompted.

Elan crossed his arms behind the small of his back and paced a bit—as if he were taking time with his words. Something told Qhuinn that they had been prepared beforehand, however—though he couldn’t have said what it was.

“I expected your king to address a certain rumor that I have heard.”

“Which is?” Tohr said in an even tone.

Elan stopped. Turned. Spoke clearly. “That he was shot back in the fall.”

No one showed any reaction. Not Tohr or Rehv. Not the remaining Brothers in the room. Certainly not Qhuinn or his boys.

“What is your source for this?” Tohr asked.

“Well, in all honesty, I thought he would be here tonight.”

“Really.” Tohr glanced at the empty chairs and shrugged. “You want to tell me what you heard?”

“The male made reference to a visitation by the king. Similar to when Wrath came and saw me at my home over the summer.” This was reported with self-importance, as if that was the highlight of Wrath’s year, right there. “He said that the Band of Bastards shot at the king whilst on his property.”

Again with the no reactions.

“But obviously, your king survived.” The pause suggested Elan was expecting details to be filled in. “He’s doing rather well, as a matter of fact.”

There was a long silence, as if both sides of the conversation were expecting the other to put the quiet to good use.

Tohr cocked his brows. “With all due respect, you haven’t told us much of anything, and gossip has been going on since the beginning of time.”

“But here’s the odd thing. He also talked to me about it before it occurred. I didn’t believe him, however. Who would arrange for an assassination attempt? It seemed…simply the boasting of a male otherwise dissatisfied with the way things were being handled. Except then, a week later, he said that the Band of Bastards had followed through, that Wrath had been shot. I didn’t know what to do. I had no way of getting in touch with the king personally, and no way to verify that the individual was speaking the truth. I let it all go—until this meeting was called. I wondered if maybe it was…well. It clearly wasn’t, but then I wondered why he wasn’t here.”

Tohr stared down at the smaller male. “It would help if you gave us a proper noun.”

Now, Elan frowned. “You mean you don’t know who is on the Council?”

As Rehv rolled his eyes, Tohr shrugged. “We have better things to do than worry about Rehvenge’s membership.”

“In the Old World, the Brotherhood knew who we are.”

“There’s an ocean between us and the motherlands.”

“More’s the pity.”

“That’s your opinion.”

Qhuinn took a step forward, with the intention of stepping in, in the event the Brother locked hands on the SOB’s skinny neck: Someone should probably catch the head before it bounced all over their hosts’ rugs. And the deadweight of the body.

Seemed only hospitable.

“So who are you talking about,” Tohr pressed.

Elan looked around at the still, deadly males who were focused on him. “Assail. His name is Assail.”

Deep in downtown Caldwell, where the darkened streets formed a rats’ maze, and the sober humans were few and very far between, Xcor swung his scythe in a fat circle about five and a half feet up from the slushy, black-stained ground.

The lesser was caught in the neck, and the head, now freed from its spinal tether, flew chin over temple, chin over temple, through the cold, gusty wind. Black blood spiraled out from the severed arteries as the rudderless lower half of the body collapsed forward into a pratfall.

And that was that.

Rather disappointing, really.

Spinning around, he held his beloved over his shoulder so that she curled behind him protectively, watching his back as he braced himself for whatever was coming next. The alley he had entered to chase that now incapacitated slayer was open at the far end, and behind him, the three cousins were stationed shoulder-to-shoulder should more arrive from that direction—

Something was coming.

Something was…on a fast approach, the din of an engine growing louder and louder and—

The SUV skidded into the alley, its tires finding little or no purchase on the icy roadway. As a result of the lack of traction, the vehicle slammed into the wall, its high-beams blinding Xcor.

Whoever was behind the wheel didn’t hit the brakes.

The engine roared.

Xcor faced off at the vehicle and closed his eyes. No reason to keep his lids peeled, as his vision had ceased to function. No real concern who was driving, whether it was slayer, vampire or human.

They were coming at him, and he was going to stop that. Even though it was probably easier to get out of the way.

He had never particularly cared for easy, however.

“Xcor!” someone yelled.

Grabbing a deep breath of that icy air, he let out a battle cry as he tracked the approach, his senses reaching out and positioning the SUV in space as it traveled forward. His scythe disappeared in a moment, and his guns, eager to participate, came out in both palms.

He waited another twenty feet.

And then he started pumping off rounds.

With his silencers on, the bullets made only impact sounds as they blew out the front windshield, pinged off the grille, took out a tire….

At which point those blinding headlights swung away, the back end of the vehicle hinging around, the overall trajectory unchanged thanks to that tremendous acceleration—even as everything went haywire.

Just before the side panel took him out, Xcor leaped off the ground, his boots springing up, the roof just barely going under their treads as three thousand pounds plus of out-of-control streaked beneath his airborne body.

As Xcor’s combats landed back on the ground, the end of the car’s forward momentum came at the expense of a Dumpster, the trash receptacle stopping the vehicle better than any set of brakes could.

Xcor wasted no time in closing in, both guns up, triggers ready. Although he had discharged a number of rounds, he knew he had at least four left in each gun. And his soldiers had once again fallen in behind him.

Coming up to look inside, he didn’t care what he found: one of his own kind, a man or a woman, a lesser, it mattered not to him.

The smell of spoiled meat and treacle informed him which of his many enemies he confronted, and indeed, as he leaned in through the blown-out front windshield, two new recruits, who still retained their dark hair color and ruddy skin tones, were lolling in the front seat.

Even with their seat belts engaged, they were in rough shape. Aside from being riddled with bullets, their visages carried the wear and tear of their having banged around in the sedan’s cabin, slammed into the dashboard, and been pelted with shattered glass: Black blood greased up their busted noses and lacerated cheeks and chins, the shit dripping onto their chests as water from faucets in the bath.

No airbagas. Mayhap a malfunction.

“I dinnae think ye were gonna make it,” Balthazar muttered.

“Aye,” someone else agreed.

Xcor threw off the concern as he holstered his guns, grabbed hold of the driver’s side door, and yanked the thing clean off its mountings. As the squeal of metal torn asunder echoed in the alley, he tossed the panel aside, unsheathed his steel dagger, and leaned in.

As with all lessers, these denizens of the Omega still moved and blinked in spite of their catastrophic injuries—and would continue to do so in perpetuity if left in this state, even as their forms decayed over time.

There was one and only one way to kill them.

Xcor drew his right forearm across over his left shoulder and buried the blade of his dagger square in the chest of the one who had been behind the wheel. Turning his head aside and shutting his eyes so he wasn’t blinded again, he waited for the pop and flash to fade before leaning over the seat and doing the same to the passenger.

Then he turned to go over and dispatch the beheaded, squirming corpse…that had tire tracks across its chest, thanks to the car’s path through the alley.

Stalking through black-stained slush, he lifted his dagger hand again over his shoulder and buried the blade into the sternum with such power, the point of the weapon went into the asphalt.

When he rose to his feet once again, his breath left his nose in locomotive puffs. “Search the vehicle, and then we must needs depart.”

He checked the time. The Caldwell police were disappointingly responsive, even in this part of town—and the constant threat of human involvement that he lived under was, as always, a bore. But with all luck, they would be gone as if they had never been in a matter of minutes.

Sheathing his blade, he glanced up to the sky, cracking his neck and loosening his shoulders.

It was impossible not to think of that Council meeting which had been scheduled; it had been on his mind all night long. Had Wrath shown? Or had it only been Rehvenge and representatives of the Brotherhood? If the king had in fact been in attendance, Xcor could well imagine the agenda: show of strength, warning, then a quick departure.

As mighty as the Brotherhood was, and as much as Wrath would want to flex his muscle before that group of faithless aristocratic sycophants, it was hard to imagine that a male who’d nearly been killed so recently was going to take any chances: If solely through self-interest, the Brotherhood would want him alive, as that was their seat of power, too.

And that was why he’d chosen to stay away.

There was no harm in letting Wrath attempt to regain some of his lost stature, and much to lose in a direct confrontation with the Brotherhood in front of that particular audience: The potential for collateral damage was too great. The last thing he wanted was to spook the glymera into retreating from him…or kill them off altogether in the process of taking out the king.

But he had in fact discovered, thanks to Throe’s contacts, exactly where and when the assembly was occurring. Which would be now…and at that female’s estate, the one from whom his soldiers had fed in that little cottage.

Evidently, she was willing to allow others the use of not only her garden, but her halls as well.

And soon enough, he would have a transcript of what had transpired provided to him by the mouthpiece that was Elan—if for no other reason than that the male would want to enjoy the access that he’d had and show off a bit—

A whistle of appreciation by the back end of the ruined car brought his head around.

Zypher was standing by the open trunk door, his brows high as he bent in and brought out…a cellophane-covered brick of something white.

“’Tis quite a bounty they have,” he said, holding it high.

Xcor marched over. There were three more like it, just tossed into the back loose as if the pair of slayers had been more concerned with their physical safety than the disposition of the drugs.

At that moment, sirens began to sound from the east, mayhap related to the crash, mayhap not.

“We take the packages with us,” Xcor ordered. “And depart the now.”

FIFTY-FOUR

All in all, the date wasn’t half-bad.

As Sola got up from her chair and started to put her coat on, Mark came in behind her and helped settle the wool on her shoulders.

The way his hands lingered suggested he was more than open to this being the end of dinner, but the beginning of the rest of the night. He wasn’t pushy, though. He stepped back and smiled, indicating the way to the exit with a gallant hand.

Moving in front of him, it seemed like some kind of mental-health felony that he didn’t make her blood boil…and yet that highly aggressive, dominating man from the night before did.

She was going to have to give her libido a pep talk. Or maybe a spanking…

Perhaps from that other guy, part of her suggested.

“No,” she muttered.

“Sorry, what?”

Sola shook her head. “Just talking to myself.”

After wending their way through the crowd, they got to the restaurant’s door, and wow, what a sinus-clearer when they stepped out into the night.

“So…” Mark said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his well-developed torso bunching up—and yet still not managing to get close to the size of—

Stop it.

“Thanks for dinner, you didn’t have to pay.”

“Well, this was a date. You said so.” He smiled again. “And I’m a traditional kind of guy.”

Do it, she said to herself. Ask him if you can go back to his house.

After all, there could be no hanky-panky going on at hers. Ever. Not with her grandmother upstairs—the woman’s deafness was highly selective.

Just do it.

This is why you asked him….

“I’ve got an early-morning meeting,” she blurted. “So I have to head off. But thank you very much—and I’d like to do this again.”

To give Mark credit, he covered any disappointment he might have felt with another of those winning grins.

“Sounds good. This was cool.”

“I’m just parked back here.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “So…”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks.”

They were silent as their boots crackled through the salt that had been put down over the ice.

“Nice night.”

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

For some reason, her senses began to fire in warning, her eyes searching the darkness outside of the lit parking lot.

Maybe it was Benloise coming after her, she thought. He undoubtedly knew by now that someone had broken into his home and his safe, and had also probably noticed the shift in that statue’s position. Hard to know whether he would retaliate, though. In spite of the business he was in, he had a certain code of conduct that he adhered to—and on some level, he must be aware that what he’d done in canceling that job and cutting her pay had been wrong.

He would most certainly understand the message.

Besides, she could have taken everything he’d locked up.

Approaching her Audi, she disengaged the alarm. Then she turned around and looked up.

“I’ll call you?”

“Yes, please,” Mark said.

There was a long pause. And then she reached a hand up, slid it behind his neck, and drew his mouth down to her own. Mark immediately went with the invitation, but not in a pushy, domineering way: As she tilted her head, he did the same, and their lips met, brushing lightly, then with a little more pressure. He didn’t crush her to him, or trap her against the car…there was no sense of out-of-control.

No feeling of great passion, either.

She broke the contact. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mark exhaled hard, like he’d gotten turned on. “Ah, yeah. I hope so. And not only in the gym.”

He lifted his hand, smiled one last time, and walked to his truck.

With a quiet curse, Sola got behind her wheel, shut the door, and let her head fall back against the rest. In the rearview mirror, she watched his taillights come on, and saw him make a fat turn and head out of the parking lot.

Closing her lids, she didn’t see Mark’s gleaming smile, or imagine his lips against hers, or feel his hands roaming her body.

She was back to being outside of that cottage looking in, playing witness to a pair of hot, slightly evil eyes looking up at her over the exposed breast of another woman.

“Oh, for the love of God…”

Shaking herself out of the memory, she feared that in this case, her craving for, oh, say, chocolate, was not going to be eased by a diet soda. Or a Snackwell’s cookie. Or even one single Hershey’s Kiss.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14