by J. R. Ward
Saxton glanced at his love. "Let us go, the now," he said under his breath.
"Yes," Ruhn agreed readily.
As the two of them dematerialized for the first leg of the trip back to Caldwell, Saxton's only thought was that this did not bode well.
This did not bode well, at all.
SIXTY-THREE
It took Sola, relatively speaking, no time at all to get to West Point, and as she parked her car down by the water and got out, she remembered another trip here in the dark, on a different cold night. That previous visit to Ricardo's house, that other infiltration, that bid to claim what was properly owed to her, had set everything else in motion: her abduction, Assail's actions on her behalf...her introduction to the training center.
And here she was, doing a full circle for closure.
Just as she had before, she stuck to the low-slung stone wall as she proceeded up the incline of the long, ascending front lawn. Unlike before, she wasn't on skis or wearing white to blend into the snowy landscape. It didn't matter; she moved fast, and the cloud cover over the moon gave her a pass.
As she approached Ricardo's mansion, she noted where the lights were glowing: A couple in his master suite, but there were ones on in the lower level as well.
She had her gun out the entire time. And she'd screwed the suppressor on.
She knew a couple of different ways to break into the house, and mentally reviewed her options. She didn't have her grappling gear with her, which was perhaps an oversight on her part. No matter, though. She would make this work and get her job done.
When she arrived at the apex, she had to cross over the side lawn to get to the corner of the mansion, and she did not enjoy being without cover--but she made it and flattened her back against a wall between two arching windows.
There was no way of knowing how many people were inside. Or where they were located. Assail had told her that Vitoria had been in the warehouse alone, but that did not mean she didn't have guards at her home base.
And of course she would stay here. She was Ricardo's sister. She would have standards, and no hotel, not even with the best accomodations and most attentive maids, could rival this estate.
Sola shifted her position to the corner of the house, and leaned around to visualize the back of the--
There was a pattern of illumination cast onto the snowpack, all of the windows of the mansion's promenade throwing a row of yellow light squares onto the ground. And way down, at the far side, a figure came out of the kitchen and headed in Sola's direction.
She stepped free of her position, but stuck to the shadows as she assessed the person.
It was Vitoria. Long dark hair down, face free of makeup, a silk robe falling to her slippered feet. She was holding a porcelain teacup, as if she couldn't sleep and had gone down to fix herself something soothing.
Lavender and rose hips, perhaps?
Sola lifted her gun and tracked Vitoria with the muzzle.
If this were the movies, she would break in and chase the woman around the grand house, the drama culminating in some kind of shoot-out where they each accused the other of crimes against blood and love--perhaps she'd get herself wounded and have to heroically drive herself back to Caldwell.
But this was not Hollywood.
Sola was as mortal as her target was, and she didn't know enough about what kind of bees' nest she was going to stir up as soon as she pulled her trigger. What she was clear on was that this woman needed to die, tonight, and she had a good shot in another seven feet, six feet...five feet...
More than anything, Sola wanted to eliminate the threat and just get back to her grandmother and the male she loved safely.
In one piece. No leaks.
As Vitoria walked along, she was stirring a silver spoon in circles, her eyes downcast.
So she never saw it coming. Didn't hear the shot, either.
But when that old-fashioned glass broke right next to her, she looked up in alarm.
Sola got the bitch right between the eyes.
It was the hole-in-one kill shot, the one-in-a-million, the if-it-ever-was-going-to-go-like-that-tonight-is-the-night shot.
No need to double tap that shit.
The woman pinwheeled her arms, dropping the porcelain cup, stumbling, falling...grabbing on to the nearest thing she could.
Which happened to be the bronze statue of a ballet dancer done by Degas.
The very statue that Sola had shifted one inch out of position on its base, as payback for Ricardo stiffing her for what she'd been owed for watching Assail.
It seemed like poetic justice that the sister took that piece of art down with her--right on top of her, as a matter of fact. So if she hadn't already been in the process of dying, the impact would surely have killed her.
As the clatter rang out, Sola took off, her gun by her side, head ducked. Now, if her good luck streak held, she'd make it down to the car without trouble and head back to Caldwell.
But no matter what happened, she had made sure her male was safe. Because that was what real women did.
Real women didn't wait for their dragon slayers to come save them.
They were true partners--and good with a gun on their own.
Booyah.
SIXTY-FOUR
As dawn arrived, Jane came back to the Pit and found her hellren at his computers. The instant V sensed her, he looked up and held his arms wide.
"There she is," he said.
She went to him with light feet and a lighter heart. "Soooooo, I guess Sola and Assail worked things out, huh?"
"Yeah." He reached up and threaded his fingers through her short hair. "You were great in the OR with him. Real mastery. I was so fucking impressed."
"You say the sweetest things."
"Sit in my lap?"
"Always--" She frowned as she moved around and caught sight of a video on one of his monitors. "What is that--wait...that's you!"
"I know." V shook his head and toggled the mouse so it replayed the clip. "We got problems."
Jane leaned in closer and watched as the images that were dark and fuzzy--but not that dark and fuzzy--moved around: two males fighting something that...didn't seem there at all; one falling to the ground as the shadow disappeared; V and Rhage appearing out of thin air; V crouching down by the civilian injured on the ground.
He paused the thing. "I don't want you to see what happens after the civilian dies. I already told you."
Yes, she thought. V had had to kill him. Just as the poor male was turning into whatever they turned into.
"This footage is on the Web," he said with resignation. "And it's going viral."
"How can you stop it?"
"I'm working on that right now." He cursed. "Which reminds me. I didn't want to get involved, but we got a half-breed out there who's about to go through the change. I'm no Good Samaritan, but it's dawning on me--as I watch this--that the last thing we need is her showing up in a medical crisis because she's going through her transition. I think we're going to have to go get her."
"Oh, God. The poor thing. Of course, bring her here." Jane shook her head. "She may not live."
"But at least we won't have more documentation. We don't need that shit. And I already stripped her memories--she was on to us, posting on this blog of hers. It's supposed to be all taken down now, but yeah, she's still doing it. At least I know where she lives. There isn't time before sunlight comes, but at nightfall, I'll go get her, even if she doesn't like it."
Jane traced the tattoos on his temple with her fingertips. "Good. I'll help in any way I can."
"You always do." He smiled a little--which for her Vishous was like anybody else breaking out into a clown grin. "Hey. You wanna go have sex."
Jane laughed. "Yes. I do."
"OhmyfuckingGodthatisSOtherightanswer."
As he stood up, he took her with him, carrying her down the hall as if she weighed nothing--except then he stopped for some reason.
Turning i
n his arms, she smiled and looked at the floor. "Hey, Boo. What are you doing here?"
The household's black cat meowed up to her, as if in greeting, and then pawed like it wanted to be let into the tunnel.
"I think he wants to go down into--"
"I got it," V said tightly as he leaned to the wall and released the lock on the door. "Go on, there--that's it."
As the cat disappeared, he shut things up and refocused. "Now. Where were we?"
"How'd Boo get in here?"
"I, ah...I let it in."
"You don't like cats."
"I know." He kept going. "Now let's concentrate on us."
When they got to their room, he kicked the door shut and threw her on the bed. Then he loomed over her like he wanted to eat her.
"You are so fucking hot," he growled.
She eyed the enormous bulge in his leathers. "You are not so bad yourself."
Except he stayed where he was. Clearing his throat, he said, "I think I'm going to get rid of the penthouse. You know, too many bad memories there."
Jane stared up at him for a moment. "You love it there."
"With you, yeah. But whatever. I don't want you to ever wonder, you know. Ever."
Her smile was slow and she held her arms out to him. "Come here."
Vishous joined her, lying half on and half off her body. As his diamond eyes met hers, she felt no hesitation at all.
"I trust you," she said.
V blinked a number of times--as if he were having a moment--and then he pressed his lips to her own with a smile.
"I love you, too, Jane Whitcomb. Forevermore."
SIXTY-FIVE
Assail did not sleep. At all. Even as the post-feeding loginess settled in, he was wide fucking awake.
Because he figured out what Marisol and Vishous had been arguing about. He knew exactly what the subject had been, and why V had been so cranked off, and why his Marisol had, as always, absolutely refused to budge.
He looked across the wall at the clock and tried not to freak out that she had been gone nearly two hours. "Goddamn it--"
The door opened, and as his female stood between the jambs, he was at once overjoyed and ready to yell at her.
"I know what you did," he said sharply. "You went to Benloise's house, didn't you. You went to see his sister."
Marisol at least had the grace to look sheepish. "Now, Assail--"
"Don't you 'now, Assail' me! You could have gotten yourself killed!"
"Didn't we just do this, with different pronouns," she muttered as she forced the door closed faster than its hinges appreciated. "And she was going to kill you--if we stay in Caldwell, she would have found you and--"
"Is she dead," he demanded tightly.
"Yes. Someone is going to find her with a bronze statue on her head and a shattered teacup about six feet from the body in the rear promenade of her brother's house." Marisol put her hand up. "And, I was a good little assassin--I didn't go in. I had a clean shot and I took it and made it count. Then I left and now I'm home, and we are never speaking of this again. You took care of Ricardo for me, I took care of his sister for you, and now we are both out of that life for good. Vishous and his people are going to have to buy all those bullets from somebody else. They're not stupid. They'll figure it out."
Assail crossed his arms over his chest. "I do not approve."
"Which was why I didn't ask you."
She sidled up to the bed, taking off her parka. Then her fleece. Then her...
As her naked breasts made a stunning appearance, and his sex punched out in an erection that could have jacked up the back of a car, he forgot all about being upset.
Which was not fair.
"You're trying to distract me," he complained as she started to take off her pants. "You're...oh, God..."
No panties. She wasn't wearing panties.
"Is it working," she said with a slow turn back toward the door.
"Fuck," he breathed as she sashayed over and locked things. "Yes."
"Good. That was the plan."
Assail didn't waste any goddamn time. He shoved the light blankets down, yanked up his hospital johnny, and then she was up on the bed straddling him.
"I love you," she said as she kissed him. "And I didn't take any chances. In and out. The job was done safely, I swear."
Just as she lowered herself onto his arousal, he thought he never would have imagined him and the love of his life having such a factual conversation about murdering someone. Then again, who else did he think he'd end up with?
Only a strong female, with a will of her own and the skills to match, would ever capture his heart.
And Marisol Maria Rafaela Carvalho, a.k.a. Sola Morte, was that female exactly.
"I love you," he said with a groan as they became one.
And then he stopped thinking altogether, and just reveled in the feeling. Surely there were going to be obstacles to surmount and conflicts to be resolved--and he was going to have to find something productive to do with himself.
But if he had learned one thing, in his four hundred years of existence?
With love...all things are possible.
Dedicated to:
You both. I can't think of
two more kindred hearts or souls.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With immense gratitude to the readers of the Black Dagger Brotherhood!
Thank you so very much to Kara Welsh and everyone else at Ballantine--these books are truly a team effort.
With love to Team Waud--you know who you are. This simply could not happen without you.
None of this would be possible without: my loving husband, who is my adviser and caretaker and visionary; my wonderful mother, who has given me so much love I couldn't possibly ever repay her; my family (both those of blood and those by adoption); and my dearest friends.
And as always, with love and devotion, to my WriterDog II, Naamah.
BY J. R. WARD
THE BLACK DAGGER BROTHERHOOD SERIES
Dark Lover Lover Eternal Lover Awakened Lover Revealed Lover Unbound Lover Enshrined The Black Dagger Brotherhood: An Insider's Guide Lover Avenged Lover Mine Lover Unleashed Lover Reborn Lover at Last The King The Shadows The Beast The Chosen The Thief
BLACK DAGGER LEGACY
Blood Kiss Blood Vow Blood Fury
NOVELS OF THE FALLEN ANGELS
Covet
Crave
Envy
Rapture Possession Immortal
THE BOURBON KINGS
The Bourbon Kings The Angels' Share Devil's Cut
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. R. WARD is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, the Black Dagger Legacy series, and The Bourbon Kings. There are more than fifteen million copies of her novels in print worldwide, and they have been published in twenty-six different countries around the world. She lives in the South with her family.
JRWard.com
Facebook.com/ jrwardbooks
Twitter: @JRWard1
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