by J. R. Ward
The cabins were largely the same, roughly twenty by twenty, open-spaced in the center, no bathroom, no kitchen, just a roof and four walls to file down the worst of the weather’s teeth. The farther in they went, the more dilapidated the structures became—and they were all empty. Logical. This was a long trek if you were on foot—and lessers, as strong as they were, couldn’t dematerialize.
At least, most of them couldn’t.
That had to have been the Fore-lesser, he thought. Only explanation for how that injured slayer had gone ghost like that.
The seventh cabin they came to was directly on a trail that had been used frequently enough at some point so that they could still see its path through the evergreens.
This one was missing a number of panes of glass, and its door had been blown open, a snowdrift barging in like a burglar. Qhuinn crunched grimly through the ice pack, his shitkickers making mincemeat of the pristine surface as he closed in on the porch. With a flashlight in his left hand and a forty-five in his right, he jumped up under the eaves and leaned in.
Same shit, different dead space.
As he swept the interior, there was a whole lot of absolutely frickin’ nothing. No furniture. Some built-in shelving that was empty. Cobwebs that waved in the breeze coming through the busted windowpanes.
“Clear,” he called out.
Turning away, he thought this was bullshit. He wanted to be downtown kicking ass, not out here in the middle of nowhere, hunting and pecking and coming up with nada.
Rhage put a penlight between his teeth and unfolded the map once again. Making a mark with a pen, he tapped the heavy paper. “Last one is about a quarter mile to the west.”
Thank. Fuck.
Assuming everything was as snore as it had been, they should be out of this and engaging the enemy in the alleys within fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.
Piece of cake.
FIFTY-NINE
“You look really happy.”
Layla glanced over. On some level, it was unfathomable that the queen of the race was propped up next to her on the bed, reading Us Weekly and People, and watching television. Then again, except for the huge blood red Saturnine Ruby that winked on her finger, she was as normal as could be.
“I am.” Layla put aside the article on the newest season of The Bachelor and laid her hand upon her belly. “I am ecstatic.”
Especially given that Payne had stopped by earlier, and appeared to be back to feeling like herself. Although Layla’s wish for the pregnancy to continue was nearly pathological, the idea that the blessing had come at a cost to the other female had not sat well.
“Do you wish to have young?” Layla blurted. And then had to add, “If it does not offend—”
Beth batted away the concern. “You can ask me anything. And, God, yes. I want some so badly. It’s funny, back before my change? I had no interest in them—at all. They were a noisy, out-of-control complication that I honestly didn’t know why people bothered to bring into their lives. Then I met Wrath.” She pushed her dark hair back and laughed. “Needless to say, everything has changed.”
“How many needings have you had?”
“I’m waiting. Praying. Counting down.”
Layla frowned and made busywork opening a new sleeve of saltines. It was hard to remember much in specific of those crazy hours with Qhuinn—but it had been a trial of epic proportions.
Given the miracle that was still resting within her, it had all been worth it.
However, she couldn’t say she ever wanted to go through her fertile time again. At least not unmedicated.
“Well, I wish your needing for you soon, then.” Layla bit into yet another cracker, the square splintering and melting in her mouth. “And I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
“Is it as rough as…I mean, I didn’t get to talk to Wellsie much about hers before she passed, and Bella’s never said anything about her time.” Beth looked down at the queen’s ring, as if admiring the way its facets captured and reflected the light. “And I don’t know Autumn all that well—she’s lovely, but given everything she and Tohr have just been through, it doesn’t seem an appropriate topic to bring up with her.”
“It’s mostly a blur, to be honest.”
“Probably a blessing, huh.”
Layla winced. “I wish I could tell you otherwise—but yes, I believe it is a blessing.”
“It’s got to be worth it, though.”
“Without a doubt—I was just thinking that very thing, as a matter of fact.” Layla smiled. “You know what they say about pregnant females, yes?”
“What?”
“If you spend time with them, they’ll encourage your needing to come.”
“Reeeeeeally.” The queen grinned. “Then you could be the answer to my prayers.”
“Well, I’m not sure whether it’s true. On the Far Side, we’re fertile all the time. It’s only here on Earth that females are subjected to hormone fluctuations—but I have read about the effect in the library.”
“Then let’s do our own experiment, shall we?” Beth offered her palm for a shake. “Besides, I like being here. You’re very inspirational.”
Layla’s brows peaked as she shook what was presented to her. “Inspir—oh, no. I cannot see that at all.”
“Think of everything you’ve been through.”
“The pregnancy has resolved itself, though—”
“Not just that. You’re the survivor of a cult.” As Layla gave her a blank look, the queen asked, “You’ve never heard of that?”
“I know the word’s definition. But I’m not sure it applies to me.”
The queen glanced away, as if she didn’t want to create discord. “Hey, I could be wrong, and you would certainly know better than me—besides, you’re happy now, and that’s what matters.”
Layla focused on the television across the way. From what she understood, a cult was not a good thing, and survivor was a term usually associated with people who had been through some kind of trauma.
The Sanctuary had been as placid and temperate as a spring day upon the earth, all the females in the sacred place calm and at peace with their important duties to the mother of the race.
No coercion. No strife.
For some reason, Payne’s voice entered her mind.
You and I are sisters in my mother’s tyranny—casualties of her grand plan for the way things must be. We were both jailed by her in different ways, you as a Chosen, myself as her blooded daughter.
“I’m sorry,” the queen said, reaching out and touching Layla’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”
Layla snapped herself back to attention. “Oh, please, do not concern yourself.” She clasped the queen’s hand. “I take no offense at all. But now, let us speak of happier things—such as your hellren. He must be impatient for your time to come as well.”
Beth laughed tightly. “That is not exactly where he’s at.”
“Surely he must want an heir?”
“I think he’ll give me one. But only because I want a child as badly as I do.”
“Oh.”
“‘Oh’ is right.” Beth gave Layla’s palm a squeeze. “He just worries too much. I’m strong and healthy, and ready for it. Now, if I could just get my body to get in gear—hopefully, it will take your cue.”
Layla smiled and rubbed her flat belly. “Did you hear that, little one? You need to help your queen. It’s important for the royal family to have a young.”
“But it’s not for the throne,” Beth interjected. “Not on my part. I just want to be a mom, and I want to have my husband’s kid. At the core, it’s as simple as that.”
Layla fell silent. She was so glad to have Qhuinn with her on this journey—but it would have been wonderful to have a proper mate to lie beside her and cradle her during the day, to love her and hold her and tell her that she was precious not solely for what her body could do, but for what she inspired in his
heart.
An image of Xcor’s harsh face flashed into her mind’s eye.
Shaking her head, she thought, no, she mustn’t dwell on that. She needed to keep herself calm and relaxed for the young as surely her stress was transmitted to that which her womb nurtured. Besides, she had already been blessed with much, and if this pregnancy went to term and she lived through the birth?
She had been granted a true and abiding miracle.
“I’m sure it will work out with the king,” she announced. “Fate has a way of giving us what we need.”
“Amen, sister. Amen.”
Sola pulled her Audi directly into the driveway of the glass house on the river, and she parked right at the rear door of the damn thing.
Getting out, she planted her boots in the snow, put her hand inside her parka on the butt of her gun, and shut the door with her hip. As she marched up to that back entrance, she made eye contact with the roofline.
There had to be security cameras up there.
She didn’t bother to ring the doorbell or knock on the door. He would know she was here. And he if he wasn’t home? Well, then she’d think of a nice little calling card of some sort to leave him.
Maybe a security alarm that went off? An open window or cupboard?
Or something missing from inside…
The door opened and there he was, live and in person—exactly as he had been the night before, and yet, as ever, somehow taller, more dangerous, and sexier than she remembered.
“Isn’t this a bit obvious for you?” he drawled.
He was dressed in a dark suit of some designer variety—and the thing had to have been hand-tailored as well, given the way it fit him so perfectly.
“I’m here to set something straight,” she said.
“And you appear to want to dictate terms.” As if this were a quaint idea. “Anything else? Did you happen to bring dinner? I’m hungry.”
“Are you going to let me in, or do you want to do this in the cold?”
“Is your hand on a weapon, by any chance?”
“Of course it is.”
“In that case, do come in.”
As he stepped aside, she rolled her eyes. Why the fact that she could shoot him would encourage the man to let her into his house was a mystery—
Sola froze as she looked into a modern kitchen. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder were two men who were identical images of each other. They were also as big as the man she’d come for, just as dangerous—and they each had a gun in their hand.
They had to be the ones who’d been with him under the bridge.
The door clapped shut, and even though her adrenal glands let out a burst of warning, she kept the reaction to herself.
The one she had come to see smiled as he brushed past her. “These are my associates.”
“I want to speak with you alone.”
The man eased back against a granite counter, put a cigar between his teeth, and lit it with a gold lighter. As he clipped the top shut, he exhaled a puff of blue smoke and looked over at her. “Gentlemen, will you excuse us for a moment.”
The twin Mr. Happys didn’t look pleased with the dismissal. Then again, you could probably have tried to give them both a winning lottery ticket and they would have eaten your hand clean off your wrist. Just on principle.
They did walk off, however, moving in a synchronized way that was highly unsettling.
“Where’d you find that pair?” she asked dryly. “The Internet?”
“It’s amazing what one can secure on eBay.”
Abruptly, she cut the crap: “I want you to stop following me.”
The man took a pull on that cigar, the fat end glowing bright orange. “Do you.”
“You’ve got no reason to. I’m not going to come here again—in any capacity.”
“Really.”
“You have my word.”
There was nothing Sola hated more than admitting defeat—and disengaging from the surveillance of this guy and his property was a kind of quitting. But that run-in last night, while she’d been on a date with an innocent bystander, for godsakes, had told her things were getting out of control. She was perfectly capable of playing cat and mouse—she did it all the time in her profession. With this man, however? There was no ultimate goal to be won; no payday awaiting her for information gathered; no intention for her to rob him.
And the stakes were escalating.
Especially if they ever kissed again—because she doubted she would stop it, and the definition of stupid was sleeping with someone like him.
“Your word?” he said. “And exactly how much is that worth.”
“It’s all I have to offer you.”
His eyes, those laser beams, narrowed on her mouth. “I’m not so certain of that.”
His accent and that deep, delicious voice turned the syllables into a caress—something that she could almost feel on her skin.
Which was precisely why she was doing this. “You’ve got no reason to follow me. Effective right now.”
“Mayhap I like the view.” As his eyes traveled down her body, another shock went through her, but not the anxious kind. “Yes, I find that I do. Tell me something, did you enjoy your evening out? Food to your liking? Companionship…to your liking?”
“I’m stopping this tonight. You’re not going to see me again.”
As that was all she had to say, she went to turn away.
“Do you honestly think it ends here between you and me?”
His dark, beautiful voice held an ominous threat in it.
Sola looked over her shoulder. “You asked me not to trespass or spy—I’m not going to.”
“And I say to you once again, do you honestly think it ends like this.”
“I’m giving you what you want.”
“Not even close,” he growled.
For a moment, that connection that had been forged in the cold, when their lips had locked in her car and their bodies had strained, sprang back to life.
“It’s too late to retreat.” He took another puff. “Your chance to get away has come…and gone.”
She turned to face him. “Not to put too fine a point on it—but bullshit. I’m not afraid of you, or anyone else—so come at me. But know that I will hurt you to defend myself—”
An abrupt sound vibrated through the air between them.
Purring? Was the man actually purr—
He took a step forward. Then another. And as a gentleman might, he held his cigar to the side, like he didn’t want to burn her or get smoke in her face.
“Tell me your name,” he said. Or commanded, more like it.
“I find it hard to believe you don’t already know it.”
“I do not.” This was said with an arch of the brow, as if information seeking was beneath him. “Tell me your name, and I will let you leave here now.”
God…his eyes…they were moonlight and shadow intertwined, an impossible color somewhere between silver and violet and pale blue.
“As our paths will not be crossing, it’s not relevant—”
“Just so you know…you will give yourself to me—”
“Excuse me—”
“But you will beg me for it first.”
Sola jutted forward, her temper blowing all her let’s-be-reasonable right out of the water. “Over my dead body.”
“Sorry, not to my taste.” He dropped his chin and stared at her from beneath lowered lids. “I prefer you hot…and wet.”
“Not going to happen.” She pivoted away and headed for the door. “And we’re done.”
Just as she entered the anteroom, her eye caught something on the bench that ran down the squat space’s far wall.
Her head whipped around, and her feet faltered. It was a knife, a very long knife, so long it was nearly a sword.
There was bright red blood on the blade.
“Rethinking your departure?” he said in that dark voice from directly behind her.
“No.” She shot over to
the door and yanked it open. “I’m right on target with it.”
Slamming the thing behind her, she wanted to run to her car, but refused to give in to panic even as she expected him to come after her.
And yet the man stayed put, looming in the window of the door she had put to good use, watching her while she got in, started her engine and put the Audi into gear.
As she backed out of the drive, her heart was pounding—
Especially as a truly terrifying thought occurred to her.
Shoving her hand into her purse, she felt around for her phone, and when she found it, she went into her contact lists, selected one, and hit send. Frazzled by fear, she put the cell up to her ear even though she was Bluetooth enabled—and it was against the law in New York not to be hands-free.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring—
“Hi! I was hoping to hear from you.”
Sola sagged in the driver’s seat, her head falling back against the rest. “Hi, Mark.”
God, the sound of the man’s voice was a relief.
“Are you okay?” her trainer asked.
She thought of that bloody blade. “I am. Yes. Are you just getting off work?”
As they embarked on a pleasant enough conversation, she drove off, her foot heavy on the gas pedal, the landscape streaking by: White snow. Grungy, salted road. Skeletal trees. Little old-fashioned cabin with a light on inside. Flat, bald space over the river to the left.
Every time she blinked, she saw the shape in the windows of that door. Watching. Planning. Wanting…
Her.
And goddamn it, her body was desperate to be caught by him.
SIXTY
As Qhuinn rematerialized, his flashlight illuminated the final cabin. He didn’t wait for the others this time, just marched forward, gunning for the door, which was intact and shut tight—
His first clue that something was off came when he grabbed the rough-hewn handle: a low-level electrical charge licked into his hand and traveled up his arm.
Retracting his palm, he shook things out, his instincts going on high alert.
“What is it?” Rhage asked as the Brother stalked up onto the shallow porch.
