by J. R. Ward
Saxton closed his eyes. He could not be rude or shirk his duties, but he needed to get Wrath off the phone so he could pick up where he'd left things--and hopefully take the kissing further.
"Yes, my Lord. I will prepare the appropriate documentation and will serve it to the other party tomorrow evening--when? Now?" Saxton mouthed a word silently that was not appropriate. "Yes, I will come to the Audience House now and bring--what? Yes, that, too. Thank you, my Lord. My pleasure."
As he hung up, he thought, actually, his pleasure was standing right over--
"Goddamn it," he muttered as he turned back around.
Ruhn had disappeared through the sliding glass door, leaving nothing but the subtle undulations of those drapes in his wake, the cold evening air ruffling the fabric as it blew away the lingering scent of sexual awakening.
There was an instinct to follow, but he let it go. Ruhn had made his choice, at least for now.
No telling if he would come back.
Saxton touched his mouth. "But I hope you do," he whispered into the vacant penthouse.
--
The bus trundled into the training center at a pace that seemed only slightly slower than that of water evaporating from a glass. In a refrigerator. Over the span of a hundred and fifty motherfucking years.
As Peyton sat on the left-hand side of the aisle, right up against the window, he focused on the black glass while trying to ignore his own reflection. There was no one else riding with him, and he couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. A distraction might have been nice...but then again, chatter in his ear would have irritated the hell out of him--and no, thanks, on having to respond to anything or anyone.
Relief came when the vehicle slowed to a stop. And resumed. And then a little farther on...decelerated again.
Finally, they were getting to the sequence of gates. Like all the other trainees, he'd never seen what they looked like, and he couldn't have told even the Scribe Virgin herself how to get onto the road that led into the training center. But he was well-familiar with this stop-and-go as they entered the Brotherhood's property and descended underground to the facility.
I must speak with you alone. There is little time.
The image of Romina standing outside of that bathroom, her blue dress gathered in her hands, her eyes wide, her pale face drawn in haunted, hunted lines, made him shake his head and rub the bridge of his nose.
Romina needed a friend, badly. She also needed Peyton.
I'm afraid you're being sold a bad bill of goods. Declare tonight that I am not to your approval, and then you will be spared.
When he had demanded to know what the hell she was talking about, she had told him a terrible story, one so horrible, he couldn't bear thinking about it.
And in the end, she had not lied. She was indeed spoiled in the eyes of the glymera--and not as in privileged and pampered. According to all standards, Romina was ineligible for mating, although not by her own fault--assuming she was telling the truth, and really, considering what had happened to her? Why would you admit that to a stranger otherwise?
He admired her honesty. And he felt broken, too, unmateable for a lot of reasons, so they shared that.
I know that you will do the right thing for yourself. I just didn't want anyone else hurt.
With that, she had returned to the table. And he had tried to follow in her footsteps--only to fail at the finish line. Instead of going back into the dining room, he'd kept right on going out the front door. His father had yelled after him, but nope, Peyton was done. He'd dematerialized to the pickup location, texted his arrival, and waited twenty-five minutes in the cold without a winter jacket for the bus to arrive.
By the time he'd gotten on the transport, his fingers had frozen into claws in his pockets and his jaw had locked down on his clapping molars. The warm-up of all his corporeal merchandise had been an exercise in burning pain, but he'd barely noticed.
It was a sad commentary on where he and Romina came from that both of them were nothing but pawns in a social chess game to their families.
God, that poor female.
And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
What was clear? His absence during that cheese and fruit course had been duly noted. His phone had rung three times, and his father had left him voice messages. Peyton didn't listen to them. Why bother? He knew what they said; he could dub the words and the tone in just fine--
"We have arrived, sire."
Peyton jumped in his seat. Fritz, the loyal doggen butler who served as the bus driver most nights, was both concerned and smiling, his wrinkled face peeled back like a set of curtains in a friendly house.
"Sire? Are you all right? May I get you anything?"
"Sorry." Peyton rose to his feet. "Sorry--I'm fine. Thank you."
Bullshit, he was fine. Matter of fact, he was so far from fine, he couldn't see goddamn Fine-landia from where he was.
As he got off the bus, the butler escorted him over to the reinforced steel door, their footfalls echoing throughout the multi-layered concrete parking area. And then they were inside, proceeding down the long, wide corridor. When Peyton stopped in front of the closed door to Novo's hospital room, Fritz bowed low and kept on going to his next duty.
Before Peyton knocked, he brushed his hair back with his fingers. Made sure his cuffs were down. Checked his--
"You can come in."
At the dry sound of Novo's voice, Peyton straightened his spine and pushed into the hospital room.
Okay...wow.
She looked so much better. She was sitting up, a couple of the monitors were gone, and there was a tray with the remnants of food on it: fresh Danish, a half-eaten bowl of fruit, toast points, and a little pot of strawberry jam. She'd obviously eaten the scrambled eggs.
Hospital food here was not "hospital" at all.
"So formal," she murmured. "You didn't have to dress for the occasion."
He glanced down at himself. "I'm wearing my tux."
"You sound surprised. What did you think you had on?"
When he looked back at her, Novo sat up a little higher on the stack of pillows that was holding her to the vertical--and the grunt and grimace she tried to hide told him that much as she might appear stronger, she wasn't going home at the end of the night.
Feeding or no feeding.
"You okay?" she asked.
He considered tossing a jocular fish back, but then thought about Romina. "No, I'm really not."
"Unrequited love got you down? You want me to get you a card or something. Teddy bear to cuddle. No, wait...chocolate and a glass of wine?"
Peyton ignored all that and went over to the far corner, his legs going loose right on schedule so that he fell into the chair there. Putting his head in his hands, he just stared at the floor. He wanted Novo like all get-out. But he couldn't get his head away from what he'd been told by that other female. Where he was with his own family. How bad things could get when you had money, but nothing else, to back you up in the world.
"Jesus," Novo murmured, "you look like you're having a nervous breakdown."
"Tell me about your family," he heard himself say. "What are they like? What do they do that hurts you?"
Novo looked away. "We don't need to go into that."
As disappointment surged, he told himself he shouldn't try to re-create that friendship he'd had with Paradise with anybody else. That had been a time-limited period in his life, something that had passed now that she had moved on and he was still where he had always been.
God, he wanted a smoke.
Patting the inside pocket of his jacket, he felt around--oh, thank you, motherfucker, he thought as he discovered a couple of old joints in there.
He took one out and snagged the gold lighter he kept in his slacks.
"You can't smoke in here."
Peyton glanced across to the hospital bed. "Do you not like the smell?"
"I don't care. But there's an oxygen tank over there, an
d I'm pretty sure the docs won't appreciate it even if you don't blow us sky high."
With a groan, he got up and went to the metal cylinder. There was a valve on the top and he thought, Rightie-tightie. The Brothers had taught him that. And yup, the thing was closed.
He flicked the lighter open on the way back to the chair and had his first draw as he sat down. Holding the hissing inhale deep, he waited impatiently for the buzz to come and froth up his frontal lobe until the piece of shit took a chill.
"Please," he said on the exhale. "Just...tell me something, anything. I need to talk."
Maybe it was the drugs, Novo thought. Maybe it was the reminder the night before that she was mortal. Maybe it was all the text messages and voicemails that had come in about her sister from her mother, her sister, her sister's friends. Maybe it was the fact that Peyton wasn't looking like his regular, James Spader circa Pretty in Pink self.
But something made her open her mouth.
"My sister is not like me," she blurted into the silence. "At all."
"So she's dumb?" Peyton exhaled more smoke and loosened his black bow tie. "Ugly? Uncoordinated? Wait, she throws a baseball like a--"
"Stop." She shook her head at him. "I can't be real with you if you're going to do the Peyton dog-and-pony show."
He put the joint between his teeth and shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. Then he unbuttoned the top quarter of his dress shirt. As he resettled, he exhaled again and spoke through the smoke.
"I'm serious about all of that. I think you're smart, beautiful, and a great fighter."
There was no twinkle in his eye. No lift to his lips. No har-har-har in his tone. And then he just stared at her as if he were daring her to refute his opinion.
Well, crap, she thought. He was dangerous like this...all sexy as he sprawled in that chair, his arms draped over the sides, his legs now crossed at the knee. In that pose, with that loose bow tie and the V of golden skin at his throat, he looked like he could please a female any way he liked--and the impression was probably correct.
He sure had the anatomy for it. She knew that firsthand.
But more than all that physical stuff? He was focused on her as if what she might tell him, whatever it was, was the only thing that he cared to hear in all the world. He seemed to really see her, no distractions, no side glances somewhere else, no tapping feet or drumming fingers.
To a female who had always been second fiddle to a loud, pink, gardenia-smelling lace-and-bows nightmare? It was just as addicting as the taste of his blood.
How far did she go, though.
She had told no one, not even the Brotherhood during her psych eval, what had happened to her. The first was true because she hated pity. The second? Well, duh, she didn't want to get kicked out of the program for being mentally unstable.
Which she was not.
But they might think she had reason to be.
"So tell me about your family problems," he prompted.
"It's nothing, really," she muttered. "Sibling stuff, you know."
As her hand moved over to rest on her stomach, she caught herself even though he couldn't possibly guess at why she would feel protective.
"Come on." He took another inhale. "You have to do better than that."
As if on cue, her phone rang on the table that she'd pulled over her knees. Tilting the cell up, she cursed when she saw who it was.
"And here it is." She rolled her eyes. "My sister, again. She's getting mated, and she picked me to be her little bitch through the whole thing. I am soooo touched, you can't imagine."
"When is the ceremony?"
"Wedding," she corrected. "And very soon."
"What about you being injured."
She shook her head as the phone went silent. But it didn't stay quiet for long. The text that binged was from Sophy as well.
Novo read it out loud because why the hell not. "Fine. I guess I will have to take care of my bachelorette party. Miss Emily's doesn't have a reservation for us on Friday. Clearly, you never called them. Thanks so much for all your help."
Letting the cell fall back down onto the tray, she took a deep breath--and could swear she was catching a contact high from the weed.
"You're in a hospital bed," Peyton said.
"Really?" She looked down at herself. "And here I thought this was a hot tub."
"Be serious."
"This coming from you?"
He slashed his hand through the air. "You're recovering. Why are they bothering you with anything?"
She made a show of folding the top of the blanket down and smoothing it across her chest. "Well, to be fair, they didn't know I got hurt."
When there was just silence, she glanced over at him. And as if he had been waiting for the eye contact, he shook his head.
"That's just like I am with my father. I don't tell the male anything, either." He frowned. "What would they have done if you'd..."
"Died out there? Or on the table?" She shrugged. "Probably just put our first cousin in as the head bridesmaid and moved right along."
"Wait, bridesmaid? What the hell?"
"Oh, yeah. She's adopting the full human routine and expecting my parents to pay for it, me to go along with it, and all her friends to put it out on Insta. I think she believes she will set a trend, and who knows. Maybe she will."
"Who's she mating?"
Novo cleared her throat. "No one special. Just another civilian--well, he comes from a little more money than we have, so it's a step up for her. And listen, my issues aside, Sophy is beautiful, so it's a good exchange on the mating market. I'm sure they'll be very happy together, him buying her the things she wants, her giving him the young he..."
Novo couldn't go on.
It was as if she had been heading down a road, toolin' along, moving at a reasonable pace while not paying much attention to the landscape or the weather conditions. And then BAM! Black ice, skidding, gripping the wheel...and slamming headfirst into a rock face.
"So yeah." She took a couple of deep breaths. "You know, that weed is strong."
"It is."
"Only the best for you, huh."
"Something like that." He looked at the joint's glowing tip. "Is she going to put you in a bad dress?"
"I'm sorry? Oh, Sophy--you mean at the ceremony? If she doesn't kick me out first."
"When is the mating--or is she calling it a wedding?"
"Let's just call it circus, between you and me." As he smiled a little, she said, "Why the grin."
His eyes bored into hers. "I like the idea of you and me having a secret."
And then he got serious. Fast.
Rising to his feet, Peyton headed for the bathroom to put the joint out--and along the way, he did absolutely nothing to camouflage the erection he was sporting.
It was so thick, so hard, she could see the outline of the head under the tuxedo's slacks.
As a rush of lust hit Novo, she had to close her eyes. Also had to lick her lips--which made her glad he was in the little bathroom.
From behind the partially closed door, there was a trickle of water, and she imagined him bent over the sink, extinguishing the joint. Then he was standing in between the jambs, his handsome face grave.
With his eyes locked on hers, he tucked one of his hands down into the front of his pants and he not-discreetly-at-all rearranged himself so that the tent effect was gone.
After which he just continued to look at her.
She knew exactly what he was waiting for. And the interesting thing was...she got the sense he was content to stay like that for the next hour. Or twelve.
It was another thing that was totally unlike him.
"Come here," she said in a low voice.
Peyton did exactly as he was told, approaching the bedside so that he stood over her. His scent was incredible, and for once, the smell of weed, which usually she wasn't that into, didn't bother her in the slightest.
With an elegant hand, he rolled up one of his sleeves. And then th
e other. His forearms were heavily muscled and veined from the workouts, his body adapting to the rigorous exercise by growing stronger.
She focused on his throat.
As if he knew what she was looking at, he let out a pumping growl. "Let me lie down beside you."
If he did that, they were probably going to have sex, she thought.
Take out the "probably"--
The door was thrown open, and, man, Dr. Manello was not a happy camper, the surgeon's face in full glower mode.
He jabbed a finger at Peyton. "That shit in the alley might not get you tossed from the program, but I will guarantee you that smoking weed in one of my patient rooms will." He looked around as if searching for a bong, a bowl, or a pipe. "And clearly, the two of you must have realized that and stopped, am I correct. You flushed the joint down the toilet because you thought, wow, in a room with an oxygen tank, around a patient on a complex regimen of drugs, using marijuana would be a really fucking stupid idea. Am I right?"
They both nodded.
"And am I also correct in assuming that this is a mistake that will never happen again, because you two fucking assholes recognize that at that point I would have no choice but to turn you in to the Brothers for a beating?" They nodded again. "Good. And your punishment"--he pointed that finger at Novo--"is you get to stay here all through tomorrow during the day."
The instant she opened her mouth, he talked right over her. "And thank God you're too smart to fucking argue with me right now, because my bad mood just went nuclear because of the smell in that corridor."
With that, the surgeon marched out and yanked the door shut behind himself.
Except then he put his head back in. "Do you have any left?"
Peyton's brows shot up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Weed, you dumb-ass."
"Ah...yeah. It's old, though. I don't wear this tux more than four or five times a year and I found 'em in my pocket."
The surgeon put out his hand. "Gimme. And in lieu of payment, I'll put a sign on the door that says PATIENT SLEEPING, DO NOT DISTURB."
Novo spoke up. "We're not doing anything in here."
"Oh. Right. You're just going to hold hands while he feeds you. Which is why I'll put the sign up and you'll lock the door on the inside." He jogged his palm. "Why I am not holding any weed right now?"
Peyton took out the two remaining joints and handed them over. "You need a lighter?"
