by J. R. Ward
He took her to the far side of the room and described a process that was easily going to fill hours. Perfect. And before she allowed him to depart, she insisted that he stay at her side for the first couple of treatments. As this made him feel more useful, it worked for the both of them.
“I believe I am ready to continue on my own,” she said eventually.
“Very well, mistress.” He bowed and smiled. “I shall go down and endeavor to ready Last Meal. If you should need anything, please call me.”
From what she had learned since her arrival, that required a telephone—
“Here,” he said, over by the counters. “Press ‘star’ and ‘one’ and ask for me, Greenly.”
“You have been most helpful.”
She looked away quickly, not wanting to see him bow to her. And she didn’t try for a deep breath until the door shut behind him.
Now alone, she put her hands on her hips and let her head hang for a moment, the pressure in her chest making it difficult to fill her lungs.
When she had come here, she expected to struggle—and she was, just not with the things she had anticipated.
She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to exist in an aristocratic house. The home of the First Family, in fact. At least when she had been up with the Chosen, there had been other rhythms and rules, with no one below her. Here? The lofty position people forced upon her cut off her oxygen a lot of the time.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, mayhap she should have asked the servant to stay. At least the innate need for composure had given her a draw in her ribs. With no one to hide from, however, she fought for breath.
The robe was going to have to come off.
Limping over to the doors, she went to lock them, but found there was no bolting mechanism. Not what she was expecting.
Opening them a crack, she put her head out and double-checked the long hallway.
All the servants would be downstairs preparing food for the people of the house. Even more significant, there was no way anyone but doggen would be in this part of the mansion.
She was safe from other eyes.
Ducking back in, she loosened the tie around her waist, removed her hood from the crown of her head and then stripped herself of the weight she bore anytime she was in public. Ah, glorious relief. Reaching her arms up high, she stretched her shoulders and her back, then pulled her neck from side to side. Her last reclamation was to lift the heavy braid of her hair and put it over her shoulder, relieving some of the pull at her nape.
Save for that first night that she had come unto this house and confronted her daughter—as well as the Brother who had tried to save her life so long ago—no one had seen her features. And no one would henceforth. Ever since that brief revelation, she had been e’er covered, and she was going to stay that way.
Proof of identity had been a necessary evil.
As always, she wore beneath her robing a simple linen sheath she had made herself. She had a number of them, and when they grew too thin, she recycled them as towels to dry herself with. She wasn’t sure where she would find the fabric for replacements here, but that was no problem. In order to refresh herself so that she did not need to feed, she went regularly to the Other Side, and she could get what she needed then.
So different the two places were. And yet in either, her hours were the same: infinite, solitary—
No, not entirely solitary. She had come to this side to find her daughter, and now that she had, she was going to…
Well, tonight, she was going to clean this gown.
Stroking the fine fabric, she couldn’t stop the memories from bursting forth, a geyser, unwelcomed.
She had had gowns like this. Dozens of them. They had filled the closet of her nighttime quarters, those beautifully kitted-out rooms that had had the French doors.
Which had proved to be less than secure.
As her eyes misted over, she fought the pull of the past. She’d been through that black hole too many times to count—
“You should burn that robe.”
No’One wheeled around so fast, she nearly tore the dress off the worktable.
In the doorway was a massive male with blond-and-black hair. Verily, he was so big he filled the double-size jambs, but that was not the astonishing thing.
He appeared to gleam.
Then again, he was covered with gold, hoops and studs marking his ears, his eyebrows, his lips, his throat.
No’One dived for what normally covered her, and he stood calmly as she girded herself with the robe.
“Better?” he said softly.
“Who are you.”
Her heart beat so fast that the three words came out in a rush. She wasn’t good with males in enclosed spaces, and this was very enclosed, and he was very male.
“I’m a friend of yours.”
“Then why have I yet to make your acquaintance.”
“Some people would say you’re lucky to have been spared,” he muttered. “And you’ve seen me at meals.”
She supposed she had. She typically kept her head down and her eyes on her plate, but yes, in the periphery, he had been there.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said.
There were two things that kept her from completely panicking: First, there was no speculation in that deep voice of his, no masculine heat, nothing that made her feel preyed upon; and second, he had shifted his position so he was lounging back against the jamb—leaving her room to bolt out if she had to.
As if he knew what made her nervous.
“I’ve been giving you some time to settle in and get your bearings,” he murmured.
“Why would you have cause to do that.”
“Because you’re here for a very important reason, and I’m going to help you.”
The male’s bright white, pupil-less eyes held hers, even though her face was in shadow… as though he were not merely looking at her, but into her.
She took a step back. “You do not know me.”
At least that was a truth so solid she could plant her feet on it: Even if whoever this was was familiar with her parents, her family, her lineage, he did not know her. She was not who she had once been: the abduction, the birth, her death had wiped that slate clean.
Or had broken it to pieces, more accurately.
“I know that you can help me,” he said. “How about that.”
“Are you looking for a maid?”
Hard to imagine, given the number of staff in this household—but that was beside the point. She didn’t want to serve a male in any kind of intimate way.
“No.” Now he smiled, and she had to admit he looked a little… kind. “You know, your default doesn’t have to be servile.”
She kicked her chin up a notch. “All work is honorable.”
That was a fact that she had missed before everything had changed. Dearest Virgin Scribe, she’d been a spoiled, overpampered, entitled brat. And the shedding of those ugly, jeweled robes of self-inflation had been the only good thing that had come out of it all.
“Not maintaining to the contrary.” He tilted his head, as if he were imagining her in a different place, with different clothes. Or maybe he just had a stiff neck; who knew. “I understand you’re Xhex’s mom.”
“I am the female who birthed her, yes.”
“I heard that Darius and Tohr put her up for adoption after she was born.”
“They did. They sheltered me through my convalescence.” She skipped the part about her taking the latter’s dagger and putting it to use upon her own flesh: she had already spoken o’er much to this male.
“You know, Tohrment, son of Hharm, spends a lot of time looking in your direction at meals.”
No’One recoiled. “I am certain you are wrong.”
“My eyes work just fine. As do his, apparently.”
Now she laughed, the hard, short burst breaking out of her throat. “I can assure you, it is not because he fancies me.”
The male shrugged “
Well, friends can disagree.”
“With all due respect, we are not friends. I do not know you—”
Abruptly, the room was infused with a golden glow, the light so buttery and delicious, she felt her skin prickle with warmth.
No’One took a further step back as she realized it was not an optical illusion courtesy of all the jewelry he wore. The male was the source of the illumination, his body, his face, his aura like a banked fire.
As he smiled at her, his expression was that of a holy man. “My name’s Lassiter, and I’ll tell you all you need to know about me. I’m an angel first and a sinner second, and I’m not here for long. I’ll never hurt you, but I’m prepared to make you pretty goddamn uncomfortable if I have to, to get my job done. I like sunsets and long walks on the beach, but my perfect female no longer exists. Oh, and my favorite hobby is annoying the shit out of people. Guess I’m just bred to want to get a rise out of folks—probably the whole resurrection thing.”
No’One’s hand crept up and held her robe together in a tight grip. “Why ever are you here?”
“If I told you now, you’d just fight it tooth and nail, but let’s just say I believe in full circles—I simply didn’t see the one we’re in until you came along.” He gave her a little bow. “Take care of yourself—and that beautiful dress.”
With that, he was gone, drifting away, taking the warmth and the light with him.
Slumping back against the counter, it took her a while to realize her hand hurt. Looking down, she observed it from a distance, seeing the white knuckles and the rigid flesh against the robe’s lapels as if it were someone else’s appendage.
It was always thus when she regarded any part of her body.
But at least she could command her flesh: Her brain ordered the hand attached to the arm that plugged into the torso to release and relax.
As it obeyed, she glanced back over to where the male had stood. The doors were closed. Except… he hadn’t shut them, had he?
Had he even been here?
She rushed over and looked out into the hall. In all directions… there was no one.
FIVE
After nearly two hundred years of having been mated, Tohr was pretty familiar with the way arguments between pigheaded fighters and hot-tempered females went. And how ridiculous was it to have a case of the nostalgias over the way John and Xhex were hairy-eyeballing each other.
God, he and his Wellsie had gone a few good rounds during their day.
Just one more thing to mourn.
Dragging his exhausted brain back on track, he stepped in between the pair, figuring the situation needed a reality injection. If it had been any other two, he wouldn’t have wasted his breath. Romance was not his business—whether it was going well or badly—but this was John. This was… the son he’d once hoped to have.
“Time to go back to the compound,” he said. “You both need treatment.”
“Stay out of this—”
Stay out of this—
Tohr reached over and clamped a hold on the nape of John Matthew’s neck, squeezing those tendons until the male was forced to look at him. “Don’t be an asshole about this.”
Oh, sure, it was okay for you to be an asshole—
“You got it, kid. That’s the privilege of age. Now shut up and get in the fucking car.”
John frowned as if he’d just noticed Butch had rolled up in the Escalade.
“And you,” Tohr said in a softer tone. “Do everyone a favor and get that shoulder dealt with. Afterward, you can call him a fuck-twit, an ass-hat, and any other thing that strikes you—but right now, that injury of yours is reknitting in three or four different bad ways. You need to see our surgeons fast, and as you are a reasonable female, I know you see the merits of what I’m saying—”
Tohr took his forefinger and shoved it in John’s face. “Shut. Up. And no, she’s going to get herself back to the compound. Aren’t you, Xhex. She’s not getting in that SUV with you.”
John’s hands started going, but they stopped when Xhex said, “Okay. I’ll head north now.”
“Good. Come on, son.” Tohr shoved John in the direction of the SUV, prepared to pick him up by the short hairs if he had to. “Time to have a little ride.”
Man, John was so pissed off, you could have fried an egg on his forehead.
Tough. Shit. Tohr whipped open the passenger-side door and packed the fighter into the front seat like he would have an overnight duffel, or a set of golf clubs, or maybe a bag of groceries.
“Can you do the seat belt yourself like a big boy—or should I work it for you?”
John’s lip curled up, his fangs making a reveal.
Tohr just shook his head and propped an arm on the SUV’s black body paint. Man, he was fucking tired. “Listen to me—as a male who’s been in your boots with this kind of thing a million times, you two have to have some space right now. Separate corners, a little calm-down—then you can talk shit through and…” His voice got gruff. “Well, makeup sex is fantastic, if memory serves.”
John Matthew’s mouth formed a couple variations on fuck. Then he slammed his head back against the rest. Twice.
Mental note: Have Fritz check for structural damage to the seat.
“Trust me, son. The pair of you are going to do this from time to time, and you might as well start to deal with it rationally now. Took me a good fifty years of making shit worse till I figured out a better way to handle arguments. Learn from my mistakes.”
John’s head cranked over, and he started to mouth, I love her so much. I’d die if anything happened to h—
When he stopped short, Tohr took a deep breath through the pain in his chest. “I know. Trust me… I know.”
Shutting the door with a clap, he went around to Butch’s side. When the window was put down, he said quietly, “Drive slow and take the long route. Let’s try to have her in and out of surgery before he gets there. Last thing we need is him riding Manny’s ass in the OR.”
The cop nodded. “Hey, you want a ride back? You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you know what those two words mean?”
“Yup. Later.”
When he turned away, he saw that Xhex was gone, and knew there was a good probability she had done what she’d said she was going to. Even though she was as pissed off as John, it was doubtful she’d be stupid about her health, or their future.
Females, after all, were not just the fairer sex, but the fairly reasonable one. Which was the only reason the race had survived this long.
As the Escalade eased off at a snail’s pace, Tohr anticipated all the fun Butch was going to have on the way home. Hard not to feel sorry for the poor bastard.
Annnnnnd then he faced off at his peanut galley. Looked like the cop from Boston wasn’t the only one about to get an earful, and sure enough, each one of the males lobbed a sentence back at him:
“Time to go back to the training center.”
“You need treatment.”
“You are a reasonable male, and I know you see the merits of what I’m saying.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
Rhage summed up the regurgitation with two words: “Kettle. Black.”
Fucking hell. “Did you guys plan that out?”
“Yeah, and if you don’t fight us”—Hollywood bit down on his grape Tootsie Pop—“we’ll do it again—only with the dance moves this time.”
“Spare me.”
“Fine. Unless you agree to home it, we will rock the dance moves.” To prove the point, the moron linked his palms behind his head and started doing something obscene with his hips. Which was backed up by a series of, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, ohhhh, yeeeeeeeaaaah, who’s your daddy…”
The others looked at Rhage like he’d grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. Nothing unusual there. And Tohr knew that, in spite of this ridiculous diversion, if he didn’t cave, the lot of them would crawl so far up his ass, he’d be coughing up shi
tkickers.
Also nothing unusual.
Rhage wheeled around, shoved out his butt, and started slapping his moneymaker like it was bread dough.
The only advantage? Whatever shit he was spouting was muffled.
“For the love of the Virgin Scribe,” Z muttered, “put us out of this misery, and go the fuck home.”
Someone else chimed in, “You know, I never thought there were advantages to being blind.…”
“Or deaf.”
“Or mute,” somebody added.
Tohr looked around the periphery, hoping that something that smelled like three-day-old sandwich meat would jump out of the shadows.
No luck.
And next thing you knew, Rhage would break into the robot. Or the Cabbage Patch. Or go Twist and Shout on their asses.
His brothers would never forgive him.
An hour and a half…
It took one hour and thirty cocksucking minutes to get back home.
As far as John could figure, the only way the trip could have taken longer was if Butch had detoured through Connecticut. Or maybe Maryland.
When they finally pulled in front of the great stone mansion, he didn’t wait for the Escalade to get parked—or even slow down. He unlocked the door and leaped out while the SUV was still crusing. Landing in a flat-out run, he took the stone steps up to the front entrance in a single leap, and after ripping into the vestibule, shoved his face so tightly into the security camera, he almost broke the lens with his nose.
The massive bronze portal opened fairly quickly, but damned if he could have said who did the honors. And the incredible rainbow-colored foyer with its marble and malachite columns and its lofty painted ceiling made no impression at all. Neither did the mosaic tiles on the floor that he crossed at a dead run, or the calls of his name from who-the-fuck-knew.
Hitting the door that was tucked underneath the grand staircase, he plowed into the underground tunnel that connected to the training center, punching in pass codes so viciously it was a wonder he didn’t break the keypads. Entering through the back of the office’s supply closet, he vaulted around the desk, shot out through the glass door, and—
