by J. R. Ward
Red…red…red… The word shot around his mind, banging on the inside of his skull. Red was the color of panic. Red was the color of desperation. Red was the color of his self-hatred.
Red was not the color of his blood. Not right now, at any rate.
Snapping himself to attention, he fingered his forearm and looked for an internal launching pad for the drug, a superhighway that would bring the shit up to the receptors in his brain. Except his veins were collapsing.
He felt nothing as he pushed the needle in, which was reassuring. But then it came… a little sting at the injection site. The numbness he preserved himself in was about to end.
As he hunted around under his skin for a usable vein, he started to feel things in his body: The sensation of his weight in the car's leather seat. The heat blowing on his ankles. The fast air moving in and out of his mouth, drying his tongue.
Terror had him shoving the plunger down and releasing the rubber tourniquet. God only knew if he'd had the right place.
Heart pounding, he stared at the clock.
"Come on," he muttered, starting to rock in the driver's seat. "Come on… kick in."
Red was the color of his lies. He was trapped in a world of red. And one of these days the dopamine wasn't going to work. He'd be lost in the red forever.
The clock changed numbers. One minute passed.
"Oh, shit…" He rubbed his eyes as if that might bring back the depth in his vision and the normal spectrum of color.
His cell phone rang and he ignored it.
"Please…" He hated the pleading in his voice, but he couldn't pretend to be strong. "I don't want to lose me…"
All at once his vision returned, the red draining from his visual field, the three-dimensional perspective returning. It was like the evil had been sucked out of him and his body numbed up, its sensations evaporating until all he knew were the thoughts in his head. With the drug, he became a moving, breathing, talking bag that blessedly had only four senses to worry about now that touch had been medicated to the back burner.
He collapsed against the seat. The stress around Bella's abduction and rescue had gotten to him. That was why the attack had hit him so hard and fast. And maybe he needed to adjust the dosage again. He'd go to Havers and check about that.
It was a while before he was able to put the car in drive. As he eased out from behind the strip mall and slipped into traffic, he told himself he was just one more sedan in a long line of cars. Anonymous. Just like everyone else.
The lie eased him somewhat… and increased his loneliness.
At a stoplight, he checked the message that had been left for him.
Bella's security alarm had been turned off for an hour or so and had just come back on. Someone had been in her house again.
Zsadist found the black Ford Explorer parked in the woods about three hundred yards away from the entrance to Bella's mile-long driveway. The only reason he'd run across the thing was because he'd been scouring the area, too restless to go home, too dangerous to be in the company of anyone else.
A set of footprints in the snow headed in the direction of the farmhouse.
He cupped his hands and looked in the car's windows. The security alarm was engaged.
Had to be those lessers' ride. He could smell the sweet scent of them all over it. But with only one set of tracks, maybe the driver had dropped his buddies off, then hidden it? Or maybe the SUV had had to be moved from somewhere else?
Whatever. The Society would be back for its property. And wouldn't it be sweet to know where the hell it ended up? But how could he trail the damn thing?
He put his hands on his hips… and happened to look down at his gun belt.
As he undipped his cell phone, he thought fondly of Vishous, mat tech-savvy son of a bitch.
Necessity, mother, invention.
He dematerialized under the SUV so he left a minimal amount of tracks in the snow. As his weight was absorbed by his back, he winced. Man, he was going to pay for that little trip through the French door. And for the knock on the head. But he'd survived worse.
He took out a penlight and looked around the undercarriage, trying to pick the right spot. He needed somewhere fairly large, and it couldn't be near the exhaust system, because even in this cold, that kind of heat could be a problem. Of course, he'd have much preferred to get into the Explorer and tuck the phone under a seat, but the SUV's alarm system was a complication. If it were tripped he might not be able to reengage it, so the lessers would know someone had been in the car.
As if the punched-out window wouldn't be a clue.
Goddamn it… He should have gone through those lessers' pockets before stabbing them into oblivion. One of those bastards had had the keys. Except he'd been so pissed off, he'd moved too fast.
Z cursed, thinking of the way Bella had looked at him after he'd chewed up that slayer in front of her. Her eyes had been wide in her pale face, her mouth loose with shock at what he'd done.
The thing was, the Brotherhood's business of protecting the race was a nasty one. It was messy and ugly and sometimes deranged. Always bloody. And on top of all that, she had seen the killing lust in him. Somehow, he was willing to bet that was what disturbed her the most.
Focus, dumb ass. Come on, get out of your head.
Z poked around some more, shifting under the Explorer. Finally he found what he was looking for: a little cave in the undercarriage. He shrugged out of his windbreaker, wrapped the phone up, and shoved the wad in the hole. He tested the jury-rig to make sure it was in there good and tight, then dematerialized out from under the SUV.
He knew the setup wasn't going to last long under there, but it was so much better than nothing. And now Vishous would be able to track the Explorer from home, because that little silver-bullet Nokia had a GPS chip in it.
Z flashed over to the edge of the meadow so he could see the back of the farmhouse. He'd done an okay patch job on the busted kitchen door. Fortunately the frame of the thing had still been intact, so he'd been able to close it and reengage the alarm sensors. Then he'd found a plastic tarp in the garage and covered up the monster hole.
Fixed, but not really.
Funny… he didn't think he'd be any more successful if he tried to rehab Bella's opinion of him. But—goddamn it—he didn't want to be a savage to her.
In the distance, two headlights turned off Route 22 and shined down the long private lane. The car slowed as it came up to Bella's house, then pulled into her driveway.
Was that a Bentley? Z thought. Sure looked like it.
Man, an expensive car like that? Had to be a member of Bella's family. No doubt they'd been notified that the security alarm had been off for a while and then been turned back on about ten minutes ago.
Shit. Now was not a good time for someone to do a look-see walk-through. Given Z's luck, the lessers would pick right this moment to come back for their SUV—and decide to do a drive-by of the farmhouse for kicks and giggles.
Cursing under his breath, he waited for one of the Bentley's doors to open… except no one got out of the car and the engine stayed idling. This was good. As long as the alarm was activated, maybe they wouldn't think to go inside. Because the kitchen was a mess.
Z sniffed the cold air, but couldn't catch a scent. Instinct told him, though, that it was a male inside the sedan. Her brother? Most likely. He'd be the one who'd check out the scene.
That's right, buddy. Look at the front windows. See? Nothing's wrong. No one's in the house. Now do us both a favor and get the fuck out of here.
The sedan stayed put for what seemed like five hours. Then it backed out, did a K-turn in the street, and took off.
Z grabbed a deep breath of air. Christ… His nerves were too tight tonight.
Time passed. As he stood alone among the pines, he stared at Bella's house. And wondered if she'd be scared of him now.
The wind picked up, the cold getting rough with him and bleeding into his bones. With desperation, he embraced
the pain that came with it.
CHAPTER 24
John stared across the desk in the study. Sarelle's head was down as she leafed through one of the ancient books, her short blond hair hanging in her face so that her chin was all he could see. The two of them had spent hours making a list of incantations for the solstice festival. Meanwhile, Wellsie was in the kitchen, ordering supplies for the ceremony.
As Sarelle turned another page, he thought she had really pretty hands.
"Okay," she said. "I think that's the last one."
Her eyes flashed up to his and it was like getting struck by lightning: a shock of heat and then a spacey disorientation. Plus he would have believed he glowed in the dark now, too.
She smiled and closed the book. Then there was a long silence. "So… um, I guess my friend Lash is in your training class."
Lash was her friend? Oh, terrific.
"Yeah… and he says you have the mark of the Brotherhood on your chest." When John didn't respond, she said, "Do you?"
John shrugged and scribbled on the edge of the list he'd made.
"Can I see it?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. Like he wanted her to get a load of his scrawny chest? Or that birthmark that had proven to be such a pain in the ass?
"I don't think you did it yourself, like they do," she said quickly. "And, I mean, it's not like I want to inspect it or something. I don't even know what one is supposed to look like. I'm just curious."
She moved her chair closer to his and he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore… or maybe it wasn't perfume. Maybe it was just… her.
"Which side is it on?"
As if his hand belonged to her, he patted his left pectoral.
"Unbutton your shirt a little." She leaned over to the side, her head angled so she could look at his chest. "John? Can I please see it?"
He glanced at the doorway. Wellsie was still talking on the phone in the kitchen, so she probably wasn't going to come barging in or anything. But the study still seemed way public.
Oh… God. Was he really going to do this?
"John? I just want to… see."
Okay, he was going to do this.
He stood up and nodded at the doorway. Without a word Sarelle followed right behind him, going all the way down the hall, all the way into his bedroom.
After they stepped inside, he shut the door most of the way and reached for the top button of his shirt. He willed his hands to be steady by vowing to saw them off if they embarrassed him. The threat seemed to work, because he unbuttoned the shirt down to his stomach without much trouble. He stretched the left side open and looked away.
When he felt a light touch on his skin, he jumped.
"Sorry, my hands are cold." Sarelle blew on her fingertips, then went back to his chest.
Good God. Something was happening in his body, some kind of wild shifting inside his skin. His breath grew short, strangled. He opened his mouth so he could get more air in.
"That is really cool."
He was disappointed when she dropped her hand. But then she smiled at him.
"So do you think you might want to go out sometime? You know, we could go to the laser-tag place. That could be cool. Or maybe the movies."
John nodded like the dummy he was.
"Good."
Their eyes met. She was so pretty, she made him dizzy.
"Do you want to kiss me?" she whispered.
John's eyes cracked open. Like a balloon had popped behind his head.
"Because I'd like you to." She licked her lips a little. "I really would."
Whoa… Chance of a lifetime, right here, right now, he thought.
Do not pass out. Passing out would be a total buzz kill.
John quickly called on every movie he'd ever seen… and got no help at all. As a horror fan, he was just swamped by visions of Godzilla stomping across Tokyo and of Jaws chewing on the ass end of the Orca. Big help.
He thought of the mechanics. Head tilt. Lean forward. Make the contact.
Sarelle glanced around, flushing. "If you don't want to, that's cool. I just thought…"
"John?" Wellsie's voice came from down the hall. And got closer as she kept talking. "Sarelle? Where are you guys?"
He winced. Before he lost his nerve, he grabbed Sarelle's hand, pulled her forward, and planted a good one right on her mouth, his lips tight against hers. No tongue, but there wasn't time, and he'd probably need to call 911 after something like that anyway. As it was, he was practically hyperventilating.
Then he pushed her back. And worried about how he'd done.
He risked a look. Oh… Her smile was radiant.
He thought his chest would explode with happiness.
He was just dropping his hand as Wellsie stuck her head in the door. "I need to go to—ah… I'm sorry. I didn't know that you two…"
John tried to marshal a nothing-special smile and then noticed that Wellsie's eyes were fixated on his chest. He looked down. His shirt was wide-open.
Scrambling to button the damn thing up just made the situation worse, but he couldn't help himself.
"I'd better go," Sarelle said easily. "My mahmen wanted me home early. John, I'll be on the computer later, okay? We'll figure out what movie to go see or whatever. Night, Wellsie."
As Sarelle walked down toward the living room, he couldn't resist glancing around Wellsie. He watched as Sarelle took her coat out of the hall closet, put it on, and got her keys from her pocket. Moments later the muted sound of the front door closing drifted down the hall.
There was a long silence. Then Wellsie laughed and pushed back some of her red hair.
"I, ah, I have no idea how to handle this," she said. "Except to say that I like her a lot and she has good taste in males."
John rubbed his face, aware that he was the color of a tomato.
I'm going to go for a walk, he signed.
"Well, Tohr just called. He was going to swing by the house and pick you up. Thought you might want to hang with him at the training center, since he's got some admin work to do. Anyway, it's your choice to stay or not. And I'm off to a Princeps Council meeting."
He nodded as Wellsie started to turn away.
"Ah, John?" She paused and looked over her shoulder. "Your shirt's… um, it's buttoned up kind of off-kilter."
He glanced down. And started to laugh. Even though he made no sound he just had to let his joy out, and Wellsie smiled, obviously happy for him. As he did the buttons up the right way, he had never loved the woman more.
Bella spent the hours after she returned to the mansion sitting up in Zsadist's bed with her diary in her lap. She didn't do anything with the journal at first, too caught up in what had happened at her house.
Jesus… She couldn't say she was surprised that Zsadist was every bit the menace she'd thought he was. And he'd saved her, hadn't he? If that lesser he'd killed had gotten its hands on her, she would have ended up back in a hole in the ground.
The trouble was, she couldn't decide whether what he'd done was evidence of his strength or his brutality.
As she decided it was probably both, she worried about whether he was okay. He'd been hurt and yet he was still out there, probably trying to find more slayers. God… What if he—
What if. What if… She was going to drive herself crazy if she kept this up.
Desperate for something else to focus on, she leafed through what she'd written in her journal over the past year. Zsadist's name had played a prominent role in the entries right before she'd been abducted. She'd been so obsessed by him, and couldn't say that had changed. Matter of fact, her feelings were so strong for him now, even after what he'd done tonight, that she wondered if she didn't…
Love him. Oh… man.
Suddenly she couldn't be alone, not with that realization shooting around her head. She brushed her teeth and her hair and made a go for the first floor, hoping she'd run into someone. Except halfway down the stairs, she heard voices from the dining room and came to
a halt. The last meal of the night was in progress, but the idea of joining all the Brothers and Mary and Beth seemed overwhelming. Besides, wouldn't Zsadist be there? And how could she face him without giving herself away? No way that male was going to deal well with her loving him. No way.
Ah, hell. She was going to have to see him sooner or later. And hiding wasn't her thing.
But when she got to the bottom of the staircase and stepped off onto the foyer's mosaic floor, she realized she'd forgotten to put any shoes on. How could she go into the king and queen's dining room with bare feet?
She looked back up at the second floor and became utterly exhausted. Too tired to go up and come down again, too embarrassed to go forward, she just listened to the sounds of the meal: Male and female voices chatted and laughed. A wine bottle was uncorked with a pop. Someone thanked Fritz for bringing out more lamb.
She looked down at her naked feet, thinking she was such a fool. A shattered fool. She was lost because of what the lesser had done to her. And shaky because of what she'd seen Zsadist do tonight. And so alone after realizing what she felt for that male.
She was about to throw in the towel and go back upstairs when something brushed against her leg. She jumped and looked down, meeting the jade green eyes of a black cat. The feline blinked, purred at her, and rubbed its head against the skin of her ankle.
Bending at the waist, she stroked its fur with unsteady hands. The animal was incomparably elegant, all lean lines and graceful, sliding movements. And for no good reason, her eyes got blurry. The more emotional she got, the closer she and the cat became, until she was sitting on the last step of the staircase and the animal had crawled into her lap.
"His name is Boo."
Bella gasped and looked up. Phury was standing in front of her, a towering male no longer dressed in war clothes, but now in cashmere and wool. He had a napkin in his hand, as if he'd just gotten up from the table, and he smelled really good, like he'd recently showered and shaved. Staring at him, she became aware that all the talk and sounds of eating had bled from the air, leaving a silence that told her everyone knew she'd come downstairs and gotten stuck on the periphery.
