by J. R. Ward
Chapter Forty-nine
Xhex wasn't precisely sure which farmhouse she was looking for, so she materialized in a wooded area off Route 149 and used her nose to tell her what direction to head in: The wind was coming out of the north, and when she caught the slightest whiff of baby powder, she tracked the scent, vaporizing herself at hundred-yard intervals through the scruffy, mowed- down cornfields that had been lambasted by winter's winds and snow.
The spring air tingled in her nose and the sunlight on her face warmed wherever the breeze didn't brush over her skin. All around, skeletal trees had halos of bright green, their tentative buds drawn out of hiding by the promise of warmer hours.
Lovely day.
For a killing spree.
When the stench of lessers was all she could smell, she unsheathed one of the knives Vishous had given her and knew that she was so close she could--
Xhex took form at the next row of maples and stopped dead.
"Oh. . . fuck. "
The white farmhouse was nothing to write home to Mom about, just a wilted structure next to a cornfield, surrounded by a ring of pines and bushes. Good thing it had a lawn, though.
Otherwise the five police cars that were jammed up close to the front entrance wouldn't have had enough room to get their doors open.
Masking herself as symphaths did, she ghosted her way up to a window and looked inside.
Perfect timing: She got to see one of Caldwell's finest throw up into a bucket.
Although it wasn't as if he didn't have good reason to. The house looked like it had been bathed in human blood. Actually, scratch the "looked. " It had been covered in the shit, to the point where she tasted copper on the back of her tongue even though she was out in the fresh air.
It was like Michael Myers's kiddie pool in there.
The human cops were walking around the living room and dining room, picking their way with care not only because it was a crime scene, but obviously because they didn't want the stuff splashing up on their pants.
No bodies, though. Not one single body.
At least, not that was visible.
There were nascent lessers in the house, however. Sixteen of them. But she couldn't see them and neither could the cops, even though from what she sensed, the men were walking right over them.
Lash's cloaking again?
What the fuck was he up to? Calling the Brothers, announcing this shit. . . and then getting the cops to come? Or had someone else done the dialing to 911?
She needed answers to so much. . .
Mixed in with all the blood was some inky residue and one of the officers was frowning over a patch of it, looking like he'd found something icky. Yup. . . that amount of oily mess wasn't sufficient to explain the strong sweet scent she'd followed--so she had to assume that the inductions had been successful and what was hidden was no longer human.
She glanced around the forest behind and before her. Where was the Omega's golden boy in all of this?
Moving around to the front of the house, she saw a postman who was clearly struggling with some PTSD as he gave a statement to a uniform.
U. S. Postal Service to the rescue.
No doubt he'd been the one to drop a dime. . . .
Staying camo'd, she just observed the scene, watching the cops fight their gag reflexes to do their jobs, and waiting for Lash to make himself known--or for any other lesser to make an appearance. When the television crews showed up about a minute and a half later, she played witness to an almost beautiful blond woman doing a poor man's Barbara Walters on the lawn. The second the taping was finished, she started pestering the cops for information until she annoyed them enough that they let her get a gander of what was doing inside.
Didn't that just slap the serious journalist right out of her.
As she went full chick and passed out into the arms of one of the uniforms, Xhex rolled her eyes and headed around back again.
Shit. She might as well get comfy. She'd come jonesing for a fight, but as so often happened in war, she was in a waiting game until the enemy showed.
"Surprise. "
She wheeled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance: The only thing that saved her from falling over was the counterbalance of her dagger hand, which was raised up high, over her shoulder, ready for use.
"I wish we'd showered together. "
As Blay choked on the coffee he'd made them both, Saxton sipped at his cup just fine. To the point where it was pretty obvious the guy both engineered and enjoyed the reaction he'd gotten.
"I really like surprising you," the male said.
Bingo. And naturally, those damn fool redhead genes made hiding a blush impossible.
Easier to put a sedan in your pocket. It was that obvious.
"And you know, the environment is important. Water conservation and all that. Go green. . . or naked as it were. "
Saxton was lounging against the satin pillows of his bed in a silk robe, whereas Blay was stretched out all along the base of the mattress, weighing down the extra duvet that had been folded so precisely. Candlelight turned the scene into something out of a fantasy, the glow blurring all kinds of lines and boundaries.
And what do you know, Saxton was beautiful amid all the dark chocolate bedding, his pale hair so thickly waved, it seemed sculpted even though it was unmoussed, unsprayed. With his half-mast eyes and his smooth chest partially exposed, he was ready, willing. . . and, given the scent he was throwing off, able to be what Blay needed.
At least on the inside. His exterior wasn't quite up to the job: His face remained swollen, his lips puffy not from an erotic pout, but some asswipe's punch, and he moved carefully, as if there were still a lot of black-and-blues on him.
Which was not cool. His injuries should have been healed up by now, some twelve hours following the attack. He was an aristocrat, after all, and had a good blood line.
"Oh, Blaylock, whatever are you doing here. " Saxton shook his head. "I still don't know why you came. "
"How could I not have. "
"You like being a hero, don't you. "
"It's not heroic just to sit with someone. "
"Don't underestimate that one," Saxton said gruffly.
Which made Blay wonder. The guy had been his usual cool, slightly sarcastic self all morning and afternoon--but he had been attacked. Brutally.
"Are you okay?" Blay said softly. "Really okay. "
Saxton stared into his coffee. "I find it difficult to fathom humanity sometimes, I truly do. Not just in that race, but our own. "
"I'm sorry. About last night. "
"Well, it got you in my bed, didn't it. " Saxton smiled as much as he could, given that half of his mouth was distorted. "Not exactly the route I had planned to take to get you here. . . but it is lovely looking at you in the candlelight. You have the body of a soldier, but the face of an earnest scholar. The combination is. . . intoxicating. "
Blay finished what was in his cup on a oner and nearly choked. Or maybe that was less what he was drinking and more what he was hearing. "Do you need a refill on the coffee?"
"Not right now, thank you. It was perfectly made, by the way, and that was also an excellent, if obvious, deflection. "
Saxton put his cup and saucer on his ormolu bed stand and resettled himself with a groan. To keep himself from staring at the guy, Blay put his cup on the blanket chest below and let his eyes wander around. Upstairs was all Victorian Empire, with heavy mahogany furniture and Oriental rugs and gorgeous, lush colors--which he'd learned during his excursions to the kitchen. The understated and proper and reserved got left at the cellar door, however. Down here it was all straight-up boudoir, everything French, with curving marble-topped tables and dressers and formal needlepoint rugs. Lot of satin and. . . black-and-white pencil drawings of gorgeous males reclining very much in the same way Saxton was.
Only without the robe.
"Do you like my et
chings," Saxton drawled.
Blay had to crack up. "What a line. "
"I use it sometimes. I'm not going to lie. "
Abruptly, Blay had an image of the male naked and making love on this very bed, his flesh twisting and turning with another's.
Surreptitiously checking his watch, he realized he had another seven hours here and he wasn't sure whether he wanted them to pass at a crawl or in a blink.
Saxton closed his lids and didn't so much sigh as shudder.
"When was the last time you fed?" Blay asked.
Those heavy lids lifted and bright gray flashed. "Are you volunteering?"
"I meant from a female. "
Saxton grimaced as he rearranged himself on the pillows. "A while. But I'm fine. "
"Your face looks like a chessboard. "
"You say the sweetest things. "
"I'm serious, Saxton. You won't show me what's going on under that robe, but if your face is any indication, you're hurting in other places. "
All he got back was an mmm.
"Now who's deflecting. "
There was a long pause. "Saxton, I'm going to get you someone to feed from. "
"You keep females in your back pocket?"
"Mind if I use your phone again?"
"Suit yourself. "
Blay got up and went into the bathroom, preferring a little privacy because he had no clue how this was going to go.
"You could use the one right here," Saxton called out as he shut the door.
Blay came back out ten minutes later.
"I didn't know eHarmony worked that quickly," Saxton murmured, his eyes remaining shut.
"I have connections. "
"Yes, you do. "
"We're going to be picked up here at nightfall. "
That raised the blinds on those eyes. "By whom? And where are we off to?"
"We're going to take care of you. "
Saxton drew in a breath and exhaled on a wheeze. "Coming to the rescue again, Blaylock?"
"Call it a compulsion. " On that note, he went over to a chaise longue and lay on it. Pulling a luscious fur throw over his legs, he blew out the candle next to himself and got comfortable.
"Blaylock?"
God, that voice. So low and quiet in the dim light.
"Yes. "
"You're turning me into a poor host. " There was a slight hitch of breath. "That chaise is no place for you to sleep. "
"I'll be fine. "
There was a silence. "You won't be cheating on him if you join me in bed. I'm in no condition to take advantage of your virtue, and even if I were, I respect you enough not to put you in an awkward position. Besides, I could use the body heat--I can't seem to get warm enough. "
Blay wished like hell he had a cigarette. "I wouldn't be cheating on him even if. . . something happened between you and me. There's nothing there. Friends, just friends. "
Which was the reason this situation with Saxton was so damned weird. Blay was used to being in front of that closed door, the one that kept him out and away from what he wanted. Saxton, however, offered an archway, something he could walk through easily. . . and the room on the other side was gorgeous.
Blay held out for about a minute and a half. Then, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, he shifted the white fur to the side and stood up.
As he crossed the room, Saxton made space for him, lifting up the sheets and duvet. Blay hesitated.
"I don't bite," Saxton whispered darkly. "Unless you ask. "
Blay slipped in between all that satin. . . and got an immediate idea why silk bathrobes were the way to go. Smooth, so smooth.
Something more naked than naked.
Saxton turned on his side to face Blay, but then moaned. . . in pain. "Damn it. "
As the male eased over onto his back again, Blay found himself following and putting his arm over Saxton's head. When the male leaned upward, Blay made a pillow of his biceps and Saxton took full advantage, nestling in.
The candles extinguished one by one except for the votive in the bathroom.
Saxton shivered and Blay moved closer, only to frown.
"God, you are cold. " Drawing the male into his arms, he held Saxton and willed his body heat into the guy.
They lay together for the longest time. . . and Blay found himself stroking that thick, blond, perfect hair. It felt good. . . soft, springy at the ends.
Smelled like spices.
"That feels divine," Saxton murmured.
Blay closed his eyes and breathed deep. "I agree. "