by J. R. Ward
Opening his door, Rhage got in, left-footed the clutch to the floor, made sure the stick was in neutral, and shoved the key into place. One crank and a little gas--
VROOOM!--mah, mah, mah-mah-mah, VROOOM! VROOOM!--mah, mah, mah-mah-mah . . .
Bitty walked in front of the car as he continued to pedal the accelerator. After a minute, she slowly dropped her arms and tilted her head to the side.
Over the din, she shouted, "But where are the horses?"
Yanking the parking brake hard, he leaned out. "It's the engine!" he said loudly. "You want to see the engine?"
"What?!"
"The engine!" Reaching for the release, he pulled the lever and got to his feet. "Let me show you."
He was careful not to move too fast as he came to the little girl, and he was very conscious of the way she put her hands in the pockets of her too-big parka and took a couple of steps to the side to keep some distance between them.
Freeing the second latch right in front, he sprang the hood, releasing a sweet, hot breath that was clean oil and fresh gas combined.
Bitty leaned in and seemed to take an inhale. "That smells nice."
Annnnnnnnnnnnnd that was pretty much when he fell in love with the kid.
*
Who'd have thought Rhage would be the Bitty-whisperer, Mary marveled as she watched the huge hulk of her husband and the slight body of the girl bend over an engine that was making more noise than a fighter jet.
As Rhage started to point at various things, there was no hearing what he was saying over the noise, but the words, the terms of art, the explanations didn't matter.
The fact that Bitty ended up standing right beside him was all that Mary cared about.
And, oh, boy. If she had loved that male before? This put him straight into heaven territory.
Any avenue in, Mary thought. Anything that could open up the girl, get through to her, reach her in some way . . .
Yes, she wished somehow it had been her to make the connection. Not that she liked admitting such a thing. After all, what could be more selfish, self-serving, and ugly than to feel disappointed that you didn't get to be the savior. But that was a mere passing thought. More than anything, she was sagging in her own skin from relief that Bitty was having a conversation for what seemed like the first time since she'd come to Safe Place.
Rhage lifted his arms, took hold of the hood, and closed it gently. He was still talking as he led Bitty to the open passenger-side door, and as he came around, he spared Mary a quick shrug of, Are we okay here?
Mary nodded as discreetly as she could.
"--sure you can," he said as he held the seat back and Bitty scooted into the rear as if she had been doing it all her life. "Anytime you like."
Mary shook herself back into focus. "I'm sorry, what? What's this?"
Bitty sat forward and peered out. "He says I can drive her later."
As Mary's jaw unhinged and she recoiled, Rhage gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "It'll be fine. We'll just go out to an empty parking lot somewhere."
"You can come with us," Bitty said. "If it'll make you feel better."
Mary looked back and forth between the two of them. "Can you . . . ah, can you even reach the pedals? And it's so powerful--"
"Bitty's going to do great. I'll get blocks for the wheel well if I can't get the seat up far enough."
"He says girls can do anything." Bitty looked at Rhage. "He says, girls are . . . powerful."
"Yup." Rhage nodded. "That's why the fastest and the best cars--"
"--are always girls," Bitty finished for him.
All Mary could do was a little more of the back-and-forthing with her head, as the pair of them clearly waited for her blessing.
"We'll see," she murmured--as she enjoyed a happy little reminder to be careful what she wished for.
"Please?" Bitty prompted.
"Come on, Mary--"
Shooing Rhage out of the way, she put the front passenger seat back into position and got in. "I'm not saying, 'yes,' but if you do drive her, I'm absolutely coming with you two."
"Yes!" Rhage pumped a fist. "That's a yes, Bitty, we got this."
"Yay!"
OMG. Was the girl smiling?
With a curse, Mary shut the door--and could have sworn Rhage was frickin' skipping around the car. But then she had to get serious.
Wrenching into the gap between the seats, she said quickly, "Are you okay with this? With him? And I have to ask. It's important."
Bitty didn't hesitate. "I really like him. He's like . . . a big, friendly dog."
As Rhage hopped in and shut his side, Mary started to smile and turned to face the windshield so maybe it wasn't quite so noticeable.
But she couldn't resist reaching over and giving her man's shoulder a squeeze.
And then the three of them were off.
THIRTY-ONE
Over at the Brownswick School for Girls, Vishous was itchy as shit as he slipped into yet another abandoned classroom. With his gun up and ready, and his back flat against the crumbing plaster wall, he scanned the tipped-over chairs with their half-moon tabletops . . . the big desk over by the chalkboard . . . the debris in the corner where part of the ceiling had collapsed.
"Goddamn it."
Moving on to the next room, he only found more of the same: cold air, old mold, discarded, broken furniture, fluorescent light fixtures hanging like broken teeth from up above . . . and absolutely no fucking lesser jars.
The slayers had stayed in some of the rooms, typically the ones in the dormitories with mattresses and box springs and windows that were not missing panes--but after no jars were located in any of those buildings, he and Tohr had moved on to the remaining facilities.
As all slayers kept their vessels with them after their inductions, the only conclusion was that the Omega had taken all the hearts with him when he'd gone Merry Maid on the campus the night before last.
Fucker.
Tilting his head to the side, he triggered his communication device by speaking into it. "Nothing here. You find anything?"
"No," Tohr said in V's earpiece. "The Omega must have gotten them all."
"Yeah. Fucking hell."
Beneath his shitkickers, crap that was on the hardwood floor crunched and crackled, but there was no need to be completely silent. And as the image of the Omega in a French maid's uniform and fishnets made V flash his fangs in the dark, he--
Froze where he was.
Cranked his head to the right.
Looked out through the two-out-of-three-ain't-bad set of windowpanes to the stretch of asphalt out behind the building.
Headlights flared into the classroom, shedding a glare of illumination on the rotting shell of prep-school learning before passing over his leather-clad body.
As things were extinguished, he dematerialized over to the glass.
A car had pulled up and parked, and in the glow from the interior dash, he could tell there was a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman inside--
Oh, interesting, he thought as he sensed her.
"We've got company," he said into his communicator.
*
"And this is my special room."
As Naasha stopped in front of a dungeon door with oak panels thick as tree trunks and hinges big as a male's upper arm, one could have sworn, based upon her affect, that she was about to unveil a marvelous new acquisition, perhaps an oil painting or a marble statue, a car of some vintage or a sterling silver service.
It was none of the above.
Upon a creaking that he supposed was retained on purpose as opposed to being oiled away, a bloodred chamber was revealed. Lit by torches that sizzled on stone walls, and kitted out in swaths of velvet and satin that were like drapes without windows, there was no furniture save bedding platforms that had no pillows, no blankets, just mattresses that were covered with fitted sheets.
Naasha was the first to go in, and as she twirled around, her arms were held wide as if she were be
fore a grand vista, her eyes seeking his. Behind him, there was an excited twitter from the females--and a flare of arousal from his cousins.
Throe remained silent.
Assail stepped through the jambs. Against the wall by the door, there were a series of make-up stations, no doubt for refreshings for the females after the sessions, and also a series of pegs on which to hang one's clothes. There were two doors over to the left, both painted the dark gray hue of the stone, one with the word Females on it in cursive, the other with Males written in block lettering.
"And now we have dessert," Naasha said in a husky voice as she reached behind her back and unzipped her gown. "I volunteer to be consumed first."
As the dress fell to the floor, her body was revealed in all its nude glory, her high, tight breasts so very creamy, her smooth sex but a cleft between her long, slender legs. She kept her diamonds on and they twinkled like stars in moonlight, and when she released her hair from its chignon, her midnight locks were a striking contrast to her tan skin.
"Shut the goddamn door," Assail commanded without looking behind himself.
When the creak of those hinges announced that someone had followed instructions, he took three strides over to her. In close proximity now, he watched her ruby lips part and her breasts pump with anticipation.
He smiled at her.
Then he grabbed her by the back of the neck and roughly escorted her over to one of the bedding platforms. Her breasts swayed as he pushed her down on all fours, her sex toward the assembled, her legs not parted enough, so he forced her knees wider by jerking her thighs open. Her core glistened with arousal, her scent like perfume in the air.
"Ehric, Evale," he gritted out. "Drop your kits."
His cousins wasted no time in getting naked, their alacrity as much from their willingness to take orders from him as it was from their having not been with a female for some time.
Both of them were fully erect as he motioned them to come over.
"You," he said, pointing to Ehric. "Here."
He pointed to that slit, and his cousin was on it in an instant, mounting the female from behind, his hips driving in as Naasha groaned and arched her back.
And then all Assail had to do was nod and Evale got with the program, going around and muffling the female's grunts and groans with his rather large anatomy.
"And now you?" somebody proposed to him.
As one of the females sidled up and put her hand on his shoulder, he recognized her as the blonde who had kept her stare on him all through dinner.
"Let us enjoy--"
He pointedly removed her touch. "Get in line for my cousins."
Stepping away, he found a bench over by the bathrooms to sit on, and as he crossed his legs, he watched the show, the females disrobing and feeling one another up, bodies lying out on the platforms, heads and arms intertwining with legs and breasts.
"Do not tell me this is from some misplaced puritanism."
At the dry words, he glanced up at Throe. The male was still fully clothed, but going by the length straining at the fly of his tuxedo pants, that was not going to last.
Assail bared his fangs in a smile. "I have never developed a taste for fast food. It's rather common for my appetites regardless of how noble it wishes to appear."
"That wasn't the case last night." Throe leaned down and smiled, likewise revealing his canines. "I believe you quite enjoyed your time in the parlor."
"Tell me, is Xcor aware of your presence here?"
Throe eased back, calculation narrowing his eyes. "For a businessman, you seem curious about much that does not concern you."
"It's a simple question."
In the background, someone came hard, and Assail glanced over. Ehric and Evale had shifted things around, the pair of them double-penetrating Naasha's well-used sex, one underneath her on his back, the other mounting her on top. A female had joined in and the madam of the house was suckling on a set of voluptuous, pink-nippled breasts.
"Xcor and I have ended our association, shall we say."
Assail refocused on the male. "Breaking up is sooo hard to do."
"His interests and mine did not align any further. He shall not relent in his pursuit of the throne."
"Indeed." Assail carefully tracked the male's features, searching for signs of tension. "And you are now here for how long?"
"I know not. And I care not. I have had an extended, brutal sojourn in the company of savages, and I crave the civilized in the manner of a starving male."
"Mmmm," Assail said.
Rising to his feet, he faced off with the other male--and reached forward to touch the precisely tied bow at Throe's collar.
As the male's eyes widened in surprise, Assail pushed that body back against the stone wall, holding him in place by the throat.
Then he leaned in chest-to-chest, extended his tongue, and drew it across Throe's lower lip.
Assail laughed as he felt the shudder go through his prey and watched whilst some sort of inner dialogue played out on that handsome face--said conflict being of such note that Throe failed at keeping the reaction to himself.
"You taste like Scotch," Assail murmured as he reached down and cupped that massive erection. "And you feel hungry."
Throe began to pant, much in the manner of Naasha. But he was frozen in place as if he were shocked equally by Assail's actions . . . and his reaction.
"Are you," Assail growled as he hovered above Throe's lips. "Are you hungry . . . for dessert?"
A strange sound came out of the male, half begging, half denial.
And then Throe punched at Assail's shoulders, sending him careening backward onto one of the platforms.
Throe wiped his mouth off on his sleeve and stuck his finger in Assail's direction. "I don't go like that."
Assail allowed his legs to flop to the sides, exposing the arousal behind his fine slacks. "Are you sure?"
Throe cursed and wheeled around for the door. He was gone the next moment, no doubt stomping off to his room, wherever that might be.
Assail sat up and straightened his jacket. That one was going to be fun to crack.
And mayhap in the process, he would learn exactly what Throe was doing here.
He knew in his gut that Wrath and Vishous were correct to be concerned with the glymera. Throe was up to something--and the divining of what, in addition to seducing the male out of his sexual comfort zone, was exactly the kind of distraction Assail was after.
This was going to be rather enjoyable.
THIRTY-TWO
As Bill Elliot parked his Lexus behind a non-descript seventies-era building, Jo opened the door on her side and got out slowly. Dilapidation was the name of the game, all kinds of rot and debris and broken things cluttering the flank of the classrooms, like acne on the face of a plain Jane teenager.
"We can walk around from here to the center part of campus." Bill was busy rewrapping the scarf he'd taken off at I've Bean around his neck. "And you can show me where it happened."
As she shut her door, she frowned. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up like soldiers called to a reveille line, and she looked at the lines of darkened windows. But come on, as if all this talk of vampires wasn't likely to send her adrenal glands into a spiral?
"You coming?"
"Oh, yup." She headed over to him--and had an absurd wish that he was built more like the Rock instead of one of the boys from The Big Bang Theory. "So you said you were familiar with the school?"
"My mother went here."
Small world, Jo thought. So did mine.
Their feet shuffled damp leaves out of the way, but did nothing for fallen limbs. Those they stepped over. And when they got to the end of the asphalt, there wasn't any real difference between the amount of fallen stuff on the grass versus the parking lot.
"What year?" Jo asked as she put her hands into her coat pockets. "Did your mother graduate, that is."
Shoot, they had no flashlights. Just their phones.
Then again, the moon overhead was bright, with nothing but the occasional cloud wisp to mark the dark, cold heavens.
"'Eighty."
"When did the school close?"
"Sometime in the late nineties. I don't know who owns all the land now, but it's a helluva property. I mean, why hasn't someone developed this?"
"Not economically feasible. For one thing, the zoning out here isn't commercial, and second, some of these buildings have to be on the Historic Register, which would restrict their being retrofitted for reuse."
Bill looked over at her. "I've forgotten--you work for a real estate company."
"Two years next month."
"Where did you say you went to school? Or did you?"
Williams College. English lit major with a minor in American history. Accepted into the Yale master's program for English, but couldn't foot the bill on her own.
"Nowhere important." She glanced at him. "How did you know where to park?"
"I used to come here to think when I was at SUNY Caldie. My mom had told me about it, and one day I biked out and just went exploring. I haven't been back in a very long time."
They made it around the side of the building, and just as he'd described, the open area of the campus rolled out before them--which was, yup, still marked with crushed dead grass.
"Jesus . . ." Bill said. "What the hell?"
"Crop circles, Caldwell style, right?"
Bill proceeded ahead of her, and Jo went some distance farther--before she had to stop and look behind herself.
They were being watched. She was sure of it.
"Hey! Wait up," she called out.
As she jogged forward and caught up, he said, "I need to come back in the daytime with a camera."
"Maybe we should just go now--"
"Look at that storage building over there." He pointed ahead. "The roof's been torn off."
"You know, in retrospect, coming during the day would be better. I mean, we can't really see anything--" She sniffed the air. "Is that pine?"
"From the broken rafters. That damage is new."
Sure enough, as they went over to the debris and she picked up pieces of splintered wood, the cuts were all fresh, the yellow insides of the old boards exposed. And asphalt shingles were everywhere around the roof-less shed, littering the crushed ground--
Jo's foot caught on something and she fell to the side, her ankle giving way. As the earth rushed up to her, she threw out a hand and twisted around, saving herself from a total face-plant.
