Lover Mine

by J. R. Ward

Chapter Fifteen

  Xhex was sitting in the wing chair by the window when she heard the noise up above on the roof. The muffled bump-bump was loud enough to pull her free of the mental aerobics she did to keep herself sharp.

  She looked to the ceiling. . . .

  Downstairs, the security system went off and her precision hearing picked up the beep-beep-beep-beep-beep of it being disarmed. And then there were the light footsteps of the lesser who brought her food--

  Something was off. Something. . . just wasn't right.

  Sitting forward in her chair, she tensed up from neck to foot and cast out mental feelers. Although she couldn't send symphath signals, her ability to sense emotional grids was compromised but workable. . . and that was how she knew there was somebody other than that slayer around the house.

  A number of bodies. Two out the back. Three in the front. And the emotions of the individuals who had surrounded the brownstone were appropriate to those of soldiers: deadly calm, utterly focused.

  But they were not lessers.

  Xhex shot to her feet.

  Jesus. . . Christ. They'd found her. The Brothers had fucking found her.

  And the ambush was executed with perfect timing. Downstairs, she heard a shout of surprise, a scramble of bodies, and then the pounding of boots as hand-to-hand combat was thrown around and back-up came roaring in from another direction.

  Even though no one but Lash could hear her, she started to yell as loud as she could in the hopes that for once, she could reach out beyond the invisible walls of her cage.

  John Matthew couldn't believe the lesser hadn't known they were there. Unless the fucker was compromised in some way, it should have tweaked to the fact that there were vampires all around the place. But oh, no--it just went about its biz, stepping inside while leaving the damn door open.

  First order of infiltration was control, and as soon as John was over the brownstone's threshold, he subdued the lesser by cranking the bastard's arms behind its back, forcing it facedown on the tile, and sitting on its ass like a grand piano. Meanwhile, Rhage blasted past on surprisingly light feet just as V and the boys emerged into the kitchen from the dining room.

  As the first level of the house was searched fast, John felt a tickling go down his back. . . as if a razor-sharp knife was tracing his spine. Looking around, he couldn't tease out the origin of the sensation, so he banked the instinct.

  "Cellar," Rhage hissed.

  Vishous headed down with the Brother.

  With his boys left to guard his back, John was able to focus his attention on the lesser beneath him. Fucker was too quiet, too still. Breathing, but that was it.

  Had it hit something on the way down to the floor? Was it leaking? Usually they fought back.

  Kicked gas cans, for fucking instance.

  As he searched for signs of bleeding or other injury, John shifted his head around without giving the slayer a chance to get free. Grabbing onto the fucker's hair, he pulled up--

  He found something, all right. . . but it sure as shit wasn't caused by the tackle. On the left side of the slayer's neck, there were two puncture wounds and a circular bruise caused by sucking.

  Qhuinn came over and kneeled down. "Who's been workin' your neck, big guy?"

  The lesser didn't reply as V and Rhage dematerialized up from the basement and headed for the second floor.

  As the Brothers moved silently through the house, Qhuinn took ahold of the slayer's jaw. "We're looking for a female. And you can make shit easier on yourself if you tell us where she is. "

  The lesser frowned. . . and slowly shifted its eyes above.

  That was all John needed.

  He lunged forward, grabbing Blay's palm and yanking it down to the slayer. As possession changed hands, John leaped off and ran through a dining room and a front hall. The stairwell was broad and carpeted, which meant he had excellent traction as he took the steps three at a time. The higher he went, the more his instincts screamed.

  Xhex was in the house.

  Just as he came to the top, Rhage and V appeared in front of him, blocking the way.

  "House is empty--"

  John cut Rhage off. She's here. She's here somewhere. I know it.

  Rhage caught his arm. "Let's go down and question the slayer. We'll get more that way--"

  No! She's here!

  Vishous stepped up into John's grille, his diamond stare glowing. "Listen to me, son. You want to go back downstairs. "

  John narrowed his eyes. They didn't just want him down below. They didn't want him up here.

  What did you find. Neither answered. What did you find!

  Breaking away from them both, he heard Rhage curse as V leaped in front of a door.

  Hollywood's voice was hollow. "Nah, V, let him go. Just let him go. . . he already hates Lash enough for a lifetime. "

  V's stare flashedas if he were going to argue, but then he took a hand- rolled out of his jacket and stepped aside with a curse.

  With the back of his neck as tight as a fist, John burst through the door and skidded to a halt. The sadness in the room was a tangible threshold he had to breach, his body penetrating the cold wall of desolation only because he forced his feet forward.

  She had been kept here.

  Xhex had been kept here. . . and hurt here.

  His lips parted and he breathed through his mouth as his eyes traced the scratches on the walls. There were legions of them, along with black stains. . . and other dried blood.

  Which was a deep, purpley red.

  John went over and ran his hands down one gouge that was so deep, the silk wallpaper had given way to the lath and plaster beneath.

  His inhales grew sharper and his exhales shorter as he went around the room. The bed was an absolute mess, the pillows scattered to the floor, the duvet a tangle. . . .

  There was blood on it.

  Reaching out, he picked up one of the pillows and held it gently. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled. . . and caught a stronger version of what he dreamed of every night: Xhex's scent.

  His knees weakened and he went down like a stone through still water, collapsing by the side of the mattress. Burying his face into the softness, he drew her into him, her fragrance lingering like a memory, at once tangible and elusive.

  She had been here. Recently.

  He glanced at the bloodied sheets. The bloodied walls.

  He was too late.

  John's face grew wet and he felt something drip off his chin, but he didn't give a shit. He was consumed with the thought that he'd come so close to saving her. . . but just not arrived soon enough.

  The sob that breached his throat actually made a sound.

  For all of her life, Xhex's heart had not been prone to breaking. She'd long suspected that it was a result of her symphath side, a kind of congenital condition that hardened her about things that most females lost it over.

  Turned out that was wrong, however.

  As she stood beside John Matthew, and watched his huge body crumple down by the bed, the organ that beat behind her sternum shattered like a mirror.

  Nothing but shards.

  She was utterly and completely ruined as he cradled that pillow like it was a newborn, and in this moment of his utter despair, she would have done anything to ease his pain: Even though she had no idea why he felt the way he so clearly did, the reasons were unimportant.

  His suffering was paramount.

  Weakened herself, she knelt down next to him, her eyes sending the tragic image he cut straight into the core of her brain.

  It felt like centuries since she had seen him, and God, he was still so beautiful--even more than she remembered in her quiet moments. With his strong, hard profile and his extraordinary blue eyes, his face was that of a warrior, and he had the huge body to match, his shoulders making three of hers. All his clothes were leather except for the T-shirt under his jack
et and his hair was essentially shaved off, like he'd stopped giving a shit and was cutting it with a buzz razor.

  There was lesser blood down the front of his jacket and on his shirt.

  He had killed tonight. And maybe that was why he'd found her.

  Well, almost found her.

  "John?" a male voice said softly.

  She looked over toward the doorway, even if he did not. Qhuinn was standing with the Brothers Rhage and Vishous, having just joined them.

  In an absent way, she noted the shock on the Brothers' faces--and got the sense that they hadn't guessed there'd been any serious connection between her and John. They knew it now though. Loud and clear.

  As Qhuinn stepped inside and approached the bed, his tone continued to be gentle. "John, we've been here for a half hour. If we're going to interrogate that lesser downstairs about her, we need to move him pretty damn quick. We don't want to do it here and I know you want to be in charge of things. "

  Oh, God. . . no. . .

  "Take me with you," Xhex whispered desperately. "Please. . . don't leave me here. "

  Abruptly, John glanced up at her, as if he heard her plea.

  Except no, he was just staring through her to his friend.

  As he nodded, she memorized his face, knowing that it was the last time she'd see him. When Lash found out about the break-in, he'd either kill her outright or move her somewhere else--and chances were good she wouldn't survive long enough to be found again.

  Lifting her hand, even though it would do no good, she laid it on the side of John's face and swept her thumb back and forth over the tracks of his tears. She imagined she could almost feel the warmth of his skin and the wetness on his cheeks.

  She would have given anything to be able to take him into her arms and hold him close. More still to go with him.

  "John. . . " she croaked. "Oh, God. . . why are you doing this to yourself. "

  He frowned, but no doubt it was because of something Qhuinn was saying. Except then his own palm lifted and he placed it where she was touching him.

  It was just to sweep his tears away, though.

  When he stood up, he took the pillow with him, and he stepped right through her.

  Xhex watched his back retreat, her blood thundering in her ears. This was, in some ways, an echo of the process of death, she thought. Little by little, inch by inch, what tied her to life was leaving, heading off, departing. With each step John took toward that door, her breath was evaporating in her lungs. Her heart was stopping. Her skin was growing cold.

  Her chance of rescue was walking away. Her chance at. . .

  It was then that she knew what she had been fighting all along, and for once, she felt no inclination to hide her emotions. No need to. Though he was with her, she was totally alone and separate from him, but more to the point, her own mortality clarified her priorities.

  "John," she said softly.

  He paused and looked over his shoulder toward the bed.

  "I love you. "

  His handsome face tightened in pain, and he rubbed the middle of his chest, as if someone had fisted up his heart and squeezed it dead.

  And then he turned away.

  Xhex's body overrode her mind. With a frantic leap, she ran for the open door, arms outstretched, mouth cranked wide.

  As she hit the confines of her prison, she heard a loud noise, like a siren. . . or the shrill whistle of fireworks after they were lit. . . or maybe it was the security system's alarm going off.

  But it was none of those.

  She was screaming at the top of her lungs.