Lover At Last tbdb-11

by J. R. Ward

  “I told you. I’m not in love with her.”

  Wait for it, Blay thought to himself. Because it’s coming.

  This was classic Qhuinn, right here.

  The male was incredible in the field. And loyal to the point of psychosis. And smart. And sexual to distraction. And a hundred thousand other things that Blay had to admit nobody else came close to. But he had one serious defect, and it wasn’t his eye color.

  He couldn’t handle emotion.

  At all.

  Qhuinn had always run from anything deep—even if he didn’t move. He could sit right in front of you and nod and talk, but when the emotions got strong for him, he would leave the inside of his skin. Just check right out. And if you tried to force him to confront them?

  Well, that wasn’t possible. No one forced Qhuinn to do anything.

  And yeah, sure, there were a lot of good reasons for the way he was. His family treating him like a curse. The glymera looking down on him. Him having been rootless all his life. But whatever the stressors, at the end of the day, the male was going to run from anything that was too complicated, or required something from him.

  Probably the only thing that could change that was a young.

  So no matter what he said now, there was no doubt he was in love with Layla, but having been through the needing with her, and now waiting for the results, he was losing his mind from worry and pulling away from her.

  And therefore standing here at the side of the road, blabbering about things that made no damned sense.

  “I wish you both the very best,” Blay said, his heart hammering in his chest. “I honestly do. I really hope this works out well for both of you.”

  In the tense quiet, Blay pulled himself out of the hole he’d once again fallen into, clawing his way back to the surface, away from the painful, burning agony at the center of his soul.

  “Now, can we get in the truck and finish our job?” he said evenly.

  Qhuinn’s hands lifted briefly to his face. Then he ducked his head, shoved those bleeding knuckles into the pockets of his leathers, and started back for the flatbed.

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  SIX

  “Oh, my God, I’m going to come—I’m going to come—”

  Farther south, in downtown Caldwell, in the parking lot behind the Iron Mask, Trez Latimer was happy to hear the newsflash—and not surprised. But nobody else in the tricounty area needed the update.

  As he worked himself in and out of the very willing participant underneath his body, he shut her up by kissing her hard, his tongue entering that hot mouth, all that unnecessary commentary getting cut off.

  The car they were in was cramped and smelled like the woman’s perfume: sweet and spicy and cheap—shit, next time he was going to pick a volunteer with an SUV or, better yet, a Mercedes S550 with some proper space in the back.

  Clearly, this Nissan product had not been built to house two seventy-five fucking the brains out of a half-naked dental assistant. Or had she been a paralegal?

  He couldn’t remember.

  And he had more immediate issues to worry about. With an abrupt shift, he broke off the liplock because the closer he got to his own release, the farther his fangs extended from his upper jaw—and he didn’t want to nick her by mistake: The taste of fresh blood would pitch him right over another more dangerous kind of edge, and he wasn’t sure that feeding from her was a good idea—

  Scratch that.

  It was a bad idea. And not because she was just a human.

  Someone was watching them.

  Lifting his head, he looked out of the backseat window. As a Shadow, his eyes were three to four times more perceptive than those of a normal vampire, and he was easily able to penetrate the darkness.

  Yup, someone was popcorn-and-Milk-Dudding it from over on the left by the staff entrance.

  Time to wrap this up.

  Immediately he took control, reaching in between their bodies, finding the woman’s sex, and teasing her up as he continued to penetrate her, making her come so hard she jacked her head back and slammed it into the door.

  No orgasm for him.

  But whatever. Somebody loitering around took this fun-and-games quickie into different territory, and that meant he had to cut the crap. Even if he didn’t get off.

  He had a number of enemies thanks to his various associations.

  And then there were…complications…that were all his own.

  “Oh, my fucking God—”

  Going by the explosive exhale, all that torquing, and those pulses that gripped Trez’s thick cock, the dental assistant–paralegal–vet tech was having a rocking good time. He, however, had already pulled out of this nonsense mentally and might as well have been stalking out of the car, gunning for that—

  It was a female. Yeah, whoever it was was definitely of feminine derivation—

  Trez frowned as he realized who it was.

  Shit.

  Then again, at least it wasn’t a lesser. A symphath. A drug dealer he needed to take care of. A rival pimp with an opinion. A vampire who was out of line. iAm, his brother—

  But nah. Just a harmless woman, and too bad there was no going back to his slice of bliss. Mood was ruined.

  The dental assistant/paralegal/vet tech/hairdresser was panting like she’d tried to put a fireman hold on a piano. “That was…amazing…that…was…”

  Trez pulled out and tucked his cock back behind his fly. Chances were good he was going to have a case of neon balls in a half hour, but he’d deal with that when it came.

  “You’re incredible. You’re the most incredible—”

  Trez let the barrage of silly words fall over him. “You, too, baby girl.”

  He kissed her to make it seem like he cared—and he did, in a way. These human women he used mattered in the sense that they were living beings, worthy of respect and kindness by the simple virtue of their beating hearts. For a small while they let him use their bodies, and sometimes their veins, and he appreciated these gifts, which were always given willingly, and sometimes more than once.

  And the latter was the problem that was standing over there.

  Zipping up, Trez carefully maneuvered his big body around so he didn’t crush his ten-minute partner or give himself a craniotomy on the roof of the car.

  Baby girl didn’t seem to want to move, however. She just lay there like a throw pillow against the seats, her legs still spread, her sex still ready, her breasts still out and about and defying gravity like two cantaloupes glued onto her rib cage.

  Must be under the muscle, he thought.

  “Let’s get you dressed,” he suggested, pulling the halves of her lace-up bustier together.

  “You were so fantastic….”

  She was like jelly—well, except for the hard-as-a-rock fake boobs—all malleable and agreeable, but utterly unhelpful as he put her back together, sat her up, and smoothed her extensions.

  “This was fun, baby girl,” he murmured, and he meant it.

  “Can I see you again?”

  “Maybe.” He smiled at her tightly so that his fangs didn’t show. “I’m around.”

  She purred like a cat at that, and then proceeded to recite her number, which he didn’t bother to memorize.

  The sad truth about women like her was that they were a dime a dozen: In this city of several million, there had to be a couple hundred thousand twenty-somethings with tight asses and loose legs who were looking for a good time. In fact, they were all just variations of the same person, which was why he needed to keep them fresh.

  With so much in common, a revolving door of new supply was required to keep him interested.

  Trez was out of the car a minute and a half later, and he didn’t bother scrubbing her memories. As a Shadow, he had many mind tricks he could call upon, but he’d stopped bothering with that years ago. Not worth the effort—and occasionally he did like a repeat.

  Quick check of the watch.

  Damn it, he was
already going to be late getting over to iAm’s—but he clearly had to deal with the problem by the back door before he closed up shop.

  As he went over and stopped in front of the woman, she tilted her chin up and put one hand on her hip. This particular version of ready-and-willing had blond hair extensions and liked hot pants as opposed to skirts—so she looked ridiculous in the cold, with her fluffy pink Patagonia parka and her bare-ass legs in the breeze.

  Kind of like a Sno Ball on two toothpicks.

  “Getting busy?” she demanded. She was obviously trying to keep cool, but given the way her stiletto was tapping, she was hot and bothered—and not in a good way.

  “Hey, baby girl.” He called them all that. “You having a good night?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. Listen, I’ll see you around—”

  The woman made the colossal mistake of grabbing his arm as he went by her, her nails sinking into his silk shirt and clamping onto his skin.

  Trez’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. But at least he managed to catch himself before he bared his fangs.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said, leaning into him.

  “Trez!” someone barked.

  Abruptly, his head of security’s voice cut into his brain. And good thing. Shadows were a peaceable species by nature—provided they were not aggressed upon.

  As Xhex rushed over, like she knew murder was not one hundred percent out of the realm of possibility, he ripped his arm free of that hold, feeling five blazes of pain from the woman’s nails. Locking down his fury, he stared into the woman’s face. “Go on home now.”

  “You owe me an explanation—”

  He shook his head. “I’m not your boyfriend, baby girl.”

  “Damn straight, he know how to treat a woman!”

  “So go on home to him,” Trez said grimly.

  “What do you do, fuck a different girl every night of the week?”

  “Yeah. And sometimes twice on Sundays.” Shit, he should have scrubbed this one. When had he been with her? Two nights ago? Three? Too late now. “Go on home to your man.”

  “You make me sick! You fucking cocksucking motherfucker—”

  As Xhex stepped in between them and started speaking in a low voice to the hysteric, Trez was more than happy to have the backup…because what do you know, the chick in the Nissan picked that exact moment to K-turn in the parking lot and drive right on over.

  Putting her window down, she smiled like she was into being the other woman. “I’ll see you soon, lover.”

  Cue the crying: Baby girl with the pink parka, the boyfriend and the attachment disorder burst into a weeping jag worthy of a grave site.

  Annnnnnnnd naturally that was when iAm showed up.

  As his brother’s presence registered, Trez closed his eyes.

  Great. Just fucking wonderful.

  SEVEN

  About ten blocks away from Trez’s bad-to-worse night, Xcor was wiping the blade of his scythe off with a chamois cloth that was soft as a lamb’s ear.

  Across the alley, Throe was on his phone, talking in a low voice. He had been thus e’er since the third of the three lessers they’d found in this quadrant of the city had been discharged back to the Omega.

  Xcor was not interested in any delay, cellular or otherwise. The rest of his Band of Bastards were elsewhere downtown, seeking out either or both of their two enemies—and he would prefer to be engaged thusly.

  But biological needs must. Goddamn it.

  Throe ended his call and looked over, his handsome face drawn in serious lines. “She is willing.”

  “How kind of her.” Xcor sheathed his scythe and put his cleaning cloth away. “I am, however, less interested in her acquiescence than in the issue of whether she is able.”

  “She is.”

  “And how do we know this?”

  Throe cleared his throat and glanced away. “I went to her last night and availed myself.”

  Xcor smiled coldly. So that explained his soldier’s absence—and the reason for the departure was a relief. He had feared that the other male had…

  “And how ever was she.”

  “She was viable.”

  “Did you sample all her charms?”

  The gentlemale, who had once been a highbrow member of the glymera, but was now useful, cleared his throat. “I, ah…yes.”

  “And how were they.” When there was no answer, Xcor tracked through the black-stained snow, closing in on his second in command. “How was she, Throe? Wet and willing?”

  The male’s flush grew deeper on his perfectly handsome face. “She was adequate.”

  “How many times did you have her?”

  “Several.”

  “And in varying positions, I hope?” When there was only a stiff nod, Xcor relented. “Well, you have then faithfully discharged your duty to your fellow soldiers. I’m quite certain that the others shall want to partake of both vein and sex as well.”

  In the awkward beat of silence that followed, Xcor would never have admitted it to anyone, but he’d pressed for details not to deliberately goad his subordinate…but because he was glad Throe had lain with the female. He wanted distance between the male and what had happened back in the fall. He wanted calendars full of years, and countless females, and rivers of other females’ blood….

  “There is but one stipulation,” Throe said.

  Xcor thinned his mouth. As the female in question had not seen him yet, it couldn’t be more cash—besides, he did not need to feed as of now. Thanks to…“And that is.”

  “It must be done at her abode. At first night tomorrow.”

  “Ah.” Xcor smiled coldly. “’Tis a trap then.”

  “The Brotherhood does not know who made the inquiry.”

  “You identified six males, did you not.”

  “I used not our names.”

  “No matter.” Xcor glanced around the alley, his senses reaching out, searching for lesser or Brother. “I do not underestimate the king’s reach. Nor should you.”

  Indeed, his own ambitions had pitted them all against a foe of worth. The assassination attempt on Wrath’s life back in the autumn had been his open declaration of war, and as expected, there had been a predictable fallout: The Brotherhood had found his Band of Bastards’ lair, infiltrated it, and left with the rifle pack that contained the weapon that had been used to put a bullet into the Blind King’s throat.

  Undoubtedly, they were going for proof.

  The question was, of what? He did not know as of yet whether the king lived or had died, and neither did the Council, from what he understood. In fact, the glymera knew not that the attempt had even occurred.

  Had Wrath survived? Or had he been killed and the Brotherhood was at the moment busy trying to fill the vacancy? The Old Law was very clear about the rules of succession—provided the king had offspring, which he did not. So it would be his next nearest kin—assuming there were any.

  Xcor wanted to know, but he made no inquiries. All he could do was wait until word presented itself—and in the meantime, he and his soldiers kept killing lessers, and he continued to shore up his power base within the glymera. At least both of those endeavors were going well. Every night, they stabbed slayers back to the Omega. And his limp-wristed contact on the Council, the not-particularly-venerable Elan, son of Larex, was proving quite naive and malleable—two characteristics very useful in a disposable tool.

  Xcor was, however, growing tired of the information void. And indeed, this business with that female Throe had found was necessary but fraught with danger. A female capable of selling her veins and her sex to multiple users was certainly able to trade information for cash—and though Throe had kept their identities quiet, the number of them had been given. The Brotherhood must have appropriately guessed that none of the Band of Bastards were mated, and that sooner or later, in this new land, they would require what they had had a sufficiency of in the Old Country.
r />   Mayhap this female was put up by the king and his private guard.

  Well, they would find out on the morrow. Ambushes were easily set, and there was nary a more vulnerable moment than when a hungry male was at the throat and between the legs of a female. Yet it was time. His soldiers were willing to fight, but their faces were drawn, their eyes sunken, their skin stretched too tightly across their cheeks. Human blood, that weak substitute, was not providing enough strength, and his bastards had been living off of it for too long. Back in the Old Country, there had been enough females to be of service when needs must. But e’er since they had come to the New World, they had had to make do.

  If this was a trap, he was willing to fight the Brothers. Then again, he had been properly serviced—

  Dearest Virgin Scribe, he could not think of that.

  Xcor cleared his throat as pain in his chest made it hard to swallow. “Tell the female, first darkness is too early. We shall come instead at midnight unto her. And arrange for human feedings as soon as the night falls. If the Brothers are there, we shall engage with them from a position of relative strength.”

  Throe’s eyebrows rose as if he were impressed with Xcor’s thinking. “Aye. I shall do just that.”

  Xcor nodded and looked away.

  In the silence, the events of the autumn crowded in between them, cooling the frigid December air even further.

  That sacred Chosen was always with them both.

  “The daylight is coming fast upon us,” Throe said in his perfect accent. “It is time to depart.”

  Xcor glanced over to the east. The predawn glow had yet to arrive, but his second in command was correct. Soon…very soon…the deadly light of the sun would rain down, and no matter that it was at its weakest, with the winter solstice so recently passed.