by J. R. Ward
“You were naked, floating there like some kind of whore—”
“Whore?”
Their raised voices ricocheted around like bullets, crossing paths as they interrupted each other.
Tohrment jutted himself forward on his hips. “Why did you come here?”
“I work as a laundress—”
“Not the training center—this goddamn compound.”
“I wanted to see my daughter—”
“Then why haven’t you spent any time with her?”
“She is newly mated! I have tried to make myself available—”
“Yeah, I know. Just not to her.”
The disrespect in that deep voice made her want to shrink away, but his unfairness gave her a backbone. “I had no way of knowing that you were going to enter herein. I thought all were gone for the night—”
Tohrment closed the distance between them. “I’m going to say this only once. There’s nothing here for you. The mated males in this house are bound to their shellans, Qhuinn’s not interested, and neither am I. If you’ve come looking for a hellren or a lover, you’re out of luck—”
“I want no male!” Her shouting shut him up, but that wasn’t nearly enough. “I shall say this only once—I would kill myself afore I ever accept another male into my body. I know why you hate me, and I respect your reasons, but I do not want you or any other of your persuasion. Ever.”
“Then how about you start by keeping your goddamn clothes on.”
She would have slapped him if she could have reached that high. Her palm even started to tingle.
But she did not jump up to wipe the terrible expression off his face with force. Lifting her chin, she said with as much dignity as she could, “In the event you have forgotten what the last male did to me, I can assure you I have not. Whether you choose to believe me or prefer a delusion, that is not my doing—or my concern.”
As she limped past him, she wished for once that her leg was what it had been before: Pride was far better served by an even gait.
Just as she got to the anteroom, she looked back at him. He had not turned about, so she addressed his shoulders… and the name of his shellan, which was carved in his very skin. “I shall never go near that water again. Clothed or unclothed.”
As she wobbled to the door, she was shaking from head to foot, and it wasn’t until she felt the cold slap of the air out in the corridor that she realized she had left the rolling trash bin, the sweeper, and her sheath behind.
She was not going back for them, that was for certain.
In the laundry room, she closed herself in and leaned against the wall by the doors.
Abruptly, she felt like she was suffocating, and ripped the hood from her head. Indeed, her body was hot, and not because of the heavy layer she wore. An internal burn had taken root and used her gut for kindling, the heated smoke from that fire filling her lungs, crowding out the oxygen.
It was impossible to reconcile the male she had known in the Old Country with the one she saw now. The former had been awkward, but never, ever disrespectful, a kind, gentle soul who somehow excelled at his brutal endeavors in the war—whilst retaining his compassion.
This current iteration was but a bitter shell.
And to think she’d assumed preparing that dress would be of any benefit?
She’d have better luck moving the mansion with her mind.
In the wake of No’One’s pissed-off departure, Tohr decided that short of the fact John Matthew hadn’t managed to cut himself on the hand and foot thus far tonight, it looked like Tohr and the kid had a lot in common: Courtesy of their tempers, both were now dressed in the Captain Asshole costume—which included, for no extra charge, the cape of disgrace, the booties of shame, and keys to the Fuck Up mobile.
Christ, what had come out of his mouth?
In the event you have forgotten what the last male did to me, I can assure you I have not.
With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why in the world would he think, for even a second, that female would have any sexual interest in a male?
“Because you assumed she was attracted to you and it freaked you out.”
Tohr closed his eyes. “Not now, Lassiter.”
Naturally, the fallen angel paid no attention to the verbal POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS tape. The blond-and-black idiot walked over and sat down on one of the benches, putting his elbows on the knees of his leathers, his odd white eyes steady and grave.
“It’s time you and I had a little talk.”
“About my social skills?” Tohr shook his head. “No offense, but I’d rather take advice from Rhage—and that’s saying something.”
“Have you ever heard of the In Between.”
Tohr awkwardly pivoted around on his good foot. “I’m not interested in a class on fractions. Thanks.”
“It’s a very real place.”
“So is Cleveland. Detroit. Beautiful downtown Burbank.” He’d been a Laugh-In fan in the sixties. So sue him. “But I don’t need to know about them, either.”
“It’s where Wellsie is.”
Tohr’s heart stopped in his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She is not in the Fade.”
Okay. Right. He probably should follow that one up with, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Instead, all he could do was stare at the guy.
“She’s not where you think she is,” the angel murmured.
Through a dry mouth, he managed, “You’re saying she’s in hell? Because that’s the only other option.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Tohr took a deep breath. “My shellan was a female of worth, and she’s in the Fade—there’s no reason to think she’d be in Dhund. As for myself, I’m through with jumping down people’s throats tonight. So I’m going to walk out that door over there”—he pointed in the direction of the anteroom just to be helpful—“and you’re going to let me go. Because I’m not in the mood for this.”
Turning away, he started hobbling, using that single crutch No’One had brought in.
“You’re pretty goddamn sure of something you don’t know shit about.”
Tohr stopped. Closed his eyes again. Sent up a prayer for an emotion, any emotion, other than the urge to kill.
No luck.
He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re an angel, right. So you’re supposed to be compassionate. I just accused a female who was raped until impregnated of being a whore. Do you honestly think I can handle being circle jerked about my shellan right now?”
“There are three places in the afterlife. The Fade, where loved ones are reunited. Dhund, where the unjust go. And the In Between—”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“—which is where souls get stuck. It’s not like the other two—”
“Do you care?”
“—because the In Between is different for everybody. Right now, your shellan and your young are stuck because of you. That’s why I’ve come—I’m here to help you, help them get where they belong.”
Man, this was a fine time to have a fucked-up foot, Tohr thought, because he suddenly had no sense of balance whatsoever. Either that or the training center was spinning on the axis of the house.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“You’ve got to move on, my man. Stop holding on to her so she can go—”
“There is no purgatory, if that’s what you’re suggesting—”
“Where the fuck do you think I came from?”
Tohr cocked a brow. “You really want me to answer that.”
“Not funny. And I’m serious.”
“No, you’re lying—”
“You ever wonder how I found you in those woods? Why I’ve stuck around? Have you asked yourself for a moment why I’m wasting time on you? Your shellan and your son are trapped and I was sent here to get them free.”
“Son?” Tohr breathed.
“Yeah, she was carrying a little boy.”
Tohr’s legs went out from underneath him at that point—fortunately, the angel jumped forward and caught him before he broke something.
“Come here.” Lassiter maneuvered him over toward the bench. “Park it and put your head between your knees—your color’s gone to hell.”
For once, Tohr didn’t put up a fight; he let his ass go down and allowed himself to get pretzeled by the angel. As he opened his mouth and tried to breathe, he noticed for no good reason that the tiles on the floor weren’t a solid aqua blue, but had multicolored specks in them of white and gray and navy.
As a big hand started making circles on his back, he was strangely comforted.
“A son…” Tohr lifted his head a little and swept his palm down his face. “I wanted a son.”
“So did she.”
He looked over sharply. “She never told me that.”
“She kept quiet because she didn’t want you to get all fat-chested about having two males in the house.”
Tohr laughed. Or maybe it was a sob. “She would so do that.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ve seen her.”
“Yeah. She’s not doing well, Tohr.”
Abruptly, he felt like… “I’m going to be sick.” Which was better than crying. “Purgatory?”
“The In Between. And there’s a reason that no one knows about it. If you get out, you’re in the Fade—or Dhund, and your experience of where you were is forgotten, a bad memory that fades. And if your window closes, you’re stuck there forever, so it’s not like you’re filing any reports on the landscape.”
“I don’t understand—she lived a good life. She was a female of worth who was taken early. Why wouldn’t she go into the Fade?”
“Did you hear what I said? Because of you.”
“Me?” He threw his hands up. “What the fuck did I do wrong? I’m living and breathing—I didn’t off myself and I’m not going to—”
“You haven’t let her go. Don’t deny it. Come on, look what you just did to No’One. You walked in on her naked, through no fault of her own, and you tore her head off because you thought she was hitting you with a case of the hot-and-bothereds.”
“And it’s somehow wrong that I don’t want to be ogled?” Tohr frowned. “Besides, how the hell do you know what just happened.”
“You don’t honestly think you’re ever alone anymore, do you? And the problem isn’t No’One. It’s you—you don’t want to be attracted to her.”
“I wasn’t attracted to her. I’m not.”
“But it’s okay if you are. That’s the point—”
Tohr reached over, grabbed the front of the angel’s shirt, and yanked their heads together. “I got two things to say to you. I don’t believe a thing you’re telling me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up about my mate.”
As Tohr shoved free and got to his feet, Lassiter cursed. “You don’t have forever with this, buddy.”
“Stay the hell out of my room.”
“Are you willing to bet her eternity on your anger? Are you really that arrogant?”
Tohr glared over his shoulder… except the son of a bitch was gone: There was nothing but air on the bench where the angel had been. And it was hard to argue with that.
“Whatever. Fucking whack-job.”
TWELVE
When Xhex walked into the Iron Mask, she felt like she was stepping back in time. For years, she had worked in clubs like this, weeding through desperate people like this, keeping her eyes peeled for trouble… like this little knot of tension that had formed up ahead.
Directly in front of her, two guys were squaring off, a pair of Goth bulls all but pawing at the ground with their New Rocks. Just to the side, a chick with black-and-white hair, glittery cleavage, and a dumb-ass getup involving buckled straps of black leather was looking pretty damn satisfied with herself.
Xhex wanted to slap her upside the head and send her packing just for that attitude alone.
The real problem, however, was not this bonehead with the breasticles, but the two pieces of meat who were about to go Dana White on each other. The concern was not so much what they did to each other’s noses or jawlines; it was the other two hundred people who were basically behaving. Male bodies flying backward in twelve different directions could knock a lot of bystanders on their asses, and who needed that?
She was about to step in when she reminded herself that this wasn’t her job anymore. She was no longer responsible for these asshats and their libidos and their jealousies, their drug dealing and doing, their sexual exploits—
Annnnnnd here was Trez “Latimer,” taking care of it anyway.
The humans in the crowd saw the Moor as simply one of them, just bigger and more aggressive. She knew the truth, however. That Shadow was far more dangerous than any of the Homo sapiens could have guessed. If he’d wanted to, he could have ripped their throats out in the blink of an eye… then thrown the carcasses on a spit over a fire, basted them for a couple of hours, and had them for dinner with an ear of corn and a bag of chips.
Shadows had a unique way of disposing of their enemies.
Tums, anyone?
As Trez’s bulk made an impression, the dynamic onstage changed instantly: Dipshit chippie took one look at him and appeared to forget the names of the two guys she’d whipped up into a tizzy. Meanwhile, the pair of boozing bozos cooled off a little, stepping back and reevaluating their situation.
Good plan—they were one second away from having it forcibly reevaluated for them.
Trez’s eyes met Xhex’s for a heartbeat, and then he focused on his three patrons. As the female tried to sidle up to him, flashing her eyes and her breast tissue, she made all the impression of a strip steak to a vegetarian: Trez was vaguely disgusted.
Over the din of the music, Xhex only caught a few words here and there, but she could have guessed the script well enough: Don’t be an ass. Take it outside. First and only warning before you’re persona non grata.
At the end of it, Trez practically had to peel the harpy off him with a crowbar—somehow, she’d grafted herself onto his arm.
Shaking her off with a, “You can’t be serious,” he stepped up. “Hey.”
That slow, sexy smile of his was the problem, of course. And the deep voice didn’t help. Or that body.
“Hey.” She had to smile back. “Female problems again?”
“Always.” He glanced around. “Where’s ya man?”
“Not here.”
“Ahhhhh.” Pause. “How you?”
“I don’t know, Trez. I don’t know why I’m here. I just…”
Reaching out, he put a heavy arm around her shoulders and drew her up against him. God, he smelled the same, a combination of Gucci Pour Homme and something that was altogether him.
“Come on, girlie,” he murmured. “Back to my office.”
“Don’t call me ‘girlie.’ ”
“Okay. How ’bout ‘buttercup.’ ”
She snaked an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his pec as they started walking together. “You like your balls where they are?”
“Yeah. I don’t like the way you’re lookin’, though. I prefer you feisty and pissed off.”
“Me, too, Trez. Me too…”
“So we’re good on the ‘buttercup’? Or do I have to get even tougher with you? I’ll pull out ‘pookie’ if I have to.”
In the way back of the club, next to the locker room where the “dancers” changed in and out of their street clothes, Trez’s office had a door on it like a meat locker. Inside, there was a black leather couch, a big metal desk, and a lead-lined blanket chest that was bolted to the floor. That was it. Well, aside from the purchase orders, receipts, phone messages, laptops.…
It felt like a million years since she’d been around all this.
“Guess iAm hasn’t been here yet,” she said, nodding to the mess on the desk. Trez’s twin would never have stood for it.
“H
e’s over at Sal’s cooking until midnight.”
“Same schedule, then.”
“If it ain’t broke…”
As they settled in, he in his thronelike chair, she on the couch, her chest hurt.
“Talk to me,” he said, his dark face serious.
Propping her head on her hand and crossing her leg ankle to knee, she fiddled with the laces on her shitkicker. “What if I told you I wanted my old job back?”
In her peripheral vision, she watched him recoil a little. “I thought you were fighting with the Brothers.”
“So did I.”
“Wrath not exactly comfortable with a female in the field?”
“John isn’t.” As Trez cursed, she exhaled hard. “And as I’m his shellan, what he says goes.”
“He actually looked you in the eye and—”
“Oh, he did more than that.” When a threatening growl percolated through the air, she waved her hand. “No, nothing violent. The argument—arguments weren’t a party, though.”
Trez sat back. Drummed his fingers on the clutter in front of him. Stared at her. “Of course you can come back—you know me. I’m not bound by any vampiric notion of propriety—and ours is a matriarchal society, so I’ve never understood the misogyny of the Old Ways. Am worried about you and John, however.”
“We’ll work it out.” How? She hadn’t a clue. But she wasn’t giving her fear that they wouldn’t be able to any more credibility by putting it into words. “I just can’t sit in that house doing nothing, and I don’t want to even lay eyes on the bunch of them. Shit, Trez, I should have known this mating thing was a bad idea. I’m not cut out for it.”
“Sounds like you’re not the one creating the problem. Although I do get where he’s coming from. If anything happened to iAm, I’d go fucking mental—so it’s not a good idea for he and I to fight side by side.”
“You do anyway.”
“Yeah, but we’re stupid. And it’s not like we go out looking for hand-to-hand every night—we got office jobs that keep us busy, and it’s only if something finds us that we take care of it.” He opened a desk drawer and threw her a set of keys. “There’s one last empty office down the hall. If that detective from CPD homicide comes around again about Chrissy and that dead boyfriend of hers, we’ll deal with it if we have to. Meanwhile, I’ll put you back on the payroll. Timing’s good—I could use some help organizing the bouncers. But—and I mean this—there’s no long-term obligation. You can leave whenever you want.”