by J. R. Ward
“No, you totally are. For me it’s the same. My mother’s gone and my father…he’s here but he’s not. So I feel homeless, too. Adrift.”
This was why people got mated, Rehv suddenly thought. Fuck the sex and the social position. If they were smart, they did it to make a house that had no walls and an invisible roof and a floor that no one could walk on—and yet the structure was a shelter no storm could blow down, no match could torch up, no passage of years could degrade.
That was when it hit him. A mated bond like that helped you through shit nights like this.
Bella had found that shelter with her Zsadist. And maybe her older brother needed to follow his sister’s example.
“Well,” Ehlena said awkwardly, “I can answer the question about my favorite color if you like. Might keep things from getting too heavy.”
Rehv shook himself back into gear. “And what would it be?”
Ehlena cleared her throat a little. “My favorite color is…amethyst.”
Rehv smiled until his cheeks hurt. “I think that’s a great color for you to like. A perfect color.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
There were fifteen people at Chrissy’s funeral who knew her, and one who hadn’t—and as Xhex scanned the windswept cemetery, she looked for a seventeenth person hiding among the trees and tombs and larger headstones.
No wonder the fucking graveyard was called Pine Grove. There were fluffy boughs all over the place, providing ample cover for someone who didn’t want to be seen. Damn it to hell.
She’d found the cemetery in the Yellow Pages. The first two she’d called hadn’t had any space left. The third had had space only in their Wall of Eternity, as the guy called it, for cremated bodies. Finally, she’d found this Pine Grove thing and purchased the rectangle of dirt they were all standing around.
The pink coffin had been about five grand. The plot another three. The priest, father, whatever humans called him, had indicated that a suggested donation of a hundred dollars would be appropriate.
No problem. Chrissy deserved it.
Xhex searched the frickin’ pines again, hoping to find the asshole who’d murdered her. Bobby Grady had to be coming. Most abusers who killed the objects of their obsessions remained connected emotionally. And even though the police were looking for him, and he had to know that, the drive to see her put to rest was going to override logic.
Xhex refocused on the officiant. The human male was dressed in a black coat, his white collar showing at his throat. In his palms, over Chrissy’s pretty coffin, he held a Bible that he read from in a low, reverent voice. Satin ribbons were laid among the gold-leafed pages to demarcate whatever sections he used most, the ends trailing out the bottom of the book, waving red and yellow and white in the cold. Xhex wondered what his “favorites” list was like. Marriages. Baptisms—if she got that word right. Funerals.
Did he pray for sinners, she wondered. If she remembered the Christian thing right, she believed he had to—so although he didn’t know Chrissy had been a prostitute, even if he had he would still have had to affect that respectful tone and expression.
This gave Xhex comfort, although she couldn’t have said why.
From out of the north, a chilly breeze blew, and she resumed surveying the landscape. Chrissy wasn’t staying here when they were done. Like so many rituals, this was for show. With the earth frozen, she was going to have to wait until spring, housed in a meat locker at the mortuary. But at least she had her headstone, pink granite, of course, set where she’d be buried. Xhex had kept the words of the inscription simple, just Chrissy’s name and her dates, but there was a lot of nice scrollwork done around the edges.
This was the first human death ceremony Xhex had ever been to, and it was utterly foreign, all this entombing, first in the box, then under the earth. The idea of getting stuck beneath the ground was enough to make her tug at the collar of her leather jacket. Nope. Not for her. In this respect, she was solidly symphath.
Funeral pyres were the only way to go.
At the grave, the officiant bent down with a silver shovel and roughed up the ground, then he took a handful of the loose dirt and pronounced over the coffin, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
The man let the granules of earth fly, and as the brisk wind took them, Xhex sighed, this part making sense to her. In the symphath tradition, the dead were raised upon wooden platforms and lit from below, the smoke wafting up and scattering just as this dirt did, at the mercy of the elements. And what remained? Ash that was left where it lay.
Of course, symphaths were burned because no one trusted that they were actually dead when they “died.” Sometimes they were. Sometimes they were just playing at it. And it was worth being sure.
But the elegant lie was the same in both traditions, wasn’t it. Being swept away, free from the body, gone and yet part of everything.
The priest closed the Bible and bowed his head, and as everyone else followed his example, Xhex glanced around again, praying that fucker Grady was somewhere.
But as far as she could see or sense, he hadn’t shown yet.
Shit, look at all the headstones…planted into rolling hills that were winter-brown. Although the markers were all different—tall and thin, or short and close to the ground, white, gray, black, pink, gold—there was a central plan to it all, the rows of the dead arranged like houses in a development, with asphalt lanes and stretches of trees winding among them.
One headstone kept drawing her eyes. It was a statue of a robed woman who was staring up to the heavens, her face and pose as serene and calm as the overcast sky she was focused on. The granite she was carved out of was pale gray, the same color as what loomed over her, and for a moment it was hard to tell what was the grave marker and what was the horizon.
Shaking herself, Xhex looked over at Trez and, when he met her eyes, he shook his head imperceptibly. Same with iAm. Neither of them had tweaked to Bobby’s presence, either.
Meanwhile Detective de la Cruz was staring at her, and she knew it not because she returned the favor to him, but because she could feel his emotions change whenever those eyes of his landed on her. He understood how she felt. He truly did. And there was a part of him that respected her for her vengeance. But he was resolved.
As the priest stepped back and talk sprang up, Xhex realized the graveside service was over, and she watched as Marie-Terese was the first to break ranks, going up to the officiant and shaking his hand. She was spectacular in her funeral garb, her black lace head covering looking positively bridal, the beads and cross in her hands making her seem pious to the point of nun-ish.
Clearly, the priest approved of her dress and her serious, beautiful face and whatever it was she said to him, because he bowed and held on to her hand. With the contact between them, his emotional grid shifted to love, pure, undiluted, chaste love.
That was why the statue stood out, Xhex realized. Marie-Terese looked exactly like the robed female. Weird.
“Nice service, huh.”
She turned and looked at Detective de la Cruz. “Seemed fine. I wouldn’t really know.”
“You’re not Catholic, then.”
“Nope.” Xhex waved at Trez and iAm as the crowd dispersed. The boys were taking everyone out to lunch before they all headed into work, as one more way of honoring Chrissy.
“Grady didn’t come,” the detective said.
“Nope.”
De la Cruz smiled. “You know, you talk like you decorate.”
“I like to keep things simple.”
“‘Just the facts, ma’am’? I thought that was my line.” He glanced at the backs of the people walking off toward the three cars parked together in the lane. One by one, Rehv’s Bentley, a Honda mini-van, and Marie-Terese’s five-year-old Camry pulled out.
“So, where’s your boss?” de la Cruz murmured. “I expected to see him here.”
“He’s a night owl.”
“Ah.”
“Look, Detective, I’m going to take
off.”
“Really?” He swept his arm around. “In what? Or do you like walking in this kind of weather.”
“I parked somewhere else.”
“Did you? You weren’t thinking of sticking around? You know, seeing if there were any late arrivals.”
“Now, why would I do that.”
“Why, indeed.”
Long, long, long pause, during which Xhex stared at the statue that reminded her of Marie-Terese. “You want to give me a ride to my car, Detective?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The unmarked sedan was as serviceable as the detective’s wardrobe, but like the guy’s heavy coat, it was warm, and like what was in the detective’s clothes, it was powerful, the engine growling like something you’d find under the hood of a Corvette.
De la Cruz looked over as he gunned it. “Where am I going?”
“To the club, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s where you left your car?”
“I got a ride here.”
“Ah.”
As de la Cruz drove them along the winding road, she stared out at the headstones and for a brief moment thought of the number of bodies she’d walked away from.
Including John Matthew’s.
She’d done her best not to think about what they’d done and the way she’d left that big, hard body of his sprawled all over her bed. His eyes as he’d watched her go out the door had been full of a heartbreak she couldn’t allow herself to internalize. It wasn’t that she didn’t give a shit; she cared too much.
That was why she’d had to leave, and why she couldn’t afford to be caught alone with him again. She’d been down that road before, and the results had been beyond tragic.
“You okay?” de la Cruz asked.
“I’m just fine, Detective. You?”
“Good. Just fine. Thanks for asking.”
The gates of the cemetery loomed up ahead, the iron latticeworks split and pulled to either side of the lane.
“I’m going to be coming back here,” de la Cruz said as they braked and then surged forward onto the street beyond. “Because I think Grady will show up eventually. He’s going to have to.”
“Well, you won’t be seeing me.”
“No?”
“Nope. Count on it.” She was just too good at being hidden.
When Ehlena’s phone made a beep in her ear, she had to take it away from her head. “What the—Oh. Battery’s going dead. Hold on.”
Rehvenge’s deep laughter had her pausing while she reached for the cord, just so she could hear every last rumble of the sound.
“Okay, I’m plugged in.” She resettled against her pillows. “Now, where were we—oh, yeah. So I’m curious, exactly what kind of businessman are you?”
“A successful one.”
“Which explains the wardrobe.”
He laughed again. “No, my good taste explains the wardrobe.”
“Then the successful part is how you pay for it.”
“Well, my family’s fortunate. We’ll just leave it at that.”
She deliberately focused on her duvet cover so she wouldn’t be reminded of the low-ceilinged, ratty room she was in. Better yet…Ehlena reached up and clicked off the light that sat on the milk crates she had stacked next to her bed.
“What was that?” he asked.
“The light. I, ah, I just turned it off.”
“Oh, man, I’ve kept you on way too long.”
“No, I just…wanted it dark, is all.”
Rehv’s voice dropped so low she could barely hear it. “Why.”
Yeah, like she was going to tell him it was because she didn’t want to think about where she stayed. “I…wanted to get even more comfortable.”
“Ehlena.” Need suffused his tone, changing the tenor of the conversation from flirtatious chitchat to…something very sexual. And in an instant, she was back on his bed in that penthouse, naked, his mouth on her skin.
“Ehlena…”
“What,” she said hoarsely.
“Are you still in your uniform? The one I took off of you?”
“Yes.” The word was more breath than anything else, and it went so much further than just an answer to the question he’d asked. She knew what he wanted, and she wanted it, too.
“The buttons on the front of it,” he murmured. “Undo one for me?”
“Yes.”
As she popped the first of them free, he said, “And another.”
“Yes.”
They kept at it until her uniform was open down the front, and she was really glad the lights were off—not because she would have been embarrassed, but because it made him seem right there with her.
Rehvenge groaned, and she heard him lick his lips. “If I were there, you know what I would be doing? I’d be running my fingertips down to your breasts. I’d find a nipple and I’d draw circles around it so it was ready.”
She did as he described and gasped when she touched herself. Then she realized…“Ready for what?”
He laughed long and low. “You want to hear me say it, don’t you.”
“I do.”
“Ready for my mouth, Ehlena. Do you remember what that felt like? Because I remember exactly what you taste like. Leave your bra on and pinch yourself for me…as if I’m sucking on you though those pretty white lace cups of yours.”
Ehlena squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, trapping her nipple in between the two. The effect was second-best to his warm, wet sucking, but it was good enough, especially with his having told her to do it. She repeated the pinch and arched up off the bed, moaning his name.
“Oh, Christ…Ehlena.”
“Now…what…” As her breath shot out of her mouth, between her thighs she was throbbing, wet, desperate for whatever they were going to do.
“I want to be there with you,” he groaned.
“You are with me. You are.”
“Again. Squeeze for me.” As she shuddered and called out his name, he was quick with the next command. “Take your skirt up for me. So it’s around your waist. Put the phone down and do it fast. I’m impatient.”
She let the phone fall onto the bed and swept her skirt past her thighs and over her hips. She had to pat around to find her cell and then she rushed it to her ear.
“Hello?”
“God, that sounded good…I could hear the cloth moving up your body. I want you to start with your thighs. Go there first. Keep the stockings on and stroke your way up.”
The hose acted as a conductor of her touch, magnifying the sensation just as his voice did.
“Remember me doing that,” he said in a dark voice. “Remember.”
“Yes, oh, yes…”
She was panting so hard in anticipation, she nearly missed him growl: “I wish I could smell you.”
“Higher?” she said.
“No.” As his name left her lips in protest, he laughed the way a lover did, soft and low, with both satisfaction and promise. “Go up the outside of your thigh to your hip and around the back and then down again.”
She did as he asked and he talked her through the caresses: “I loved being with you. I can’t wait to go there again. You know what I’m doing?”
“What?”
“Licking my lips. Because I’m thinking of me kissing my way over your thighs and then running my tongue up and down where I’m dying to be.” She moaned his name again and was rewarded. “Go down there, Ehlena. On top of the stockings. Go where I want to be.”
As she did, she felt all the heat they’d generated through the thin nylon, and her sex responded by welling up even more.
“Take them off,” he said. “The stockings. Take them off and keep them with you.”
Ehlena put down the phone again and didn’t care if she ran the hell out of the hose as she stripped them from her legs. Scrambling for the cell, she barely got it in range before she was demanding what was next.
“Slip your hand under your panties. And tell me what you find.”
There was a pause. “Oh, God…I’m wet.”
When Rehvenge moaned this time, she wondered if he was erect: She’d seen that he was capable of that, but then, impotence didn’t mean that you couldn’t get hard. It just meant that for whatever reason you couldn’t finish.
Christ, she wished she could lay some commands on him, ones that were consistent with whatever sexual level he could function at. She just didn’t know how far to take it.
“Stroke yourself and know it’s me,” he growled. “That’s my hand.”
She did as he asked and orgasmed hard, sprawling all over her bed, his name leaving her lips in as quiet an explosion as possible.
“Get rid of the panties.”
Roger that, she thought as she yanked them down her thighs and ditched them God only knew where.
She lay back down, looking forward to doing that again when he said, “Can you hold the phone against your ear with your shoulder?”
“Yes.” Screw it; if he wanted her to turn herself into a vampire pretzel she was on board with the plan.
“Take the stockings between both hands, stretch them out taut, then run them in between your legs front to back.”
She laughed with an erotic edge, then said sweetly, “You want me to work myself against them, do you?”
His breath shot into her ear. “Fuck, yes.”
“Dirty male.”
“A tongue bath from you might clean me up. What do you say?”
“Yes.”
“I love that word on your lips.” As she laughed, he said, “So what are you waiting for, Ehlena? You need to put those stockings to good use.”
She cradled the cell phone in her neck, found a good position for it, and then, feeling like a harlot and loving it, she took her white stockings, rolled onto her side, and threaded the nylon length between her legs.
“Nice and tight,” he said, panting.
She gasped at the contact, the hard, smooth line diving into her sex in all the right places.
“Move yourself against it,” Rehvenge said with satisfaction. “Let me hear how good it feels.”
