by J. R. Ward
When there was nothing but ash, he got up and left his room.
It was time to let go, and he knew how to do it.
Chapter Twenty-seven
V was blissfully happy. Wholly complete. A Rubik’s Cube solved. His arms were around his female, his body pressed up close to hers, her scent in his nose. Though it was nighttime, it was as if the sun were shining upon him.
Then he heard the gunshot.
He was in the dream. He was asleep and in the dream.
The horror of the nightmare unfolded as it always did, and yet it was fresh as the first time it had come to him: Blood on his shirt. Pain ripping through his chest. A descent to the ground until he was on his knees, his life over—
V shot upright in bed, screaming.
Jane launched herself at him to calm him down just as the door flew open and Butch rushed in with gun drawn. Both of their voices mixed together, a fruit salad of words spoken fast.
“What the fuck!”
“Are you okay?”
V fumbled with the sheets, tearing them off his torso so he could see his chest. The skin was unmarked, but he ran his hand down it anyway. “Jesus Christ…”
“Was it a flashback from your shooting?” Jane asked as she urged him to lie down in her arms.
“Yeah, fuck…”
Butch lowered his muzzle and jacked up his boxers. “Scared the piss out of me and Marissa. You want some Goose to chill?”
“Yeah.”
“Jane? Anything for you?”
She was shaking her head when V cut in with, “Hot chocolate. She’d like some hot chocolate. I had Fritz bring some mix over. It’s in the kitchen.”
When Butch left, V scrubbed his face. “Sorry about that.”
“God, don’t apologize.” She ran her hand up and down his chest. “You okay?”
He nodded. Then, like a total sap, he kissed her and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” She wound her arms around him and held him like he was precious.
They were quiet until Butch came back a little later with a glass in one hand and a mug in the other. “I want a nice tip. I burned my pinkie on the stove.”
“You want me to look at it?” Jane tucked the sheet under her arms and reached forward for the cocoa.
“I think I’ll live, but thanks, Doc Jane.” Butch handed the Goose to V. “How about you, big guy? You cool now?”
Not hardly. Not after the dream. Not with Jane leaving. “Yeah.”
Butch shook his head. “You’re a bad liar.”
“Fuck you.” There was no heat to V’s words at all. And no conviction as he tacked on, “I’m tight.”
The cop went over to the door. “Oh, speaking of strong, guess Phury showed up at First Meal, all ready to go out and fight tonight. Z stopped by here a half hour ago on the way to class to thank you, Doc Jane, for everything you did. Phury’s face looks good and the brother’s eye’s working just fine.”
Jane blew over the top of the mug. “I’d feel better if he’d go see an optometrist to be sure.”
“Z said he pushed for that and got shut down. Even Wrath took a shot at it.”
“I’m glad our boy came out okay,” V said, and truly meant it. Trouble was, Jane’s only excuse to stay had just vaporized.
“Yeah, me too. I’ll leave you two alone. Later.”
As the door shut, V listened to the sound of Jane blowing across her hot cocoa again.
“I’m going to bring you home tonight,” he said.
She stopped blowing. There was a long pause then she took an inhaling sip. “Yes. It’s time.”
He swallowed half the Goose in the glass. “But before I do, I’d like to take you somewhere first.”
“Where?”
He wasn’t sure how to tell her what he wanted to happen before he let her go. He didn’t want her to bolt, especially as he contemplated the years and years ahead of him and all of the dishonest, disinterested sex he was going to have to have.
He finished his Goose. “Somewhere private.”
As she drank from the mug, her brows dropped down low. “So you’re really going to let me go, huh?”
He stared at her profile and wished they had met under different circumstances. Except how in the fuck would that have ever happened?
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”
Standing in front of his locker three hours later, John wished Qhuinn would shut his damn piehole. Even though the locker room was loud from the sounds of metal doors banging shut and clothes flapping and shoes dropping, he felt like his buddy had a bullhorn stapled to his upper lip.
“You’re flippin’ huge, J.M. For real. Like…ginormous.”
That is not a word. John shoved his backpack in like he usually did and realized none of the clothes he was crushing would fit him anymore.
“The hell it isn’t. Back me up, Blay.”
Blay nodded as he pulled on his ji. “Yeah, you fill out? You’re going to be, like, Brother-sized.”
“Gigundous.”
Okay, also not a word, asshole.
“Fine, really, really, really big. How’s that?”
John shook his head as he put his books on the floor and deep-sixed the little duds in the nearest trash can. As he came back over, he sized up his friends and realized he was bigger than both of them by a good four inches. Hell, he was as tall as Z.
He glanced down the aisle at Lash. Yup, topped Lash, too.
The bastard looked over as he took his shirt off, as if sensing John’s stare. In a smooth move, the guy deliberately flexed his shoulders, the muscles curling up tight under his skin. He had a tattoo across his stomach that hadn’t been there two days before, a word in the Old Language John didn’t recognize.
“John, getcha ass out in the hall for a sec.”
The whole place went silent, and John jerked his head around. Zsadist was standing in the door to the locker room, all business.
“Shit,” Qhuinn whispered.
John put his backpack away, shut his locker, and tugged his shirt into place. He walked over to the Brother as quickly as he could manage, stepping around other guys as they pretended to keep doing what they were doing.
Z held the door wide as John went out into the hallway. After the thing was closed, he said, “Tonight, you and me are meeting before dawn, just like usual. We’re only going to skip the walking. You’ll come to the weight room while I lift. We need to talk.”
Shit was right. John signed, Same time?
“Four A.M. As for training tonight, I expect you to sit it out in the gym, but participate at the shooting range. Feel me?”
John inclined his head, then grabbed Z’s arm as the male turned away. Is it about last night?
“Yup.”
The Brother walked away, punching open the double doors to the gym. When the two halves shut they made a clanking sound.
Blaylock and Qhuinn came up behind John.
“What’s doing?” Blay asked.
I’m going to get shit for capping that lesser, John signed.
Blay pushed a hand into his red hair. “I should have covered for you better.”
Qhuinn shook his head. “John, we’ll take up for you, my man. I mean, it was my idea to go to the club.”
“And my gun.”
John crossed his arms over his chest. It’s going to be okay.
Or at least he hoped it would. He was on the thin edge of getting kicked out of the program as it stood.
“By the way…” Qhuinn put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Haven’t gotten a chance to thank you.”
Blay nodded. “Me neither. You were righteous last night. Totally righteous. You fucking saved us.”
“Shit, you totally knew what you were doing.”
John felt his face go red.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” Lash drawled. “Tell me something, do you three draw straws to decide who’ll be on the bottom? Or is it always John?”
Qhuinn smiled, baring his
fangs. “Has anyone ever shown you the difference between good touch and bad touch? ’Cause I’d love to demonstrate. We could start right now.”
John stepped in front of his friend, going face-to-face with Lash. He said nothing, just looked down at the guy.
Lash smiled. “You got something to say to me? No? Wait, you still have no voice? God…what a bummer.”
John could feel Qhuinn gearing up for a lunge, the heat and the impulse rolling off his friend. To stop the collision from happening, John reached behind and put a hand on his buddy’s abs to keep him in place.
If anyone was going after Lash, it was John.
Lash laughed and tightened the belt on his ji. “Don’t front like you have game, John-boy. The transition doesn’t change you on the inside or fix your physical defects. Right, Qhuinn?” As he turned away, he said under his breath, “Mismatched motherfucker.”
Before Qhuinn could jump the guy, John wheeled around and grabbed him around the waist just as Blay locked onto one of the guy’s arms. Even with their combined weight, it was like keeping back a bull.
“Chill,” Blay grunted. “Just relax.”
“I’m going to kill him one of these days,” Qhuinn hissed. “I swear to God.”
John glanced over as Lash sauntered into the gym. Taking a vow to himself, he marked the guy for a beating, even if it got him kicked out of the program for good.
He’d always felt that if you fucked with his friends, you were going to get served. End of story.
Thing was, now he had the equipment to deliver the job.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Around midnight Jane found herself in the back of a black Mercedes on her way home. Up front, on the other side of the partition that was in place, the uniformed driver was that butler who was older than God and as cheerful as a terrier. Beside her V was dressed in black leather, as silent and grim as a tombstone.
He hadn’t said much. But he wouldn’t let go of her hand.
The car’s windows were darkened to such a degree she felt like she was in a tunnel, and in an effort to ground herself she hit a button on the door next to her. As her slice of glass went down, a shocking rush of cold pushed inside and replaced the warmth, a bully scattering the good kids at a playground.
She stuck her head out into the breeze and looked at the pool of illumination thrown by the headlights. The landscape was blurry, like a photograph out of focus. Although by the downward angle of the road she knew they were coming off a mountain. Thing was, she couldn’t get any sense of where they were headed or where they had been.
In a weird way the disorientation was appropriate. This was the interlude between the world she’d been in and the one she was returning to, and stretches of neither here nor there should be hazy.
“I can’t see where we are,” she murmured as she put the window back up.
“It’s called mhis,” V said. “Think of it as a protective illusion.”
“A trick of yours?”
“Yeah. Mind if I light up, as long as I let in some fresh air?”
“That’s fine.” It wasn’t like she was going to be around him for much longer.
Crap.
V gave her hand a squeeze, then put his window down a quarter of an inch, the soft drone of wind flaring up over the quiet hum of the sedan. His leather jacket creaked as he took out a hand-rolled and a gold lighter. The flint made a little rasp, and then the faint smell of Turkish tobacco made her nose tingle.
“That smell is so going to—” She stopped.
“What?”
“I was going to say, ‘remind me of you.’ But it won’t, will it?”
“Maybe in a dream.”
She put her fingertips on her window. The glass was cold. Just like the center of her chest.
Because she couldn’t stand the silence, she said, “These enemies of yours, what exactly are they?”
“They start as humans. Then they’re turned into something else.”
As he inhaled, she saw his face aglow in orange light. He’d shaved before leaving, using the razor she’d once wanted to turn against him, and his face was impossibly handsome: arrogant, masculine, hard as his will. The tattoos at his temple were still beautifully done, but now she hated them, knowing them for the violation they were.
She cleared her throat. “So tell me more?”
“The Lessening Society, our enemy, chooses its members through a careful screening process. They look for sociopaths, murderers, amoral Jeffrey Dahmer types. Then the Omega steps in—”
“The Omega?”
He looked down at the tip of his hand-rolled. “Guess the Christian equivalent is the devil. Anyway, the Omega gets his hands on them…as well as other things…and presto, change-o, they wake up dead and moving. They are strong, virtually indestructible, and can be killed only by a stab wound to the chest with something steel.”
“Why are they your enemies?”
He inhaled, again his brows going down low. “I suspect it might have something to do with my mother.”
“Your mother?”
The hard smile that stretched his lips was more a curve than anything else. “I’m the son of what you’d probably consider a god.” He lifted his gloved hand. “This is from her. Personally, as baby gifts go, I’d have preferred one of those silver rattles, or maybe some paste to eat. But you don’t get to pick what your parents give you.”
Jane looked at the black leather that stretched over his palm. “Jesus…”
“Not according to our lexicon or my nature. I’m not the savior type.” He put the cigarette between his lips and pulled off the glove. In the dimness of the backseat, his hand glowed with the soft beauty of moonlight reflecting off of fresh snow.
He inhaled one last time, then took the cigarette and pressed the lit tip down right to the center of his palm.
“No,” she hissed. “Wait—”
The butt was ashed in a flare of light, and he blew off the residue, a fine powder that dispersed in the air. “I would give anything to get rid of this piece of shit. Although I will say, it’s damn handy when I don’t have an ashtray.”
Jane felt woozy for a whole host of reasons, especially as she thought about his future. “Is your mother forcing you to get married?”
“Yup. I sure as fuck wouldn’t volunteer for it.” V’s eyes shifted to her and for a split second she could have sworn he was going to say that she’d be the exception to that rule. But then he glanced away.
God, the idea of him with someone else, even if she wouldn’t remember him, was like being kicked in the gut.
“How many?” Jane asked hoarsely.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t think about it. I sure as hell try not to.” He looked over at her. “They’re going to mean nothing to me. I want you to know that. Even though you and I can’t…Yeah, well, anyway, they won’t mean jack.”
It was horrible of her to be glad of that.
He put the glove back on, and they were silent as the sedan ghosted through the night. Eventually they stopped. Started up again. Stopped. Started up again.
“We must be downtown, huh?” she said. “Because this feels like a lot of traffic lights.”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, hit a button, and the partition went down so she could see out the windshield.
Yup, downtown Caldie. She was back.
As tears speared into her eyes, she blinked them away and stared down at her hands.
A little later the driver stopped the Mercedes in front of what looked like the service entrance to a brick building: There was a sturdy metal door marked PRIVATE in white paint, and a concrete ramp that went up to a loading dock. The place was clean in the way well-kept urban places were. Which was to say it was grungy, but without any loose trash around.
V opened his door. “Do not get out yet.”
She put her hand on the duffel bag with her clothes in it. Maybe he’d decided to just take her back to
the hospital? Except this was no entry she knew of at St. Francis.
Moments later he opened the door and reached in with his bare hand. “Leave your things. Fritz, we’ll be back in a while.”
“It is my pleasure to wait,” the old man said with a smile.
Jane got out of the car and followed V over to a set of concrete stairs next to the ramp. The whole time he was on her like a slipcover, tight against her back, guarding her. Somehow he opened the sturdy metal door without keys; he simply put his hand on the push bar and stared at the thing.
Oddly, once they were inside he didn’t relax at all. He led her quickly down a corridor to a freight elevator, checking left and right as they went along. She had no idea they were in the luxurious Commodore Building until she read a notice from the property managers that was posted on the concrete wall.
“You have a place here?” she asked, even though it was self-evident.
“Top floor’s mine. Well, half of it.” They got in a service elevator and stood on worn linoleum under caged lights. “I wish I could take you in the front way, but that’s too public.”
There was a lurch as the lift engaged, and she reached out for the elevator wall. V caught her upper arm first, holding her steady, and he didn’t let go. She didn’t want him to.
V remained tense when they came to a jerking halt and the elevator opened. The plain hallway was nothing special, with just two doors and a stairway exit to give it purpose. The ceiling was high but not ornate, and the carpeting was the kind of low-napped, multicolored variety she recognized from the hospital’s waiting rooms.
“I’m down here.”
She followed him to the end of the corridor and was surprised to see him take out a gold key to unlock the door.
Whatever was on the other side was pitch-black, but she went inside with him without fear. Hell, she felt like she could walk into a firing squad with him by her side and come out all right. Plus, the place smelled nice, like lemon, as if it had recently been cleaned.