by J. R. Ward
“For truth, do not hide behind such words when your visage belies your heart. And as always, if you carry criticism of the Scribe Virgin upon your lips, come sit around my fire.” As a pair of shocked pale green eyes flipped up, Payne shrugged. “I’ve made no secret of how I feel. Ever.”
“No . . . indeed you have not. It just seems so . . .”
“Unladylike? Inappropriate?” Payne cracked her knuckles. “What a pity.”
Layla exhaled long and slow. “I have been properly trained, you know. As an ehros.”
“And that is what you don’t like—”
“Not at all. That is what I don’t know, but wish to.”
Payne frowned hard. “You are not used?”
“Verily, I was denied by John Matthew on the evening of his transition after I saw him safely through the change. And when I go to feed the Brothers, I am ever untouched.”
“I beg your . . .” Was she hearing that right? “You want to have sex. With one of them.”
Layla’s tone turned shrewd. “Surely you of all my sisters understand what it is like to be naught but a potential.”
Well . . . hadn’t she gotten the scenario all wrong. “With all due respect, I can’t fathom why you would want . . . that . . . with one of those males.”
“Why would I not? The Brothers and those three younger males are beautiful, phearsome creatures of strength. And with the Primale leaving us all unserved . . .” Layla shook her head. “To have been well taught and had it described and read about the act . . . I want to experience it for myself. Even if it is but once.”
“For truth, I cannot summon even the slightest inclination. Never have, don’t think I ever will. I’d rather fight.”
“Then I envy you.”
“Oh?”
Layla’s eyes seemed ancient. “Far better to be uninterested than unfulfilled. One is a relief. The other an emptiness with heavy weight.”
As No’One appeared with a tray of cut fruit and fresh juice, Payne said, “No’One, won’t you join us?”
Layla smiled up at the maid. “Indeed. Please do.”
With a shake of her head and a bow, No’One just left them the repast she had so thoughtfully prepared and went about her business, limping through the archway and out of the baths.
Payne’s frown stayed in place as she and the Chosen Layla fell into silence. Mulling over what had been exchanged, it was hard to understand how they could have opinions of such total opposite regard—and both be in the right.
For Layla’s sake, Payne wished she herself was wrong; what a disappointment it would be to pine for something that was far, far less than expectation bore it to be.
NINETEEN
“A female . . .” The Omega’s soft, echoing voice carried farther than its volume would have suggested, the two words suffusing every corner of the smooth stone room that formed his private chamber.
Lash did his best to appear unconcerned as he lounged against one of the black walls. “I need her to service me for blood.”
“Do you.”
“It’s biology.”
In his white robing, the Omega cut a stunning figure as he circulated around the space. With his hood up in place, his arms crossed, and his hands tucked into his billowing sleeves, he resembled a bishop in the game of chess.
Except, of course, he was the king down here.
The evil’s receiving area was about the size of a ballroom and decked out like one, with plenty of black chandeliers and stanchions that supported legions of black candles. It was far from stark, however. For one thing, those wicks were spouting red flames. And to top it off, the walls and floor and ceiling were made of the most extraordinary marble Lash had ever seen. From one angle it was black, from another it was metallic bloodred, and given that the source of illumination was constantly flickering, you got both colors at once all around you.
It wasn’t hard to figure out the why of the decor. Given the Omega’s wardrobe, which was limited to those driven-snow drapery things, he was the prime focal point, the only thing that stood out. The rest was window dressing.
He ran his world like that, too.
“And would this be a mate for you, my son?” the Omega asked from way across the room.
“No,” Lash lied. “Just a blood source.”
You did not give the Omega more information than you had to: Lash was well aware of how fickle his father could be and off-the-radar was key.
“Have I not given you enough strength?”
“My vampire nature is what it is.”
The Omega turned and faced Lash. After a pause, that distorted voice whispered, “Indeed. I find that to be true.”
“I’ll bring her to you,” Lash said, straightening from the wall. “To the farmhouse. Tonight. You turn her and I’ll have what I need.”
“And I cannot provide that to you?”
“You would be providing it to me. You induct her and I have the blood source required to give me power.”
“So you say that you are weak?”
Damn him to hell, but it must be obvious that he was. The Omega could sense things and surely it had been apparent for some time now.
When Lash stayed quiet, the Omega drifted forward until they were eye to eye. “I have never inducted a female.”
“She wouldn’t have to be in the Lessening Society. She would just be for me.”
“For you.”
“No reason to have her out there fighting.”
“And this female. You have chosen her already.”
“I have.” Lash laughed shortly, thinking of Xhex and the damage she was capable of. “I’m sure you’ll approve of her.”
“You are so certain.”
“I have very good taste.”
All around, the red flames trembled on their wicks as if a breeze had ruffled them.
Abruptly, the Omega’s hood lifted, revealing the shadowy, translucent face that had angles just like Lash’s flesh-and-blood version did.
“Return from whence you came,” the Omega pronounced as his dark, smoky hand rose up. With a stroke down Lash’s cheek, the evil turned away. “Return from whence you came.”
“I’ll meet you at nightfall,” Lash said. “At the farmhouse.”
“Night. Fall.”
“You want it later? How about one. We’ll see each other then.”
“You shall see me, indeed.”
“Thank you, Father.”
As the Omega drifted across the floor, that hood settled back into place of its own volition, and a panel slid open across the way. A moment later, Lash was alone.
Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his face and looked around at all the red flames and the spectacular walls. The place was kind of like a womb.
With a flash of will, he shot himself out of Dhunhd and back to the nasty little ranch house he’d had to use as a launching pad. As he came awake in his corporeal form, he hated the fact that he was stretched out on a couch that had cheesy autumnal leaves on its slipcover. And God, the nap of the fabric was like a buzz cut on a dog . . . and smelled the same, really.
Assuming said four-legged fucker had rolled in a damp ashtray.
Lifting his head up, he pulled his shirt to his neck. Still there. The lesions were still there and getting larger. And he felt like ass.
His hands shook as he got himself vertical, and when he checked his phone, he saw nothing from anybody. No voice mail back from Mr. D and no other slayers checking in. Both made sense. Everyone and everything was routed through his second in command so if the SOB had bit it, the Society couldn’t find Lash.
Maybe the little Texan had been too good as a PA.
With hunger spurring him on, he shuffled into the kitchen and peeled open the refrigerator door. Empty. Except for a box of Arm & Hammer baking soda that should have been used on that couch.
Slamming the Frigidaire shut, he absolutely despised the world and everyone in it—although that was mostly a function of not having his eggs and bacon alrea
dy waiting for him.
Plus crappy real estate did that to a guy. The ranch house was a new acquisition and one he’d been to only once before—hell, not even Mr. D knew the Society owned it. The thing was, Lash had bought it out of foreclosure because they were going to need places to make meth and the POS had a large basement. Stunning that whoever had owned it hadn’t been able to cover the mortgage cost. The bitch was one step up from an outhouse.
Maybe half a step.
He headed out into the garage and it was a frickin’ relief to be back in the Mercedes . . . although it galled him to have to hit a McDonald’s drive-through for an Egg McMuffin and a coffee. He’d even had to wait in line along with a bunch of guys in trucks and moms in minivans.
As he went back to his brownstone, his attitude sank further into Man-son territory—and then shot completely into the sewer as he pulled up to the garage. The door was still up, but the Lexus was gone.
Parking the Mercedes under cover, he shut the thing in with the remote and got out. The garden in the back was relatively undisturbed, but he could smell the lesser the instant he—
Stopping on the terrace, his eyes shot to the second floor. Oh, God . . .
Energized by panic, Lash started to run full tilt and he took the back steps on a oner, bursting through the door—
His loafers skidded to a halt as he saw the carnage. Jesus . . . Christ . . . his kitchen.
The place looked like it had been hit with an oil shower. And duh, there wasn’t much left of Mr. D. The slayer’s torso was in the middle of the room, by the island, but his arms and legs were scattered all around . . . and his digestive tract was like macramé hanging from the pulls on the cupboards.
By some miracle, the guy’s head was still attached and his eyes opened wide, his mouth starting to move as he saw he was no longer alone; a guttural plea came out of lips glossy with congealed black blood.
“You fucking pussy,” Lash spat. “Look at you. For fuck’s sake!”
And goddamn it, he had bigger problems than his second in command getting shredded. He leaped over the mess, tore through the dining room, and raced up the stairs.
Bursting into the bedroom he’d shared with Xhex, he found nothing but a whole lot of empty . . . and a window with a hole in it.
“Motherfucker!”
Wheeling around, he looked through the open door and saw the mark outside on the hall wall. Stalking over, he pressed his nose against the silk wallpaper and inhaled. Her scent was in the fibers of the weave.
She had broken out physically.
Yet she’d still been in the room after Mr. D had been attacked. Had the Brothers come back and helped her get out?
A quick run through the house and Lash’s mood went from nasty to toxic. Laptop gone. Cell phones missing.
Motherfucker.
Down in the kitchen, he headed into the pantry to get the—
“Oh, fuck me!” Kneeling down, he checked out the panel that had been torn open. His stash was gone, too? How the hell had they found it?
Then again, Mr. D looked like an anatomy class had had at him. Maybe he’d spilled. Which meant Lash couldn’t be sure what other addresses had been compromised.
On a burst of rage, he threw his fist out, winging it hard and catching whatever he did.
A massive glass jar of olives.
The thing shattered, juice going everywhere, those little eyelike rollers hitting the floor and making bids for freedom in all directions.
Lash stomped back into the kitchen and went over to Mr. D. As that bloody mouth started working again, the pitiful struggle was positively nauseating.
Reaching over the counter, Lash extracted a Henckels, palmed the hilt, and sank down. “Did you tell them anything?”
As Mr. D shook his head, Lash stared down into the guy’s eyes. The whites were darkening to a gray shade and the pupils had dilated to the point where there was almost no iris. However, although he appeared to be on the brink of demise, left on his own, Mr. D would languish and rot forever in this condition. There was only one way to “kill” him.
“Are you sure?” Lash murmured. “Even when they pulled your arms out of those sockets?”
Mr. D’s mouth moved, the gurgling sounds like wet dog food falling out of a can.
With a revolted curse, Lash stabbed the empty chest of that lesser, getting rid of at least that part of the mess. The pop and flash both faded quickly and then Lash shut himself in, locking the back door before heading up for the second floor once again.
It took him a half hour to pack his clothes, and as he muscled six Prada duffels down the stairs, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever had to carry his own luggage.
After lining up his load out on the back step, he set the security alarm, locked up, and shuffled his shit to the Mercedes.
As he drove away, he hated the idea of returning to that fucking ranch. But at the moment, he was out of options—and had other things to fucking worry about rather than where he stayed.
He needed to find Xhex. If she’d been on her own, there was no way she could have gone far. She’d been too weak. So the Brotherhood had to have her.
Jesus Christ . . . with his father showing up at one a.m. for the induction, he had to get her back fast. Either that or find someone he could make do with.
The knock that woke John up was a real knuckle-bouncer, loud as a gun.
The instant he heard it, he was totally upright. As he rubbed his eyes, he whistled a “come in” and prayed it was nothing but Qhuinn with a tray of First Meal.
The door wasn’t opened.
John frowned and dropped his hands.
Shifting to his feet, he grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them up to his hips, then went over and . . . Wrath was standing in the doorway with George by his side, and he was not alone. The boys and Rehvenge were with him, as were all of the other Brothers, including Tohr.
Oh . . . God . . . no.
His hands signed fast even as his heart stopped dead. Where was the body found?
“She’s alive,” Rehvenge answered as he held out a phone. “I just got the message. Hit four.”
John took a second to internalize the information. Then he snapped the cell out of the male’s hand and punched the key. There was a beep and then . . .
Holy shit . . . her voice. Her voice.
“Rehv . . . I’m out. I got out.” There was a low, deep sigh. “I’m okay. I’m intact. I’m out.” Long pause. To the point that John was about to check to see if the—“I need some time. I’m safe . . . but I’m not coming back for a little while. I need some time. Tell everyone . . . tell . . . everyone. I’ll be in touch.” Another pause and then her voice grew strong to the point of anger. “As soon as I can . . . Lash is mine. Do you understand me? No one takes him out but me.”
The message ended.
John hit four again and listened.
After the second time, he handed the thing back to Rehv and met those amethyst eyes head-on. He was well aware Rehv had been around Xhex for years and years. Knew the guy shared not just experience with her but the symphath blood that in many ways changed everything. Knew that the male was older and wiser and all that shit.
But the bonded male in John put them on equal footing when it came to her.
And then some.
Where would she go? he signed.
After Qhuinn translated, Rehv nodded. “She’s got a hunting cabin about fifteen miles north of here. On the Hudson River. I’m thinking that’s where she is. She’d have access to a phone there and it’s safe. I’m going up at nightfall alone. Unless you join me.”
No one seemed surprised by the exchange . . . but then John realized his secret had to be out. After the way he’d behaved up in that bedroom at the brownstone—to say nothing of how he’d torn into that lesser, they all knew how he felt about Xhex.
That was the reason the group had come. They were recognizing his status, paying it due. The rights and boundaries of bonded males were respecte
d when it came to their females.
John glanced at Qhuinn and signed, Tell him I’ll go.
After his boy translated, Rehv nodded and then turned to Wrath. “I go with him and him alone. He can’t bring Qhuinn. We’re going to have enough trouble with her if the pair of us show up unannounced.”
Wrath frowned. “Damn it, Rehv—”
“She’s a flight risk. I’ve been through this once before with her. Anyone else shows, she’s going to bolt and she’s not going to call again. Besides, John here . . . he’ll follow me anyway, won’t you, son. You’ll ditch Qhuinn and follow me anyway.”
John didn’t hesitate to nod.
As Qhuinn cursed like a motherfucker, Wrath shook his head. “Why in the hell I gave you him as an ahstrux . . .”
There was a period of tense silence, during which the king measured both John and Rehv. Then he said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine—I’ll let you go without your guard this one time, but you do not engage the enemy. You go to that cabin, and only there, and then you come back and get Qhuinn before you head out into the field. We clear?”
John nodded and turned away to hit the bathroom.
“Ten minutes,” Rehv said. “You got ten minutes and we’re driving out.”
John was ready in four and downstairs pacing the foyer in six. He was fully weaponized, as was protocol, and covered in protective leather. More to the point, he was alive to the point of mania, his blood humming at a tornadic pitch.
As he paced, he felt eyes on him. From the billiard room. From the dining room. From up above on the second floor’s balcony. Silent mouths, but eyes that missed nothing.
The Brotherhood and the other members of the house were clearly reeling from the Xhex connection and he supposed he could understand. Surprise! He’d bonded with a symphath.
But you couldn’t help who you fell in love with—or change the feelings of someone who didn’t love you back.
God, not that that part mattered. She was alive!
Rehvenge came down the grand stairs, his red cane hitting the carpeted steps every time his right foot came forward. He was dressed not for war, but for warmth, his floor-length mink skimming the tops of his wingtips and the cuffs of his elegant black suit.
