by J. R. Ward
Qhuinn stepped up to say hello to the pair, greeting them as the others did with a palm join, a quick pull, and a clap on the back. “Hey, my man…”
“What’s doing…”
“How you been…”
After the hi-how’re-yas were done, Trez glanced around. “Okay, so we’re just going to stay outta sight unless you need us. But rest assured, we’re here.”
After a course of thank-yous from the Brothers, Rehv said a couple of private words to the Shadows…and then the two were gone, misting out of their forms and seething around the floors, that cold draft now a reassurance.
Perfect timing. Less than a minute later, the hostess came back with a diminutive older male at her side. Given the way vampires aged, with a rapid acceleration of physical decline toward the end of the life span, Qhuinn guessed the guy had five years left. Ten at the very most.
Some introductions were made, but Qhuinn didn’t care about that shit. He was more worried about whether the rest of the house was empty.
“Any doggen here?” Rehv demanded as the female settled her geezer into one of the dining chairs.
“As you have requested, they are all gone for this part of the evening.”
V nodded to Phury and Z. “The three of us’ll search the premises. See if that’s right.”
Even though Blay trusted himself, the Brotherhood, and John Matthew, and Qhuinn, he felt a lot better knowing the Shadows were around. Trez and iAm were not just awesome fighters, and inherently dangerous to anyone they declared an enemy; they had a striking advantage over the Brotherhood.
Invisibility.
He wasn’t sure whether they could actually engage while in that state, but it didn’t matter. Anyone who broke in here—like, say, the Band of fucking Bastards—would make an engagement assessment that included only the visible hard bodies in the room.
Not those two brothers.
So this was good.
At that moment, V returned with Phury and Z from their walk-around—and Butch was with them, suggesting the Brother had just arrived via car. “Clear.”
There was a brief pause. And then, as prearranged, Tohr went to the front door and opened the way in for Wrath.
Showtime, Blay thought, his eyes flicking in Qhuinn’s direction before he snapped himself back into focus.
Tohr and the king entered the dining room side by side, their heads together as if they were in deep conversation about something important, the Brother’s hand on Wrath’s forearm like the guy was trying to drive some point home.
It was all an act for the host and hostess.
Tohr was, in fact, leading Wrath by that hold on the arm, taking him over to the fireplace, positioning him right in the middle of the mantelpiece. And that conversation? It was about where the two aristocratic hosts were sitting, where the chairs were aligned, where the Brothers and the fighters were—and the two Shadows as well.
While Wrath nodded, the king deliberately moved his head around as if his keen eyes were taking the details of the room in. And then he acknowledged the host and hostess as they were brought forward to kiss his huge black diamond ring.
After that, the crème de la crème of the glymera began to arrive.
From his assigned spot at the back of the room by the wall of windows, Blay got a good look at each one. Jesus, he could remember some of them from his life back before the raids, before he’d started living at the mansion and fighting with the Brothers. His parents had not been on a par with these males and females, but rather on the periphery—still, his family’s bloodlines had been good ones, and they had been included in many festival celebrations at the big houses.
So these folks were not unknown to him.
But he sure as hell couldn’t say he’d missed them.
In fact, he had to laugh to himself as a number of the females frowned and looked down to their delicately clad feet, Louboutins being lifted and shaken…as if the chill of the Shadows were registering.
When Havers arrived, the race’s healer looked a little frazzled. No doubt he was nervous about seeing his sister again, and he had reason to be. From what Blay understood, Marissa had kicked his ass across the room at the last formal meeting of the Council.
Blay was sorry he’d missed that one.
Marissa arrived shortly after her brother, and Butch went over to her, greeting her with a lingering kiss before leading her, with a proud and protective arm, to a seat in the corner right next to where he was stationed. After the cop helped her into her chair, he stood beside her, big, broad, and mean-looking…especially as he locked eyes with Havers and smiled with fangs bared.
Blay found himself envying the couple a little. Not about the familial estrangement, for sure. But God…to be able to be seen with your mate in public, show your love for them, have your relationship respected by everyone else? Heterosexual couples took that for granted because they never knew anything different. Their unions were sanctioned by the glymera, even if the pairs were not in love, or were cheating on each other or were otherwise a fraud.
Two males?
Hah.
Just one more reason to resent the aristocracy, he supposed. Although in reality, he had the sense he wasn’t going to have to worry about being discriminated against. The male he wanted was never going to stand beside him in public, and not because Qhuinn gave a shit about what people thought. One, the guy wasn’t demonstrative like that. And two, sex did not a couple make.
Otherwise that bastard would be engaged to half of Caldwell, FFS.
Oh, what was he saying.
He was long over that Qhuinn pipe dream thing.
Really.
Totally—
“Shut it,” he muttered to himself as the last of the Council arrived.
Rehv didn’t waste any time. Every second that Wrath was in front of this group, the king was not only mortally exposed, but also running the chance that his blindness would somehow be ferreted out.
The symphath king addressed the Council, his purple gaze scanning the crowd, a sly smile on his face—like maybe he was enjoying the fact that this group of know-it-alls had no clue that a sin-eater was leading them. “I hereby call this meeting of the Council to order. The date and time are…”
As the preamble continued, Blay kept his eyes busy, checking out the backs of the males and females, where the arms and hands were, whether anyone was twitchy. Naturally, the group had turned out in black tie and velvet, with jewels on the females, and gold pocket watches on the males. Then again, it had been a long time since they’d been together formally, and that meant that their desire to compete with one another for the social upper hand had no doubt suffered from grossly insufficient airtime.
“…our leader, Wrath, son of Wrath.”
As polite applause sounded, and the crowd straightened in their chairs, Wrath took a single step forward.
Man, blind or not, he certainly appeared to be a force of nature: Even though he wasn’t dressed in some kind of ermine-trimmed robe, the king was irrefutably in charge, his massive body and long dark hair and black wraparounds making him more menace than monarch.
And that was the idea.
Leadership, especially when it came to the glymera, was based in part upon perception—and no one could deny that Wrath looked like a living, breathing representation of power and authority.
And that deep, commanding voice didn’t hurt, either.
“I recognize that it has been a long time since I’ve seen you. The raids of nearly two years ago decimated a lot of your families, and I share in your pain. I, too, lost my bloodline in a lesser raid, so I know exactly what you’re going through as you try to get your lives back on track.”
A male down in front shifted in his chair….
But it was only a change in position, not the prelude to a weapon coming out.
Blay eased back on his stance, as did several others. Goddamn, he couldn’t wait to get through this meeting and have Wrath back home safe.
�
��Many of you knew my father well, and remember his time in the Old Country. My sire was a wise and temperate leader, a gentlemale of logical thinking and regal bearing who occupied himself solely with the betterment of this race and its citizenry.” Wrath paused, those wraparounds making a circle of the room. “I share a few of my father’s characteristics…but not all. In fact, I am not temperate. I am not forgiving. I am a male of war, not of peace.”
At this, Wrath unsheathed one of his black daggers, the dark blade flashing in the light of the crystal chandelier overhead. Out in front of the king, the crowd of highfliers reacted with a collective shiver.
“I am very comfortable with conflict, be it of the legal or mortal kind. My father was a mediator, a bridge maker. I am a grave maker. My father was a persuader. I am a taker. My father was a king who would willingly sit at your dinner tables and converse with you about minutiae. I am not that male.”
Yeah, whoa. The Council had no doubt never been addressed like this. But Blay couldn’t disagree with the approach. Weakness was not respected. Moreover, with this group, law alone probably wasn’t going to keep Wrath’s throne stable anymore.
Fear, on the other hand?
Much better chance.
“My father and I do have one thing in common, however.” Wrath angled his head down, as if he were staring at the black blade. “My father caused the deaths of eight of your relations.”
There was a collective gasp. But Wrath didn’t let that slow him up.
“Over the course of my father’s reign, there were eight attempts on his life, and no matter how long it took, whether it was days, weeks, or even months, he made it his business to find out who was behind each…and he hunted the individuals down personally, and killed them. You may not have heard the true stories, but you will know of the deaths—the perpetrators were beheaded with the tongues removed. Surely, as you cast your mind back, you can recall members of your bloodlines who were interred that way?”
Fidgeting. Lot of fidgeting. Which suggested memories had been jogged.
“You will further recall that those deaths were attributed to the Lessening Society. I say unto you now, I know the names, and I know where the graves are, because my father made sure I memorized them. It was the first lesson in kingship he ever taught me. My citizenry is to be honored, protected, and served well. Traitors, on the other hand, are a disease to any lawful society and need to be eradicated.” Wrath smiled in a purely evil way. “Say what you will about me, I studied well at the foot of my father. And let us be clear—my father, not the Brotherhood, was the one who attended those deaths. I know because he beheaded four of them in front of me. That was how important the lesson was.”
Several of the females moved closer to whatever male happened to be seated beside them.
Wrath continued. “I will not hesitate to follow my father’s lead in this. I recognize that you all have suffered. I respect your trials and I want to lead you. I will not, however, hesitate to treat any insurgency against me and mine as the act of a traitor.”
The king lowered his chin, and appeared to glare out from behind the wraparounds, to the point that even Blay felt a frisson of adrenaline.
“And if you think what my father did was violent, you haven’t seen a goddamn thing yet. I will make those deaths look merciful. I swear on my lineage.”
FIFTY-TWO
On some level, Assail could not believe he was walking into a restaurant. For one, he didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule, and two, he had no interest in eating in the dive: The air smelled like fried food and beer, and from what he saw on the trays of the waitresses, he was uncertain whether the entrées were graded safe for non-animal consumption.
Oh, look. Across the way, there was a stage that had a wall of chicken wire in front of it.
Classy.
“Well, hello, there,” someone purred at him.
Assail cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The human woman was dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had clearly been stitched onto her legs. Hair was blond and stick straight. Makeup was heavy, with the lipstick shiny enough to qualify as an exterior oil paint.
He’d rather spoon his own eyes out then engage in any fashion with the likes of her.
He willed her to forget she’d seen him and turned back around. There was a heavy crowd, with more people than there were tables and chairs, so he had good cover as he went over to a corner and scanned….
And there she was.
His little burglar.
Cursing under his breath, he dimly recognized the waste of time this all was—especially given that the cousins were, at this very moment, making a deal with that lesser again. Unfortunately, however, as soon as he’d gotten an alert that that black Audi of hers had gone on the move, he’d been compelled to find the thing and follow it.
He had not been prepared for this.
Whatever was she doing here? And why was she dressed like that?
As she found one of the few empty tables and sat down alone, he found himself not approving of the way her hair was down around her shoulders, the dark weight curling about her face. Or the formfitting shirt that was revealed as she took off her coat. Or—she had makeup on, too, for godsakes. And not like that woman who had just oiled her way up to him. His burglar had kept things light, in a way that magnified her features….
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
All the men in the restaurant were looking her over. And that made him want to kill each and every one of them by ripping their throats out with his teeth—
As if they were in agreement with that plan, his fangs tingled and began to descend into his mouth, his body tensing.
But not yet, he told himself. He needed to find out why she was here. After having followed her to Benloise’s mansion, he had expected any number of destinations…although never this. What was she doing—
Her head turned, and for a moment, he thought she had somehow sensed him, even though she was not a vampire.
But then a very tall, very well-built human man approached her table.
His burglar looked up at the guy. Smiled at the guy. Got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the guy’s big shoulders.
Assail’s hand went into his coat and found his gun.
Indeed, he saw himself going over and putting a bullet between the man’s eyes.
“Hey, you ever been here before?”
Assail’s head cranked around. A rather large human male had approached him and was staring at him with a certain aggression.
“I asked you a question.”
There were two responses, Assail decided. He could verbally reply, thus entering into some kind of dialogue that would consume his attention—arguably not a bad idea, given that his hand remained locked on his gun, and his impulses had not shifted from those of a homicidal inclination.
“I’m talking to you.”
Or he could…
Assail bared his descended fangs and growled deep in his throat, redirecting his wrath away from the scene of his burglar with that human fool for whom she had dressed and made herself up.
The guy with the questions threw up his hands and took a step back. “Hey, it’s cool, whatever. My bad. Whatever.”
The man disappeared into the crowd, proving that in certain circumstances, rats without tails could dematerialize as well.
Assail’s eyes returned to that table. The “gentleman” who had taken a seat across from his burglar was leaning in, his eyes locked on her face even while she examined the menu and glanced around.
Something was going to have to be done about this.
Sola closed the menu and laughed. “I never said that.”
“You did.” Mark Sanchez smiled. “You told me I had nice eyes.”
Mark was exactly what she needed on a night like tonight. He was really easy to look at, super charming, and as long as he didn’t make her drop and give him ten thousand, she had nothing to worry about: As a
personal trainer? He was a demon. She should know.
“So is this a way to butter me up?” He eased back as the waitress brought them both beers. “Try to get me to go light on you in the gym?”
“I know better than that.” Sola took a draw from the thick, ice-cold rim of her mug. “No quarter given. That’s your policy.”
“Well, to be fair, you’ve never asked for any special treatment.” There was a pause. “Not that in your case, I wouldn’t be willing to cut you some slack…in some areas.”
Sola ducked the eye contact that was flashing her way. “So you don’t date clients, huh.”
“No. Not usually.”
“Conflict of interest.”
“It could get messy—but in certain cases, it’s worth the risk.”
Sola glanced around the pub. Lot of people. Lot of talk. Air that was hot and thick.
She frowned and stiffened. In the far corner, something…someone…
“You okay?”
She shook herself free of the paranoia. “Yes, sorry—oh, yes, we’d like to order,” she said as the waitress returned. “I’ll have a cheeseburger. Assuming my personal trainer doesn’t throw an embolism from disapproval.”
Mark laughed. “Make that two. But hold the fries. On both plates.”
As the waitress took off, Sola tried not to look in the direction of that dark, back corner. “So…”
“I didn’t think you’d ever take me up on this. I asked you out how long ago?”
As Mark smiled, she noticed that he had fantastic teeth, straight and really white. “It’s been a while, I guess. I’ve been busy.”
“So what do you do for a living?”
“This and that.”
“In what field?”
Ordinarily, she got pissed quick when people became nosy. But his affect was calm and easy, so this was just date conversation.
“I guess you could call it criminal justice.”
“Oh, you’re into the law.”
