Lover Mine

by J. R. Ward

Chapter Sixty-six

  John took off after Xhex the instant she left the group and started running. He didn't like the independent thinking or her direction--she was heading into an alley where no one knew whether there was an exit or a brick wall at the end.

  He caught up with her, taking her arm to get her attention. Which got him exactly nowhere. She didn't stop.

  Where are you going? he tried to sign, but it was tough to do that to a person who was ignoring you while you were gunning full tilt. . . .

  He would have whistled but that was too easy to ignore, so he tried again to get her arm, but she shook him off, focused solely on a destination he could neither see nor sense. Finally, he just jumped in front of her and blocked her way; then forced her to see his hands.

  Where the hell are you going?

  "I can feel him. . . Lash. He's close. "

  John went for his dagger as he mouthed, Where?

  She jogged around him and resumed her pursuit, and as he followed, Tohr fell in step with them. When the others started to come along, John shook his head and motioned for them to stay put. Additional support in the field was a smart thing, but too many weapons in this sitch were not a value- add: He was going to take Lash out, and the last thing he needed was more trigger-happy fingers pointed at his target.

  Tohr understood, though. He knew viscerally why John had to avenge his female. And Qhuinn had to come along. But that was it, no more cups and saucers welcome at the tea party.

  John stuck close to Xhex--who seemed to have chosen wisely when it came to alleys. Instead of a dead end, the uneven lane rolled around to the right and wheedled in between other vacant warehouses as it headed down to the river. He knew they were getting really close to the water when the smell of dead fish and algae wafted up into his nose and the air seemed to grow colder.

  They found the black Mercedes AMG parked in front of a fire hydrant. The sedan stank of lesser, and as Xhex looked around as if searching for the next directive, John wasn't in the mood to wait.

  He curled up a fist and punched out the front windshield.

  The alarm went apeshit, and he glanced into the interior. There was some kind of oily residue on the steering wheel, and the cream leather was trashed with stains--he was damn sure the inky ones were lesser blood. . . and that rusty-colored shit was human. Jesus, the backseat looked as if it had been hit with a spastic cat, the scratches so deep in places, the stuffing underneath was showing.

  John frowned, remembering back to training-center days. Lash had always been so particular about his stuff, from the clothes he wore to the way his locker was organized.

  Maybe this wasn't his car?

  "This is his," Xhex said, placing her palms on the hood. "I can smell him everywhere. Engine's still warm. I don't know where he is, though. "

  John snarled at the thought of the guy getting so close to his female that she knew him by nose. Fucking bastard son of a bitch--

  Just as his anger was getting away from him, Tohr grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him a shake. "Deep breath. "

  "He's got to be around here. . . . " Xhex looked at the building in front of them and then glanced up and down the alley they were in.

  When John felt a burning pain in his left hand, he brought up his arm. His grip on his dagger had tightened so hard, the handle was creaking in protest.

  His eyes slipped to Tohr's.

  "You're going to get him," the Brother whispered. "Don't you worry about that. "

  Lash half-expected Benloise's men to pop some shit as he faced off at the pair of thick necks. He was separated from them by about ten yards of cold air, and everyone had their twitch on.

  As he looked them over, he hoped they did John Wayne it and try something. The two thugs would have made an excellent addition to his growing stable--they knew the trade and had obviously earned their stripes under Benloise: there were a lot of kilos in those metal suitcases they had in their hands, but the humans were coolheaded and calm.

  Armed to the teeth, too.

  Just like Lash. Goddamn, it was a real Lead Rave here with all the guns and ammo--and wasn't he going to feel a whole lot better after there was less of him to get shot at. Shadow was better than flesh, anytime.

  "Here's the art," the guy on the left said as he hefted the cases. "Sir. "

  Ah, yes, the one who'd watched the shit roll out with Benloise. Explained why they were both being so polite.

  "Let's see what you got," Lash murmured, keeping the muzzle of his forty trained on them. "And let's have your hands stay nice and visible. "

  The flash of goods was efficient and satisfactory, the pair working together with the shuffle and reveal.

  Lash nodded. "Leave the product. Go. "

  The humans pulled a Simon Says and put down the drugs, backed away, and then briskly walked in the opposite direction, keeping their hands by their sides.

  As soon as they turned a corner and their footfalls continued to echo away, Lash strode over to the briefcases and opened his shadowy palms. On command, the handles popped up and the two loads of coke levitated from the asphalt into his grip--

  The shrill sound of a car alarm brought his head around, the mad beeping coming from the alley where he'd left his AMG.

  Fucking human pieces of shit downtown--

  Lash frowned as his instincts rippled outward and located that which had been taken from him.

  She was here.

  Xhex. . . his Xhex was here.

  As what was left of his vampire side roared with possession, Lash found his body vibrating until his feet were removed of their burden and he moved over the asphalt with the wind, leaning into the momentum he created with his mind, not his legs. Faster. Faster--

  He came around the corner and there she was, standing by his car, looking like pure sex in her leathers and her jacket. The instant he appeared, she turned toward him as if he had called out to her.

  Even with no lights shining down on her, Xhex was resplendent, the ambient illumination of the city gathering to her body, like her inner charisma demanded it. Fucking wow. She was one hot bitch, especially in the fighting gear, and as the hollow space in front of his hips tingled, he reached down.

  Something was hard. Behind his fly, something was there and ready for her.

  With a shot of adrenaline that was better than any kind of coke, he entertained how much fun it would be to take her with an audience. His cock had returned in some form or another and that meant he was back in business--just in time.

  As she met his eyes, he slowed his speed and focused on who was with her. The Brother Tohrment. Qhuinn, the mismatched genetic failure. And John Matthew.

  The perfect peanut gallery for some Clockwork Orange shit.

  How. Fucking. Fabulous.

  Lash lowered himself down to the ground and set the briefcases on the asphalt. The idiot males she was with were all busy popping various kinds of heat--but not his Xhex. Nope, she was stronger than that.

  "Hey, baby," he said. "Miss me?"

  Someone let out a growl that reminded him of his rottweiler, but whatever, now that he had everyone's attention, he was going to take advantage of the stage time. Willing the raincoat's hood from his head, he reached up, his shadow hands undoing the black strips that covered his face to reveal his features.

  "Jesus Christ. . . " Qhuinn muttered. "You look like a Rorschach test. "

  Lash didn't dignify that with a response, mostly because the only one he cared about was the female in the leather. Obviously, she hadn't expected his transformation, and the way she recoiled? Better than a hug and a kiss. To disgust her was just as good as turning her on--and much more fun when he got her back and booked their asses some time in a honeymoon suite.

  Lash smiled and sent his new, improved voice out into the air. "I have such plans for you and me, bitch. 'Course, you're going to have to beg me for it--"

  The goddamn fuck
ing female disappeared.

  Right into thin air.

  One moment she was standing by his car; the next there was nothing but air where she had been. Bitch was still in the alley, though. He could sense her, just not see her--

  The first gunshot that rang out came from behind him and caught him in the shoulder--or didn't, as was the case. The trench coat shredded on impact, blowing out a flap, but the nonflesh beneath couldn't have cared less--and all he felt was an odd echoing sting.

  Niiiiiice. Otherwise that might have hurt.

  He cranked his head around, frankly unimpressed by how obvious she was being and how bad her aim was.

  Except Xhex hadn't been the one throwing the lead. Benloise's boys had shown up with reinforcements, and good thing they couldn't aim for shit. Last time he'd checked, his chest was still solid, so a couple of inches down and to the center and he might have had a sieve for a heart.

  Rage at the goddamn nerve of those fucking drug slingers had Lash boiling up a ball of lights-out-asshole in his palm.

  As he flashed back into an inset doorway, he cast the energy force down at the humans, the blast providing a helluva show as it bowling-balled the bastards, illuminating their bodies all manga- style as they were thrown to the sides in the wake of the rollout.

  By this point, more Brothers had arrived and all kinds of people had started shooting, various guns getting a workout--which was no big deal until Lash took a slug in the hip, the pain scorching through his torso and making his heart ricochet around. As he cursed and fell to the side, his eyes shifted to the alley.

  John Matthew was the only one who hadn't taken cover: Team Brother had ducked behind the Mercedes and Benloise's guys had dragged themselves behind the rusted-out shell of a Jeep.

  But John Matthew had his shitkickers planted on the ground and his hands down at his sides.

  Fucker made himself one hell of a target. It was almost a bore.

  Lash summoned up another ball of energy in his palm and shouted, "You're killing yourself sure as if you put a gun to your head, you bitch-ass motherfucker. "

  John started walking forward, his fangs bared, a cold rush waving out ahead of him.

  For a moment, Lash felt a prickle of tension filter through the nape of his neck. This couldn't be right. No one in their right mind would ride up on his grille like this.

  It was suicide.