by J. R. Ward
Assail swallowed hard. "Help me. Please."
Saxton patted at his jacket--and then took out the Holy Grail as far as Assail was concerned. "My car is outside--I had shopping to do this night, and thank the Virgin Scribe for that. Take it--but be quick. They asked me to step out as they argued. I don't know how long they'll be. Go! Go now!"
The solicitor lunged for the front door and held it wide as Assail hustled across the foyer, zeroing in on the cold night air that streamed into the mansion.
"I'll delay them," Saxton said. "For as long as I can."
Assail paused for but a heartbeat as he took the key and stepped over the threshold. "My debt to you. For e'ermore."
He didn't wait for a response. He tore out, and would have leaped down the shallow steps if he'd been able. And dear God, those chains, those dreadful chains, they chimed and threatened to cut off his air supply as he crossed the distance to the BMW 750i.
He all but threw the male in the back.
No time to waste. Free of the weight, he bolted around to the driver's side, jumped in, and started the engine. The temptation was to floor the accelerator, but he didn't want to risk squealing out and causing attention to be garnered. He took off with alacrity, but no undue speed, and was soon cruising away, the mansion fading in the rearview mirror as he proceeded down a long, descending driveway.
Now, he was the one who was shaking as he took out his phone.
He used Siri to place the call. And when it was answered, he cut off the hello. "Vishous, I need medical help. Now. Where are you? Okay. Right. I can be there in fifteen minutes. Please. Hurry."
Ending the connection, he tilted the rearview downward so he could see into the backseat. "Hang on. We're going to get you help. Tell me, what's your name?"
"I . . . don't know," came the weak response.
Stopping at the end of the drive, Assail went right, but did not take any deep breath that they were free. It was going to be a while for that. "Stay with me. You must . . . stay with me--you're too close to safety to quit now. You stay with me!"
Aware that he was yelling, he forced himself to ease off on his voice.
"Do not die on me," he muttered as he found himself lost.
Where was he going? Where . . . ?
Vishous had told him to go to the northeast part of town, to--
He took his phone out again and hit up Siri once more. When Vishous answered, Assail didn't recognize his own voice. "Where am I going? Tell me . . ."
Vishous started to speak.
"I can't hear you . . . I can't . . . see . . ." Assail wiped his eyes. Fates, was he crying? "Help me . . ."
"Where are you?"
"I don't know."
"Look for a sign. Look for a sign, Assail."
Assail's blurry eyes rose to the rearview, to the shivering naked male on the leather seats. Then he looked out the front windshield.
"Montgomery Place. The sign says . . . Montgomery Place."
"Take a left. Now."
Assail did what he was told without argument, wrenching the wheel, skidding on the pavement, cutting off a car in the opposite lane. As a horn sounded, Vishous kept talking.
"Two miles up, there's a high-class shopping center. It's got a real estate office in it. Hair salon. Restaurants. A jeweler's. Go around to the back. I'll be at the far end."
Assail nodded, even though the Brother couldn't see him.
And as he didn't end the call, Vishous said calmly, "You got this, my man. Whatever it is, we'll handle the shit."
"All right. All right." Assail looked back at the male again. "Stay with me. . . ."
"I'm not going anywhere," Vishous murmured. "I'm only going silent for a sec as I dematerialize. Okay, I'm back."
Assail didn't say anything further as he leaned in to the wheel and waited for the--how many miles did he have to go? two?--shopping center to appear. And then there it was, its glowing signs and mostly empty lot a beacon of hope, a symbol of salvation.
"I'm here, I'm here."
He punched the accelerator, shooting beside the real estate office and skidding around to the rear of the building. The back was all utilities and Dumpsters, staff parking and loading docks for the stores. The BMW gathered speed, surging ahead like a missile.
In the headlights, at the far end, a single dark figure was standing with feet planted.
Assail stomped on the brakes, and then relented as he heard a clunking and a groan of pain from the back seat. As the car jerked to a stop, he got out without putting the engine in park and had to duck in again to toggle the gearshift.
"What are you doing with Saxton's car--"
He cut off the Brother. "Help me--"
"Have you OD'd--"
Assail ripped open the rear door. "Help him! Please!"
He had to wipe his eyes again--indeed, they were leaking all over the place.
Vishous took out a gun and approached the open car, peering in. "What. The. Fuck."
"He-he-he--" Shit, he couldn't speak. "I found him. Behind the lock. He was in the basement. I couldn't leave him."
The male cowered away from Vishous, retracting his spindly body into the far side of the backseat, that stringy hair all over his thin arms and boney back.
"Shit." Vishous straightened and looked over. "I can't even start treating him here. We gotta bring him in. Christ--the chains--okay, get in--not behind the wheel. I'm driving. You can explain on the way."
Assail stumbled togo around to the passenger side in the front. But then he stopped, re-thought things and slid into the back with the male. Taking off his jacket, he laid it over the slave's nakedness.
"It's all right." The car began to move, streetlights flaring in the dark interior as Assail tried to get a hold of himself. "We're going to be . . . all right."
FIFTY-FIVE
Layla returned to Earth and regained consciousness in her physical form, her eyes opening to focus on the low ceiling of her hospital room. Her hands went immediately to her belly, and as she shifted her legs and took a deep breath, there was movement there, reassuring, strong, vital movement.
She'd left the light on in the bathroom with the door mostly closed, as was her habit whenever she tried to sleep, and her stare gravitated to the illumination. Then she looked at the clock. Eleven thirty-four p.m.
She had been up in the Sanctuary for quite a while.
When she had proceeded from the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes to the library, it had taken her a while to find what she was in search of. And then she had studied the particular volume for some time. As well as others.
Pushing herself up higher on the mattress, she rubbed her temples.
She should not have gone into Xcor's history.
Then again, if his story had been different, if his true sire's identity had proven to be that of another, it wouldn't have mattered as much, she supposed. Such a shock. Indeed, she had even cross-referenced what she had found, going into the sacred annals of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, pulling out volumes, searching for some inconsistency, some contradiction in the sire's records.
There had been nothing of the sort. In fact, there had been a confirmation.
And now she could not un-learn what she had discovered.
With a groan, she sat up further, swung her legs off the side, and noted that her ankles were so swollen, it was as if her calves ran directly down into her feet.
She should not have gone hunting for any information.
For now what did she do? How did she explain why she had looked?
Pushing herself onto her feet, she pulled her nightgown down and moved her hair back behind her shoulders. With a curse, she took one step forward--
Wetness. Down the insides of her legs again.
Great. Just what she needed in the middle of all this.
Waddling forward, she was preoccupied with Xcor and irritated with her bladder. But at least she could take a shower and relax knowing that everything was okay with the young. And didn't they make
adult diapers for this sort of thing?
She was pivoting around to shut the bathroom door when she looked back--
Blood. Blood on the floor . . . bloody footprints on the floor.
Lifting her gown, there was blood on the inside of her legs.
As she screamed, someone came running--and Ehlena burst in.
The nurse took one look at what was going on--and immediately went into professional mode. "Come with me. Back to bed. Back to bed we go."
Layla was dimly aware of the female taking her by the arm and depositing her back on the mattress.
"The young--what about the young--"
"Hold on, I'm calling for Doc Jane." Ehlena hit the summoning button. "I'm just going to hook you up to the machines, okay?"
Everything happened so fast. Wires set upon her, monitors engaged, Doc Jane rushing in. The ultrasound rolled into the room. Manny arriving. Qhuinn and Blay nearly breaking down the door as they came in.
"The young," she moaned. "What about the young . . . ?"
*
It was as the wind blew o'er the land.
Consciousness returned to Xcor in the manner of a gust that traveled around and over a landscape, bypassing some things, rustling others, penetrating through still more. Accordingly, he was aware of many aches, and yet there were great patches of numbness, too--he could feel measures of agony and stretches of tingles . . . twitches and jerks . . . but then nothing at all in great swaths of his flesh.
Smell registered with acuity, however.
The scent of dirt confused him.
Behind his closed eyes, he oriented himself as best he could using his ears and his nose. He was not alone. There was the scent of one--no, two other male vampires with him. Further, they were speaking in low tones--well, one of them was. The other said naught that Xcor could ascertain.
He did not know them. Or, more accurately, he did not recognize them as being his soldiers--
The Brotherhood. Indeed, yes, he had scented them before. When the Brotherhood had come to speak unto the glymera at that meeting of the Council.
Had he been captured?
Hazy details of the night came back to him. Of him being in that alley next to that burned-out car shell. Of him following a food truck . . . following where? Where had he gone?
Was this a dream?
Images filtered across his mind's eye, but they did not stay long enough for him to grasp--
"He's frowning," the male voice said. "His hands are moving. Are you awake, bastard?"
He could not have answered if his life depended upon it--and in fact, his life did depend on it. If he had been captured, the how's and where's were--
Campus.
He had not followed the food truck. No, he had been on top of the vehicle, riding through the night as the slayers he had been hunting had proceeded out of downtown, past the suburbs, unto an abandoned college or preparatory school's campus.
Whereupon he had witnessed the aftermath of a great battle, a devastating loss for the Lessening Society.
Waged by the Brotherhood.
He had found a human. Upon a roof.
And then he himself had been struck upon the back of the head.
How long had he been unconscious? His body ached all over, not as if it had been beaten, but rather as if it hadn't been used in a while.
"Are you finally awake?" the voice demanded.
Finally . . . ? Yes, it must have been some time that he had been unconscious. In fact, he felt as though he had been lying in this position for a prolonged period.
What was that beeping--
Ringing. All of a sudden there was ringing--cell phones going off. The male who had been doing the speaking answered.
"What? When? How much? Oh, God . . . yes. Right away. Can Lassiter come and sit with him? Where is he? We'll both come then." There was a pause. "John--yes, it's happening now and they need us for blood. We have to go. I don't want to leave him, either, but what are we going to do? No, I don't know where Lassiter is."
There was some shuffling, as if they were gathering up supplies.
"No, they want both of us. She's in labor. The young are coming and it's too early."
Layla!
Without thinking, Xcor's lids popped open. The two fighters had turned away and were leaving, thank the Fates, so they caught him not.
"I'm terrified, too," the one with the red hair said. "For her, for Qhuinn. And he'll be fine. He's going nowhere."
The sounds of their footfalls decreased until there was a clanking, as if a gate or perhaps some chains were being moved. And then there was a repeat of all that.
Xcor blinked wildly. When he went to sit up, he found that, indeed, he was not going anywhere. There were steel bands at his wrists and ankles, and even around his waist. Moreover, he was too weak to do much more than hold his head up.
Craning around, he saw that he was surrounded by vessels of some description or another . . . they were jars, jars that were set upon shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. In a cave? And yet there was monitoring equipment keeping tabs on his bodily functions that were of complex and electronic nature.
"Layla . . ." he said in a voice that cracked. "Layla . . ."
Collapsing back against the bedding he was strapped down on, his will to escape and go to her was great though he knew not where she was or even where he was. His body had other plans, however. As night eclipsed the illumination of the daytime hours, darkness descended upon him once again.
Owning him.
His last thought was that the female he both loved and feared needed him, and he wanted to be there for her . . .
FIFTY-SIX
On the way out of TGI Friday's, Rhage stopped by the hostess stand. Or rather, he was forced to come to a halt because the human woman who had seated him got in his path and wouldn't move.
"Did you have a good meal?" she said as she pressed something in his hand. "That's our customer service number. Give us a call and let us know how your meal was."
The wink she gave him told him all the hell he needed to know and more about what a dial to those digits would get him--and it sure as shit wasn't going to be a survey.
Not one without kneepads, at any rate.
He put the folded piece of paper back into her palm. "I'll tell you right now. My wife and I had a wonderful time. So did our . . . er, friend. Thanks."
As he pivoted away, he put his arm around Mary and drew her in close. Then he did the same to Bitty before thinking about it.
They left all together, squeezing through the double doors.
Outside, the night had gotten even colder, but his belly was more than full of food and he was really happy--and it was amazing how that kind of mood created its own warmth, independent of the weather.
Hell, it could have been sleeting and he would still have looked up to the dark sky and gone, Ahhhhhhhh.
As they were about to step off the curb and head for the car, a minivan pulled up and a mother and a daughter rushed over together to get in. Man, talk about a gene pool. The two of them had identical brown hair, the tween's in a ponytail, Mom's cut jaw-length. They were nearly the same height and both dressed in blue jeans and sweatshirts. Faces had the same bone structure, from the round cheeks and flat forehead to a stick-straight nose that he imagined some humans asked for in plastic surgery offices.
They were neither ugly nor beautiful. Not poor, but not rich. They were laughing, though, in exactly the same way. And that made them both spectacular.
Mom opened the door for the daughter and shooed her in. Then she leaned inside and quipped to the kid, "Ha, I so did win the bet! I totally did--and you're doing the dishes all week long. That was the deal."
"Mooooooom!"
The mother shut things on the protest and hopped into the front seat next to what had to be her husband or partner. "I told her, don't bet against me. Not when it comes to Godfather quotes."
The guy turned around to the daughter. "No way, I'm not touching thi
s with a ten-foot pole. You know she's memorized the movie, and yes, the correct wording is, 'No Sicilian can refuse any request on his daughter's wedding day.'"
The mother shut her door and the pale blue minivan pulled away.
For a moment, Rhage imagined what that trip home was like--and he found himself in a big fat hurry to do the same. Take Bitty home, that was.
And also argue about The Godfather, if that was the way things went. Or what Play-doh tasted like. Or whether it was going to snow early or late in the season.
"We good?" he asked as Bitty hesitated. "Bitty?"
"I'm sorry," the girl said softly. "What?"
"Come on, let's get to the car."
It felt really good to walk his females back to the GTO, and even better to drive them along the streets, obeying the traffic laws. Staying in his lane. Not taking the bait when a pair of douche bags in a Charger pulled up next to him at a stoplight and pumped their engine like the thing was an extension of their cock and balls.
He just motored along.
When his cell phone rang, he let it go to voice mail. Soon enough they'd be at Safe Place and he could--
The thing went off again.
Taking it out, he frowned. "I've got to get this." Accepting the call, he put the cell up to his ear. "Manny?"
The surgeon was in full urgent-mode. "I need you back here right now. Layla's hemorrhaging. The young are coming--we need veins for her to take. Can you dematerialize?"
"Shit," he hissed as he hit his blinker and pulled over. "Yeah. I can come in."
Mary and Bitty both looked at him in alarm as he hung up and wrenched around. "Listen, I'm so sorry. There's an--" He stopped as he glanced at the girl. "I have to go back home."
"What's happening?" Mary asked.
"Layla." He didn't want to go into it. Not with what Bitty had just gone through. "They need some help. Can you drive her back? I have to ghost out right now."
"Absolutely. And I'll come directly home--"
"Can I go with you guys?" Bitty asked.
There was a moment of ummmm. And then Mary turned around to the rear seat. "I'd better take you back to Safe Place. But someday maybe you can?"
"Are you going to be okay?"
It took Rhage a moment to realize that the girl was talking to him. And as he met eyes that were wide and anxious, a strange jolt went through him.
"Yes. I'll be fine. I just need to help a friend."
