by J. R. Ward
“A Mercedes?” Phury said from the phone.
Rhage, having ground another lollipop to its royal reward, pitched a little white stick into the wastepaper basket. “Yeah, since when has the Lessening Society put that kind of cash into their wheels?”
“Exactly,” V said. “Makes no damn sense. But here’s the shit. Witnesses also reported seeing a suspicious-looking black Escalade there the night before…with a man in black carrying off…oh, gee, what was it…crates, yeah, four fucking crates from the back of that quartet of apartments.”
As his roommate stared pointedly at Butch, the cop shook his head. “But there was no mention that they got the plates on the E. And we switched the set we had on it as soon as I got back. As for the Merc? Witnesses mistake things all the time. The blond and the other guy could have had nothing to do with the murder.”
“Well, I’m going to keep an eye on things,” V said. “I don’t think there’s any chance the police are going to tie it to something involving our world. Hell, a lot of things leave black stains, but we want to be prepared.”
“If the detective on it is the one I’m thinking of, he’s a good one,” Butch said quietly. “A very good one.”
Wrath got to his feet. “Okay, sun’s down. Get out of here. John, I want to talk to you privately for a moment.”
Wrath waited for the doors to close behind the last of his brothers before he spoke. “We’re going to find him, son. Don’t worry.” No response. “John? What’s doing?”
The kid just crossed his arms over his chest and stared straight ahead.
“John…”
John unfurled his hands and signed something that looked to Wrath’s piss-poor eyes to be, I’m going to go out with the others.
“The hell you are.” That brought John’s head around sharply. “Yeah, so not happening, given the fact that you’re a zombie. And fuck off with the I’m-fines. If you think for even a split second that I’m going to let you fight, you are talking out your damn ass.”
John walked around the study like he was trying to get hold of himself. Eventually he stopped and signed, I can’t be here right now. In this house.
Wrath frowned and tried to interpret what had been said, but all the frowning just made his headache sing like a soprano. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
John wrenched open the door, and a second later Qhuinn came in. There was a lot of hand movement and then Qhuinn cleared his throat.
“He says he can’t be in this house tonight. He just can’t.”
“Okay, then go to a club and get faced until you pass out. But no fighting.” Wrath said a silent prayer of thanks that Qhuinn was grafted to the kid’s side. “And, John…I’m going to find him.”
More signing, and then John turned to the door.
“What did he say, Qhuinn?” Wrath asked.
“Ah…he said it doesn’t matter to him if you do.”
“John, you don’t mean that.”
The kid pivoted and signed and Qhuinn translated. “He says, yes, he really does. He says…he can’t live like this anymore…waiting, wondering every night and day when he goes into that room whether Tohr has—John, slow down a little—ah…whether the male has hanged himself or taken off again. Even if he comes back…John says he’s done. He’s been left behind too many times.”
Hard to argue with that. Tohr hadn’t been a great father lately, his sole accomplishment on that front being the creation of the next generation of the living dead.
Wrath winced and rubbed his temples. “Look, son, I’m not a rocket scientist, but you can talk to me.”
There was a long, quiet stretch marked by an odd scent…a dry, almost stale smell…regret? Yeah, that was regret.
John bowed a little as if in thanks and then ducked out the door.
Qhuinn hesitated. “I won’t let him fight.”
“Then you’ll save his life. Because if he takes up arms in the shape he’s in right now, he’ll be coming home in a pine box.”
“Roger that.”
As the door shut, pain roared in Wrath’s temples and forced him to sit back down.
God, all he wanted to do was go to his and Beth’s room and get into their big bed and lay his head down on pillows that smelled like her. He wanted to call her and beg her to come join him just so he could hold on to her. He wanted to be forgiven.
He wanted to sleep.
Instead, the king got back to his feet, picked up his weapons from the floor beside his desk, and strapped all of them on. Leaving the study with his leather jacket in his hand, he went down the grand staircase, out the vestibule, and into the bitter night. Way he saw it was, the headache was going to be with him wherever he went, so he might as well be useful and go look for Tohr.
As he drew on his coat, he was struck by the thought of his shellan and where she had gone the night before.
Holy shit. He knew exactly where Tohr was.
Ehlena meant to leave Rehvenge’s terrace right away, but while stepping into the shadows, she had to look back at the penthouse. Through the banks of glass, she watched Rehvenge turn away and walk slowly down the flank of the penthouse—
Her shin caught something hard. “Damn it!”
Hopping around on one foot and rubbing her leg, she shot a nasty look at the marble urn she’d nailed herself with.
As she straightened, she forgot about the pain.
Rehvenge had gone into another room and stopped in front of a table set for two. Candles glowed amidst a shimmer of crystal and silver, the long wall of glass showing her all the trouble he had gone to for her.
“Damn it…” she whispered.
Rehvenge sat down as slowly and deliberately as he walked, looking behind himself first, as if to make sure the chair was where it should be, then bracing both hands and lowering himself down. The Baggie of what she’d given him was placed on the table, and as he seemed to stroke it, his gentle fingers were at odds with those heavy shoulders and the dark power inherent in his hard face.
Staring at him, Ehlena no longer felt the cold or the wind or the pain in her shin. Bathed in the candlelight, with his head tilted down and his profile so strong and true, Rehvenge was incalculably beautiful.
Abruptly, his head snapped up and he looked right at her, even though she was in the darkness.
Ehlena stepped back and felt the terrace wall against her hip, but she did not dematerialize. Even as he plugged his cane into the floor and rose to his full height.
Even as the door before him parted at his will.
It would have taken a better liar than she was to pretend she just was looking off into the night. And she wasn’t a coward, to bolt.
Ehlena walked up to him. “You didn’t take a pill.”
“Is that what you’re waiting for?”
Ehlena crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes.”
Rehvenge glanced back at the table and the pair of empty plates. “You said they had to be taken with food.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, it looks like you’re going to watch me eat, then.” The elegant sweep of his arm inviting her in was a prompt she didn’t want to take. “Will you sit with me? Or do you want to stay out here in the cold? Oh, wait, maybe this will help.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he went over and blew out the candles.
The curling weaves of smoke above the wicks seemed to her a lament for all the extinguished possibilities that had been: He’d prepared a nice dinner for them both. Made the effort. Dressed beautifully.
She stepped inside because she’d already ruined enough of his evening.
“Seat yourself,” he said. “I’ll be back with my plate. Unless…?”
“I’ve already eaten.”
He bowed slightly as she pulled out a chair. “Of course you have.”
Rehvenge left his cane against the table and walked out, steadying himself on the backs of chairs and the sideboard and the jamb of the butler’s door into the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later, he repeate
d the pattern with his free hand and then lowered himself down into the armed chair at the head of the table with careful concentration. Picking up a sleek sterling-silver fork, he didn’t say a word as he carefully sliced his meat and ate with restraint and manners.
Christ, she felt like the bitch of the week, sitting in front of an empty plate while fully buttoned up in her coat.
The sounds of silver tines on porcelain made the silence between them scream.
Stroking the napkin in front of her, she felt god-awful about so much, and though she wasn’t much of a talker she found herself speaking because she simply couldn’t keep everything in anymore. “The night before last…”
“Mmm?” Rehvenge didn’t look at her, just stayed focused on his plate.
“I wasn’t stood up. You know, on that date.”
“Well, good for you.”
“He was killed.”
Rehvenge’s head shot up. “What.”
“Stephan, the guy I was supposed to meet…he was killed by lessers. The king brought his body in, but I didn’t know it was him until his cousin showed up looking for him. I…ah, I spent my shift last evening wrapping his body and returning him to his family.” She shook her head. “They’d beaten him…. You couldn’t tell who he had been.”
Her voice fractured and refused to go on, so she just sat there stroking the napkin, in hopes of soothing herself.
Two subtle clinks marked Rehv’s fork and knife coming to rest on his plate, and then he reached out to her, putting his solid hand on her forearm.
“I’m so goddamned sorry,” he said. “No wonder you’re not into all this. If I had known—”
“No, it’s okay. Really. I should have handled it better when I arrived. I’m just off tonight. Not myself at all.”
He gave her a squeeze and settled back into his chair as if he didn’t want to crowd her. Which was normally what she liked, but tonight she found it a pity—to use a word he enjoyed. The weight of his touch through her coat had been very nice.
Speaking of which, she was getting really warm.
Ehlena unbuttoned herself and took the wool from her shoulders. “Hot in here.”
“Like I said before, I can cool things down for you.”
“No.” She frowned, glancing over at him. “Why are you always cold? Side effects from the dopamine?”
He nodded. “It’s really more why I need the cane. I can’t feel my arms, legs.”
She hadn’t heard of many vampires reacting in that way to the drug, but then, individual reactions were legion. And also the vampire equivalent of Parkinson’s was a nasty disease.
Rehvenge pushed his plate away and the two of them sat in silence for a long while. In the candlelight, he seemed dimmed somehow, his usual energy dialed down, his mood very somber.
“You’re not yourself, either,” she said. “Not that I know you very well, but you seem…”
“How.”
“Like I feel. In a walking coma.”
He chuckled in a short burst. “That is so apt.”
“You want to talk about it—”
“You want something to eat—”
They both laughed and stopped.
Rehvenge shook his head. “Look, let me get you some dessert. It’s the least I can do. And it’s not date food. The candles are out.”
“Actually, you know what?”
“You lied about having eaten before coming and now you’re starving?”
She laughed again. “You got it.”
As his amethyst eyes stared into hers, the air between them changed and she had the sense that he saw so much, too much. Especially as he said in a dark voice, “Will you let me feed you?”
Hypnotized, captivated, she whispered, “Yes. Please.”
His smile revealed long, white fangs. “That is so the answer I was going for.”
What would his blood be like in her mouth, she wondered in a rush.
Rehvenge growled deep in his throat, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. But he took it no further, rising to his great height and going into the kitchen.
By the time he returned with her plate, she’d managed to pull herself together a little bit better, although as he put the food down in front of her, the whiff of spices that drifted around her was too delicious—and had nothing to do with what he’d cooked.
Determined to keep it together, Ehlena put the napkin in her lap and tried the roast beef.
“My God, this is fabulous.”
“Thanks,” Rehv said as he sat down. “It’s the way the doggen in our household have always done it. You get the oven up to four seventy-five and you put the roast in, blast it for a half hour, then turn everything off and let it sit in there. You’re not allowed to open the door to check it. That’s the rule, and you have to trust the process. Two hours later?”
“Heaven.”
“Heaven.”
Ehlena laughed as the same word came out of both of their mouths. “Well, it’s really good. Melts in the mouth.”
“In the interest of full disclosure, lest you think I’m a chef, it’s the only thing I know how to cook.”
“Well, you do one thing perfectly, and that’s more than some people can say.”
He smiled and looked down at the pills. “If I take one of these now, are you going to leave right after dinner?”
“If I say no, will you tell me why you’re so quiet?”
“Tough negotiator.”
“Just making it a two-way street. I told you what’s weighing on me.”
Darkness shadowed his face, tightening his mouth and drawing his brows together. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Sure you can.”
His eyes, now hard, flashed up to her. “Just like you can talk about your father?”
Ehlena dropped her stare to her plate and took special care cutting a piece of meat.
“I’m sorry,” Rehv said. “I…Shit.”
“No, it’s okay.” Even though it wasn’t. “I push too hard sometimes. Great for being in health care. Not so hot when it comes to the personal stuff.”
As silence flared again, she ate faster, thinking she’d go as soon as she finished.
“I’m doing something I’m not proud of,” he said abruptly.
She glanced up. His expression was positively vile, anger and hatred turning him into someone who, if she hadn’t known otherwise, she would have feared. None of the evil look was directed at her, though. It was a manifestation of what he was feeling toward himself. Or another.
She knew better than to press. Especially given his mood.
So she was surprised when he said, “It’s an ongoing thing.”
Was it business or personal, she wondered.
His eyes lifted to hers. “It involves a certain female.”
Right. A female.
Okay, she had no right to feel a cold vise around her chest. It was none of her business that he was already with someone. Or that he was a player who threw together this roast beef dinner, candlelight, and seduction special for God knew how many different females.
Ehlena cleared her throat and put down her knife and fork. As she dabbed her mouth with her napkin, she said, “Wow. You know, I never thought to ask if you were mated. You don’t have a name in your back—”
“It’s not my shellan. And I don’t love her in the slightest. It’s complicated.”
“Do you share a young?”
“No, thank God.”
Ehlena frowned. “Is this a relationship, though?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
Feeling like a total raving idiot for getting caught up in him, Ehlena put her napkin on the table beside her plate and offered a very professional smile as she got to her feet and picked up her coat.
“I should go now. Thanks for dinner.”
Rehv cursed. “I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“If your goal was to get me in bed, you’re right. Bad move. Still, I’m glad you were honest—”
“I wasn’t trying to get you into bed.”
“Oh, of course not, because you’d be cheating on her.” Christ, why was she getting so upset over this?
“No,” he snapped back, “it’s because I’m impotent. Believe me, if I could get hard, bed would be the first place I’d want to go with you.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Spending time with you is like watching paint dry.” Lassiter’s voice echoed up to the stalactites hanging from the Tomb’s high ceiling. “Except without the home improvement—which is a tragedy, given how this place looks. Do you guys always go for the gloom and doom? You never hear of Pottery Barn?”
Tohr rubbed his face and glanced around the cave that had served as the Brotherhood’s sacred meeting place for centuries. Behind the massive stone altar he was sitting next to, the black marble wall with all the Brothers’ names on it stretched out across the back of the cave. Black candles on heavy stanchions threw flickering light over all the carvings in the Old Language.
“We’re vampires,” he said. “Not fairies.”
“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that. You see that study your king hangs out in?”
“He’s nearly blind.”
“Which explains why he hasn’t hanged himself in that pastel train wreck.”
“I thought you were bitching about the gloom-and-doom decorating?”
“I free-associate.”
“Clearly.” Tohr didn’t look at the angel, as he figured eye contact would only encourage the guy. Oh, wait. Lassiter didn’t need help.
“You expecting that skull on the altar to talk to you or some shit?”