by J. R. Ward
No, it was a parkland or such.
No . . . it was something else.
When at last a left was taken into a property of sorts, he could not tell where he was. A rather lot of empty, overgrown land . . . a rather lot of abandoned buildings. A school? Yes, he thought.
But the place was not for humans anymore.
The scent of lessers was in the air to such a penetrating degree that his body responded to the layers of stench, adrenaline pumping, instincts firing up and ready to fight--
The first of the mutilated slayers presented themselves in a scattering across the thick undergrowth, and as the vehicle continued onward, more and more appeared.
Closing his eyes, he calmed himself and dematerialized to the flat roof of a five-story building up ahead of where the truck eventually stopped. Stepping carefully over fallen branches and banks of decaying leaves floating in cold puddles of water, Xcor worked his way over to the edge. The true scale of what had to have been a massive attack on the Lessening Society was evidenced by the acres of carnage in the very center of campus: A great swath of trampled grasses and trees was layered with body parts, half-dead, semi-alive slayers, and a tidal wave's worth of the Omega's black, oily blood.
It was like a depiction of Dhund itself.
"The Brotherhood," he said unto the wind.
That was the only explanation. And as he considered what their attack strategy had to have been, he was envious that they had been given the gift of this battle. How he wished it had been for him and his soldiers--
Xcor wrenched around.
Something was moving on the roof behind him. Speaking. Cursing.
In the darkness, and with utter silence, he withdrew a steel blade from his chest holster and sank low on his thighs. Stalking forward in the cold gusts, he tracked the sounds that he was downwind of and tested the air. It was a human.
"--footage! No! I'm telling you, it's some shit!"
Xcor loomed behind the feeble rat without a tail, and remained unnoticed as the human spoke into his cell phone.
"I'm up on a roof--I caught the fuckin' thing on vid! No, Chooch, T.J. and Soz took off, but I came up here--it was a dragon--what? No, Jo, the LSD wore off this morning--no! If it's a flashback, why did I just post it on YouTube?"
Xcor raised his knife over his shoulder.
"No! I'm serious I--"
The human shut up as Xcor struck him on the back of the head with the hilt of his weapon. And as the body went limp and sagged to the side, Xcor took the phone and put it up to his ear.
A female voice was saying, "Dougie? Dougie! What happened?"
Xcor ended the connection, put the phone in his jacket, and leaned over the lip of the roof. The three lessers he'd come in with hadn't made it far from their food truck. They seemed dumbfounded by what they were surrounded by, incapable of responding given the magnitude of the losses.
Best he address them first before they took off.
Stepping over the collapsed male, he jumped off the building, dematerializing as he fell, and rematerializing on the ground before he crash-landed and killed himself.
The slayers saw him, and that was exactly what he wanted.
It would make the killing of them a bit more of a challenge.
As the three raced to get back into their truck, he ghosted himself on top of the one in the rear, stabbing it in the chest on a reach around and sending it back to the Omega on a brilliant flash and a pop! Next, he lunged forward and grabbed the second one around the shoulders, wrenching it off balance and slitting its throat before casting it aside. The third he captured by the hair just as it attempted to shut itself in the truck on the driver's side.
"No, mate," he growled as he jerked the thing off its feet. "All for one, one for all."
The lesser landed flat on its back, and before it could respond, Xcor drove his boot into its face, crushing the bone structure, collapsing the features, rendering the eyes nothing but loose pools of fluid.
Xcor looked over his shoulder. It would be unlike the Brotherhood to leave a mess like this for humans to find. Even though the campus was abandoned, soon enough, random Homo sapiens of the youthful variety would breach the untidy landscape. Just as the one on that roof had.
Something must have happened during the course of the fighting. A critical injury, perhaps, that precluded clean-up, at least in the short term--
Xcor never saw it coming. Never heard a thing.
One moment, he was fully cognizant of his environs.
And the next, someone or something had done unto him what he had wrought upon that human on the roof.
He didn't even have time for a last thought, so decisive was the blow to his head.
*
Vishous lowered his arm slowly as he stared down at the massive male who had just collapsed at his shitkickers.
Then he immediately brought his gun back up, two-handing the thing and moving it in a circle around himself.
"Where ya boys at, true?" he said under his breath. "Huh, motherfuckers? Where you at?"
There was no way Xcor, head of the Band of Bastards, had come here alone. No fucking way.
V just wasn't that lucky.
Except nothing came at him. No one counter-attacked. Nobody ran out from a building or from behind a tree with a gun up, shooting. All there was were slayer parts and torsos on the ground, the cold wind hitting him in the face, and a whole lot of quiet.
The sound of a whistle over on the left alerted him to Butch's position. And then there was another from the right. A third from way up ahead.
V whistled back and his brothers came jogging over.
He kept his eyes on Tohr, and as soon as the fighter was within range, V pointed his gun directly at that leather-clad chest. "Stop. Right there."
Tohr pulled up short. Lifted his palms. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Butch, roll him over," V gritted, nodding to the vampire at his feet.
The instant Tohr saw who it was, his hands dropped and his fangs got good and bared.
"Now do you get it," V muttered. "I know it's your right to kill him, but you can't. Do we understand each other. You're not going to off him here, true."
Tohrment growled. "That's not your call to make, V. Fuck you, that fucker is mine--"
"I will fucking shoot you. Are we clear? Stop right there."
Apparently, the Brother wasn't aware of having stepped forward. But Butch and everyone else caught it right away--and the cop approached Tohr cautiously.
"The kill can be yours," Butch said. "But we take him back with us first. We talk to the bastard, get the intel--then he's yours, Tohr. No one else is going to do the final deed but you."
Phury nodded. "V's right. You kill him now, we lose the interrogation. Be logical about this, Tohr."
Vishous glanced around. The four of them had returned to the campus with the idea of stabbing as much as they could back to the Omega and doing what clean-up they were able--but this little discovery changed that immediate goal.
"Butch, you drive him back in the Hummer. Now." V shook his head at Tohr. "And no, you're not going with him as back-up."
"You got me all wrong," Tohr said grimly.
"Do I? Are you aware you have a dagger in your hand? No?" As his brother looked down with some surprise, V shook his head. "Don't think I'm the one with the head wedge. You stay with us, Tohr. The cop's got this."
"I'm calling in Qhuinn and Blay," Butch said as he got out his phone. "I want them with me."
"And this is why I love you," V muttered as he kept his eye on Tohr.
The Brother hadn't put the dagger away yet. And that was fine. Soon as Xcor was on the way out, V was going to make sure that Tohr got to put that murderous impulse to good use.
A moment later, Blay and Qhuinn materialized onto the scene, and both of them cursed when they saw the ugly, scarred face that was staring up sightlessly from the out-cold body.
Butch made quick work of handcuffing Xcor, and then he and
Qhuinn footed-and-handed the bastard, carrying him like a sack of potatoes toward the bulletproof, black-on-black Hummer that had been parked behind one of the classrooms. The nasty-looking machine was actually Qhuinn's second version of the SUV, the first having been stolen when he'd hysloped it in front of a drugstore the previous winter.
V didn't move a muscle until he saw that the damn thing was headed off the property at pedal-to-the-metal speed.
"It's not that I don't trust you," he said to Tohr. "I just don't--"
Vishous shut up. And went motionless again.
"What is that?" Phury asked.
V had no clue. And that was not good. The only thing he was sure of was that the landscape had abruptly changed in some subtle yet undeniable way, a wave of buffering extending out over the bodies of the slain like a shadow had been cast over the campus.
"Shit," Vishous hissed. "The Omega is coming!"
TEN
Beauty was in the ears of the beholder.
As Rhage ran his hands up and down Mary's thighs, he might have been blind, but he knew exactly how gorgeous his shellan was as she sat on his hips and balanced her weight on the palms she'd planted on his pecs.
"So what's it going to be?" he prompted as he rolled his pelvis.
With his erection stroking her core, even through the bed covers and the slacks she was wearing, her reply was husky.
"How can I ever," she whispered, "say no to you?"
God, those words . . . and even more than that, her voice. They made him think of the first night he'd met her. It had been down here in the training center, right after the beast had made an appearance. He'd been blind then, too, and walking down the corridor, looking for a workout to distract him from his recovery boredom. She had come to their facility with John Matthew and Bella, as an interpreter for the boy who'd been mute and needed ASL to communicate.
The second she had spoken to him, her voice had chained him sure as if every syllable she'd uttered had come with steel links. He'd known that moment he was going to have her.
Of course, at the time, he hadn't planned on her being the love of his life. But his bonding had had other ideas, and thank God for that.
Thank God, too, that she'd been willing to have him.
"Come here, my Mary--"
She shifted to one side. "But I'm hooking you back up the instant you finish."
Rhage smiled so wide, his front teeth got a chill. "Fine by me--wait, what? Where are you going?"
Even with his protests, Mary didn't stop what turned out to be a full on dismount, not just an unplug.
"We need to keep this partially discreet." The beeping stopped. "And I'm serious about putting that thing back to work."
Twisting to the side, he reached out in his blindness, grabbing for her waist and pulling her back in his direction. "Come here--"
All thought ended as he felt her hand on top of the covers . . . right over his cock.
The sound that boiled up out of him was part mmmmmm and part moan. Her touch, even distilled through the blankets, was enough to kick-start his heart, soft-boil his blood, overheat his skin with a delicious tingle.
And leave him a thin inch away from an orgasm.
The hospital bed's mattress shifted as she stretched out next to him, and her palm moved under the sheet, traveling oh, so very downward. Spreading his legs to give her all the access she wanted, he arched his head back and bowed his spine toward the heavens as she gripped his erection. Shouting her name, he felt the beast surge as well, the dragon riding the crest of pleasure along with him, while still staying leashed.
As if it had learned its good manners.
"My Mary . . ." And then he gasped. "Oh, yeah."
She started stroking him nice and slow, and it was strange the way she affected him. The sex made him feel so powerful, so male, so fucking juiced that he wondered how his flesh managed to contain the great roar of erotic heat . . . and yet she was the master of all of him and the entirety of his reaction, utterly in control, dominating him in ways that made him totally weak before her.
And goddamn that was sexy.
"You're so beautiful," she said in a thick voice. "Oh, look at you, Rhage . . ."
He loved the idea that she was watching him, seeing what she was doing to him, reveling in the hold she had on him--literally. And if he couldn't touch her himself, if he had to be a good boy and keep his hands to himself, at least she could enjoy bringing him to his knees and knowing that she alone had the ability to do this to him.
After all, in spite of whatever distance had cropped up between them lately, nothing had changed for him. Mary was the only female he wanted, the only one he saw, scented, couldn't wait to be with.
This was good for them. This sizzling sexual connection was important for them right now.
Especially as she fell into a rhythm that pumped his shaft and squeezed his tip. Faster. Faster still. Until he was panting and the sweet pain of anticipation ripped through his body and his head spun like a top.
Not tired anymore. Nope.
"Mary." He strained on the bed, arching up hard, gripping the mattress on one side and a railing on the other. "Mary, wait . . ."
"What is it?"
As she stopped, he shook his head. "No, keep going--I just want you to do something for me."
"What's that?" she said as she ran her palm back up his shaft . . . and then down . . . and then up . . .
What the fuck had he--oh, right.
"Come here, come closer." When she did, he whispered something in her ear.
Her laugher made him smile himself. "Seriously," she said. "That's what you want."
"Yes." He arched his body again, rolling his hips so that his erection stroked itself in her hold. "Please? And I'll beg if you'd like. . . . I love it when I beg you for things."
Mary shifted up higher on the hospital bed and began to work him in earnest again. Then she leaned in close to his own ear . . .
. . . and with perfect pronunciation said, "Antidisestablishmentarianism."
With a mad barking curse, Rhage came so hard he saw stars, his erection kicking out against her hand, his cum getting things very, very messy underneath those covers. And all the while, his only thought was of how much he loved his female.
How very much he loved her.
*
Two doors down from Rhage's vocabulary-induced orgasm, Layla was sitting up in her own hospital bed, a giant ball of red yarn on one side of her, the longest neck scarf in the history of the world stretching down to the floor on the other side. In between the two? A belly that was growing so swollen from the twin youngs she carried that she felt as though someone had folded a mattress up and strapped the thing to her torso.
Not that she was in a position to complain. The two were healthy, and as long as she stayed in bed, she knew she was giving them the best chance of survival. And indeed, Qhuinn, their sire, and his beloved, Blay, spoiled her mercilessly down here, as if they both would rather have been the ones to go through the stay-put for her.
Such wonderful males they were.
As she made another turn at the end of yet another row, she smiled as she remembered Blay suggesting that she knit something as that had helped his mother, Lyric, get through her own bedrest with him. It had proven to be good advice--there was something singularly soothing about the click-click of the needles, and the soft yarn between her fingers, and the progress that she could measure tangibly. However, at this point, she was either going to have to cut the thing into segments or give it to a giraffe.
After all, watching Real Housewives marathons without doing something, anything productive was positively untenable. No matter what Lassiter contended to the contrary.
Now Couples Therapy with Dr. Jenn? That was maybe a different story--although, of course, she didn't learn things relevant to her own relationship. Because she didn't have a male to call her own.
No, she had an unhealthy obsession that had crashed and burned. Which was a good thing
--even though the loss of that which she should never have wanted in the first place had caused unimaginable, and unjustifiable, pain.
But one did not fall in love with the enemy, after all. And not just because one was a Chosen.
It was because Xcor, and his Band of Bastards, had declared war upon Wrath and the Brotherhood.
That was why--
"Stop it," she muttered as she closed her eyes and halted her needles. "Just . . . stop."
Indeed, she did not think she could bear her guilt and the knowledge of her betrayal of those whom she held dearest another moment. Yet what was another a course? Yes, she had been lied to and then coerced . . . but in the end, her heart had gone where it should not have.
And in spite of everything, had ne'er been returned unto her.
As she heard yet another sound out in the corridor, she glanced at her door and forced herself to get lost in the distraction. There had been a lot of activity in the training center tonight--voices, footfalls, doors opening and shutting--and somehow, it all just made her feel more isolated instead of less so. Then again, when things were quiet, there were fewer cues to remind her of everything she was missing.
Yet she wouldn't have been anywhere else.
Putting her hand on her round stomach, she thought, yes, life as she knew it was of late more inwardly focused than outwardly so--and anytime she got antsy, all she had to do was remind herself of everything that was at stake.
She may never have the love that Qhuinn and Blay shared, but at least the young would be hers and herself theirs.
That was going to have to be enough for her life, and it would be. She couldn't wait to hold them, care for them, watch them thrive.
Assuming she survived the birthing. Assuming all of them did.
As a soft alarm went off on her phone, she jumped and fumbled to silence the chiming sound. "Is it time already?"
Yes, it was. Her freedom had arrived. Thirty minutes to stretch and walk and go for a wander.
Within the confines of the training center, of course.
Pushing the knitting toward the base of the needles, she stuck the tips into her ball of yarn and stretched her arms and her legs, pointed her toes, flexed her fingers. Then she shifted her feet off the bed and eased her weight onto them. The demands of the pregnancy and all of her forced inactivity had led to a certain weakness in her muscles, one that was not cured no matter how much she fed from Qhuinn and Blay--so she had learned to be cautious whenever she stood up.
